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THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
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Her lover was he-side her and was stiKK^ stm K that he escort her home 
 
THE 
 
 UNDERCURRENT 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT GRANT 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 F. C. Tohn 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS 
 NEW YORK:::::::::::::::::i 9 04 
 
COVYRIGHT, 1904, BY 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS 
 
 Published, October, 1904 
 * " * 
 
TO MY WIFE 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Her lover was beside her and was suggesting 
 
 that he escort her home .... Frontispiece 
 
 Facing 
 page 
 
 " I have missed you two young people at church 
 
 lately" 32 
 
 " Oh, Emil, my husband, how could you ? " she 
 
 moaned 80 
 
 " Give it to me, Paul," demanded the young 
 
 woman imperiously I2O 
 
 " I am sure that this woman will tell me her 
 
 story" 168 
 
 There were moments, even from the first, when 
 
 he let her perceive that he regarded her as a 
 
 social companion 218 
 
 Constance would find her in possession at 
 
 Lincoln Chambers 252 
 
 " I should like to marry because I am in love " 350 
 " Refuse a man like that who s crazy to marry 
 
 you ! " 400 
 
 The flowers were the bright, shining milestone 422 
 " I have surrendered " 472 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "T^HOSE whom God has joined together let 
 -I no man put asunder." It seemed to the 
 bride that the Rev. George Prentiss laid espe 
 cially solemn stress on these words, and as she 
 listened to the announcement that, forasmuch as 
 Emil Stuart and Constance Forbes had consented 
 together in holy matrimony, he pronounced them 
 to be man and wife, her nerves quivered with sat 
 isfaction at the thought that she was Emil s for 
 ever. The deed was done, and she was joyous that 
 the doubt which had harassed her in her weak mo 
 ments whether she was ready to renounce her 
 ambition to help in the great work of education for 
 the sake of any man was solved and merged in 
 the ocean of their love. Doubtless Emil was not 
 perfect, but she adored him. No one had even 
 hinted that he was not perfect, but she had made up 
 her mind not to be ridiculous in her rapture, and 
 to look the probable truth squarely in the face as 
 became an intelligent woman. She knew that 
 until recently he had been only a clerk with Toler 
 & Company, lumber merchants, and that he had 
 just started in business on his own account. He 
 was dependent for support on his individual la- 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 bors, but she had in her own name the nice little 
 nest-egg of five thousand dollars, realized from 
 the sale of the family homestead at Colton, the 
 country town, ten miles distant, from which, an 
 orphan, she had come to Benham a year previous. 
 She was marrying for love a young man who had 
 his own way to make, just as hundreds of others 
 were doing every day, and she was proud of her 
 part in the compact. A great happiness had come 
 into her life, almost against her will, but now 
 that it had come she recognized that it was nature 
 working in the ordinary way, and that she would 
 not remain single for all the kindergartens in cre 
 ation. She had known Emil only a year; still that 
 year had been one of courtship, and no one had 
 ever spoken ill of him, though she had been told 
 that Mr. Prentiss, as a rector charged with over 
 seeing the destinies of friendless girls who were 
 members of his parish, had made inquiries. 
 Moreover, Mr. Prentiss had agreed that two 
 young people, situated as they were, whose hearts 
 were united, did well to marry on a small income 
 and trust somewhat to the future. How other 
 wise, as he sagely remarked, was ideal love to 
 flourish, and were mercenary considerations to be 
 kept at bay? Emil was twenty-five, and she just 
 twenty. Youthful, but still of a proper age, and 
 they were growing older every day. Decidedly it 
 was a prudent love-match, and she had a right to 
 be joyful, for there was nothing to reproach her 
 self with or to regret. 
 
 It will thus be observed that Constance Forbes 
 was no happy-go-lucky sort of girl, and that 
 though she was marrying younger than she had 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 expected, she was marrying with her eyes open. 
 She had scrutinized severely the romantic episode 
 which had made her and her lover acquainted, 
 and had even refused him the first time he asked 
 her in order to counterbalance the glamour result 
 ing from that meeting. The episode was a sequel 
 to an accident to the train on which she was trav 
 elling from Colton to Benham. The engine ran 
 into the rear of some freight cars, owing to a 
 misplaced switch, and the tracks were strewed 
 with splintered merchandise, so that the train was 
 delayed four hours. The natural thing for pas 
 sengers with time to kill was to inspect the wreck 
 age, which, besides the dilapidated railroad appa 
 ratus, consisted of mangled chairs and tables, and 
 bursted bags of grain, a medley of freight im 
 pressive in its disorder. Constance found herself 
 presently discussing with a young man the injuries 
 to the cow-catcher of the engine, which had been 
 twisted ludicrously awry. A moment before two 
 other persons, one of them a woman, had been on 
 the spot, and the conversation had been innocu 
 ously general, but they had drifted off. Con 
 stance was conscious of having noticed the young 
 man in her car, and of having casually observed 
 that he had an alert expression, and that his hair 
 rose perpendicularly from his brow, suggesting 
 the assertiveness of a king-bird. To allow a 
 young man to scrape acquaintance with her in cold 
 blood would ordinarily have been entirely repug 
 nant to her ideas of maidenly propriety, but she 
 resisted her first impulse to turn her back on him 
 and abruptly close the interview as needlessly 
 harsh. It would surely be prudish to abstain from 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 examining the battered locomotive, which lay on 
 one side, with its nose in the air, as though it had 
 fallen in the act of rearing, merely because a re 
 spectable-looking male passenger happened to be 
 equally interested in the results of the catastrophe. 
 So it chanced that after they had exchanged obser 
 vations concerning the injuries to the overthrown 
 "Vulcan" and speculated as to how long they were 
 likely to be delayed, their conversation became 
 less impersonal. That is, the young man in 
 formed her that he was in the employ of Toler & 
 Company, lumber merchants, and was returning 
 to Benham after having made some collections for 
 them in the neighboring country. Then he was 
 familiar with Benham? Familiar? He should 
 say so. He had been settled there for three years, 
 and (so he gave Constance to understand) 
 there was absolutely nothing regarding the place 
 which he could not tell her. First of all, Benham 
 was a growing, thriving city. Its population had 
 quadrupled in fifteen years. Think of that ! So 
 that now (in 1886) there were upward of three 
 hundred and fifty thousand souls in the city s lim 
 its. It was a hustling place. A shrewd, ener 
 getic man, who kept his wits active, ought to make 
 his fortune there in ten years, if he were given a 
 proper chance. Was she going to live in Ben- 
 ham? 
 
 Constance admitted that she was, and, helped 
 along by friendly inquiries, she told him briefly 
 her story. That she had lost her father and 
 mother within a few months of each other, and 
 that she had decided to come to Benham, of 
 which, of course, she had heard as a progressive 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 city, in order to learn the kindergarten methods 
 of teaching. Subsequently she hoped to obtain an 
 appointment as a school-teacher, and so earn her 
 own living. 
 
 "When you ve finished your lessons and are 
 ready to teach, let me know. I may be able to 
 help you. I m a little in politics myself, and a 
 word to the school committee from a free and 
 independent constituent might get you a place." 
 
 He spoke jauntily though respectfully; but the 
 offer reminded Constance that the conversation 
 was taking a more intimate turn than she had 
 bargained for. She thanked him, and began to 
 move slowly away, not with any definite idea of 
 direction, but as a maidenly interruption. Mr. 
 Stuart for he had told her his name kept pace 
 with her and seemed quite unconscious of her pur 
 pose. In the few minutes during which they had 
 been chatting she had observed that he was some 
 what above the average height and rather spare, 
 with a short mustache which curled up at the ends 
 and was becoming. Also, that he had small, dark 
 eyes, w r hich he moved rapidly and which gave him, 
 in conjunction with his rising brow and hair, a 
 restless, nervous expression. 
 
 As they walked along the track the conductor 
 was coming toward them. He had been to the 
 telegraph office and was returning with a tele 
 gram in his hands. 
 
 "Well, what are our chances of getting away 
 from here?" Emil asked, with the manner of a 
 man to whom time is precious. 
 
 "It ll be a good three hours before the wreck 
 ing train arrives and the road is clear." 
 
 5 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 The youth and the maid looked at each other 
 and laughed at the gloominess of the situation. 
 
 u ln that case," said Constance, glancing at the 
 sloping banks bordering the railroad tracks, which 
 were bright with white weed and other flora of 
 the early summer time, "we shall have to dine on 
 wild flowers." 
 
 "I have some chocolate in my bag." 
 
 Constance flushed slightly with embarrassment. 
 Her random remark seemed almost to amount to 
 a premeditated invitation to share his resources. 
 
 Emil s gaze had followed hers in her allusion 
 to the wild flowers. "I ll tell you what," he ex 
 claimed, impulsively, "since we have three hours 
 to wait, why shouldn t we escape from this culvert 
 and see what there is to be seen from the top of 
 the bank? I shall be able to show you Benham," 
 he added, noticing, perhaps, that she looked 
 doubtful, "for we are only nine or ten miles 
 away." 
 
 This was tempting. Besides it would surely be 
 ridiculous to remain where she was rather than 
 explore the country merely because he was a casual 
 acquaintance and had some chocolate in his trav 
 elling bag. The circumstances were harmless and 
 unavoidable, unless she wished to write herself 
 down a prude. The result was the logic of com 
 mon-sense prevailed, and Constance gave her con 
 sent to the proposal. So they climbed the bank 
 presently, pausing on the way to gather some 
 posies, with which the party of the second part 
 proceeded to adorn her hat, after they had estab 
 lished themselves on an eligible fallen tree com 
 manding a pleasing view. The fallen tree was at 
 
 6 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 the edge of a copse of pine wood some two hun 
 dred yards from the bank. Thus they were shel 
 tered from the sun. Out of the copse, almost at 
 their feet, ran a bubbling brook, which added a 
 touch of romance to the landscape rolling away in 
 undulating and occasionally wooded farming 
 land, as far as the eye could reach, until it ter 
 minated in a stretch of steeples and towers sur 
 mounted by a murky cloud. There was Ben- 
 ham. 
 
 Although they were too distant to discern more 
 than a confused panorama, Emil essayed a few 
 topographical details. He explained that twenty- 
 five years earlier Benham had comprised merely a 
 cluster of frame houses in the valley of the peace 
 ful river Nye, which still served as an aid to de 
 scription. Primarily a village on the south side 
 of the stream, it had first developed in a southerly 
 direction, spreading like a bursting seed also lat 
 erally to east and west. Its original main street, 
 once bordered by old-fashioned frame houses 
 with grass-plots and shade trees, had evolved into 
 Central Avenue, at first the desirable street for 
 residences, but now, and considerably prior to his 
 advent, the leading retail shopping artery, alive 
 with dry-goods shops, into which the women 
 swarmed like flies. To the west of Central 
 Avenue lay the tide of social fashion culminating 
 two miles distant in the River Drive, a wide 
 avenue of stately private houses, situated where 
 the Nye made a broad bend to the north, and the 
 new district beyond the river, where the mansion 
 of Carleton Howard, the railroad magnate, stood 
 a pioneer among Elysian fields of real estate enter- 
 
 7 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 prise, sanctified by immaculate road surfaces and 
 liberal electric light. 
 
 Constance listened eagerly. She was interested 
 to know particulars concerning the city where she 
 was to live, and she enjoyed the lively sardonic 
 touches which relieved his description. Though 
 possessing an essentially earnest soul, she was sus 
 ceptible to humor, and had an aversion for lack of 
 appreciation of true conditions. 
 
 To the east of Central Avenue, Stuart further 
 explained, lay first the shops and the business 
 centre, and then the polyglot army of citizens who 
 worked in the mills, oil yards, and pork factories. 
 Across the river to the south, approached by seven 
 bridges of iron, replacing two frail wooden 
 bridges of former days, were the mills and other 
 industrial establishments. Beyond these still fur 
 ther to the north was Poland, so called, a settle 
 ment of the Poles, favorite resort of the young 
 ladies of Benham s first families eager to offer the 
 benefits of religion and civilization to the ignorant 
 poor. Following the Nye in its sweep to the 
 north, until it deflected again to the east, so as to 
 run almost parallel to its first course, but in the 
 opposite direction, were the public park, the land 
 bonded for an Art Museum, Wetmore College 
 (the Woman s Academy of learning), and the 
 other more or less ornamental institutions. This 
 region of embryo public buildings, garnished with 
 august spaces, was a sort of boundary line on the 
 north, turning the current of industrial population 
 more to the east. Just as the tide to the west of 
 Central Avenue was one of increasing comfort and 
 fashion, this to the southeast, stretching out as 
 
 8 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 the city spread, and forced constantly forward by 
 the encroachments of trade, was one of common 
 workaday conditions, punctuated (as he Dhrased 
 it) now and again by poverty and distress. 
 
 "I tell you, Miss " 
 
 "Forbes, Constance Forbes is my name." 
 "Thank you. I tell you, Miss Forbes, Benham 
 is a wideawake city. We have all the modern 
 improvements. But the rich man gets the cream 
 every time. I heard millionaire Carleton How 
 ard, the railroad magnate, say the other day from 
 the platform, that there is no country in the world 
 where the poor man is so well off as in this. Yet 
 it s equally true that the rich are all the time get 
 ting richer and the poor poorer. He neglected to 
 state that." He laughed scornfully, and his eyes 
 sought Constance s face for approval. She knew 
 little concerning millionaires or the truth of the 
 proposition he was advancing, but it interested her 
 to perceive that he was evidently on the side of 
 the unfortunate, for she cherished a keen pity for 
 the ignorant poor almost as a heritage. Her 
 father had been a country physician an ener 
 getic, sympathetic man, whose large vitality had 
 been spent in relieving the sufferings of a clientage 
 of small tillers of the soil over an area of fifteen 
 miles. He had often spoken to her with pathos 
 of the patient struggles of the common people. 
 Her own susceptibility to human suffering had 
 been early quickened by the destiny of her mother, 
 who had been thrown from a sleigh shortly after 
 Constance s birth, and had remained a paralytic 
 invalid to the day of her death, requiring incessant 
 care. 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "When I run for Congress," he resumed, scowl 
 ing slightly as he fixed his gaze on the murky 
 cloud surmounting Benham, "it ll be on a platform 
 advocating government ownership of railroads, 
 telegraphs, water-works, electric street cars, and 
 all the other fat things out of which our modern 
 philanthropists with capital squeeze enormous 
 profits at the expense of their fellow-citizens. I m 
 against all that sort of thing. Buy a gas plant 
 to-day and consolidate it with another to-morrow. 
 Profit to the promoter two hundred per cent., 
 without leaving the office. What does the con 
 sumer get? Cheaper gas and greater efficiency. 
 That s the fine-sounding tag; and some of the 
 horny-handed multitude are guileless enough to 
 believe it. It won t be long though now before 
 I make my own pile," he added, not quite rele 
 vantly. "I d have made it before this if they 
 hadn t hindered me." 
 
 Constance perceived that he expected her to 
 inquire what this meant, and she was curious to 
 know. So she asked. 
 
 "My employers, Toler & Company. If I had 
 had the capital and the opportunities of those 
 people, I should be wearing diamonds. I ve tried 
 to point out to them more than once that they 
 were throwing big chances away by being so con 
 servative and old-fashioned in their methods in 
 stead of branching out boldly and making a ten 
 strike. One thing is certain, I m not going to 
 invent ideas for them for a pitiful one thousand 
 dollars a year much longer. If they think they 
 can afford not to raise my salary and give me a 
 chance to show what I can do, I m going to let 
 
 10 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 them try after January first. It isn t very pleas 
 ant, Miss Forbes, to be doing most of the work 
 and see someone else reaping all the profits. They 
 can t help making money, old fogies as they are." 
 
 It was certainly a galling situation. Constance, 
 who was young herself, felt that she sympa 
 thized with his desire to compel recognition. 
 
 "It doesn t seem right at all," she said, "that 
 you should be kept down." 
 
 "I ve made up my mind to give them notice 
 that I must have an interest in the business after 
 the first of the year, or I quit and start on my own 
 account. I ve my eye on a man with five thousand 
 dollars who will go into partnership with me I 
 hope." 
 
 Constance thought of her own five thousand 
 dollars. She would almost like to lend it to him, 
 though, of course, that was out of the question. 
 Still, there would be no harm in offering moral 
 support. "If I were a man," she said, "and had 
 faith in my own abilities, I wouldn t remain in a 
 subordinate position a moment longer than was 
 really necessary." 
 
 In response to this note of sympathy Emil 
 opened his bag and produced two sticks of choco 
 late. He broke them apart and presented one 
 to his companion. He also exhibited a com 
 pressible metal drinking-cup, which he filled from 
 the bubbling brook. A crow cawed in the pine 
 copse as though to call attention to the idyl, but 
 only the two philosophers on the fallen tree-trunk 
 were within hearing of his note of irony, and they 
 regarded it merely as an added rural charm. 
 
 "Would you object to my smoking my pipe?" 
 ii 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Not in the least. My father was devoted to 
 his pipe." 
 
 Another bond of sympathy. Or at least an in 
 dication to the swain that here was a maiden who 
 was no spoil-sport and who would not have to be 
 wooed by the sacrifice of personal comfort. 
 Moreover, it was not lost on him that she was 
 an attractive-looking maiden, and that her voice 
 was well modulated and refined. Yet he was not 
 thinking of her, but merely of her sex in general, 
 when he said, "Besides, I hope to be married some 
 day. How could I support a wife in Benham on 
 one thousand dollars a year in the manner in 
 which I should wish her to live?" 
 
 Constance could not answer this question, and 
 did not try. It belonged to the category of re 
 marks which were to be treated by a single woman 
 as monologues. But she was keenly interested. 
 One thousand dollars a year did not seem to her 
 a very pitiful sum for a young couple just start 
 ing in life. She had heard her father say that 
 when he married her mother he had only a hun 
 dred dollars in the world, and no assurance of 
 practice. But that was not in Benham. She had 
 already divined that Benham was to be a land of 
 surprises. At all events she could not help admir 
 ing Mr. Stuart s chivalric attitude toward his 
 future wife. His ambition was obviously quick 
 ened by the thought of his future sweetheart, who 
 ever she might be; which was an agreeable trib 
 ute to her own sex, suggesting susceptibility to 
 sentiment. 
 
 "Yes, I d have been married before this if 
 Toler & Company had not, as you say, kept me 
 
 12 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 down," he continued, pensively, blowing a ring of 
 smoke to emphasize his mood. "When after 
 working hard all day I go to my room at night 
 and take up my violin, I often think that if I 
 could play to the woman I loved, instead of to the 
 blank wall, how much happier I should be. But 
 I suppose some of my friends would declare that 
 I was a fool to desire a yoke around my neck 
 before fate placed it there." 
 
 His own readiness to relieve the stress of his 
 confession by a sardonic turn counteracted the 
 constraint which his intimate avowal had aroused. 
 Incredible as it is that a man in his sober senses 
 should offer himself to a woman the first time he 
 beholds her, no woman is altogether unaware that 
 he is liable to do so. A modest and thoughtful 
 young girl shrinks from precipitate progress in 
 affairs of the heart. Obviously the ground was 
 less dangerous than it had for a moment ap 
 peared, but Constance sought the avenue of escape 
 which his allusion to music offered. Besides it 
 pleased her to hear that he was aesthetic in his 
 interests. 
 
 "You play on the violin, then?" she asked. "I 
 envy anybody who has the talent and the oppor 
 tunity for anything of that sort. I sing a little, 
 but my voice is uncultivated, for in Colton there 
 was no one to tell us our faults." The earnest 
 gleam in her fine dark eyes seemed to second the 
 fresh enthusiasm of her tone. 
 
 The warning scream of the whistle, not the 
 voice of the crow, broke in at this point on their 
 preoccupation with each other. This was the 
 romantic episode from which their acquaintance 
 
 13 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 an episode which might readily have signi 
 fied nothing. But on the other hand, it naturally 
 supplied to the party of the second part a fair 
 field of memory in which her imagination might 
 wander when stirred by the subsequent attentions 
 of this young knight with sympathy for the unfor 
 tunate, resolute confidence in his own abilities, gen 
 erous views in regard to matrimony and a sensi 
 tive, aesthetic soul. For Emil Stuart sought her 
 out at once, visited her at her lodgings and gave 
 unmistakable signs that his purpose was both hon 
 orable and definite. Within six months she knew 
 from his own lips that he wished to make her his 
 wife. She took another three in which to conquer 
 her scruples and maidenly disinclination to be won 
 too easily. Why should she not yield? He was 
 her first lover, and she loved him, and he declared 
 with fervor that he adored her. Contact with the 
 conditions of a large city had shown her unmis 
 takably that only after years of struggle could she 
 hope to be more than a mere hand-maiden in the 
 work of education, and that during the early 
 period of her employment, if not indeed for life, 
 the hours of work would be long and confining 
 and her pleasures few. Here was a companion 
 who would provide her with a home, and upon 
 whom the tenderness of her woman s nature could 
 be freely bestowed. It was the old, old story, she 
 said to herself, but was there a better one? 
 
II 
 
 THE young couple bought a small house on 
 the outskirts of the city, some distance 
 beyond the Nye, where it flows at right angles 
 with its original course, and in the general region 
 of fastidious growth, but in a settlement of inex 
 pensive villas to one side of the trend of fashion. 
 The bridegroom had not forgotten his liberal in 
 tention to begin housekeeping on a somewhat 
 more ambitious scale than his salary as a clerk had 
 warranted. He was now the senior partner in the 
 firm of Stuart & Robinson, lumber dealers, which 
 had been in existence six months. He had parted 
 from his employers, Toler & Company, on the 
 first of January, because of their refusal to accede 
 to his demands, and had been able to persuade 
 the comrade with five thousand dollars, to whom 
 he had referred at his first meeting with Con 
 stance, to enter into a business alliance. Robin 
 son was three years his junior, and without com 
 mercial experience, but eager to turn the windfall, 
 which had come to him through the death of an 
 aunt, into a cool million. What could be more 
 natural than to take advantage of the experience 
 which Stuart offered him an experience which 
 gave promise of swift and lucrative operations in 
 the near future? 
 
 It was a very modest establishment, from the 
 standpoint of affluence. A neat little house of 
 
 15 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 eight rooms supplied with modern improvements, 
 and, though one of a builder s batch, designed 
 with some regard for artistic effect, which indi 
 cated that a preference for harmonious beauty was 
 working in the popular mind of Benham against 
 the idols, colorless uniformity and bedizened ugli 
 ness. To the bride, whose experience of house 
 keeping was limited to a country town where col 
 orless uniformity ruled undisturbed and modern 
 improvements were unknown, the expenditure of 
 her nest-egg of five thousand dollars in this com 
 plete little home seemed an investment no less en 
 chanting than wise. Five thousand for the house, 
 with a subsequent mortgage upon it of one thou 
 sand for the purchase of the furniture and to pro 
 vide a small bank balance for emergencies. This 
 was her contribution to the domestic partnership, 
 and she rejoiced to think that her ability to help 
 to this extent would leave Emil a free hand for 
 the display of his business talent. 
 
 The basis of a newly married woman s peace of 
 soul is trust. She feels that the responsibility is 
 on her husband to make good the manly qualities 
 with which she has endowed him, and because of 
 which she has consented to become his mate. Oc 
 casionally during the first few months of her mar 
 ried life Constance laughed to think that all her 
 maidenly eagerness to solve the riddle of life 
 brilliantly, and all her profound searching of the 
 mysteries of the universe should have ended in 
 her becoming an every-day housewife with dust 
 pan and brush, and the wife of one who, to all 
 outward appearances, was an every-day young 
 man. But her laugh savored of gladness. She 
 
 16 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 had given herself to him because she had faith 
 that his energy, self-reliance, fearless humor and 
 sympathetic hatred of shams would distinguish 
 him presently from the common herd of men, and 
 vindicate her infatuation. She had given herself 
 to him, besides, because he loved her a delight 
 ful consciousness. Accordingly, she enclosed her 
 self in the web of happiness which her confidence 
 in him had spun about her, and took up her domes 
 tic duties with light-hearted devotion. 
 
 Nevertheless, no woman emerges from her 
 honeymoon with exactly the same estimate of her 
 lover as before. If nothing else, she has seen his 
 mental and moral characteristics in their undress, 
 so to speak, and become habituated to their sub 
 limity. We may be no less fond of a person 
 whose anecdotes have grown familiar to us, and 
 analogously a wife does not weary of her hus 
 band s qualities merely because they have lost the 
 glamor of novelty. On the contrary she is apt to 
 continue to adore them because they are his. Still 
 she feels free to scrutinize them closely and 
 unconsciously at least to submit them to the test 
 of her own silent judgment. She discovers, too, 
 of course, that he has sides and idiosyncrasies the 
 existence of which she never suspected. Ordi 
 narily she finds to her surprise that his attitude 
 in regard to this or that matter has shifted per 
 ceptibly since marriage, so that, instead of being 
 lukewarm or ardent, as the case may be, he has 
 become almost strenuous or indifferent in his atti 
 tude. Hence she divines that during their court 
 ship some of his real opinions and tendencies have 
 been kept in retreat. 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Constance sensibly had decided in advance that 
 Emil was not perfect, so she was prepared to dis 
 cover a blemish here and there. In spite of her 
 happiness it became obvious to her during the first 
 six months of their married life that the self-con 
 fidence w r hich had attracted her verged at times on 
 braggadocio, and moreover that opposition or dis 
 appointment made him sour and morose. If his 
 affairs were prospering, his spirits rose, his wits 
 scintillated, and he spoke of the world with a gay, 
 if sardonic, forbearance, which suggested that it 
 was soon to be his foot-ball. But if matters went 
 wrong, he not only became depressed, but was 
 prone to dwell upon his own ill-luck, and inveigh 
 bitterly against the existing conditions of society. 
 She had noticed from the first days of their ac 
 quaintance that there appeared to be an incon 
 sistency between his eagerness to grow rich and 
 his enmity toward the capitalists of Benham; but 
 she had gathered that he was merely eager to put 
 himself in a position where his sympathy for the 
 toiling mass could be fortified by the opportunities 
 which wealth would afford. But now that his 
 feverish absorption in business had apparently 
 banished all interest in philanthropic undertakings 
 from his thoughts, the inconsistency was more con 
 spicuous. 
 
 Constance spoke to Emil about this at last. 
 Naturally, she broached the topic when he was in 
 one of his sanguine moods. In response he took 
 out his pocket-book and asked her how much she 
 required, having jumped to the conclusion that 
 she was beating around the bush and had some 
 particular object of charity in view. 
 
 18 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "You don t understand, exactly, Emil," she an 
 swered. "I m not asking for money; I was merely 
 hoping that having me to provide for isn t going 
 to cut you off from your former associations to 
 lessen your sympathy with political movements 
 for the protection of the people such as you used 
 to take part in before we were married." 
 
 Stuart frowned, and thrust his hands deep into 
 his pockets as he was apt to do when he felt his 
 oats. "You don t seem to realize, Constance, that 
 a man starting in business needs all his energy and 
 watchfulness to avoid having his head thrust 
 under water by the fellows who are on the sur 
 face of the commercial whirlpool and who don t 
 want company. When I ve got the sharks in my 
 line of trade where I want them, which is, meta 
 phorically speaking, at the bottom of the pond, 
 it ll be time enough to take up politics. You d 
 like to see me in Congress some day, wouldn t you ? 
 Well, that will be plain sailing for me in this dis 
 trict as soon as I control the lumber business of 
 Benham, little saint." 
 
 This sounded plausible, and did not seem to 
 admit of argument, provided the consummation 
 of the business supremacy indicated by her hus 
 band was not deferred too long. She dismissed 
 the matter from her mind for the time being. It 
 \vas less easy to dispose of another tendency which 
 had revealed itself in unmistakable guise since their 
 marriage, and this was Emil s indifferent attitude, 
 not merely toward her form of religious faith, but 
 toward all religion. Within a short time after 
 their acquaintance began she had discovered that 
 he was not an Episcopalian, and that his views 
 
 19 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 regarding the spiritual problems of the universe 
 were not those of orthodox Christians. But on 
 the other hand, although he was fond even then 
 of blowing down her card-houses, as he called 
 them, with an occasional blast of scientific truth, 
 he had been ready to accompany her to church 
 and had never seemed lacking in reverence. She 
 had asked herself the question why she should 
 stifle her love for him merely because his concep 
 tion of the eternal mysteries did not coincide with 
 her own, and she had answered it by the independ 
 ent assurance that his attitude toward life was the 
 important consideration. She had even been fas 
 cinated by his broad outlook on the universe, with 
 his flashing eyes and his righteous contempt for 
 some of the dogmas of the sects. He had seemed 
 to her imagination at such times almost as a re 
 forming archangel purging away the dross of 
 superstition and convention from the essentials of 
 religious faith. He did not believe in the mira 
 cles, it is true, because he regarded them as viola 
 tions of the laws of the universe ; but was he not a 
 firm believer in the spirit of Christian conduct? 
 
 She had reasoned thus as a maiden, and had 
 never doubted the soundness of her self-justifica 
 tion. But the sequel was disturbing to her peace 
 of mind and to her hopes. It was not Emil s re 
 fusal to go to church, nor his dedication of the 
 Sabbath to mere rest and recreation which dis 
 tressed her, but his scornful tone in regard to any 
 form of religious ceremonial; his scornful tone 
 toward her own reverence for the faith in which 
 she had been educated. Even the term of endear 
 ment which he coined for her, "little saint," was 
 
 20 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 a jocose and condescending appellation reflecting 
 on her susceptibility to ideas which clever people 
 had discarded as fatuous. She could have borne 
 without complaint going to church alone had he 
 been willing to respect her opinions as she re 
 spected his. But on her return from service he 
 was sure to greet her with some ironical jest which 
 made painfully clear that he regarded her habit 
 of worship as a sign of mental inferiority. His 
 own habit on Sunday was to remain in bed until 
 after the church hour. Then he would establish 
 himself in a loose-fitting woolen garment, which 
 he called his smoking-jacket, on the porch or in 
 the sitting-room and read the Sunday papers, with 
 a pipe in his mouth. Sometimes he played on his 
 violin, and by the time Constance returned he was 
 ready for a short walk, ostensibly for the sake of 
 exercising a small black and white terrier. His 
 wife could not accompany him on this stroll, for 
 she could not neglect their mid-day dinner, and 
 when he sat down at table he was apt, if the 
 weather was fine, to refer pathetically to the sin 
 of having wasted it in the city. "If only you were 
 content, little saint, to worship nature with me," 
 he would say, "we would get away into the coun 
 try with a luncheon basket the first thing in the 
 morning and make a day of it in the woods." 
 
 There was something winsome in this proposi 
 tion, especially as the inability to enjoy an outing 
 because of her reluctance to renounce church wor 
 ship seemed to spoil his day in a double sense. 
 For, as a consequence, he ate a huge Sunday din 
 ner, including two bottles of beer, smoked more 
 than his wont, and after a tirade against the evils 
 
 21 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 of monopoly or some kindred topic invariably fell 
 into a heavy slumber on the lounge, from which 
 he did not awaken until nearly sunset. 
 
 "Another Sunday wasted," he more than once 
 remarked by way of melancholy comment on this 
 state of affairs. 
 
 No wonder that Constance was perplexed as to 
 her duty. Since coming to Benham she had been 
 a member of Rev. George Prentiss s parish. Her 
 mother was of English descent, and Constance 
 had been brought up in the Episcopal faith. At 
 Colton there had been no church of that denom 
 ination, and to attend the Episcopal service one 
 had to drive or walk two miles to a neighboring 
 village. It had often seemed to Constance more 
 important to remain at home with her invalid 
 mother than to take this excursion. Consequent 
 ly, during her girlhood, she had been irregular 
 in her attendance at church. Frequently, in order 
 to be able to return home more speedily, she had 
 worshipped at the Methodist or Unitarian meet 
 ing-house in the village. Sometimes she had 
 stayed away altogether; therefore she understood 
 the fascination of communion with books or with 
 spring buds or autumn leaves as a substitute for 
 worship in the sanctuary. Her untrammelled ex 
 perience had made her open-minded and independ 
 ent, but on the other hand the difficulty of kneel 
 ing at her own shrine had nourished her sentiment 
 for the Episcopal faith, so that she had rejoiced 
 spiritually in the opportunity, which her residence 
 in Benham afforded, to become a regular and de 
 voted member of Mr. Prentiss s flock. More 
 over, the vital character of St. Stephen s as a re- 
 
 22 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 ligious body had appealed to her. The little 
 church near Colton had been a peaceful and poetic, 
 but poor and unenterprising establishment. Con 
 trasted with it, St. Stephen s appeared a splendid 
 and powerful influence for righteousness, stirring 
 deeply her aesthetic sensibilities, and at the same 
 time proving its living, practical grasp on human 
 character through its able pastor and active organ 
 ization. St. Stephen s never slumbered; St. 
 Stephen s prided itself on its ardent faith and es 
 sentially modern spirit; and St. Stephen s, by com 
 mon acceptance, was synonymous with its rector, 
 Rev. George Prentiss. 
 
 Mr. Prentiss had grown up with the church. 
 That is, he had been curate to the Rev. Henry 
 Glynn, an Englishman who had selected Benham 
 as a promising pasture for the propagation of the 
 Episcopal faith beyond the pale of the mother 
 country, who had gone forth into the wilderness 
 and had lived to see a goodly flock of sheep brows 
 ing beneath his ministrations. Mr. Glynn was a 
 pioneer, and had gone forth in the early seven 
 ties when Benham was in the throes of rapid 
 progress and extraordinary development from 
 month to month. His mission had been to spread 
 the tenets of his sect by the zeal and eloquence of 
 his testimony, and to provide a suitable edifice for 
 the human souls attracted by his teachings. In 
 his time the congregation forsook the small and 
 primitive structure, erected in hot haste within a 
 year of his arrival, for a commodious and suffi 
 ciently aesthetic building. Before his death, which 
 occurred prematurely, Benham had become a 
 large and important municipality. His successor 
 
 23 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 found himself not only the pastor of the leading 
 Episcopal Church of the city which had also in 
 the process of social evolution become the most 
 fashionable and probably the richest church in 
 the city but a shepherd in a wilderness of a dif 
 ferent sort. In other words, he was brought sud 
 denly face to face with the problems which con 
 front earnest spirits eager to redeem human na 
 ture in a huge industrial community. The former 
 wilderness had blossomed, even with the rose, 
 but the thistles, tares, and rank grass which fought 
 for mastery with the wholesome vegetation had 
 revolutionized the soil. There were scores of 
 saloons in Benham; there was a herd of immoral 
 women on the streets of Benham; and, most per 
 plexing problem of all, perhaps, there were, only 
 a mile apart, the picturesque neighborhood of the 
 Riverside Drive with its imposing, princely, pri 
 vate mansions, and Smith Street, boulevard of un 
 wholesome tenement-houses, garnished with rum- 
 shops and squalid lives contrast repugnant and 
 disconcerting to American ideals, and to him as 
 an American. 
 
 But Rev. George Prentiss was not the man to 
 shrink from deep and important responsibilities. 
 On the contrary, it might be said of him that he 
 revelled in them. The consciousness that, in spite 
 of Benham s mushroom-like growth as a proud 
 testimonial to the sacredness of institutions estab 
 lished by the free-born, the city had begun closely 
 to resemble large cities everywhere was sobering, 
 but on the whole, inspiriting to him as a worker. 
 His mission was clearly disclosed to him a mis 
 sion worthy of the energies of a clergyman eager 
 
 24 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 to bring his church into closer touch with every 
 day life and common human conditions. For Mr. 
 Prentiss as an American and a churchman was 
 ambitious for the future of the Episcopal faith. 
 His predecessor and friend had seen in their pas 
 torate only a glorious continuation of English 
 orthodoxy a spiritual revolt from dissent, trans 
 cendentalism and cold, intellectual independence, 
 which would, in the end, gather sixty million peo 
 ple into a Protestant fold, national in its title and 
 dimensions. Mr. Prentiss shared this delectable 
 vision, but he would not have American Epis 
 copacy a mere blind imitation of the mother 
 church or a colonial dependency. He felt that it 
 behooved those of his faith on this side of the 
 Atlantic to gird their loins zealously, and to 
 guide their sheep fearlessly, receiving with re 
 spectful attention the interpretations of the spir 
 itual lords of Great Britain regarding dogma, 
 but exercising intelligent discretion in regard to 
 their adoption. This attitude, which might be 
 called patriotism, in some sense reflected the pride 
 which Dante, that stern censor of prelates, con 
 demns. Was the Church of England to prescribe 
 doctrine to the thriving, hardy child of its loins 
 forever? Surely not, now that that child, waxing 
 in size and resources and dignified with power, 
 promised soon to rival its parent. It was agree 
 able to the rector of St. Stephen s to reflect that 
 the tide of fashion was bearing the children of 
 Unitarian and other indeterminate faiths into the 
 fold of the true and living church of Christ. It 
 was also agreeable to behold in his mind s eye that 
 church the American church taking advantage 
 
 25 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 of this splendid opportunity and accepting with 
 fearless and uncompromising zeal the challenge of 
 infidelity and materialism. The people were tired, 
 he believed, of intellectual, spiritual dissipation, 
 in which each soul formed its own conception of 
 God, and defined the terms of its own compact 
 with Him. They were welcoming fervor, pas 
 sion, color and all the symbols of a faith which 
 beholds in man a miserable sinner redeemed 
 through the blood of Christ. If the people of his 
 nationality had been reluctant in the days of their 
 early history, when population was sparse and sin 
 was kept at bay by primitive economic conditions, 
 to admit that man was a sinner, could they doubt 
 it now? Was not Benham with its bustling, 
 seething, human forces an eloquent testimonial to 
 the reality of evil and the intensity of the struggle 
 between the powers of darkness? The Church s 
 mission his mission was to take an active part, 
 in a modern spirit, in the great work of regenera 
 tion by bringing light to the blind, sympathy and 
 relief to the down-trodden and protection to the 
 oppressed. 
 
 Mr. Prentiss had carried his theories energeti 
 cally into practice. He had striven to make St. 
 Stephen s a tabernacle for the prosperous and the 
 fortunate and also for the desolate and the friend 
 less. His wish would have been to see them in 
 termingled at morning service without regard to 
 vested rights, but his wardens assured him that the 
 finances of the church could not be conducted suc 
 cessfully except on the basis of inviolable pew own 
 ership until after the morning service had begun. 
 But he was able to throw the church open in the 
 
 26 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 afternoon to the general public, and to reserve in 
 the morning certain gallery and less desirable 
 benches for the accommodation of young men and 
 women students who wished to worship regularly 
 and could not afford to hire seats. If it was at 
 first a tribulation to him that his congregation was 
 rich and fashionable and a little stolid, their liber 
 ality on collection days was a great compensation, 
 for it gave him scope for extending his influence 
 along the line of his ambition by the establishment 
 of the mission church, known as the Church of 
 the Reedemer, in the heart of Benham s arid 
 social quarter, as an adjunct to St. Stephen s, and 
 to be maintained by the generosity of that body 
 of Christians. When this undertaking was in full 
 operation, under the direction of a competent 
 curate, Mr. Prentiss experienced fewer qualms as 
 he looked down from his reading-desk at the gay 
 bonnets and costly toilets of his own parishion 
 ers. He had been assured by several women ac 
 tive in church work that the independent poor 
 were not fond of worshipping where their clothes 
 would show at a disadvantage. As a Christian 
 who was an American, he deplored the formation 
 of classes in the sheep-fold of the church; yet he 
 reasoned that the preferences of human nature 
 could not be ignored altogether in a matter of this 
 kind, and it was evident that his parishioners pre 
 ferred to worship God in full possession of their 
 property rights, surrounded by their social ac 
 quaintance. There was a zest, too, in the knowl 
 edge that he was the rector of the important and 
 powerful people of the city, and that he had the 
 opportunity to denounce the commercial spirit of 
 
 27 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 the age in the presence of men like Carleton How 
 ard, the millionaire, and women like his sister, 
 Mrs. Randolph Wilson, and their friends. If he 
 could reach their hearts, what might he not hope 
 for? Obviously by the support of this class the 
 Church could not fail to increase its revenues and 
 extend its power. The triumph of the Church 
 was after all, for him, the essential thing the 
 illumination of the souls of men through faith in 
 the Christian ideal. So with this end constantly 
 in view, Rev. George Prentiss ministered to his 
 well-favored congregation in St. Stephen s, and 
 vicariously, and often by personal service, con 
 ducted a crusade against ignorance and sin in the 
 Church of the Redeemer and its neighborhood. 
 
 28 
 
Ill 
 
 ONSTANCE FORBES had been one of the 
 students who found a haven on the free 
 benches at St. Stephen s. Almost at once Mr. 
 Prentiss noticed her and, struck by her interesting 
 face, he sent the church deaconess, Mrs. Ham 
 mond, to visit her at her lodgings. She was in 
 vited to join a Bible class of young women of her 
 own age, and welcomed to the social parlor in the 
 vestry provided for girls who, like herself, were 
 strangers in Benham. Here there were maga 
 zines, writing materials, and afternoon tea. 
 While availing herself of these privileges, Con 
 stance frequently met her rector. He inquired 
 sympathetically concerning her work and aspira 
 tions, and showed afterward that he kept her dis 
 tinctly in mind. She felt that she could freely con 
 sult him if she were in need of advice; once or 
 twice she did consult him about her reading; and 
 she was gratified by the interest which he took in 
 her marriage. 
 
 Consequently, the idea of not attending morn 
 ing service was distressing to her. She felt sure 
 that Mr. Prentiss would notice it and be disap 
 pointed. Yet, what were Mr. Prentiss and his 
 feelings in comparison with her obligation to her 
 husband? Emil s Sundays were spoiled because 
 she would not accompany him to the country in 
 stead of going to church. His attitude was unrea- 
 
 29 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 sonable and absurd, but the fact remained that he 
 did not go alone, and lounged at home instead. 
 After all, she was no longer a girl, and her re 
 ligious faith would not be imperilled were she to 
 miss church now and then. Moreover, though 
 she held fast to her creed and deplored Emil s 
 radical views, she knew in her heart that she was 
 more critical than formerly of what she heard in 
 church, and that she was sometimes driven by her 
 doubts as to the possibility of supernatural hap 
 penings to seek refuge behind the impenetrable 
 fortress of a righteous life. There she was safe 
 and happy, and free, it seemed to her, from the 
 responsibility of harassing her young housewife s 
 brains with non-essentials. Might it not be for 
 her own advantage to take a respite from religious 
 functions? Certainly her companionship to Emil 
 seemed more important at the moment than her 
 own habit of public worship. 
 
 She began by staying away from church occa 
 sionally. Emil expressed delight at her reason 
 ableness and carried out with zest his plan of a 
 Sunday outing. It was a simple matter on their 
 bicycles, or by a few minutes in the train, to reach 
 country air and sylvan scenes, and he was entirely 
 satisfied to spend the day in tramping through the 
 woods and fields, stopping to fish or to lie in the 
 sun as the humor seized him. The working-man s 
 Sabbath, he termed it. The programme was rest 
 ful and alluring to Constance also. Her husband 
 on these occasions seemed less at odds with the 
 world, and willing to enjoy himself without ran 
 cor or argument. After their luncheon he would 
 smoke complacently for awhile and then take up 
 
 30 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 his fiddle and practise upon it with genuine con 
 tent for an hour or more, while she sat with her 
 back against a tree or a bank, reading. He still 
 drank his bottles of beer, but if he slumbered, it 
 was only for a brief period. He never neglected 
 his fiddle, and its influence appeared, as it were, 
 to soothe his savage breast, and to make him 
 good-humored and agreeably philosophic. He 
 was too fond of theorizing to neglect altogether 
 these opportunities for the enunciation of his 
 grievances against civilization, but he was lively 
 instead of bitter, a distinction which meant much 
 to his wife. 
 
 When their first baby was born, these Sunday 
 excursions were temporarily discontinued; but 
 Constance was eager to renew them, for Emil, 
 after going alone a few times, relapsed into his 
 old habits. Accordingly, as soon as the little one 
 was able to toddle, a child s wagon was procured, 
 which Emil was ready to draw, and by avoiding 
 fences and other barriers, the difficulties presented 
 by this new tie were overcome. By the time the 
 child was a year and a half old, Constance realized 
 that she had been to church but once in the last 
 twelve months. 
 
 This had been partly due to the action of the 
 rector of St. Stephen s, for Constance knew within 
 a few weeks of her first absences from church that 
 her conduct had been noticed. The curate, Mr. 
 Starkworth, inquired at the door if there had been 
 illness in the family. Later the deaconess made 
 a call of friendly observation, in the course of 
 which it transpired that Mr. Prentiss had ob 
 served that Mrs. Stuart no longer occupied her 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 seat. The culprit did not attempt to explain, and 
 within a fortnight she received a visit from the 
 rector himself. No one could have been more 
 affable and reassuring. He established himself 
 in an easy chair and accepted graciously the cigar 
 which Emil proffered him. He was a large man 
 of dignified mien and commanding person, cleri 
 cal as to his dress and visage, but with a manner 
 of conversation approximating that of men of the 
 world an individual manifestation which was 
 intended to reveal a modern spirit. He was 
 clearly a person with whom liberties could not be 
 taken, and yet evidently one who desired to divest 
 his point of view of cant, and to put religion on a 
 man to man, business basis so far as was consist 
 ent with his sacred calling. He asked genial 
 questions concerning their domestic welfare, and 
 the progress of the new lumber firm, spoke 
 shrewdly of local politics in which he supposed 
 that Stuart was engaged, and sought obviously to 
 give the impression that he was an all-round man 
 in his sympathies, and that he took an active in 
 terest in temporal matters. When at last there 
 was a favorable pause in the current of this secular 
 conversation, Mr. Prentiss laid his hands on his 
 knees, and, bending forward and looking from 
 one to the other in a friendly way, said with de 
 cision : 
 
 "I have missed you two young people at church 
 lately." 
 
 Constance winced at the inquiry, and her eyes 
 fell beneath the clergyman s searching gaze. She 
 could not deny the impeachment, which was em 
 barrassing. At the same time the color had 
 
 32 
 
I have missed you t\vo young people at church lately 
 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 scarcely mounted to her cheeks before she felt the 
 force of her defence rising to her support, and she 
 looked up. She appreciated that it was incum 
 bent on her, as the active church member, to re 
 spond, and she became suddenly solicitous lest 
 Emil might, and so make matters worse. In 
 truth, Emil s first impulse had been toward anger. 
 It was one of his maxims not to submit to brow 
 beating. But what he regarded as the humor of 
 the proceeding changed his wrath into scorn, and 
 he closed his teeth on his pipe with the dogged air 
 of a master of the situation willing to be amused 
 withal. Mr. Prentiss divined in a flash, from the 
 insolence of this expression, that he had to deal 
 with a hopeless case so far as the human soul 
 can ever seem hopeless to the missionary a con 
 temptuous materialist, and his own countenance 
 grew grave as he turned back to the wife. 
 
 "Yes, we have been very little, Mr. Prentiss. 
 My husband, you know, does not belong to your 
 church. He went with me while we were engaged, 
 but but now I think I can help him best by stay 
 ing away for the present." 
 
 "You go elsewhere, then?" 
 
 "No. We do not go to church. We spend our 
 Sundays in the country in the fresh air, walking 
 and resting. We take our luncheon, and my hus 
 band brings his fiddle and his fishing rod." 
 
 Constance marvelled at her own boldness, and 
 at the ardor with which she delivered her plea of 
 justification. 
 
 "I understand," said Mr. Prentiss. His tone 
 was sober, but not impatient. The argument for 
 a day of rest and recreation for the tired man of 
 
 33 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 affairs was nothing new to him. Nor was Mr. 
 Prentiss ignorant of its plausible value. He 
 wished to meet it without temper, as one rational 
 being discussing with another, notwithstanding 
 eternal verities were concerned. 
 
 "Supposing, Mrs. Stuart, that everyone were 
 to reason in the same way, what would become of 
 our churches?" 
 
 "They would have to go out of commission," 
 muttered Emil with delighted brusqueness. 
 
 The rector saw fit to bear this brutality with 
 out offence. He ignored the commentator with 
 his eyes, as though to indicate that his mission was 
 solely to the wife, but he answered, 
 
 "They would, and the Christian faith would 
 perish in the process. Are you, Mrs. Stuart," he 
 continued, "prepared to do without the offices of 
 religion, and to substitute for them a pagan holi 
 day?" 
 
 "We pass the day very quietly and simply," 
 said Constance. "We disturb no one and inter 
 fere with no one." 
 
 "But you become pagans, utterly." 
 
 "I try to think that God hears my prayers in 
 the open air no less than in church, while I am 
 keeping my husband company." It wounded her 
 to oppose her rector, yet the need of a champion 
 for her husband s cause supplied her with speech, 
 and gave to her countenance quiet determination. 
 Constance possessed one of those lithe, nervous 
 personalities, so frequently to be met with in 
 American women of every class, the signal at 
 tribute of which is bodily and mental refinement. 
 Her hair was dark, her face thin, her eyes brown 
 
 34 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 and wistful, her figure tall and elastic; her pretty 
 countenance had the charm of temperament rather 
 than mere flesh and blood, and its sympathetic, 
 intelligent comeliness suggested spiritual vigor. 
 
 Mr. Prentiss was not blind to these qualities. 
 They had attracted him at the beginning of their 
 acquaintance, and he was the more solicitous on 
 account of them to reclaim her from error. 
 
 "God hears your prayers wherever you utter 
 them, be assured of that. But I ask you to con 
 sider whether the habit of neglecting public wor 
 ship is not a failure in reverence to the Christ who 
 listens to our supplications and without whose aid 
 we are helpless to overcome sin." 
 
 Emil had been delighted by his wife s sturdy 
 attitude. Now that a question of doctrine was 
 brought into the discussion, he felt that the time 
 had come for him to intervene again. "We who 
 worship in the presence of nature are not ham 
 pered by dogmas of that kind," he said. "Temp 
 tation is temptation, and I for one have never 
 been able to understand why the man who gets 
 the better of it isn t entitled to the credit of his 
 strength and sense. My wife looks at such things 
 very much as I do." 
 
 "Not altogether, Emil. You know I miss not 
 going to church." 
 
 "I have never prevented you from going." 
 
 "But you have discountenanced it, man. It is 
 to please you, and to humor your views that your 
 wife is sacrificing her most sacred convictions," 
 Mr. Prentiss exclaimed with a touch of sternness. 
 
 "You think church-going of the utmost im 
 portance; I do not. There s where we differ. 
 
 35 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Everyone must decide those questions for himself 
 or herself." 
 
 The rector resented the smug assurance of the 
 retort by a frown and a twist of his shoulders, as 
 though he were sorry that he had condescended 
 to bandy words with this irreverent person. 
 
 "Yes, we all must," he said, addressing Con 
 stance. " He that loveth father or mother more 
 than me is not worthy of me. 
 
 He regretted the next instant having indulged 
 in this clerical formula, which was foreign to his 
 usual method. 
 
 Constance flushed at the words of Scripture, 
 then she drew herself up slightly and said: 
 
 "I am very sorry, indeed, to disappoint you, 
 Mr. Prentiss, but I can t promise to attend church 
 regularly at present. Perhaps it is true, as my 
 husband says, that my opinions have changed 
 somewhat in regard to points of faith. I hope 
 I shall pray that after a time we may both come 
 back to you." 
 
 There was no mistaking the finality of this un 
 equivocal but gently uttered speech, and Mr. 
 Prentiss knew that one of the signs of a man of 
 the world is the capacity to take a hint. Though 
 it galled him to leave this attractive member of 
 his flock in the clutches of one so apparently unfit 
 to appreciate her bodily or spiritual graces, he 
 recognized that to press the situation at this point 
 could result only in separating her still further 
 from the influence of the church. "You shall 
 have my prayers, too both of you," he said, fer 
 vently. Then he arose and resumed the demeanor 
 of a friendly caller. 
 
 36 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 But Emil, now that he had shown clearly that 
 he had the courage of his convictions, felt the need 
 of vindicating his character as a host. He said 
 jauntily, "I hope there s no offence in standing up 
 for what one believes to be true. It s one of the 
 greatest poets, you know, who wrote 
 
 There lives more faith in honest doubt, 
 Believe me, than in half the creeds." 
 
 "You young whipper snapper!" was Mr. Pren- 
 tiss s unuttered comment, but he did not relax his 
 lay serenity of manner save by the slight vein of 
 sarcasm which his words contained. "No offence, 
 certainly. But you should also bear in mind, 
 young man, that others no less mentally qualified 
 than yourself have pondered the problems of the 
 universe and come to very different conclusions. 
 A man takes large responsibilities upon himself 
 in deciding to deprive his wife and children of the 
 comforts of religion." 
 
 "I am anxious that my children when they grow 
 up may not be obliged, as I was, to unlearn what 
 they were taught to believe in their youth," Emil 
 retorted with smiling effrontery. He was pleased 
 with his wife and with himself and he was glad to 
 get in a final body blow on the person of this 
 officious shimmer, as he subsequently described 
 their visitor. 
 
 "I am not unfamiliar with that line of argu 
 ment," said Mr. Prentiss, in the act of departure. 
 "But I invite you to consider whether your chil 
 dren, when they are old enough to think for them 
 selves, will be grateful for the substitute which 
 
 37 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 you offer for doctrine. They ask for bread, and 
 what do you give them? A stone." 
 
 Emil laughed. He was content to let the par 
 son have the last word. He stood for a moment 
 on the door-step watching him march down the 
 street. He felt that he had turned the tables on 
 him completely and had thereby won a victory for 
 clear thinking and freedom of thought. He ex 
 claimed exultantly as he re-entered the parlor, "I 
 guess that ll teach the old duck to stay in his own 
 barn-yard and not come waddling down here to 
 try to get us to believe that the world was made in 
 seven days and Jonah was swallowed by the 
 whale." 
 
 Constance, who had fallen into troubled reverie, 
 looked up and exclaimed with emphasis, "Mr. 
 Prentiss is a very reasonable man about such mat 
 ters, Emil. He used particularly to tell his Bible 
 class that the language of the Old Testament is 
 sometimes metaphorical." 
 
 "Yes, I know how the clergy jump and change 
 feet to avoid being cornered. I m aware they ex 
 plain that the seven days were not our days of 
 twenty-four hours, but were symbolic terms for 
 geological stretches of time. Do you call that in 
 genuous?" 
 
 Constance winced. It happened that Mr. Pren 
 tiss had offered just this explanation of holy writ, 
 and somehow, now that Emil held it up to scorn, 
 the rector s commentary appeared flimsy. She 
 sighed, then with emotion said, "Emil, I wish you 
 would tell me what you really do believe." 
 
 "Believe?" He smiled indulgently as he 
 echoed his wife s inquiry, but his eyes snapped and 
 
 38 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 his shock of hair seemed to stand up straighten 
 His manner expressed a mixture of amused con 
 descension and the tartness of a dogged spirit sus 
 picious of attack. "I believe, for one thing, that 
 the laws of nature are never violated, and that 
 their integrity is a grander attribute of divinity 
 than the various sensational devices which the 
 orthodox maintain that an all-wise God employs 
 to attract the attention of men to Himself. I be 
 lieve also that you in your secret soul entirely agree 
 with me." 
 
 Constance was silent a moment. "And yet you 
 haven t answered my question, Emil. You haven t 
 told me what you do believe. Why isn t religion 
 just as real and true a part of man as any other 
 instinct of his being? It has been a constantly 
 growing attribute." 
 
 "And the nonsense is being gradually squeezed 
 out of it. Why should I accept the dogma of that 
 reverend father in God that a man can do noth 
 ing by his own efforts? Isn t it a finer thought 
 that we grow by virtue of our struggles and that 
 the free and independent soul wins the battle of 
 life by making the most of itself?" 
 
 Emil spoke with fierce rhetoric. To his wife s 
 ear he seemed to be pointing out besides that his 
 own soul was fighting this battle and that he was 
 willing to be judged by the results regardless of 
 doctrine. Constance had long ago convinced her 
 self that his bark was worse than his bite; that he 
 believed more than he really admitted of the es 
 sentials of religion; that he acknowledged his 
 responsibility to God and was devoting his days to 
 advancing the useful work of the world, and in- 
 
 39 
 
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 cidentally providing for her happiness at the same 
 time. His plea for credit to the independent soul 
 which overcame temptation and obstacles was, at 
 least, manly, and a sign of courage. She scarcely 
 heeded the quotation from the "Rubaiyat," which 
 he w r as murmuring as a corollary to his apostrophe 
 to free and noble endeavor. 
 
 O thou who didst with pitfall and with gin 
 Beset the path I was to wander in, 
 
 Thou wilt not with predestined evil round 
 Enmesh and then impute my fall to sin ? 
 
 She had heard him quote these lines and others 
 of like import before, and she had learned some 
 of them by rote. She recognized their charm and 
 cleverness and to a certain extent their plausibility; 
 but she had not the slightest impulse to revolu 
 tionize her own faith. Her absorbing thought, 
 for the moment, was how to be true to her husband 
 without being false to the church. Mr. Prentiss, 
 in spite of his appeal, had left her conscience un 
 convinced, and now her clear-headed, fearless Emil 
 had suddenly given her soul the cue to expression. 
 Her brown eyes kindled rapturously and trustfully 
 as she said: 
 
 "It s the life after all which counts, isn t it? 
 Everything else is of secondary importance." 
 
 "Of course," said Emil. "And when it comes 
 to that," he added, "there s no one in the world 
 who can pick a flaw in yours, you little saint." 
 
 "You mustn t say things like that," Constance 
 murmured. Nevertheless, so far as it was a man 
 ifestation of confidence from the man she loved, it 
 was pleasant to hear. 
 
 40 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 From this time her attendance at church was 
 very infrequent. She did not cease to go alto 
 gether, but almost every Sunday was spent in ex 
 peditions in the open air. The cares resulting 
 from the birth of two children necessarily inter 
 fered with her going regularly to service while 
 they were infants, and as soon as they were able 
 to walk, the Sunday outings were resumed with 
 the little boy and girl as companions. Mr. Pren- 
 tiss did not revisit the house, but on each of the 
 two or three occasions when Constance occupied 
 her old seat in St. Stephen s, she felt that the rec 
 tor had noticed her. He had apparently left her 
 to her devices, but his glance told her that she was 
 not forgotten. 
 
IV 
 
 IT is fitting and fortunate that a young woman 
 in a large city, who has given her happiness 
 into the keeping of a man with his ow r n way to 
 make, should be ignorant of her peril, and that 
 charmed by love she should take for granted that 
 he will succeed. But the rest of the world has no 
 excuse for being equally blind, since the rest of 
 the world is aware that there is no recipe by which 
 a girl of twenty can secure a guaranty either of 
 domestic happiness or ability on the part of her 
 lover to hold his own in the competition for a 
 livelihood. It is easy for the moralist of society, 
 writing at his desk, to utter the solemn truth that 
 young people should not rush hastily into mat 
 rimony. Assuredly they should not. But after 
 all, is it to be wondered at that so many of them 
 do? Love is the law of life. The renewal of 
 the race through the union of the sexes is an in 
 stinct which asserts itself in spite of code and 
 thesis, and the institution of lawful wedlock is the 
 bit by which civilization regulates it. Let us, says 
 the modern scientist, isolate the degenerate mem 
 bers of society, the diseased, the vicious, and the 
 improvident, and prevent them from having off 
 spring. But still the priest of Rome, eager for 
 fresh converts, but wise, too, in his knowledge of 
 the law of sex, whispers to his flock "marry early," 
 and adds under his breath, "lest ye sin." It is a 
 
 42 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 part of religion, perhaps, for the daughters of 
 the well-to-do, who have been screened from con 
 tact with the rough world, and who sit in judg 
 ment on several lovers in the paternal drawing- 
 room, to weigh and ponder and to call in the brain 
 to assist, or if needs be, silence the heart. Yet 
 even they sometimes elope instead with the wrong 
 man against whom they have been warned, and 
 are unhappy or happy ever afterward. But 
 when we turn from these privileged young persons 
 the pretty, daintily dressed young women in 
 their Easter bonnets, who worship at our fash 
 ionable churches and from some height look out 
 over wide stretches of streets with every house 
 alike, the homes of the average working popula 
 tion, and reflect that every house shelters the con 
 sequences of a marriage, shall we ask pitilessly, 
 "How came ye so?" And if the answer of some 
 be "we met and loved and married, and now we 
 are miserable," shall we draw ourselves up and 
 tell them that the fault is theirs, that marriages 
 are (or should be) made in heaven, and that they 
 ought to have discovered before they plighted 
 their troth that John would be a rascal or Mary 
 a slattern? Is it not the privilege and the bless 
 ing of the young to trust? Shall we blame them 
 if, in the ignorance of youth and under the spell 
 of the law of their beings, they mistake unworthy 
 souls for their ideals? 
 
 The firm of Stuart & Robinson, dealers in lum 
 ber, had started with a small capital, but the 
 senior partner had confidence in his capacity to 
 do a large business. His late employers, Toler 
 & Company, according to his opinion, had been 
 
 43 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 old fogies in their methods. To adopt his own 
 metaphor, instead of getting up early and shak 
 ing the trees, they expected to have ripe peaches 
 served to them on Sevres china, or, in other 
 words, they let great opportunities slip through 
 their fingers. He proceeded during the first year 
 to carry out several enterprises which he had vainly 
 called to their attention while in their service, and 
 he had the satisfaction of proving his wisdom 
 and of doubling the firm s assets at the same time. 
 Emil s plans were essentially on a large scale, and 
 he was confessedly cramped even after this suc 
 cess. He explained to his wife that if only he 
 had the necessary capital, he would be able at one 
 fell swoop to control the lumber yards and lum 
 ber market of Benham. As it was, he must wait 
 and probably see others appropriate ideas which 
 he had suggested by his novel and brilliant opera 
 tions. The prophecy indeed proved true, and 
 Emil saw with a morose eye what he called his 
 harvest gleaned by others. This vindictive atti 
 tude toward the successful was the invariable 
 frame of mind into which he relapsed when he was 
 not carrying everything before him, and as a re 
 sult those in the trade presently began to speak of 
 him as a crank. His quick comprehension was 
 admitted, but his associates shook their heads when 
 his name was mentioned, and hinted that he was 
 a dangerous man, who would bear watching. It 
 was almost inevitable that a lean period should 
 follow Emil s series of clever undertakings. 
 Toward the end of the second year, he found him 
 self in a position where he had not the means to 
 enlarge the scope of his operations. His work- 
 
 44 
 
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 ing capital was locked up in sundry purchases 
 which he had expected would show quick profits, 
 but which hung fire. If he liquidated, it must be 
 at a loss, and the idea of a loss was always bitter 
 to him. During a number of months he was 
 obliged to renounce certain plans which he had in 
 view and to remain inactive. A falling lumber 
 market added to his complications. Prompt to 
 act when he was convinced of error, he sold out 
 at last his accumulated stock at a loss, which 
 would have been much greater had he delayed a 
 week longer. But he was left almost in the same 
 position as when he started; the previous profits 
 had been cut in two. This was wormwood to his 
 restless soul. It made him moody and cynical at 
 home, where one child and the near advent of an 
 other foreshadowed increasing expenses. He had 
 expected by this time to be on the high road to 
 fortune, and to be imitating the swift progress of 
 certain individuals in Benham, who even in the 
 short period since he had been a citizen, had risen 
 by their superior wits from poverty to affluence 
 and power. 
 
 But Emil s fits of depression were invariably 
 succeeded by intervals of buoyancy. Though he 
 still talked bitterly at home of the methods by 
 which cold-hearted capital squeezed the small man 
 to the wall and robbed him of his gains, he began 
 to scheme anew, and to argue that the assets in 
 his control were still ample for a great success if 
 shrewdly handled. The lumber market was in 
 the doldrums, dull and drooping. It began to 
 look as though some of the industries of Benham 
 had been developed too rapidly, and as though a 
 
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 halt, or what financiers call a healthy reaction in 
 values, were in order. Could it be possible that 
 all prices in Benham were inflated? The idea oc 
 curred to Emil one day, and he jumped at it 
 eagerly. It took possession of him. He fever 
 ishly began to examine statistics, and found that 
 Benham had experienced only one period of de 
 pression since its birth as a city at the close of the 
 Civil War. It was time for another, and the men 
 who were clever enough to anticipate it would 
 reap the reward of their sagacity. What were 
 the staples of Benham? Oil, pork, and manu 
 factured iron. These were the industries which 
 had given the chief impetus to the city s growth, 
 and were its great source of wealth. Emil pon 
 dered the situation and decided to sell pork short. 
 If a general shrinkage in values was impending, 
 the price of pork was certain to decline. He had 
 hitherto felt so confident of making money in his 
 own line of business that he had never done more 
 than cast sheep s eyes at the stock market or the 
 markets in grain, oil, and pork futures. It had 
 been his expectation to try ventures of this sort 
 as soon as his capital was large enough for im 
 portant transactions. It was a favorite notion of 
 his that after he had acquired the first one hun 
 dred thousand dollars, he would be able to quad 
 ruple it in a very short time by bold dealings in 
 stocks or commodities. He knew now that he had 
 merely to step into a broker s office and sell pork 
 in Chicago by wire. It was a simple thing to do 
 and the shrewd thing, considering his own bus 
 iness offered no opportunity at the moment for 
 brilliancy. 
 
 46 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 To speak to his partner seemed to Emil unnec 
 essary. He promised himself that after he had 
 put the firm on its feet again he would deal gen 
 erously with Robinson. Since their late reverses 
 the partnership was not borrowing much money, 
 so its credit was not exhausted. Emil obtained 
 from his bank as large a loan as he dared to ask 
 for, and began to sell pork short on the strength 
 of the proceeds. It was a process which requires 
 small capital at the outset. That is, he had simply 
 to keep his margin good in case the pork which 
 he sold rose in value. To begin with he sold only 
 a few hundred barrels, and within a fortnight the 
 price fell smartly. Not only the price of pork, 
 but of stocks, grain, and merchandise. Emil con 
 gratulated himself. Evidently he was correct in 
 his judgment that a period of lower speculative 
 values was at hand. The proper thing would be 
 to sell everything and reap a huge fortune before 
 the dull general public awoke to the truth. His 
 own limited resources forbade this, which was irri 
 tating. Still, he could go on selling pork short, 
 and this he continued to do. 
 
 The proceeding elated him, for the sudden and 
 large profit was in a sense a revelation. He re 
 gretted that he had never before tried this method 
 of demonstrating his business shrewdness. He 
 felt that it suited him admirably. He would be 
 no rash-headed fool; he would sell boldly, but in 
 telligently; he would keep his eye on the general 
 market, and not cover his shorts until the general 
 situation changed. If a serious decline in the 
 prices of everything were in store for Benham 
 and the indications of this were multiplying from 
 
 47 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 week to week the price of pork might drop out 
 of sight, so to speak, and he win a fortune as a 
 consequence. It was the chance of a lifetime. He 
 reasoned that he would keep cool and make a big 
 thing of it; that a small fellow would be content 
 with a few thousands and run to cover, but he in 
 tended to be one of the big fellows. Why take his 
 profit when the whole financial horizon was 
 ominous with clouds, and money was becoming 
 tighter every day? 
 
 Emil s reasoning was perfect. The course of 
 prices was exactly as he had predicted; that is, the 
 price of everything except pork. The unexpected 
 happened there, and this from a cause which no 
 shrewd person could have foreseen. One day 
 when, in the parlance of trade, the bottom seemed 
 to be dropping out of all the markets, a despatch 
 appeared in the newspapers stating that a peculiar 
 disease had broken out among the hogs in West 
 ern Illinois. The pork market stiffened, but be 
 came flat at the advance after somebody declared 
 the story to be a canard invented by the bulls to 
 bolster up their holdings. Emil, adopting this 
 explanation, and certain that this cunning strat 
 agem to check the decline would prove unavailing, 
 sold more pork. 
 
 A week later one Saturday preceding a Mon 
 day which was to be a holiday there were rumors 
 in Chicago, just before the close of the Exchange, 
 that the disease among the hogs was no mere local 
 manifestation; that it was spreading rapidly, and 
 had already shown itself in Indiana and Ohio. 
 Pork in the last fifteen minutes bounded upward 
 and closed ominously strong. Before the market 
 
 48 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 opened on the following Tuesday it was definitely 
 known that the hogs of the country were in the 
 grasp of an epidemic, the precise character of 
 which, to quote the press, was not yet determined, 
 but which, in the opinion of those most competent 
 to judge, would render the flesh of the animals 
 attacked by the dread disease unfit for food, and 
 their lard unwholesome. When the market 
 opened, the price of pork was so high that Emil s 
 margin of protection was wiped out as thoroughly 
 as the tide wipes out the sand dyke which a child 
 erects upon the beach. He was unable to respond 
 to the demand made on him for money to keep 
 his account with his broker good, and was sold out 
 before night at a loss a loss which left him in 
 debt. He went home knowing that he was bank 
 rupt, and that his firm must fail the moment his 
 note at the bank became due, even if the broker to 
 whom he owed five thousand dollars over and 
 above his margins did not press him. There was 
 no escape from ruin and humiliation. 
 
 He disclosed the truth to Constance with the 
 repressed bitterness of a Prometheus. He ex 
 plained to her with the mien of a wounded ani 
 mal at bay the cruelty of the trick of destiny which 
 had crushed him. How had he been at fault? He 
 had been shrewd, far-seeing and prompt to act. 
 The wisdom of his course had been demonstrated 
 by the fall in prices. He was on the high road to 
 fortune, and fate had stabbed him in the back. 
 Could any intelligent man have foreseen that the 
 hogs of the country would be stricken with dis 
 ease? And more galling still, why had luck 
 played him false by singling out the only possible 
 
 49 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 combination of events which could have done him 
 harm? 
 
 "An all-wise Providence!" he ejaculated with a 
 scornful laugh. "A man looks the ground over, 
 uses his wits and is reaping the benefit of his intel 
 ligence when he is struck in the head with a brick 
 from behind a hedge, and is then expected to 
 glorify the hand which smote him. How could it 
 have been helped? How was I to blame?" he 
 reiterated with a fierce look at his wife. 
 
 Constance could not answer the question. The 
 details of business were a sealed book to her. The 
 brief account of the disaster in pork, which he had 
 just given, was confusing to her, and had left her 
 with no conviction save pity for her husband. She 
 was ready to take his word, and to believe that 
 this overwhelming misfortune was the result of 
 ill-luck which could not have been guarded against. 
 What was uppermost in her mind was the impulse 
 to help and comfort him. It pained her that he 
 should inveigh against fate, though she recognized 
 that the provocation was severe. But he needed 
 her now more than ever. She would be brave and 
 let him see that her love was at his command. 
 
 "You mustn t mind too much, Emil," she said. 
 "We have to start again, that s all. I can econo 
 mize in lots of ways, and we shall manage some 
 how, I m sure. We have the house, you know. 
 If it s necessary in order to set you up in busi 
 ness we can mortgage that. We ve always had 
 that to fall back on." 
 
 She knew as she spoke that from the standpoint 
 of prudence the offer of the house was unwise. If 
 that were gone, what would become of her chil- 
 
 50 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 dren? Yet she felt a joy in tendering it. Why 
 did her husband look at her with that malevolent 
 gaze as though she had contributed to his dis 
 tress ? 
 
 "If you had put a mortgage on the house when 
 I first started in business, and had given me the 
 benefit of a larger capital, then we shouldn t be 
 where we are to-day. I wanted it at the time, but 
 you didn t offer it." 
 
 "Oh, Emil. I never dreamt that you wished it. 
 To mortgage our home then would have been rash, 
 surely. Besides, if I had given it to you, wouldn t 
 it have been lost with the rest now?" 
 
 "Don t you understand," he said, roughly, "that 
 if I had not been hampered at the start by my 
 small capital, I should never have been forced to 
 go outside the lumber business in order to support 
 my family? Another five thousand dollars would 
 have made all the difference." 
 
 His glowering look seemed to suggest that he 
 had persuaded himself that she was partly to blame 
 for what had happened. Constance was ready to 
 make every allowance for him, but his mood of 
 fered fresh evidence of the crankiness of his dis 
 position, a revelation to which her devotion could 
 not altogether blind her. 
 
 "I don t understand anything about the business 
 part," she answered, putting her arm around his 
 neck. "Oh, Emil, Emil, I m so sorry for you! I 
 wish to do everything I can to help you and show 
 my love for you. This is a dreadful sorrow for 
 you to bear for us both to bear. But it has come 
 to us, and we mustn t be discouraged. God will 
 give us strength to bear it if we let him." 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "God?" he blurted. "You may leave God out 
 of the question so far as I am concerned." 
 
 "Oh, Emil, it grieves me to hear you talk like 
 that." 
 
 "And it grieves me that you should aggravate 
 my trouble by cant which I thought you had out 
 grown." 
 
 "I shall never outgrow that," she murmured, 
 appreciating suddenly that the substitute which he 
 offered her for spiritual resignation was a cell 
 bounded by four stone walls. She had reached 
 the limit of her apostacy, and she shrank irrevoca 
 bly from the final step. 
 
 "Of course the rich and the powerful and the 
 fortunate," he was saying, "encourage the delusion 
 that if a man s knocked out as I am he ought to 
 believe it s for the best, because rubbish of that 
 sort keeps together the social system on which they 
 fatten. Do the poor in the tenements in Smith 
 Street over there," he asked with a wave of his 
 hand, "believe it s for the best that they should go 
 hungry and in rags while Carleton Howard and 
 his peers imitate Antony and Cleopatra ? Ask the 
 operatives in the factories across the river what 
 they think of the justice of the millionaire s God? 
 The time has passed when you can fool the self- 
 respecting workingman with a basket of coals and 
 a tract on the kingdom of heaven. They may have 
 their heaven, if they ll give us a fair share of this 
 earth." Emil folded his arms as one issuing an 
 ultimatum. 
 
 Constance realized that he was in no mood to 
 be reasoned with. She had made clear that she 
 could not subscribe to his doctrine of despair, and 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 save in that respect she was eager to be sympa 
 thetic. She could not deny the inequalities and 
 apparent injustice of civilization, and Emil s plea 
 that he had been crushed by an accident which he 
 could not have avoided not only wrung her heart, 
 but filled it with a sense of hostility to an industrial 
 system which permitted its deserving members to 
 be crushed without fault of their own. But she 
 felt instinctively that the best sort of succor which 
 she could bring was of the practical kind. To 
 morrow was before them, God or no God, and 
 they must adjust themselves to their altered cir 
 cumstances, take thought and build their hopes 
 anew. 
 
 She put her arm around his neck again and 
 kissed him silently. Then she began with quiet 
 briskness to make preparations for the evening 
 meal. It was the maid s afternoon out, and Con 
 stance moved as though she were glorying in the 
 occupation. Presently she said: 
 
 "Of course I ll dismiss Sophy to-morrow. I am 
 proud to be a workingman s wife, Emil. We ll 
 soon be on our feet again, never fear." 
 
 The suggestion of the servant s dismissal 
 deepened the gloom on Emil s face. "I ve half a 
 mind to pull up stakes and move to New York," 
 he muttered. 
 
 "And give up our home?" 
 
 He frowned at the involuntary concern in her 
 voice. "What use is a home in a place where a 
 man is cramped and circumvented in every big 
 thing he attempts? I ought to have moved long 
 ago." 
 
 "I am ready to live wherever you think best, 
 
 53 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Emil. And you mustn t forget, dear, that my trust 
 and faith in you are as great as ever." 
 
 Despondent as he was, his habit of buoyancy 
 was already groping for some clue to a brighter 
 vision, to which his wife s words of encouragement 
 now helped him. He was sitting with his elbows 
 resting on the table and his head clasped between 
 his hands. "I ll make a fresh start here," he 
 said. "They ve got me down, but, damn them, 
 I ll show them that they can t keep me there." 
 
 Presently he arose, and walking out to the 
 kitchen reappeared with a goblet and two bottles 
 of beer. One of these he uncorked and poured the 
 contents ostentatiously so that the froth gathered. 
 Raising the glass he buried his mouth in the beer 
 and eagerly drank it off. He set down the goblet 
 with a sigh of satisfaction. 
 
 "And what s more," he said, "they can t deprive 
 me of that." 
 
 Constance watched him with a troubled look. 
 She shrank at this time of his distress from intimat 
 ing that she regarded the indulgence of this appe 
 tite as a poor sort of solace. Besides, a glass of 
 beer was in itself nothing, and he might well take 
 offence at her solicitude as an invasion of his rea 
 sonable comfort. Yet observation had taught her 
 that he was becoming more and more fond of 
 seeking a respite from care in liberal potations of 
 this sort. 
 
 She restrained her inclination to interfere, but 
 she saw him with concern consume four bottles 
 in the course of the evening. The serenity of 
 temper which this produced the almost indiffer 
 ent calm following the storm was by no means 
 
 54 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 encouraging. To be sure his ugly side seemed 
 entirely in abeyance. Indeed, he took down his 
 fiddle and played on it seductively until he went 
 to bed, as though there were no such things as 
 business troubles. But somehow the very mild 
 ness of his mood, gratifying as it was to her from 
 the momentary personal standpoint, disturbed her. 
 Was this good nature the manly, Christian resig 
 nation of the victim of misfortune putting aside 
 his grief until the morrow? It suggested to her 
 rather the relaxation of a baffled soul exchanging 
 ambition for a nepenthe of forgetfulness a fud 
 dled agitator s paradise and her heart was wrung 
 with dread. 
 
 55 
 
THE firm of Stuart & Robinson, lumber deal 
 ers, was hopelessly insolvent and did not 
 attempt to resume business. The partners sepa 
 rated with sentiments of mutual disdain. To the 
 junior the dummy the failure had come as a 
 cruel surprise. He refused to regard Emil s con 
 duct as reasonable or honorable, despite the as 
 surance that the speculation in pork had been for 
 their common benefit, and that, but for an un 
 toward accident, the result would have been a 
 fortune for the firm. On the other hand, Emil 
 expressed scorn for a nature so pusillanimous that 
 it saw only the outcome and failed utterly to appre 
 ciate the brilliancy of his undertaking. As Emil 
 explained to his wife, the decision of the partners 
 in regard to the future was typical of their re 
 spective dispositions; Robinson, having lost his 
 money, was soliciting a clerkship a return to 
 servitude ; whereas Emil intended to strike out for 
 himself again. 
 
 In what field of energy were his talents to be 
 exercised next? This was for Emil the first and 
 most important consideration. His new employ 
 ment must be of a kind which would provide him 
 with bread and butter until he was on his feet 
 again, but would not deprive him of scope and 
 independence. It must be something which would 
 not require capital. Yet this did not mean that 
 
 56 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 his talent for speculation was to be neglected, but 
 merely to be kept in abeyance until he saw just the 
 opportunity to use to advantage the three thou 
 sand dollars which he promptly raised by a second 
 mortgage on his wife s house. His failure had 
 left him more than ever confident of his ability to 
 achieve success by bold and comprehensive meth 
 ods. But in the meantime, while he was spinning 
 the web of fresh enterprises which were to make 
 him prosperous, he must support his family some 
 how. 
 
 He concluded to become a newspaper reporter 
 and writer of articles for the press. This would 
 provide an immediate income and would not inter 
 fere unduly with other projects. Besides it would 
 enable him to give public expression to some of 
 his opinions, which would be an aesthetic satisfac 
 tion. He also engaged desk-room in an office 
 shared by four men independent of one another 
 and interchangeably petty lawyers, traders and 
 dealers in mortgages and land. On the glass door 
 one read "Real Estate and Mortgages Invest 
 ments Collections Loans Notary Public." 
 Below were the names of the occupants, followed 
 by the titles of several wildcat companies, the 
 dregs of oil and mining ventures in the neighbor 
 hood of Benham, of which one of them was the 
 promoter and treasurer. It seemed to Emil a 
 location where he, hampered by circumstances 
 from jostling elbows with men of means, might 
 use his wits profitably until he could see his way 
 to more imposing quarters. Here he would be un 
 observed and yet not wholly out of touch with 
 what was going on. On the same floor of the 
 
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THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 building, which was a hive of small concerns, there 
 was a broker s office which had a wire to Chicago 
 and knowing correspondents in New York. That 
 it was described as a "bucket shop" by more pros 
 perous banking firms prejudiced Emil in its favor; 
 he ascribed the stigma to capitalistic envy and 
 social ostracism. He became friendly with the 
 proprietor, discussed with him the merits of the 
 wares on his counter, and presently, acting on 
 "tips" obtained from this source, captured on sev 
 eral occasions sums ranging from ten to fifty dol 
 lars by the purchase of ten shares of stock or an 
 equivalent amount of grain, requiring an advance 
 on his own part of not more than three per cent. 
 of the purchase price a mere bagatelle. This as 
 a beginning was satisfactory. It eked out his 
 journalistic income; and the skill with which he 
 plied the process, contrasted with the folly dis 
 played by most of the customers, flattered the faith 
 which he had in his sound judgment. This 
 broker s shop was the resort of scores of people 
 of small means, trades-folk, clerks, salaried de 
 pendents and some women, keen to acquire from 
 the fluctuations of the speculative markets a few 
 crumbs of the huge gains garnered by the mag 
 nates of Wall Street, of which they read emulously 
 in the newspapers. To put up one s thirty dol 
 lars, and to have one s margin of venture or profit 
 wiped out within twenty-four hours, was the nor 
 mal experience, sooner or later, of ninety per cent, 
 of these unfortunates. The remainder were 
 shrewder and longer lived, and to this remnant 
 Emil indisputably belonged. 
 
 He obtained a position on the Star, a sensa- 
 
 58 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 tional, popular one-cent paper. The Star was read 
 both by the workingmen in the manufacturing 
 plants, of whose interests it was a zealous cham 
 pion, and by a large class of business men and 
 trades-people, who found its crisp paragraphs and 
 exaggerated, inaccurate reports of current horrors 
 and scandals an agreeable form of excitement. 
 Emil s employment was to make the round of the 
 dealers in grain, lumber, wool and other staples 
 and report trade prices and gossip, which under 
 the control of the financial editor he was allowed 
 to expand into commercial prognostications or 
 advice. To the Sunday edition he began to con 
 tribute special articles exploiting the grievances of 
 the proletariat, which the management of the Star 
 accepted and presently invited as a weekly feature. 
 They were written with a sardonic acerbity of 
 touch, which afforded him an outlet for his dis 
 gruntled frame of mind and free scope for his 
 favorite theories. He also renewed his attend 
 ance at the Socialistic Club which he had fre- 
 quented before his marriage, and became one of 
 the orators there. It occurred to him that a polit 
 ical office would be acceptable while he was hus 
 banding his resources. Why not become alderman 
 on the workingman s ticket? There was a salary 
 of five hundred dollars attached, and as a city 
 father he would have opportunities to know what 
 was going on in municipal affairs, and to get an 
 inkling of some of the big schemes projected by 
 capitalists, for the furtherance of which his vote 
 would be required. He would be able also and 
 this was an exhilarating consideration to hold 
 the whip-hand over the arrogant moneyed men 
 
 59 
 
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 seeking franchises for next to nothing, by which to 
 extort millions from the guileless common people. 
 While Emil, with recovered buoyancy, read 
 justed his plans to meet his circumstances and set 
 his wits to work, his wife met the necessity of 
 strict economy with absorbed devotion. She 
 signed the mortgage with a pang, but without 
 hesitancy. She appreciated the necessity of the 
 contribution. Without ready money Emil would 
 be powerless must become a mere clerk or sub 
 ordinate, and his ambition would be crushed. She 
 would have preferred perhaps that he should re 
 sign himself to the situation, and without imperil 
 ling their home, support his family on a modest 
 footing by a salary or by the journalistic work 
 for which he had an aptitude. But she recognized 
 that his heart was set on independent success on a 
 large scale, and that Emil thwarted or repressed 
 would become an irritable and despondent malcon 
 tent. His shrewdness had nearly gained him a 
 fortune, and apparently a cruel freak of chance 
 had been solely responsible for his discomfiture. 
 She did not pretend to criticise the nature of his 
 business dealings. He had explained to her that 
 capital was indispensable to the realization of his 
 aims. She must trust him. She did suggest that 
 he should use the proceeds of the mortgage for 
 the payment of his debts. The thought of doing 
 so was bitter, and she was thankful when Emil 
 assured her with a protesting scoff that such a pro 
 ceeding would be Utopian. "What," he asked, 
 "was the sense of insolvent laws, if, when a man 
 failed in business, his wife was to cast her little 
 all, her own patrimony, into the common pot for 
 
 60 
 
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 the enrichment of his creditors? Business people 
 understood that they were taking business chances, 
 and did not expect to gobble up the home of a 
 wife bought with her own genuine means. If she 
 were rich, generosity might be honesty, but in the 
 present instance, it would be sentimental folly." 
 This was convincing to Constance, for she felt 
 instinctively that her children must have rights as 
 well as the creditors. A woman s whimsical con 
 ception of business honor might well be at fault. 
 She had made her offer, and she was glad to abide 
 by her husband s superior knowledge. 
 
 Her duty obviously was to reduce the scale of 
 family living without interfering with Emil s rea 
 sonable comfort or wounding his self-respect. She 
 gave herself up to her work of domestic economy 
 with fresh zeal, doing the manual labor of the 
 household with enthusiasm. By steady industry 
 and thoughtful care, she was able not only to 
 minimize expenses, but to produce presentable re 
 sults from a small outlay. Her heart was in it; 
 for was not Emil at work again and hopeful? She 
 was proud of his newspaper articles, and regarded 
 his small gains from shrewd speculations as new 
 proof of his capacity for financial undertakings. 
 
 The end of a year found Emil rather more than 
 holding his own pecuniarily. He had obtained 
 commissions as a broker from the successful ne 
 gotiation of a few small real-estate transactions, 
 his ventures on a cautious scale in the stock market 
 had been almost invariably fortunate, and his 
 earnings as a newspaper writer had been sufficient 
 with these accretions to cover his household ex 
 penses, pay the interest on the mortgage, and add 
 
 61 
 
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 slightly to his capital. He felt that he was on his 
 feet again, and was correspondingly bumptious; 
 yet he realized that his recuperation regarded as 
 progress was a snail s pace, which must be greatly 
 accelerated if he would attain wealth and im 
 portance. In this connection the idea of becom 
 ing an alderman kept recurring to him with in 
 creasing attraction. At present he was nobody. 
 His name was unfamiliar and his position obscure. 
 This irritated him, for he craved recognition and 
 publicity. To be sure, while capital was at his 
 disposal, he had seen fit to address his efforts 
 solely to the accumulation of a fortune as the pass 
 port to power, but even then he had been at heart 
 a sworn enemy of the moneyed class. And now 
 that he had resumed his old associations, his the 
 ories had developed fresh vitality and aroused in 
 him the desire to vindicate them by action. Since 
 fate had condemned him to attain financial prom 
 inence slowly, why should he not secure recog 
 nition in the best way he could? As an alderman 
 he would be a local power, and once in the arena 
 of politics and given the opportunity to make him 
 self felt, why might he not aspire to political 
 prosperity? 
 
 He proceeded to seek the nomination. But he 
 found that there were other aspirants, and that he 
 must be stirring. In Benham the district system 
 of election was in vogue. That is, the city was 
 divided into municipal districts, and each district 
 chose its own alderman. In that where Emil lived 
 the workingman s candidate, so called, was almost 
 invariably successful against the representative of 
 the more conservative element of the two wards 
 
 62 
 
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 concerned, and a nomination was regarded as 
 equivalent to election. Now there were two fac 
 tions of voters belonging to the dominant party 
 in the district, one in each ward, and for three 
 successive years the alderman had come from the 
 ward other than that in which Emil dwelt. This 
 was a plausible argument why the next candidate 
 should be selected from his ward. The faction 
 which Emil hoped to represent contained a con 
 siderable number of Germans with socialistic 
 affiliations, and it was agreed by a conference of 
 the rival cliques on the eve of the canvass that 
 their turn had come to nominate a candidate. 
 This was fortunate for Emil, as some of the mem 
 bers of the social debating club to which he be 
 longed w^ere of this body. He had already been 
 prominent at the meetings of the club, prompt and 
 aggressive in the expression of his opinions on his 
 feet, and prone to linger over his beer until late 
 at night agitating the grievances of the under dogs 
 of industrial competition. The suggestion of his 
 name, backed by a vote of his associates, received 
 respectful consideration from the political man 
 agers, and he at once became a prominent candi 
 date. The last three aldermen from the district 
 had been of Irish extraction, and he was an Amer 
 ican. His grandfather on his mother s side had 
 been a German; hence his name Emil. He was 
 an undoubted advocate of the rights of the labor 
 ing class, and a foe of capitalistic jobbing. These 
 were signal points in his favor. But the victory 
 would remain to the aspirant who could obtain a 
 majority of the delegates to the aldermanic con 
 vention, and the battle would be fought out at the 
 
 63 
 
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 preliminary caucus where the delegates were 
 chosen by the voters of the two wards. Accord 
 ingly the contest became a house-to-house canvass 
 of the district by the respective candidates, each of 
 whom had an organization and lieutenants. There 
 was speech-making at halls hired for the occasion, 
 and some treating incident to these rallies. Poster 
 pictures of the candidates were requisite for use 
 in saloons and on bill-boards. All this demanded 
 expenditure. Emil realized presently that, if he 
 wished to succeed, he could not be niggardly with 
 his money. Men would not work for nothing, 
 and spontaneous enthusiasm was only to be had for 
 remuneration. He drew upon his funds, exhaust 
 ing the little he had saved the previous year, and 
 trenching slightly on the mortgage money. He 
 hoped to win. The contest practically was be 
 tween him and a German beer manufacturer, who 
 happened also to be the president of a small bank. 
 The third candidate was already out of the run 
 ning. Emil in his capacity as tribune of the peo 
 ple made the most of his opponent s connection 
 with the moneyed interests. His satire on this 
 score offset the advantage which his rival received 
 from his trade as a brewer, and turned the scale. 
 On the night of the caucus, the voting booths were 
 crowded to repletion. A stream of excited cit 
 izens struggled to the rail to deposit their ballots. 
 There was imprecation and several resorts to 
 fisticuffs. Not until after midnight was the result 
 known. Emil won by a liberal margin in both 
 wards, and his nomination was assured. He was 
 escorted home jubilant and beery by a detachment 
 of his followers, whose cat-calls of triumph thrilled 
 
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 the listening ears of Constance. She met him at 
 the door, and when he was safely inside she threw 
 her arms about his neck and exclaimed, "Oh, Emil, 
 I m so glad!" 
 
 His small dark eyes were scintillating, his hair 
 stood up from his brow like a bird s crest, the curl 
 of his short mustache, odorous of malt, bristled 
 awry, his speech was thick. 
 
 "Didn t I tell you they couldn t keep me down? 
 I shall get now where I belong," he exclaimed as 
 he strode into the sitting-room and dropped into 
 a chair with the air of a fuddled but victorious 
 field-marshal. 
 
 Constance recognized that he was exhilarated 
 by drink. The associations of the last few weeks 
 had awakened in her vague doubts as to the sort 
 of influence which the career of an alderman was 
 likely to exercise upon him. But she shrank from 
 harboring criticism. She yearned to be happy, and 
 her happiness was to see her husband successful 
 and prosperous. So she put away the conscious 
 ness that his breath was tainted, his manner boast 
 ful and jarring, and gave herself up to the joy 
 which sprang from beholding him a self-satisfied 
 victor. 
 
 Emil s self-satisfaction was short lived. It 
 chanced that some of the wealthy citizens of Ben- 
 ham were interested in the establishment of an 
 electric street-car system for the city and its sub 
 urbs, and were laying their wires to secure the 
 co-operation of the Board of Aldermen. The 
 project had been kept concealed, and not until the 
 campaign for the city election was well under way 
 were the machinations of those interested appar- 
 
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 ent. First as an underground rumor, then as a 
 well-credited report from diverse sources, the news 
 reached Emil that the nominee of the other party 
 had the backing of a powerful syndicate. The 
 true explanation of this mystery followed, and 
 with it the statement that Emil s radical utterances 
 had drawn upon his head the ire of the capitalists 
 with a mission, who were giving their moral and 
 financial support in every district to the one of the 
 two candidates best suited to their necessities re 
 gardless of party. In place of the walk-over he 
 had expected, Emil found himself in the midst of 
 a contest of the fiercest description. He was 
 furious, and his exultation was turned to gall. 
 Why had he not discovered the street-car company 
 projects in advance and made friends with the 
 promoters? This was his first and secret reflec 
 tion, which added rancor to his public declaration 
 that he would bury at the polls the candidate of 
 these plunderers. But how? Where were his 
 funds to come from? There had been plenty of 
 offers of ready money when it was supposed that 
 his election was assured. But now the tone of his 
 supporters was less confident, and ugly rumors 
 reached him of defections among the Irish in the 
 other ward. He was in the fight to stay. So he 
 declared on the stump and in his home. He could 
 not afford to be defeated. It was a case of hit or 
 miss, win or lose. Maddened, desperate, and ex 
 cited, he threw prudence to the winds and scat 
 tered dollars freely for proselytizing expenses 
 until the morning of the election. Each side 
 claimed the victory until the polls were closed. 
 The result was close a matter of one hundred and 
 
 66 
 
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 fifty ballots but Emil proved to be the loser, and 
 at a cost of over three thousand dollars. The 
 fund which he had borrowed from his wife was 
 exhausted, and he had incurred, besides, a batch 
 of unpaid bills for refreshments, carriages, and 
 other incidental expenses. 
 
 He awoke at dawn from a nap at a table in a 
 saloon from which the last of his followers had 
 slipped away. Slouching into his kitchen, where 
 his wife was kindling the fire, he tossed his hat on 
 the table and said with a malignant sneer: 
 
 "The jig s up." 
 
 Constance was pale. She had been watching 
 for him all night, and had heard from a neighbor 
 the dismal result. Her heart was wrung with pity 
 and distress, but she perceived that it was no time 
 for consolatory words. She busied herself in pre 
 paring a cup of coffee, which presently she placed 
 before him, stooping as she did so to kiss him 
 softly on the forehead. He was sitting by the 
 table with his legs thrust out and his hands sunk 
 in his trousers pockets, chewing an unlighted cigar, 
 one of those left from the supply he had bought 
 for political hospitality. His wife s action seemed 
 to remind him of her presence. He looked up at 
 her viciously, showing the white of his eye like a 
 surly dog. 
 
 "What do you want?" 
 
 "Your coffee, Emil." 
 
 He glared at the smoking cup, then with a 
 sweep of his arm dashed it away: 
 
 "To hell with you and your messes, you you 
 fool!" 
 
 The crash of the crockery was followed by 
 
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 silence. It seemed to Constance that she had been 
 struck by a bullet, so confounding were his words. 
 Her husband address her like that? What did it 
 mean? 
 
 "Emil," she gasped "you are ill!" 
 
 "Not ill, but tired of you." 
 
 "Of me? Your wife? What have I done?" 
 
 "Why didn t you consent to move to New York 
 when I wished to go?" he snapped. "If you had, 
 I wouldn t be in this fix, sold out by a pack of 
 filthy Hibernian cut-throats." 
 
 "I was ready to go if you wished it, Emil. We 
 will go now if only you do not speak to me so 
 unkindly." 
 
 "It s too late," he replied with a sneer. "What 
 use would it be, anyway? We look at everything 
 differently. We always have." 
 
 "You do not realize what you are saying. You 
 do not know what you are saying." 
 
 "Crazy, am I? The best thing for you to do 
 is to ask some of your church philanthropists to 
 supply you with laundry work. You re likely to 
 need it. The jig s up, I tell you. We haven t a 
 dollar left." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 "The mortgage money with the rest." He 
 threw the chewed cigar on the floor and ground it 
 with his foot. 
 
 "Very well. I can bear anything except that 
 you should speak to me so cruelly. Have I 
 been afraid of work? Whatever has happened 
 we mustn t forget the children, Emil. We 
 must keep up our courage on their account at 
 least." 
 
 68 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 He scowled at the reference. "I ll look out for 
 the children. Is there any beer in the house?" 
 
 "No." Then after a moment s hesitation she 
 added, "May I ask yo,u something, Emil? Won t 
 you give up beer? It is hurting your life. I am 
 sure of it. I have felt so for some time, and you 
 have known that I have hated your fondness for 
 it. Give it up altogether and and we will go to 
 New York or anywhere you wish and make a fresh 
 
 start." 
 
 In her dismay at his brutality she was eager and 
 thankful to throw the responsibility for his con 
 duct on his propensity for drink. She felt the 
 obligation to speak fearlessly on this score, even 
 though she irritated him. Her gentle remon 
 strances had been of no avail, and she must strug 
 gle with him now against himself or lose him 
 altogether. 
 
 Emil heard her appeal with a deepening scowl. 
 For a moment it seemed as though he were about 
 to strike her. Then, as what he evidently consid 
 ered the audacity of her expostulation worked on 
 his mind, self-pity was mingled with his anger. 
 
 "You d deprive me of my beer, would you? 
 The only solace I ve got. Why don t you go 
 smash my fiddle, too? That s the way with you 
 pious women; a man gets down on his luck and 
 you stop his comforts and drive him into the 
 street. Very well, then, if I can t get beer in this 
 house, little saint, there s lots of places I can. This 
 is the last straw." Thereupon he strode out of the 
 house, closing the kitchen door behind him with a 
 vicious bang. 
 
VI 
 
 ONSTANCE did not see her husband again 
 for twenty-four hours. He returned at 
 supper-time and took his place at the table with 
 out a word of apology or explanation. He was 
 in a state of great depression, morose and uncom 
 municative. On previous occasions when misfor 
 tune had befallen him, he had taken his wife into 
 his confidence, but now it seemed either that he 
 had lost his grip on life so completely that words 
 failed him, or that the resentment which he had 
 expressed toward her was still dominant. When 
 the meal was over, he went out and did not return 
 until late. He was boozy with drink, and threw 
 himself on his bed with the air of a man who 
 would fain dispel consciousness by the luxury of 
 sleep. 
 
 Emil s mode of life for the next few weeks 
 was substantially a repetition of this programme. 
 Glum, sour, and listless he went his way in the 
 morning; fuddled, indifferent, and sleepy he re 
 turned at night. Concerning his circumstances 
 and plans he said nothing to Constance. She was 
 left totally in the dark as to the extent and the 
 effect of his reverses. He had told her that they 
 were ruined, yet he continued to go down-town as 
 though nothing had happened. Trusting that he 
 would enlighten her of his own accord, at first she 
 asked no questions. Then as he did not speak, 
 
 70 
 
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 she requested him one morning to tell her how his 
 affairs stood, urging her solicitude and affection. 
 He listened frowningly and put her off with the 
 disconcerting utterance "You ll know soon enough. 
 It s just as well to let a drowning man grasp at 
 straws while there are any to grasp at." 
 
 His half-scornful, half-desperate manner for 
 bade further inquiry at the moment if she did not 
 wish to widen the breach between them. Con 
 stance was in deep distress. She yearned to com 
 fort and help him, but this wifely, loving impulse 
 was haunted by the consciousness now forced upon 
 her with painful clearness that she had misjudged 
 his nature and was mated to a crank. How other 
 wise could she interpret his hostile attitude toward 
 herself? To what but a cross-grained perversity 
 of soul could she ascribe his disposition to blame 
 her for his misfortunes? Her duty was plain, to 
 make the best of the situation, and to ignore, so 
 far as self-respect would permit, his laceration of 
 her feelings, trusting to time to restore his sense 
 of justice and renew concord between them. But 
 what hope was there for the future? Hope for 
 the realization of that blissful, ennobling married 
 state to which she had looked forward as a bride 
 and had believed in store for her? Here was the 
 thought which tormented her and gave poignancy 
 to the dismay and anxiety of the moment. Even 
 if their immediate circumstances were less serious 
 than Emil had declared, was there any reason to 
 believe that his next experiment would be more 
 successful? She had accepted hitherto without 
 question his declaration that ill-luck had been re 
 sponsible for all his troubles, but that consolation 
 
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 was hers no longer. She found herself listening to 
 the voice of criticism to which until now she had 
 turned a deaf ear. In a new spirit, without bit 
 terness, but in the assertion of her right as a wife 
 to judge the man to whom she had committed her 
 happiness, she recalled the incidents of their mar 
 ried life his theories, arguments, and point of 
 view. He had declared her to blame for his mis 
 fortunes. Surely if she had failed in her duty it 
 had not been toward him. She had sacrificed her 
 opinions to his, and for his sake abnegated her 
 most precious predilections in order to make the 
 union of their lives sweeter and more complete. If 
 she were guilty, was it not of treason to her own 
 instincts and her own conscience? 
 
 Emil indeed had persuaded himself not merely 
 that fortune had betrayed him, and the hand of 
 the prosperous world was against him, but that 
 his wife was partly to blame for it. Looking back 
 on his last fiasco, he conjured up the circumstance 
 that she had not fallen in with his suggestion of 
 an exodus to New York, and this he had promptly 
 distorted into a grievance, which grew the more 
 he nursed it. To the notion that she had thwarted 
 him in everything and that their relations as hus 
 band and wife had been wholly unsympathetic 
 was only another step. It suited him to feel that 
 he was the injured party, for he was face to face 
 with the responsibility of supporting his family, 
 which must be met or avoided. The question of 
 immediate funds was already pressing. His last 
 reverse had discouraged and angered him, but it 
 had not diminished his confidence that he would 
 succeed in the right place. It had only convinced 
 
 72 
 
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 him that Benham was not the right place; that 
 Benham was too small and provincial; too unap- 
 preciative of real ability. He was unpleasantly 
 in debt, but the bills which he had contracted for 
 political expenses could be disregarded for the 
 present. He had no property with which to meet 
 them, and if he were pressed, he had merely to go 
 into insolvency in order to rid himself of them 
 altogether. Nor need he worry about the mort 
 gage for the present. It would not be due for 
 two years, and, provided the interest were paid, 
 they could not be molested. These redeeming 
 features of his plight were clear to him after the 
 first days of mental agitation, but his spirit did 
 not reassert its wonted elasticity. Analyzing the 
 cause, he perceived that his whole surroundings 
 were repugnant to him, and that he shrank from 
 recommencing life at the foot of the ladder under 
 the conditions in which he found himself. He 
 was determined to leave Benham, and he was de 
 termined that his family, if they came with him, 
 should toe the mark. What this phrase meant 
 precisely he did not formulate, but it suited his 
 mood. "Toe the mark." He kept repeating it 
 to himself, as though it promised relief from do 
 mestic insubordination. Yes, if his wife did not 
 choose to adopt his theories and abet him in his 
 undertakings, she could go her own way for all 
 he cared. It was only on account of the children 
 that he did not put an end to their contract of mar 
 riage to-morrow by leaving her. Except for them 
 it were surely folly for a man and woman whose 
 ideas were utterly at variance to continue a part 
 nership the only fruit of which could be discord 
 
 73 
 
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 and recriminations. So he argued, and it was only 
 the thought of his children which restrained him 
 from precipitate action and caused him to con 
 tinue to go down-town every day seeking a bare 
 livelihood. Since the night of his defeat at the 
 polls, Constance had not asked him for money. 
 Presumably she had some laid by, and was living 
 on that, but by the first of the month she must 
 have recourse to him or starve, and then would be 
 the time for his ultimatum. The terms of this, 
 beyond a declaration of general discontent, were 
 still hazy in his brain, befogged by malt liquor 
 and inflamed by hatred of the world, but a glow 
 ing conviction that their marriage had been a fail 
 ure through her fault was a satisfactory substitute 
 for definiteness. Brooding like a spider in its web, 
 secretive, hoping that something would turn up to 
 put him on his feet again, yet almost reckless in 
 his attitude, and drinking assiduously, he drifted 
 on without aim. His evenings were spent at his 
 workingmen s club, where he continued as an out 
 let to his feelings to deliver virulent philippics, 
 which he realized as he uttered them were a sorry 
 equivalent for personal success. 
 
 While thus limp and embittered, a final mishap 
 impelled Emil to action. It happened that the 
 broker on the same floor as the office where he 
 had desk-room, and with whom he was on familiar 
 terms, let him in for a disastrous tip and put the 
 screws on when the market went the other way. 
 The sum involved was three hundred dollars, the 
 total residue of Emil s capital, which he had 
 allowed to remain untouched with this false friend 
 in order not to be entirely without the means to 
 
 74 
 
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 speculate. The advice offered had seemed to be 
 friendly and disinterested. When the result proved 
 disastrous the victim promptly suspected guile. 
 Certainly he encountered a flinty demeanor, as 
 though the proprietor of the "bucket-shop" were 
 cognizant of the impecuniosity of his customer 
 and had decided to squeeze him dry and break 
 with him. This from the man whose social status 
 on the street he had championed seemed to Emil 
 rank ingratitude. Yet the broker was making no 
 more than ordinary business demands upon him. 
 His margin was exhausted, and the transaction 
 would be closed unless he supplied additional se 
 curity. This was business-like, but not friendly, as 
 it seemed to Emil, especially as the ingrate, who 
 had been so confident of the value of the tip, chose 
 now to be sphinx-like as to what the next day s 
 price of the stock would be. All he would vouch 
 safe was that it would go up sooner or later. 
 
 Since it was necessary to act at once, and to sell 
 meant the loss of the remnant of his capital, Emil 
 concluded to give himself a chance by making use 
 of five hundred dollars which had just been paid 
 over to him for a client in redemption of a mort 
 gage. He argued that the stock, having fallen in 
 price contrary to expectation, was not likely to 
 decline further at once, and that if he protected 
 his account, he would be able to make inquiries 
 and form a more intelligent opinion by the end 
 of a few days as to what he had best do. Besides, 
 there was lurking in his mind the bitter argument, 
 which he chose to believe sound, that the world 
 owed every man a living, and assuredly owed it 
 to a man like himself. Since the hand of society 
 
 75 
 
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 seemed to be against him, why should he not take 
 advantage of the resources at his disposal and save 
 himself? He was simply borrowing; if he were 
 not able to return the money at once, he would do 
 so later with interest. The consequences of this 
 performance were disastrous. As Emil had pre 
 dicted, the stock in question remained stationary 
 for three days, but by the end of them he felt no 
 clearer regarding which course to pursue. Esti 
 mates as to its value were contradictory; yet since 
 a sale at the market price meant the safety of the 
 five hundred dollars at the cost of his own financial 
 obliteration, he remained hopeful. On the fourth 
 day the stock broke sharply, and again on the day 
 after. His holding was only one hundred shares 
 a paltry transaction from a capitalistic point of 
 view yet it was rashness for him. Adversity 
 and his pressing needs had tempted him to disre 
 gard his meditated prudence and to venture on 
 thin ice. He perceived himself ruined and a de 
 faulter. The obliquity of his peculation was 
 mitigated in his mind by the conviction that for 
 tune had been signally cruel to him. As for the 
 borrowed money, he would give his note and pay 
 it presently when he was on his feet again. Yet 
 he appreciated that his opportunities for making 
 a living in Benham were at an end, and that if he 
 remained, he might find difficulty in inducing the 
 owner of the five hundred dollars to accept him 
 as a creditor without demur. Clearly the simplest 
 course was to come to terms by post. To shake 
 the dust of Benham from his feet was his dearest 
 wish, and the time had arrived for its fulfilment. 
 There was still one hundred dollars belonging to 
 
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 his client in his hands which he had not used. 
 This he drew to provide himself with travelling 
 expenses, arguing that the sooner he were able to 
 reach New York, the quicker the loan would be 
 repaid, and slipped from the city without a word 
 to anyone. He had decided to cut adrift from all 
 his past associations, and an indispensable portion 
 of his plan was to sever forever his relations with 
 his wife. 
 
 A week later he wrote this letter to her from 
 New York: 
 
 CONSTANCE : 
 
 This is to let you know what has become of me. You may- 
 have guessed the truth, but it s woman s way to worry, weep, 
 and raise a hue and cry, though she knows in her heart that she s 
 mismated, and that it would be a godsend to her if "hubby " 
 had really blown his brains out or were safely at the bottom of 
 a well. I m not dead yet, nor am I contemplating suicide at 
 present. Though if the time ever does come when I think the 
 game is played out, it will be one-two-three-go! without any 
 pause between the numbers. But I m as good as dead now, so 
 far as you are concerned. You won t be troubled by me further. 
 You ve seen the last of me. I told you I was strapped. I m 
 cleaned out to the last dollar. But that doesn t phaze me except 
 for the moment. I m going to make a fresh start and a clean 
 sweep at the same time. You know as well as I that our mar 
 riage has not been a glittering success. In short, we ve made a 
 mess of it. We thought we were suited to each other, and we 
 find we re not. That s all. I don t approve of you any more 
 than you do of me, and what s the use of making each other 
 miserable by protracting the relation until death do us part? It s 
 up to me to undo the Gordian-knot, and I ve cut it. 
 
 You ll shed some tears, I suppose, over the situation, and 
 your friends will call me a brute. But when the shock is past 
 and sentimental considerations have evaporated, just ask yourself 
 if I m not doing the sensible thing for us both. We don t look 
 at life in the same way and never will. I m a radical, and 
 you re a conservative, and we were misled before marriage by 
 
 77 
 
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 the affinities of flesh to suppose that oil and water would harmo 
 nize. From the point of view of law I m the offending party, 
 and you ll be a free woman to sue for divorce on the ground of 
 desertion, by the end of three years. In the meantime, you 
 can go back to your kindergarten work or whatever you see fit. 
 You have your health, and your philanthropic church friends 
 will enable you to support yourself. 
 
 The only hitch is the children. If you had been ready to 
 follow me to New York when I first suggested it, we might not 
 be separating now. I expect and am anxious to provide for 
 them. If you will send them on to me, they shall want for 
 nothing. But if you are bent on keeping them, as I foresee 
 may be the case, the responsibility is yours. I should like one 
 at least preferably the boy. If you insist on keeping them 
 both, I can t help myself. There s where you have the whip- 
 hand over me. But don t delude yourself with the notion that 
 I don t love my own flesh and blood because I m not willing to 
 live with their mother. 
 
 There will be no use in your coming on here or trying to 
 find me. I have made up my mind. We could never be happy 
 together, so the fewer words said about parting the better. Send 
 your answer regarding the children to the New York post-office. 
 I shall expect it for a week. The money you loaned me is gone 
 with the rest, but they can t turn you out of your house until 
 the mortgage is due, if you pay the interest. Some day I shall 
 pay it back to you. I wish you well, and consider I m doing 
 us both a service in cutting loose from you. 
 
 Good-by, EMIL. 
 
 It seemed to Constance when she had finished 
 this letter as though her heart would stop. Was 
 this reality? Could it be that her husband was 
 abandoning her and her children in cold blood, 
 treating the sacred ties of marriage as lightly as 
 though they were straws? Alas! his cruel words 
 stared her in the face, freezing her soul, which had 
 been sick for days over his unexplained absence; 
 sick from dread. Yes, she had guessed; but she 
 had put the horror from her as impossible, despite 
 
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 his hints. Unbalanced and embittered as he was, 
 he could not be so unkind. Now she was face to 
 face with certainty; there was no room for hope. 
 It was true; so cruelly inhumanly true that her 
 brain felt dazed and numb. She gazed at his writ 
 ing stony-eyed and appalled, limp with dismay and 
 forlornness. To avoid falling she put out her 
 hand to the table, and the contact of her own flesh 
 served to readjust her consciousness. Seating her 
 self she swept her fingers across her brow to rally 
 her senses, and read the letter again slowly. Then 
 mortification succeeded dismay, and resentment 
 followed close on mortification. The wounded 
 pride of the wife, the indignation of the mother 
 protesting for her children asserted themselves, 
 causing her to flush to the roots of her hair and her 
 pulses to tingle. Coward! Unnatural father! 
 What had she done to deserve this? What had 
 they done, helpless innocents? Give them up to 
 him? Her children, now the only joy of her life? 
 Never. They could not both have them. Why 
 should he who had left them in the lurch have 
 either? She could hear their prattle in the ad 
 joining room, poor little souls, unconscious of their 
 misery. Then her sense of wounded pride and her 
 anger were forgotten in the agony of a possible 
 separation from her offspring, and in the loss of 
 her husband s love, and her tense nerves gave way. 
 u Oh, Emil, my husband, how could you?" she 
 moaned, and burying her face in her hands she let 
 sorrow have full sway. 
 
 When she had dried her eyes she was prepared 
 to face the situation and to think more calmly. 
 Certain points were now clear. Emil was right; 
 
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 since he had ceased to love her, they could never 
 be happy together. So far as she could see, she 
 had not been at fault, though he had persuaded 
 himself that she was to blame. She would never 
 have left him; but now that he had deserted her, 
 she could dare to admit that their souls were not 
 in accord, and that her love and respect for him 
 had been waning in spite of herself for many 
 months. She would not attempt to follow him, 
 and she desired to retain both the children. Was 
 it her duty to let Emil have one of them? Here 
 was the only harassing point in the plans for the 
 future which she was formulating. Would it be 
 fair to the children to separate them? Would she 
 be justified in keeping them both, in view of the 
 affection which their father had professed for his 
 own flesh and blood? As Emil had declared, he 
 and she had made a mess of their marriage, and 
 they were to separate. Was it fair to him to keep 
 both the boy and the girl? Ah, but she could not 
 bear the thought of giving up either. She felt the 
 need of counsel. To whom could she turn? Who 
 were her friends? She thought of Mr. Prentiss, 
 and she remembered her husband s taunt concern 
 ing her philanthropic church friends with a sense 
 of shrinking. The church offered itself as a refuge 
 to all in the hour of distress, but it seemed to her 
 as though she would rather starve than apply to 
 Mr. Prentiss. Not that she was afraid of starv 
 ing. That side of the situation had no terrors for 
 her. She was almost glad at the idea of support 
 ing herself and her darlings, and she had entire 
 confidence in her ability to do so, even though she 
 were forced to scrub floors. But she yearned for 
 
 80 
 
Oh, Emil, my husband, how could you? " she moaned 
 
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 the sympathy and advice of a friend. How lonely 
 she had suddenly become in this large, busy city! 
 Emil had evinced little desire, especially of late, 
 to make friends in the neighborhood, and she had 
 been so absorbed in her home and her husband s 
 interest that she had disregarded her social oppor 
 tunities. He had been apt to speak slightingly of 
 their acquaintances as people whom he would soon 
 outstrip in the struggle of life. And now she was 
 the poorest of the poor, the saddest of the sad, one 
 of the lowly common people for whom her doctor 
 father s heart had ever cherished fond and pa 
 tient sympathy. She was one of them now her 
 self. How different had been her dreams 
 and her ambition. To think that she, Constance 
 Forbes, had come to this a wife abandoned by 
 her husband, alone and friendless, with only the 
 semblance of a roof to shelter her and her chil 
 dren. But all this was nothing if only she need 
 not part with either of her babies. She would be 
 able to support them, never fear, and with them 
 to support she could be brave, even happy. But 
 without them? No, no, Emil had forsaken her, 
 she had lost her faith in him, he was not worthy 
 of the sacrifice; she dared not trust him; he had 
 no right to either. She could not, she would not 
 let either go. 
 
 When the morning came she was more firmly of 
 the same opinion, and she composed this reply to 
 her husband : 
 
 EMIL : 
 
 I have your letter and my heart is filled with sorrow. I can 
 not compel you to live with me against your will. God knows 
 I have tried to be a loving, dutiful, and sympathetic wife, but it 
 
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 seems I have failed to please you. It is true that our ideas of 
 how to live and what is right are very different. I have been 
 aware of that in my secret soul, but for your sake I did my best 
 to adopt your point of view. Now I shall be free to follow my 
 own. Since you no longer love me, I am not sorry that we are 
 to live apart, for I can see now that I have suffered much on 
 your account. But I do not choose to reproach you. What 
 good would it do ? Besides you are the father of my children 
 poor little things. I do not think that I should have written to 
 you at all if it were not for the question what is to become of 
 them. 
 
 I am trying to do what is best for them and to be just ; just 
 to you and to myself. I have decided to keep both the children. 
 They are babies still, and need a mother s love. A father s too, 
 but it seems they cannot have both. Let God judge between 
 us, Emil. They are my flesh and blood too, and it is you who 
 are forsaking us, not we you. As you say, I have my health 
 and we shall not starve. I am not afraid. There is nothing 
 more to say, is there ? It has all been a dreadful mistake and 
 we thought we should be so happy. Good-by. In spite of 
 everything I shall always think of you kindly. 
 
 CONSTANCE. 
 
 Having despatched this she felt as though she 
 would be glad to die. Life seemed so flat, and her 
 condition so humiliating. Her love for Emil was 
 dead; the union of their souls was broken; what 
 was there to look forward to ? Yet she knew that 
 she must not stop to repine or to indulge in self- 
 pity. The stern necessity of winning bread for 
 her children confronted her and must be faced at 
 once and resolutely. In this she must find happi 
 ness and fresh inspiration. It was her duty to 
 close the ears and eyes of her soul to the voices and 
 visions of the past. Hard work would save her 
 brain from giving way, and hard work only. 
 What should that work be? What was she to 
 
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 do? In the first glow of her pride, revolting 
 at the slight which her husband had put upon 
 her, the way had seemed easy, but viewed in the 
 sober light of reality it bristled with difficulties. 
 Yet now, as she pondered and realized what 
 failure would mean, her spirit rose to meet them, 
 and immediate needs forced sorrow to the back 
 ground. 
 
 Where was she to find work? Since the receipt 
 of her husband s letter everything outside her own 
 emotions had been a blank to her; her gaze had 
 been solely introspective. Conscious now of the 
 need of action and of renewing her contact with 
 the world, she took up the newspaper, yesterday s 
 issue of which lay unopened on the table, and be 
 gan to examine the page of advertisements for 
 employment. She must find at once something 
 which would provide her with ready money. Only 
 through friends and only after delay could she 
 hope to obtain a kindergarten position; it would 
 take time and instruction to learn typewriting; she 
 was not sufficiently proficient in languages or music 
 to offer herself as a teacher. She could become a 
 domestic servant or a shopgirl. In the former case 
 it would be necessary to board out her children, 
 to give them to some institution, perhaps, a pros 
 pect which wrung her heart; in the latter she could 
 be with them at night, but who would look after 
 and guard them during the day? What did other 
 women do whose husbands ran away and left 
 them? The long list of people out of work was 
 appalling, and few of the opportunities offered 
 seemed to fit her circumstances. Someone was 
 seeking employment as a seamstress. She might 
 
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 take in sewing. This perhaps was the most feas 
 ible suggestion. She was handy at plain sewing, 
 and a little practice would doubtless render her 
 skilful. Yes, she would try this, and in order to 
 obtain a start would solicit work from some of the 
 neighbors, if needs be. The neighbors? They 
 did not know as yet of her misfortune her dis 
 grace, for it was a disgrace to be forsaken by her 
 husband. It would be necessary to tell them. 
 What should she say? Entertaining sadly this 
 necessity of an avowal, she glanced over the rest 
 of the newspaper, and came suddenly upon a para 
 graph which informed her that her misfortune was 
 already public. Prefaced by offensive headlines, 
 "Emil Stuart disappears from Benham! What 
 has become of Mrs. Morgan s mortgage money?" 
 the wretched story stood exploited to the world. 
 Constance read and the cup of her distress and 
 humiliation overflowed. It needed only this in 
 sinuation of dishonesty to complete her misery. 
 Her husband an embezzler? Where should she 
 hide her head? Nor was there comfort in the re 
 porter s closing effort at euphemism: "One or two 
 acquaintances of the late candidate for aldermanic 
 honors, when apprised of his mysterious disappear 
 ance, expressed the belief that his seeming irregu 
 larities would be explained to the satisfaction of 
 all concerned; but a gentleman, whose name we 
 are not at liberty to disclose, hazards an opinion, 
 based on personal observation, that Mr. Stuart has 
 been premeditating this step for several weeks, and 
 is a fugitive from justice. The circumstance that 
 his wife and two children have been left behind 
 in Benham invites the further inquiry whether he 
 
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 has also abandoned his family. There are rumors 
 that Mr. Stuart s domestic relations were not alto 
 gether harmonious." 
 
 Constance let the newspaper slip from her 
 hands. Her cheeks burned with shame. This was 
 the last straw. Her husband a defaulter, and her 
 relations with him the subject of common news 
 paper gossip. As she stood spell-bound by this 
 new phase of misfortune the door-bell rang. A 
 visitor. Who could it be? Some sympathetic or 
 curious neighbor who had read of her calamities. 
 Or more probably the writer of the newspaper 
 article coming to probe into her misery in search 
 of fresh copy. For a moment she thought that she 
 would not answer the call, and she waited hoping 
 that whoever it was would go away. Again the 
 bell rang, this time sharply. It might be some 
 thing important, even a telegram from Emil to 
 clear himself. Picking up the newspaper she con 
 cealed it hastily, then stepped into the passage and 
 opened the door slightly. 
 
 "May I come in?" asked a strong, friendly 
 voice. 
 
 "Oh yes, Mr. Prentiss; excuse me," she faltered. 
 She had recognized at once who her visitor was, 
 but so many bewildering things had happened that 
 she stood for a moment irresolute, refusing to 
 credit her own senses. As she opened wide the 
 door, the clergyman strode in fearlessly as though 
 he realized that the situation must be carried by 
 storm. Entering the parlor, he put out his hand 
 and said with manly effusion : 
 
 "I have come to ask you to let me help you, Mrs. 
 Stuart." 
 
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 "Sit down, please. You are very kind. I " 
 
 Her words choked her, and she stopped. 
 
 "I saw by the newspaper yesterday that you 
 were in trouble. I do not wish to pry into your 
 affairs, but I thought that you might be glad of 
 the counsel of a friend." 
 
 His visit was precious balm to her spirit, but, 
 despite her gratitude, the knowledge that he was 
 heaping the traditional coals of fire on her head 
 made her uncomfortable. She had choked from 
 mingled relief and mortification. But now her 
 finer instinct responded to the kindness of his words 
 and she said with simple directness: "I should like 
 to tell you everything, Mr. Prentiss. My husband 
 left a week ago. He does not intend to return. 
 I have a letter from him, and he he does not wish 
 to live with me any longer. He was willing to 
 support the children, but I could not make up my 
 mind to let them go. Our money is all gone and 
 this house is mortgaged. If you will help me to 
 find work so that I can support them and myself, 
 I shall be very grateful. It was very good of you 
 
 to come to see me." 
 
 The children, attracted by the voice of a 
 stranger, had run in and stood one on either side 
 of their mother staring at him shyly with cherubic 
 eyes. The clergyman said to himself that here 
 was a veritable Madonna of distress this lithe, 
 nervous-looking woman with her slim figure and 
 soulful face. How pretty and neat she looked in 
 spite of her misery ! How engaging were the tones 
 in which she had set forth her calamity ! He had 
 always admired her, and it had been a disappoint 
 ment to him that she had strayed. There was al- 
 
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 most jubilation in his heart as he heard that she 
 was free from the wretch who had pulled her 
 down ; and though he intended to temper the ardor 
 of the priest by the tact of a man of the world, he 
 could not entirely restrain his impulse to stigmatize 
 her husband. U I see," he said. "You are much 
 to be pitied. It is a cruel wrong; the act of a 
 coward. But you must not take your trouble too 
 much to heart, Mrs. Stuart, for the man who will 
 leave a sweet wife and tender children from mere 
 caprice is no real husband and father." 
 
 "Mr. Stuart has had much to worry him of late. 
 He has lost money, and been unfortunate in poli 
 tics." Her impulse was to apologize for her hus 
 band even then. U I cannot understand though 
 how he could leave us," she added. After all why 
 should she a second time on Emil s account set her 
 face against the truth in the presence of this true 
 friend? Emil was a coward, and his act was a 
 cruel wrong. 
 
 But Mr. Prentiss had recovered his aplomb. "I 
 will not distress you by talking about him; he has 
 gone. The matter with which I am concerned is 
 how to help you. We must find you employment 
 
 at once." 
 
 Constance regarded him gratefully. "That is 
 my great requirement just now, Mr. Prentiss. I 
 need work to keep my children from starving and 
 to help me to forget. I am not afraid of work. 
 I shall be glad to do anything for which I am fit." 
 
 U I understand, I understand. It is the pride of 
 my church to help just such women as you to help 
 themselves. You need give yourself no concern 
 as to your immediate pecuniary needs. They will 
 
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 be provided for. I will send the Deaconess to you 
 
 at once." 
 
 The directness of his bounty, the plain intima 
 tion that she was a subject for charity brought a 
 flush to her cheeks. But she knew in an instant 
 that it would be false pride to protest. There was 
 no food or money in the house. 
 
 "Thank you," she said simply. 
 
 Mr. Prentiss divined her reluctance and appre 
 ciated the delicacy of her submission. He recog 
 nized that this woman with wistful brown eyes and 
 nervous, intelligent face was no ordinary person 
 was even more deserving than he had supposed, 
 and his thoughts were already busy with the prob 
 lem of her future. He must find just the right 
 thing for her. "I know, of course, that you wish 
 to become self-supporting as soon as possible," he 
 said. "Will you tell me a little more about your 
 self and your capabilities? You came to Benham 
 a few months before your marriage to fit yourself 
 to be a kindergarten teacher, if I remember 
 aright?" 
 
 During the momentary pause which preceded 
 this inquiry her conscience had been reasserting 
 itself. She had longed for counsel and here it was. 
 If she had erred, there was yet time to repair her 
 fault. "Before we talk of that, may I ask you 
 one question, Mr. Prentiss? I wish to know if you 
 think it was selfish of me to keep both the children. 
 I desire to do what is right this time, whatever it 
 cost me." She clasped her hands resolutely in her 
 lap as though she were nerving herself for a sacri 
 fice. "I hope you will tell me exactly what you 
 think." 
 
 88 
 
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 The clergyman s heart warmed at this revela 
 tion of spiritual vigor. "Here is a soul worth help 
 ing," he reflected. Then, in answer to her appeal, 
 he exclaimed with righteous emphasis: "Ask your 
 own heart, my dear woman. Would you dare 
 trust these babies to your husband s keeping? This 
 is a problem of right and wrong, and demands a 
 severing of the sheep from the goats. You may 
 banish that doubt forever." 
 
 Constance dropped her eyes to hide the tears 
 of satisfaction which had sprung into them at his 
 words. Her children were safe. The counsel 
 given was the very echo of the test by which she 
 had justified herself toward Emil. "Excuse me," 
 she said in apology for her emotion. Then look 
 ing up she added with tremulous brightness, "I 
 felt that I must be sure before anything else was 
 decided. And now to answer your question as to 
 my own capabilities: I have none. I am eager to 
 learn, and I have had some education my father 
 was fond of books and had a library but I tell 
 you frankly that there is nothing but the simplest 
 manual work for which I am fitted at the present 
 time. I have thought that all over." 
 
 "So far so good. Much of the trouble of this 
 world proceeds from the inability of people to 
 discern for what they are not fitted. Can you 
 sew?" 
 
 "I can do plain sewing satisfactorily." 
 
 "We will begin with that then. It will keep you 
 busy for the time being. Meanwhile I shall have 
 an opportunity to consider what you had best 
 undertake." He rose and put out his hand with 
 spontaneous friendliness. "Good-by. God bless 
 
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 you. You are a brave soul, and He will not desert 
 you or leave you comfortless." 
 
 Constance quickened at the firm pressure, and 
 her own fingers acknowledged the interest which 
 it expressed. She looked into his eyes with frank 
 confidence. "You have come to me at a time when 
 I needed someone more than ever before in my life. 
 I shall never forget it." 
 
 Mr. Prentiss nodded and turned to go as though 
 he would disclaim this expression of everlasting 
 obligation. He felt that he was about his Master s 
 business, and was seeking neither thanks nor praise. 
 Yet, while he deprecated her gratitude, her entire 
 mental attitude caused him ethical and aesthetic 
 satisfaction. The conviction that this ward of the 
 church was worth saving and helping gave elas 
 ticity to his step and erectness to his large figure 
 as he strode up the street, knocking now and again 
 some bit of orange peel or other refuse from the 
 sidewalk with a sweep of his cane, which suggested 
 a spirit eager to do battle in behalf of righteous 
 ness. 
 
 90 
 
VII 
 
 TWO days later the Rev. George Prentiss 
 dined at the house of another of his par 
 ishioners, Mrs. Randolph Wilson. She was a 
 widow of about forty-five, the sister of Carleton 
 Howard, reputedly the wealthiest and most saga 
 cious of Benham s financial magnates, and a gener 
 ous benefactress of St. Stephen s. Her bounty had 
 enabled the rector from time to time to carry out 
 his cherished plans for the aesthetic adornment of 
 the church property. The reredos, two stained- 
 glass windows, and the baptismal font in the 
 enlarged edifice had been provided by her; and 
 in the matter of charity she never failed to respond 
 by munificent subscriptions to the various causes 
 in aid of which he appealed to his congregation. 
 They were friends and allies; interested mutually 
 in St. Stephen s, and interested also, as they both 
 liked to feel, in promoting American civilization 
 outside of church work. Her house, or palace, as 
 it should more properly be termed, a counterpart 
 to that of her brother s which adjoined it, stood 
 in the van of progress, in Benham s fashionable 
 new quarter beyond the River Drive. No pains 
 or expense had been spared to make these mansions 
 impressive and magnificent. Architects of repute 
 had been employed to superintend their construc 
 tion, and their decorations and furnishings had 
 been chosen in consultation with persons whose 
 
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 business it was to know the whereabouts of admir 
 able objects of art, and to tempt impecunious noble 
 families abroad to exchange their unique treasures 
 for dazzling round sums of American gold. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson could fairly be termed the leader 
 of social activity in Benham, if such a term be com 
 patible with the institutions of a country where 
 every women is supposed to be a law unto herself. 
 Fashions, in the narrow sense of clothes, are in 
 America set by the dressmakers, but what Mrs. 
 Wilson wore was always a matter of moment to 
 women who wished to be in style. She dressed 
 elegantly, and she was able to take liberties with 
 the dressmakers, doing daring things with colors 
 and materials which justified themselves, yet were 
 so individual that they were liable to make guys 
 of those who copied her. Consequently, her ward 
 robe had a distinction of its own which proclaimed 
 fashion yet defied it. Yet her clothes, striking and 
 superb as they often were, constituted only a small 
 part of her social effectiveness. Her gracious fin 
 ished manners, and quick, tactful intelligence were 
 the agents of a spirit perpetually eager to be occu 
 pied and to lead, and which had found a labor of 
 love in directing what may well be called Benham s 
 aesthetic renaissance. 
 
 For Benham s evolution had been no mere 
 growth of bricks and mortar, and no mere triumph 
 in census figures over other centres of population. 
 Even more remarkable and swift than its physical 
 changes had been the transformation in the point 
 of view of its citizens. Twenty years earlier in 
 1870, when Mr. Prentiss was a young man just 
 starting in the ministry he had been one of a 
 
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 small group of earnest souls interested in awaken 
 ing the public to a consciousness of the paucity of 
 their aesthetic interests, and to the value of color 
 as a stimulating factor in the every-day life of the 
 community, and as such he had often deplored the 
 aridity of Benham s point of view. In those days 
 the city was virtually a hot-bed of republican sim 
 plicity and contempt for social refinements so far 
 as all but a very small percentage of the inhabi 
 tants was concerned. Those who built houses 
 larger and finer than their neighbors were few in 
 number and were stigmatized, if not as enemies 
 of the institutions of the country, as purse-proud 
 and frivolous. Hotels were conducted on the 
 theory that what was good enough for the landlord 
 was good enough for the guest, and that malcon 
 tents could go elsewhere. In matters appertaining 
 to art, hygiene, education or municipal manage 
 ment, one man s opinion was regarded as equal to 
 any other s, provided he could get the job. Special 
 knowledge was sneered at, and the best patriots in 
 the public estimation were those who did not dis 
 trust the ability of the average citizen to produce 
 masterpieces in the line of his or her employment 
 by dint of raw genius untrammelled or unpolluted 
 by the experience of older civilizations. Though 
 solid business men wore solemn-looking black 
 frock-coats and black wisp ties in business hours, to 
 dress again in the evening was looked at askance as 
 undemocratic. It would have been considered an 
 invasion of the rights of the free-born citizen to 
 forbid expectoration in the street cars. Sugges 
 tions that the vicious and unregenerate adult pau 
 per poor should not be herded with the young, that 
 
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 busy physicians should cleanse a lancet before 
 probing a wound, and that sewage should not be 
 emptied into a river used as a source of water 
 supply, were still sniffed at by those in charge of 
 public affairs as aristocratic innovations unworthy 
 the attention of a sovereign people. Architectural 
 beauty both within and without the house was dis 
 regarded in favor of monotonous sober hues and 
 solid effects, which were deemed to be suggestive 
 of the seriousness of the national character. 
 
 While deploring some of these civic manifesta 
 tions, Mr. Prentiss had appreciated that the basis 
 of this aesthetic sterility was ethical. When less 
 discerning persons had attributed it solely to ig 
 norance and self-righteous superficiality he had 
 maintained that a puritanical, yet moral and sin 
 cere, hostility to extravagance and display was 
 responsible for the preference for ugly architec 
 ture and homely upholstery and decoration, and 
 that conscience was the most formidable obstacle 
 to progress. As a priest of a church which 
 fostered beauty and favored rational enjoyment 
 of the fruits of the earth, he had never sym 
 pathized with this public attitude, but he had 
 understood and, as an American, respected it. 
 
 Now, in the twinkling of an eye, as it were, all 
 was changed, and Benham was in the throes of a 
 revival; a revival which during the last ten years 
 had revolutionized Benham s architecture and 
 Benham s point of view. The public had become 
 possessed by the conviction that they had out 
 grown their associations and that the standards 
 hitherto revered were out of date and unworthy 
 of a nation and a city pledged to enlighten the 
 
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 world, upon whom prosperity had been bestowed 
 in large measure. The group of earnest souls 
 who had dared to criticise seemed suddenly to have 
 become a phalanx numerically unimportant, still, 
 when compared with the whole population, that 
 seething army of industrial wage-earners but 
 assertive and energetic out of proportion to their 
 numbers. The city had become a hive of reform 
 ing activities. Specialists in the arts and human 
 ities were no longer classed as traitors, but were 
 welcomed by a growing clientage as safeguards 
 against bumptious individualism. Though a cheer 
 ful optimism in regard to the city s architectural 
 merits still prevailed at large, a silent censorship 
 was at work; substituting, in the business quarter, 
 new mammoth structures adapted to modern in 
 dustrial needs, erecting in the fashionable quarter, 
 by the aid of American architects trained in Paris, 
 well-built and individual-looking residences. In 
 stead of three or four cheerless, barrack-like 
 caravansaries with sodden cookery, there was a 
 score of modern hotels, the proprietors of which 
 vied with one another in their endeavors to lure 
 patronage by costly and sumptuous innovations. 
 There were comfortable and inviting restaurants. 
 The slap-dash luncheon counter, with its display 
 of pallid pie and one cadaverous chicken, was wan 
 ing in the popular esteem, in favor of neat spas, 
 at which the rush of patronage was alleviated by 
 clean service and wholesome fare. There were 
 eight theatres, each more spacious and splendid 
 than its predecessor. A frowsy black coat, worn 
 in the forenoon, had ceased to be a badge of pa 
 triotism or moral worth, and the community had 
 
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 become alive to the values of spruceness, color, 
 and comfort in matters of dress. Not only this, 
 but on the streets of Benham there were many 
 stylish equipages with liveried grooms, and in the 
 superb homes which the wealthy citizens had 
 established, there were grand entertainments, 
 where rivalry was rampant and money flowed like 
 champagne. And last, but not least, there was 
 Mrs. Randolph Wilson, the quintessence in her 
 own person of all that was best in this revival in 
 favor of the beautiful things of life, the living 
 embodiment of this newly directed and freshly 
 inspired energy. For well-to-do Benham and Mr. 
 Prentiss liked to believe that the impulse behind 
 these materialistic manifestations was conscience 
 and aspiration, a reaching out for a greater human 
 happiness and a wider human usefulness than had 
 been possible under the old dispensation. This 
 access of lavish philanthropy and study of chari 
 table methods, this zeal of committees promoting 
 new and more thorough methods in hygiene and 
 education, and all the phases of this new awaken 
 ing in quest of Christian beauty signified to him 
 Benham s and hence American originality and 
 fervor refined and spiritualized; Benham s enter 
 prise and independence informed, chastened, and 
 fortified. 
 
 And yet there was another side to this whole 
 matter which had haunted Mr. Prentiss much of 
 late, and which was in his thoughts to-night as he 
 sat smoking his cigar after dinner. He had dined 
 sumptuously. Cool oysters, soup of mushrooms, 
 fish smothered in a luscious sauce, cutlets of veni 
 son with French beans, little pyramids of pate de 
 
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 foie gras encased in jelly, butter-ball ducks with a 
 salad richly dressed, and a confection of fruit, 
 cream, and pastry, which was evidently a gastro 
 nomic specialty of Mrs. Wilson s French cook. 
 He had tasted everything; he had drunk two 
 glasses of champagne, and been pleasantly aware 
 that the cup of black coffee, served after dinner, 
 was an entrancing concoction which his own kitchen 
 did not afford; and he felt that his repast had done 
 him good. It was for him an occasion. Obviously 
 it was for Mrs. Wilson an every-day affair. More 
 over, this rich, delicious dinner, served by noiseless 
 servants on choice china, was in harmony with the 
 rest of the magnificent establishment, in harmony 
 with the artistic scheme of color, the soft lustrous 
 draperies, the striking pictures and other master 
 pieces of art purchased for large sums abroad, and 
 Mrs. Wilson s beautiful toilette and exquisite per 
 sonality. Here was luxury triumphant and com 
 pelling, yet unappeased and seeking fresh oppor 
 tunities for aesthetic delight; as witness a Millet, 
 an inlaid table, and a Japanese idol in the room 
 in which he sat, all new since he had dined there 
 last. 
 
 What a vivid contrast all this to the cheerless 
 often squalid homes which he was accustomed to 
 visit as a rector of Christ s church ! The thought 
 which haunted him was that one result of the city s 
 marvellous growth and development had been the 
 accentuation of the distinctions between rich and 
 poor, between class and class in a community 
 where, until lately, there had been theoretically no 
 classes. To be sure he had Mr. Carleton 
 Howard s assertion that there was no country in 
 
 97 
 
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 the world where the poor man was so well off. 
 This was very likely true, but it did not affect the 
 proposition that the rich were daily growing richer 
 and more self-indulgent. What was to be the 
 limit the outcome of this renaissance of beauty 
 and comfort, which he had welcomed? Had not 
 the aesthetic reaction almost reached the point 
 where, both as a priest of God and as a good 
 American, it behooved him to cry halt against 
 luxury and extravagance? He frowned at this 
 last reflection for the reason that he was painfully 
 aware that he had fulminated against this sort of 
 thing from the pulpit for years, formerly as part 
 of the clerical formula championing the cause of 
 the spirit against the flesh, and latterly because 
 the Aladdin-like growth of great fortunes all over 
 the land, and conspicuously in his own community, 
 had often suggested the comparison between the 
 passage of a camel through the eye of a needle and 
 the rich man s entrance into the kingdom of heaven 
 as an appropriate text. He had spoken with fervor 
 and sincerity concerning the responsibilities of 
 those having great possessions, and sometimes with 
 living pictures in his mind. Neither Mrs. Wilson 
 nor her brother had ever been among those for 
 whom these admonitions were intended. They 
 had opened their purse-strings liberally to every 
 meritorious cause. The goodly size of their 
 cheques was to him a constant source both of sat 
 isfaction and astonishment astonishment at the 
 new possibilities open to those interested in God s 
 kingdom. 
 
 Yet, though he put from him as ungenerous and 
 unnecessary any positive criticism of his hostess, 
 
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 in the teeth of her many benefactions and her 
 personal activity in social undertakings, he could 
 not help realizing that, in spite of his utterances, 
 the evil which he deprecated was proceeding at a 
 pace which suggested the course of wild-fire. And 
 the worst of it was that he the church was so 
 helpless. Great fortunes had been accumulated 
 with a zeal which suggested the inevitable march 
 of destiny a law which seemed almost to mock 
 the spirit of Christ and, even while he was mus 
 ing, the city had become a theatre of industrial 
 contrasts, with the pomp and pride of life in the 
 centre of the stage and poverty and distress in the 
 ample background. There recurred to him the 
 traditional image of the curate of his faith the 
 Church of England cringing before or patron 
 ized by the titled worshippers of Mammon. This, 
 at least, he could resent as impossible in his case 
 he had never hesitated to speak his mind to any 
 of his parishioners, however important still, the 
 reminder was disconcerting and a challenge to his 
 conscience. Nor was the reflection that this wave 
 of luxury, this more and more exacting reverence 
 for material comforts, was a part of the movement 
 of the century, and was common to all civilized 
 countries, a solace. He was an American, but first 
 of all, he was a servant of the church, and the 
 church was the beacon of civilization. Was she 
 doing her work, if these terrible inequalities were 
 to continue? What was to be the outcome of this 
 zest for luxurious personal comfort? 
 
 To what extent the church ought to take part 
 in the economic regeneration of the world was one 
 of the questions which Mr. Prentiss had always 
 
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 found perplexing. He was well aware that his 
 parishioners as a body were not fond of hearing 
 him preach on what they called secular subjects. 
 So long as he confined himself to enumerating 
 spiritual truths, they were not averse to his illus 
 trating his stigmas upon sin by generalizations 
 from current worldly abuses; but he knew that 
 many shook their heads and declared that the cob 
 bler should stick to his last when he ventured to 
 discourse on political topics or the relations of 
 labor and capital. Mr. Prentiss was not aware, 
 however, that some of this prejudice proceeded 
 from the circumstance that he was apt to lose his 
 head on such occasions; but, on the other hand, 
 much of it was genuine disinclination for advice 
 from the pulpit on subjects which, to quote the 
 women parishioners, were not spiritual, and, to 
 quote the men, were none of his business. His con 
 gregation was almost entirely composed of pew 
 owners, people with vested rights, among which 
 appeared to be the right not to be harrowed by 
 socialistic doctrines. They were ready to help the 
 poor in any way which he would suggest, and they 
 had supplied him with a mission church where he 
 could reach the ignorant and needy more effec 
 tively, but they argued that he had better leave 
 to the politicians all suggestions tending to disturb 
 the existing industrial order. 
 
 Mr. Prentiss sometimes sighed over these limi 
 tations, but he had become used to them, and in a 
 measure, with advancing years, he had, in his en 
 deavor to be a man of the world in order to remain 
 a more useful Christian, accepted the doctrine that 
 he had no plan to substitute for the present eco- 
 
 100 
 
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 nomic system, and that he must make the best of 
 the existing situation. So, in practical, daily life, 
 he exhorted the rich to give their money and them 
 selves to the advancement of their fellow men, and 
 the poor to shun vice and bear their privations 
 with patience, while he held forth the promise of 
 the church of an existence hereafter for the pure 
 in heart where all the seeming inconsistencies of 
 this mortal life would be explained and justified. 
 Not being endowed with much sense of humor, 
 Mr. Prentiss, as he waxed in years, and St. Ste 
 phen s became the fashionable church of the city, 
 had found less and less difficulty in accommodating 
 himself to this point of view, and in devoting all 
 his ardor to reclaiming souls for Christ. After 
 all, was not his mission to help men and women as 
 he found them? First of all to minister to their 
 souls, and in the name of Christianity to lift them 
 from the slough of human suffering and misfortune 
 that he might expound to them the loving mercies 
 of the Lord? The things of the earth were not 
 the things of the spirit, and he was more tenacious 
 than in his youth of the prerogatives of the church 
 as an institution controlling human consciences by 
 standards of its own, founded on the teachings of 
 the Prince of Peace. Nevertheless, being reason 
 ably clear-headed and fearless, he was not without 
 the suspicion at times that this reasoning was mys 
 tical, and in the face of facts he had every now 
 and then his unpleasant quarters of an hour. 
 
 This was one of them to-night. His hostess, 
 when the dinner was over, had left him to a cigar 
 and his own devices in the library. He was to 
 join her presently and be shown her daughter s 
 
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 wedding presents. He had been invited to 
 dine in order that he might see them, but Mrs. 
 Wilson and he both knew that this was an 
 excuse for a quiet evening together in which 
 they might compare notes concerning their mutual 
 interests. Reaching out to knock off the ash of 
 his cigar into a dainty porcelain wheelbarrow, he 
 noticed a new photograph on the mantel-piece and 
 rose to examine it. He recognized it as one of 
 Clarence Waldo, the New Yorker to whom Miss 
 Lucille Wilson was betrothed. The sight of this 
 young man s countenance did not serve to restore 
 Mr. Prentiss s serenity. On the contrary, he stood 
 gazing at the photograph with an expression which 
 suggested that his soul was still perturbed. The 
 face was that of a man of twenty-seven or eight 
 with delicate features thin lips, a long nose and 
 an indefinable haughtiness of expression which was 
 made up of weariness and disdain. He had large 
 eyes which lacked lustre, and his sparse hair gave 
 the effect of having been carefully brushed. The 
 clergyman had met him only a few times, and Mr. 
 Prentiss had never forgotten the first occasion, 
 which was at Lucille s coming-out ball three years 
 before. He had happened to find himself in Mr. 
 Waldo s path when the young man was in the act 
 of carrying everything before him with a plate 
 of salad for his partner, and he had never forgot 
 ten the cold impertinence of the New Yorker s 
 stare. Paul Howard, Lucille s cousin, who wit 
 nessed the encounter, said afterward that Clarence 
 had given Mr. Prentiss the dead eye, which was 
 a telling description of the stoniness of the fashion 
 able New Yorker s gaze. Mr. Prentiss had never 
 
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 heard this diagnosis, but he had remembered the 
 episode. He regarded it, however, merely as ad 
 ditional evidence of the lack of reverence on the 
 part of the young men of the day and the young 
 women, too, for the matter of that not merely 
 for sacred things, but for everything and every 
 body which were in their way or did not happen 
 to appeal to their fancy. But though he consid 
 ered this absence of social politeness as one of the 
 cardinal failings of the age, his present thoughts 
 regarding Lucille s future husband were not con 
 cerned with it. 
 
 Since the engagement had been announced four 
 months ago he had been making inquiries, and the 
 information w T hich he had received was in his mind 
 and troubled his soul as a corollary of the other 
 problems which had just been haunting him. It 
 was not of a character to justify him in forbidding 
 the bans not even in remonstrating with Mrs. 
 Wilson, unless she were to ask his advice or pro 
 vide him with an opportunity. But he deplored 
 sincerely that this young man was to marry his 
 friend s daughter. Was this to be the outcome, 
 the crowning of the wealth of love and solicitude 
 which had been lavished on this only child a child 
 brought up in his church? Was it for this that 
 Lucille had been made the central figure of costly 
 entertainments for the last three years, in the hope 
 that she might make a brilliant match? Decidedly, 
 it was a puzzling world, and circumstances seemed 
 to be conspiring to cloud his horizon and disturb 
 his digestion at a time when he ought to be en 
 joying himself and taking his ease. 
 
 "What does he offer her?" he said to himself. 
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 "Twelve months of sporting life American 
 sporting life. A superb stable, a four-in-hand 
 coach and steam yacht, polo, golf, the horse show, 
 cards, six months every third year in Europe, their 
 summers at Newport, their winters at Palm Beach. 
 The fortune which she will bring him will enable 
 them to live in the lap of luxury all the year round, 
 and he will teach her to regard those who are not 
 rich and who do not imitate their manner of life 
 as beneath their notice. I know the kind I know 
 the kind." 
 
 Soft footsteps interrupted his mental soliloquy. 
 "No, thank you," he exclaimed in a tone which 
 was almost militant to the waiters who approached 
 him with a tray. Mr. Prentiss supposed that 
 another form of stimulant was being offered him, 
 for Madeira, liqueurs and coffee had been succes 
 sively brought in and solemnly presented to him 
 by the two men servants, one of whom seemed to 
 him as superfluous as a plumber s helper. Then 
 as his gaze, which had been inward, appreciated 
 that the silver gilt tumbler contained apollinaris 
 water, he called them back and emptied the glass. 
 He had finished his cigar and it was time to rejoin 
 his hostess. 
 
 104 
 
VIII 
 
 MR. PRENTISS continued his monologue on 
 his way to the drawing-room. He imag 
 ined himself saying to Mrs. Wilson, "You know 
 that I believe in toleration, and that I would not 
 set or preach an ascetic standard of life. I believe 
 my church believes that it is not profitable to 
 the human soul to mortify the flesh in every-day 
 life or refuse to enjoy the comforts of civilization. 
 But the set of people to which this young man be 
 longs are cumberers of the soil and a menace to 
 society. It is not merely a question of taste, but 
 of Christian morals. We have nothing to do with 
 other nations; our concern is with the social life 
 of this nation and whether we are to foster and 
 encourage a pleasure-loving, self-indulgent, and 
 purposeless leisure class." 
 
 Yet though his thoughts thus shaped themselves 
 in fervent words, he was conscious that in the ab 
 sence of a cue his lips must remain sealed. There 
 was a limit imposed by society on the priestly office 
 which he could not overstep without appearing 
 officious, and thus weakening his influence. Were 
 it a case of notorious dissipation or some palpable 
 fault or blemish, it would be his duty to speak. 
 But he had no such data at his command. Clar 
 ence Waldo was simply a fastidious idler, preten 
 tious, and indifferent to the vital interests of life. 
 
 105 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 It could not even be charged that he was marrying 
 Lucille for her money, as he had a competency of 
 his own. They would be able to buy all the dogs 
 and horses in the country if they saw fit. But his 
 own tongue was tied. To all appearances Mrs. 
 Wilson was content. At the time she had an 
 nounced her daughter s engagement to him, she 
 had said, in response to his earnest inquiry if she 
 were satisfied said it with a blithe smile, as 
 though, on the whole, the best had happened "I 
 should have been glad of course, if Lucille had 
 chosen a man of conspicuous talent, a future Uni 
 ted States Senator or successful artist or author. 
 If she had loved her lord, I should not have ob 
 jected to a title, because, after all, even to a free- 
 born American, there is a certain compensation in 
 becoming the mother of dukes and regenerating 
 an ancient line. But Clarence is well connected, 
 and the child is in love with him. So long as she 
 is happy, that is the essential thing." 
 
 Since then he had become better informed as 
 to the young man s tendencies. But if Lucille was 
 in love with him, and her mother acquiescent, what 
 was there to do? The church could not interfere 
 beyond a certain point without giving offence. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson was not in the drawing-room, but 
 Mr. Prentiss caught a glimpse of her at her desk 
 in a smaller room which led out of it. She called 
 to him that she was answering a note and would 
 join him presently. The clergyman seated himself 
 and picking up from a low teak table beside him 
 a paper-cutter fashioned on a Japanese sword hilt 
 he compressed his fingers on the handle as an out 
 let to his perplexity. Had he been walking in the 
 
 106 
 
 
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 fields, he would have cut off the heads of the dande 
 lions with his cane. Marriage was a sacrament, 
 the most solemn undertaking in life, yet how im 
 possible it was to regulate matrimony for others. 
 He glanced around the room admiringly. Already 
 the musical notes of his hostess s voice had served 
 to dissipate partially the miasma of doubt which 
 had been assailing him. This main apartment was 
 one of a series of drawing-rooms, each furnished 
 with an exquisite magnificence suggestive of the 
 salons of France in the days of Louis XIV, save 
 that there was a superabundance of artistic furnish 
 ings; hence the sight was confused by the array 
 of costly tapestries, marbles, bronzes, china, 
 and gilt or otherwise illuminated ornaments which 
 almost contended for space with one another, 
 though the rooms were of large proportions. One 
 feature of Benham s renaissance was the ambition 
 to outdo the past in size and gorgeousness, but 
 Mrs. Wilson s advisers had been animated also by 
 the desire for artistic success, and it was only in 
 its wealth of material that their and her for she 
 had been the leading spirit after all performance 
 was open to criticism. Here in Benham, where 
 twenty years before the horse-hair sofa was still 
 an object of admiring regard in the homes of the 
 well-to-do, the desert had blossomed with the rose, 
 and a veritable palace had been established. And, 
 as Mr. Prentiss reflected, joining his finger-tips 
 across his waist-band, all this lavish expenditure 
 meant the return by the rich of accumulated wealth 
 into circulation for the benefit of those who labored 
 for their bread, which was another of Mr. Carle- 
 ton Howard s telling truths. 
 
 107 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 The swift, animated, but noiseless glide of Mrs. 
 Wilson into the room and onto a sofa, from which 
 she flashed at him a gracious, electric look of atten 
 tion with the words, "And now, my friend, I am 
 entirely at your disposal. It was a note which had 
 to be answered at once" restored Mr. Prentiss s 
 serenity. She was one of those pleasant persons 
 in whose presence the world seems justified. When 
 she entered a room people were apt to pay tribute 
 by a pause in whatever they were doing, and she 
 became the focus of attention. The effect of her 
 graceful energy was largely responsible for this, 
 suggesting the forceful but silent sweep of a ship. 
 She had lost the figure and the countenance of 
 youth, but though her abundant crinkly hair was 
 grizzled no one ever thought of her age except to 
 observe that she was handsomer than as a younger 
 woman. She had never been a beauty; she was 
 now a distinguished looking, comely, and effective 
 matron. She was tall and rather willowy, but not 
 thin, with a proud, resolutely carried head, an 
 agreeable straight nose, short rather than long (her 
 best feature), a spirited, sympathetic smile, eyes 
 fundamentally gray, which changed as her 
 thoughts changed, and ingratiating but elegant 
 manners. Her face, notably the cheeks and lips, 
 was a trifle full, suggesting dimples, and possibly 
 to the critical a too-manifest desire to please. Her 
 obvious pose which, though deliberate was en 
 tirely genuine was to be exquisite, sympathetic, 
 and intellectual, and for the expression of this 
 range of qualities she had serviceable allies in her 
 musical voice, a bewitching way of showing just 
 enough of her teeth, when she became vivacious, 
 
 108 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 and her ornamental clothes, which always suited 
 her. On this evening she wore an old-gold gown 
 with jet and lace accompaniments, an aigrette of 
 crimson gauze with which the plumage of her fan 
 was in harmony, a band of magnificent pearls 
 around her neck, and on her breast, though such 
 ornaments were not strictly in fashion, a large 
 brooch of fine workmanship containing a miniature 
 of two children of tender age. Of these children 
 one had died shortly after the miniature was 
 painted, the other was her daughter Lucille. Her 
 soul was dedicated to two interests, her joy and 
 ambition as a mother, and to the cause of social 
 human progress. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson had been for fifteen years a 
 widow, and, though her husband held a hallowed 
 place in her heart, even she was conscious that the 
 broad scope of her present life dated from the 
 period when, seeking a refuge from her own grief 
 and loneliness, she had welcomed diverse social 
 employment. Her husband, Randolph, a hero 
 and a colonel of the Civil War, had claimed her 
 on his return as a bride. They were ardent lovers, 
 and they had never ceased to be so, certainly not 
 in theory. Some of Mrs. Wilson s knowing friends 
 were fond of insinuating, when the humor for gos 
 sip prevailed, that he had died just in time, which 
 was their way of intimating that she had outgrown 
 him. But these dissectors of hearts did not per 
 haps sufficiently remember that her own blossom 
 ing forth into the woman she now was had been 
 subsequent to her husband s death. Nor did they 
 take sufficiently into account the bewildering course 
 of events which had attended her progress. Colo- 
 
 109 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 nel Wilson, a man of small means at the time of 
 their marriage, had become her brother s partner. 
 The properties in which he was interested at the 
 time of his death had subsequently proved so val 
 uable that she had found herself presently the pos 
 sessor of a million, a sum which had quadrupled 
 in the keeping of her brother, Carleton Howard, 
 one of the most powerful financiers in the country. 
 Opportunity surely had waited on her widening 
 aspirations, enabling her finally to establish her 
 self in this magnificent home surrounded by all the 
 aesthetic attractions and many of the treasures of 
 modern civilization. 
 
 Probably Mrs. Wilson herself had never sought 
 to analyze the past by the light of the present, 
 realizing, as we all do, that life unbeknown to us 
 has halting-places which become, as we look back, 
 the dividing lines between what are almost sepa 
 rate existences. Though at her husband s death 
 she had made no resolutions regarding the future, 
 she had never felt the impulse to marry again, so 
 engrossing were the concerns of motherhood and 
 social responsibility. 
 
 "You spoke at dinner of wishing my assistance 
 in some case in which you are interested. Will you 
 tell me about it now before we look at the pres 
 ents?" Mrs. Wilson continued with smiling in 
 terest. 
 
 "Ah, yes." Mr. Prentiss was glad to have this 
 recalled to his mind. There was no chance here 
 for doubt or perplexity. "It is rather out of the 
 usual run of charity cases. The personality of the 
 woman, I mean. The circumstance that her hus 
 band has run away and left her penniless, with two 
 
 no 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 young children to support is, alas ! only too 
 
 common." 
 
 "Poor thing! How can I be of service?" 
 
 "The woman her name is Mrs. Stuart not 
 withstanding her disastrous marriage, seems to me 
 distinctly superior. She came to Benham some six 
 or seven years ago, and I knew her a little at St. 
 Stephen s before she was a wife. Indeed, I mar 
 ried them, and made some inquiries at the time con 
 cerning the husband s circumstances, but learned 
 nothing to his discredit. She has found him to be a 
 godless, unscrupulous person with drinking habits, 
 and recently he has deserted her on the grandiose 
 plea that they would be happier apart. She will 
 be happier; I am sure of that; but I have been 
 exercised as to how to enable her to become self- 
 supporting. She is called to higher usefulness than 
 scrubbing or plain sewing, but though I have dis 
 cerned in her capabilities and refinement, she is not 
 at present equipped for any active employment." 
 
 "Which only tends to show, my friend, that 
 every woman" Mrs. Wilson paused an instant 
 "every woman who has not independent means of 
 her own, I mean, should be educated to be self- 
 supporting should have some definite bread-win 
 ning occupation which would render her indepen 
 dent of the man she marries in case he dies or 
 misbehaves. I was thinking the other day that a 
 society formed to advocate this doctrine before 
 clubs of girls as a condition of marriage would 
 prove efficacious." 
 
 Mr. Prentiss nodded. "It is certainly the duty 
 of Christian society to provide additional safe 
 guards against the consequences of improvident 
 
 in 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 wedlock. In this particular instance, the young 
 woman plighted her troth while she was studying 
 to become a kindergarten teacher. She was a 
 country doctor s daughter, and is gentle and re 
 fined, as well as intelligent in appearance one of 
 those lithe, tense American personalities in which 
 the spirit appears to burn at the expense of the 
 body, but which, like the willow, bend but do not 
 break under the stress of life." 
 
 "She sounds interesting, and I do not see that 
 she has been to blame. We must raise a fund for 
 her. With how large a subscription shall I head 
 the list?" Though Mrs. Wilson gave freely on 
 merely charitable grounds, she gave with more en 
 thusiasm when the objects of her bounty had not 
 offended her sense of the social fitness of things. 
 
 The clergyman put out his hand. "That 
 wouldn t do exactly, I think. She is not too proud 
 to let us help her for a few weeks with coal and 
 groceries until she can earn for herself. She real 
 izes that she must be sensible, if only for the chil 
 dren s sake. She has an independent simplicity of 
 nature and clearness of perception which would 
 stand in the way, I fear, of her accepting a dona 
 tion such as you have in mind; though I should 
 dearly love to allow you to pay off the encum 
 brances on their house, which, owing to her hus 
 band s rascalities have eaten up her little home 
 her patrimony. But I am sure she would refuse/ 
 
 "I see. We should think less of her if she 
 allowed herself to be pauperized, much as I should 
 enjoy giving her a deed of her home free and clear 
 the mere thought of it causes me a thrill of 
 pleasure. But the worst of such tragedies is that 
 
 112 
 

 THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 we are most powerless to aid those who are most 
 deserving." Mrs. Wilson leaned back among her 
 cushions, and, drawing a pale pink rose from a 
 bunch in a vase at her elbow, laid it along her 
 cheek and inhaled its fragrance. "If she were an 
 undiscerning, common spirit with workaday sensi 
 bilities, as so many of them are, she would not re 
 fuse, but half the pleasure of giving would be 
 lost. It is a privilege and the fashion to be char 
 itable, but so much of our charity consists in filling 
 the mouths and clothing the bodies of the wretched 
 who will never be appreciably different or strive 
 to be different from what they are." 
 
 "The poor we have always with us," murmured 
 the clergyman. 
 
 "Always. The shiftless, dirty, unaspiring, un- 
 !assthetic poor. The dregs and lees of human en 
 deavor. We must feed and clothe them, of course, 
 and help them to help themselves, but sometimes 
 I forget the pathos of it all in the ugliness and 
 squalor. Consequently, when the chance to do 
 real good comes, it is a pity not to be able to lift 
 the burden completely. What, then, can I do for 
 this young person?" 
 
 "I have thought over her case for the last forty- 
 eight hours, and have come to the conclusion that, 
 as she has no special training, her best chance for 
 employment is to learn short-hand and to use the 
 typewriter. I understand that women proficient in 
 this vocation can usually secure steady work at a 
 fair wage. Though Mrs. Stuart would be unwill 
 ing to accept a direct gift of money, I feel confi 
 dent that she would not refuse to let us put her in 
 the position to become self-supporting that is, 
 
9 
 
 THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 defray the cost of the lessons necessary to make 
 her a competent stenographer or office clerk. And 
 I thought you might be glad to pay for these les 
 sons a matter of six months or so." 
 
 Mr. Prentiss had taken up the paper-cutter 
 again, and he passed the flat of the metal blade 
 across his palm as though he were smoothing out 
 his plan as well as the creases. 
 
 "Gladly," she responded. "For as long as you 
 desire. And, perhaps, when she has learned what 
 is necessary, my brother may know of some open 
 ing for her down-town." 
 
 "Very likely," answered Mr. Prentiss, with res 
 onant acquiescence. "The same thought had oc 
 curred to me." 
 
 "And, in the meantime, since you tell me that 
 she is competent and refined, my secretary, who 
 will have her hands full with the details of the 
 wedding, may be able to give her occasional er 
 rands to do. You may tell her to call when her 
 plans are adjusted and to ask for me." 
 
 "Excellent. And we shall both be your debtors." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson smiled graciously, showing the 
 dimples in her cheeks. The demands made upon 
 her for pecuniary aid were of daily, it might be 
 said hourly, occurrence. Whoever in Benham was 
 in search of money applied to her, and the post 
 brought her solicitations from all sorts of people, 
 among whom were the undeserving or importunate, 
 as well as the needy or humanitarian. As lady 
 bountiful, she purposed to exercise intelligent dis 
 crimination in her charities, and she accepted 
 thanks as a tribute to that quality. 
 
 "Come," she said, rising, "I will show you the 
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THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 presents. Only think, four hundred of them, and 
 so many beautiful things ! People have been so 
 kind. Several of my brother s friends in New 
 York have sent most exquisite tokens a necklace 
 of diamonds and pearls from Mr. Fenton the 
 banker, a gold dessert service from his railroad 
 ally, Mr. Kennard." 
 
 She led the way from the drawing-room suite 
 into the hall, where electricity in artistic guises illu 
 minated the broad panellings, a splendid Teniers 
 and three or four bronze or marble statuaries of 
 rare merit, and up the stair-case to the next floor 
 into what was known as the morning-room an 
 apartment where Mrs. Wilson conducted her af 
 fairs and did her reading and thinking. This was 
 a combination of study and aesthetic boudoir. 
 There were seductive sofas and quaint capacious 
 chairs supplied with brightly colored cushions, and 
 dainty draperies, all in silken stuffs of patterns 
 reminiscent of the Orient. Art, in its most delicate 
 and spiritual forms, breathed from every object of 
 furniture or decoration ; from the small pictures 
 some in oils, some in water-colors which merited 
 and often demanded the closest scrutiny; from the 
 few vases of entrancing shape and hue, from the 
 interesting photographs in beautiful frames, from 
 the curious and rare memorials of travel and wise 
 choice of what cunning fingers had wrought with 
 infinite labor. As in the rest of the house, there 
 was still too much wealth of material, too much 
 scintillation and conglomeration of color, but 
 the intent had been and not without success 
 to produce a more subtle atmosphere than pre 
 vailed outside, as of an inner temple. Prominent 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 in one angle stood Mrs. Wilson s desk, rose-wood, 
 inlaid with poetic gilt tracery, and littered with 
 the correspondence of a busy woman. Books and 
 other articles of daily use lying here and there 
 without effort at order gave to the room the air of 
 being the intimate abode of a human soul. Open 
 ing out of this was a private music-room, which was 
 used by Mrs. Wilson and her daughter in prefer 
 ence to the large music-room on the street floor 
 intended for musical parties and dances. Here 
 were the wedding presents, a dazzling array of 
 gold, silver, jewels, glass, china, and ornamental 
 knick-knacks, tastefully arranged on tables intro 
 duced for the purpose. As they entered an attend 
 ant withdrew into the hall. 
 
 "We have thought it more prudent to have a 
 watchman on guard by night and day," explained 
 Mrs. Wilson; "for I suppose it is true, as one of 
 those ridiculous newspaper items asserts, that these 
 gifts represent at least one hundred thousand dol 
 lars. By the way," she continued, with a gentle 
 sigh, "it is so difficult to know what attitude to 
 adopt with the newspaper people. If one refuses 
 them the house, their sensibilities are hurt and they 
 are liable to invent falsehoods or write disagree 
 able paragraphs. If they are allowed to inspect 
 everything, they publish details which make one s 
 heart sick, and make one appear a vain fool. How 
 is a person in my position to be courteous toward 
 the power of the press and yet to maintain the 
 right to privacy? Is not this superb?" she added, 
 holding up a crest of diamonds in the form of a 
 tiara. "My brother s present to Lucille." 
 
 "Beautiful beautiful, indeed," murmured the 
 116 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 clergyman. The sight of all these costly things 
 was bewildering to his mind as well as to his eyes. 
 u Ah, the press the press, it is a problem, indeed. 
 We would seem to have the right to individual 
 privacy, would we not? And yet in this age of 
 ours, pressure is so often used upon us to thrust 
 our wares into the shop-windows as in my case, 
 sermons for newspapers of the most sensational 
 class on the plea of a wider usefulness, a closer 
 touch with the wilderness of souls, that it is diffi 
 cult to know where the rights of the public end as 
 to what one has. What would seem to be vanity 
 may often be only another form of philanthropy. 
 And yet " 
 
 "And yet," interposed Mrs. Wilson, as she sin 
 gled out an enchanting fan of gold and ivory and 
 the most exquisite lace and spread it for his inspec 
 tion, "why should I pander to the vulgar curiosity 
 of the public? It is none of their business." 
 
 "In a matter of this kind I quite agree with you. 
 If they could see all these beautiful things, there 
 might be some sense in it; but that would be out 
 of the question, of course." 
 
 "That will be the next step; our houses thrown 
 open to the madding crowd. Six newspapers 
 two from New York applied recently for leave 
 to see the presents. I intended to refuse firmly, 
 but to my astonishment Lucille seemed disap 
 pointed. It never occurred to me that she would 
 not hate the publicity. She gave a little shriek 
 and said, Mamma, how dreadful ! and then added 
 in the next breath, Everybody does it, and, as 
 something is sure to be printed, might it not be 
 better to make certain that it s correct? A day 
 
 117 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 or two later she was photographed in her tiara, 
 and from what has transpired since I fear that the 
 idea of publicity was not foreign to her thought. 
 My child, Mr. Prentiss ! Only think of it ! One 
 can never quite understand the point of view of 
 the rising generation. I consulted Carleton, and 
 he grew successively irate, contemplative, philo 
 sophical, and weak-kneed. In short, a week ago 
 a reportorial woman, with the social appetite of a 
 hyena and the keen-eyed industry of a ferret, passed 
 the forenoon in the house and went away with a 
 photograph of Lucille in the tiara. And what is 
 worst of all, in spite of my humiliation at the 
 whole proceeding, I am decidedly curious to see 
 what she has written." 
 
 The sound of voices in the morning-room broke 
 in upon this confession. "Ah, here you are, Aunt 
 Miriam ! I have brought you an artistic master 
 piece with a felicitous biography of the distin 
 guished heroine. Behold and admire!" 
 
 The speaker was Paul Howard, Mrs. Wilson s 
 nephew. He advanced from the doorway with 
 radiant, teasing face, holding out a newspaper at 
 which he pointed delightedly. At his heels fol 
 lowed Lucille and Clarence Waldo, she protesting, 
 yet betraying by her laughing confusion that her 
 indignation was half-hearted; he stalking with self- 
 important gravity save for a thin smile, the limit 
 of his deliberate contributions to the gayety of 
 nations unless under the influence of alcoholic con 
 viviality. At men s gatherings there was a stage 
 in the proceedings when Clarence Waldo became 
 decorously mellow and condescended indeed, ex 
 pected to be asked to sing one of three or four 
 
 118 
 
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 quasi-humorous ditties at his command, a function 
 which he seemed to regard as an important social 
 contribution and for which he practised in secret. 
 Also, after luncheon or dinner, he was liable to 
 lay down the law in loud tones in regard to current 
 sporting affairs. But his habitual manner was lan 
 guid and his expression cold, as though he feared 
 to compromise himself by interest or enthusiasm. 
 He was very tall. In the centre of his crown was 
 a bald spot. He stooped slightly, and, except 
 among his intimates, looked straight before him 
 lest he might see someone whom he did not wish 
 to know. In the rear of this family party came 
 arleton Howard, stepping firmly yet deliberately, 
 he always did, as though he walked abreast of 
 "ime, not tagging at her skirts like so many of his 
 ontemporaries a fine figure of a man approach- 
 g sixty, with a large body, but not corpulent, a 
 )road brow, a strong, defiant nose, iron-gray hair 
 nd a closely cut iron-gray mustache, clear, fear- 
 ess, yet reflective eyes, and a mouth the pleasant 
 nsion of which indicated both determination and 
 ct. He was smoking a cigar, and had come in 
 : rom his own library to enjoy the bearding of his 
 ster by the young people. 
 
 119 
 
IX 
 
 BEFORE Mrs. Wilson could ascertain what it 
 was, Lucille made a dash at the newspaper. 
 Paul thrust it behind his back. 
 
 "Give it to me, Paul," demanded the young 
 woman, imperiously. "I order you to give it to 
 me," she reiterated, tapping her foot. "You are 
 a hateful tease." 
 
 "Surely, my fair cousin, you re not going to 
 deprive your mother of the satisfaction of gazing 
 on this work of art, and reading this appreciative 
 description of your personal charms? Can you 
 not see how impatient she is to have it all to her 
 self?" 
 
 "You have certainly whetted my curiosity, 
 Paul," said Mrs. Wilson. 
 
 "I forbid you to show it to her." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "It is too ridiculous and foolish, and the pict 
 ure " Her criticism on that score instead of 
 seeking words culminated in another spring, which 
 Paul evaded by wheeling spryly about so that he 
 still faced her. 
 
 Paul Howard was an ornamental, attractive 
 specimen of athletic, optimistic American youth; a 
 fine animal of manly, well-knit proportions with no 
 sign of physical weakness or of effeminacy in his 
 person or his face. His countenance was open and 
 ruddy; his eyes clear blue, his hair light brown. 
 
 120 
 
Give it to me, Paul/ demanded the young woman imperiously 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 His lip was scrupulously clean-shaven, exposing 
 the full, pleasant strength of his father s mouth. 
 Indeed, in conformity with the prevailing fashion 
 among his contemporaries, he wore neither mus 
 tache, beard, nor whiskers, as though in immacu 
 late protest against every style of hirsute ornamen 
 tation, from the goat-like beard of Methodistical 
 statesmanship to the spruce mustache and well- 
 trimmed whiskers of men of the world of fifteen 
 years earlier. He was a Harvard graduate; he 
 had been on the foot-ball team, and a leading 
 spirit in the social life of the college; had been 
 around the globe since graduation, and spent 
 nearly a year shooting big game in the Rockies 
 and getting near to nature, as he called it, by liv 
 ing on a ranch. All this as preliminary to taking 
 advantage of the golden spoon which was in his 
 mouth at his birth. At twenty-three he had signi 
 fied that he was ready to buckle down to the re 
 sponsibilities of guarding and increasing the family 
 possessions, an announcement delighting his 
 father s heart, who had feared, perhaps, lest his 
 only son might conclude to become merely a club 
 man or a poet. This was the fourth year of his 
 novitiate, much of which had been spent in New 
 York, where Mr. Howard, though his home was 
 in Benham, had established a branch of his bank 
 ing-house, at the head of which he intended pres 
 ently to place Paul. On the young man s twenty- 
 fifth birthday the magnate had made him a 
 present of a million dollars so as to put him on his 
 feet and permit him to support a wife. If this 
 were a hint, Paul had taken it. Though absorbed 
 in financial undertakings of magnitude (which 
 
 121 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 had included the electric street-car combination 
 hostile to the aspirations of Emil Stuart), he had 
 wooed and wed one of the prettiest girls in Ben- 
 ham, and he possessed, not many blocks away, a 
 stately establishment of his own. He was accus 
 tomed to walk hand in hand with prosperity, and 
 this habit was reflected in the gay and slightly 
 self-satisfied quality of his manliness. 
 
 After foiling his cousin for a few moments, 
 with a tantalizing smile, a new idea occurred to 
 him. He held out the newspaper, saying, "Very 
 well then, here it is. I dare you, Lucille, to de 
 stroy it. Nothing would induce you to part 
 with it." 
 
 Lucille snatched the sheet from his hand, and 
 her ruffled hesitation indicated that to destroy it 
 was the last thing she had intended. In another 
 instant she tore the newspaper into strips with an 
 air of disdain and cast them on the floor. De 
 lighted at the success of his taunt, Paul stooped 
 and gathering the fragments began to piece them 
 together. 
 
 "That is only a blind. She knows she can buy 
 a dozen copies to-morrow. Listen, Aunt Miriam, 
 to this gem which I have rescued : The fair bride 
 has a complexion of cream of alabaster, with 
 beautiful almond-shaped eyes, and hair of black 
 lustre, which, rising from her forehead in queenly 
 bands, seems the natural throne of the glittering 
 diadem in the picture, one of her choicest bridal 
 gifts. Could anything be more exquisite and 
 fetching?" He gave a laugh which was almost 
 a whoop of exultation. 
 
 "No matter, Lucille," said Mrs. Wilson, com- 
 
 122 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 ing to her daughter s rescue. "It is only envy on 
 Paul s part. The newspapers did not make half 
 so much of his wedding." In her own heart she 
 did not approve of the publicity, but the sense of 
 importance which it conveyed was not without its 
 effect even on her. Besides, the personal descrip 
 tion, though florid in style, was to her maternal 
 eyes not an exaggerated estimate of her daughter s 
 charms. 
 
 "The writer was evidently under the spell of 
 her subject," said Mr. Prentiss, gallantly. 
 Though tolerant of banter, especially at clerical 
 gatherings, and partial to Paul Howard as one 
 of the young men whom he desired to draw into 
 closer union with the church, the idea of the possi 
 bilities of the newspaper as a dispenser of benefits 
 was still in his mind, and served to minimize the 
 vanity, if any, of his friend s daughter. 
 
 "Quite naturally, Mr. Prentiss," retorted the 
 tormenting Paul, "for the subject gave a private 
 audience to the writer only a few days ago." 
 
 Paul spoke from the desire to tease, not because 
 he objected actively to the connivance of his cousin 
 with the designs of the press. If the opportunity 
 to do away with the whole practice of prying into 
 and advertising private social matters had been 
 presented to him, he would gladly have embraced 
 it, and welcomed at the same time the further op 
 portunity to tar and feather or duck the race of 
 social reporters. But as an astute and easy-going 
 American he recognized the prevalence of the 
 habit, and though personally he tried to dodge 
 with good humor the impertinent inquiries of press 
 agents, he was not disposed to censure those who 
 
 123 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 yielded to their importunities. Indeed, Paul 
 Howard was so bubbling over with health pros 
 perity, and a generally roseate conception of life 
 as he saw it, that he shrank from active criticism 
 of existing social conditions. He was a strong 
 patriot, and it pleased him to believe that Ameri 
 cans were world-conquerors and world-teachers. 
 Hence that it was the part of good Americans to 
 join hands all round and, avoiding nice strictures, 
 to put their shoulders to the wheel of progress. 
 
 "How absurd you are, Paul," answered Lucille. 
 "That woman badgered me with questions, and 
 was positively pathetic into the bargain, for she 
 confided to me that she hated the whole business, 
 but that her bread and butter depended on it. She 
 was certain to write something, and so rather 
 than have everything wrong, I told her a few 
 things." 
 
 "And gave her your photograph in the tiara." 
 
 "She asked for it. She saw it lying on the 
 table. Wasn t that better than to be caricatured 
 by some snap-shot with a camera?" 
 
 The dire results of what would have ensued had 
 she been less accommodating seemed so convincing 
 to Lucille as she recited them that her tone changed 
 from defence to conviction. 
 
 "I know a woman," said Clarence Waldo, 
 "who told her servants not to let any of those 
 newspaper beggars inside the house, and what do 
 you suppose happened? On the day of the wed 
 ding there appeared an insulting account of the 
 affair with everything turned topsy-turvy and dis 
 paraging remarks about both families. It s an 
 awful bore, but when people of our sort are mar- 
 
 124 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 ried the public doesn t like to be kept in the dark, 
 you know." 
 
 "There! You see!" exclaimed Lucille, tri 
 umphantly. 
 
 The description of this young lady which her 
 cousin had read was fundamentally correct. Her 
 eyes could scarcely be called almond-shaped, but 
 their curves were more gradual than those of 
 most American women, a feature which, in con 
 junction with her thin lips and thin, pointed nose, 
 gave to her countenance an expression of fas 
 tidiousness, which was characteristic. She was an 
 example of the so-called Gibson girl, with a tall 
 and springy, yet slight, figure, and a race-horse air 
 which suggested both mettle and disdain. She 
 had been brought up on the theory of free devel 
 opment a theory for which not her mother but 
 the tendency of the day was responsible. Parents, 
 when it comes to a choice in educational methods, 
 are apt at heart to recognize their own personal 
 ignorance, and those with the highest aims for 
 their offspring are most likely to adopt the newest 
 fashionable graft on human experience. We are 
 perpetually on the look-out for discoveries which 
 will enable our children to become the bright par 
 ticular stars which we are not. So what more 
 natural than that Mrs. Wilson, with her ardent 
 bent for improving social conditions, should swal 
 low hook, bait, and sinker the theory that the 
 budding intelligence should be cajoled and hu 
 mored, not thwarted and coerced? The idea thus 
 pursued at kindergarten, that everything should 
 be made easy and agreeable for the infant mind, 
 had been steadily adhered to, and Lucille could 
 
 125 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 fairly be said to have had her own way all her 
 life. This own way had been at times bewilder 
 ing, not to say disheartening, to her mother. Mrs. 
 Wilson had expected and yearned for a soulful, 
 aspiring, poetic daughter with an ambition for 
 culture herself, but reincarnated and much im 
 proved. Instead, Lucille had showed herself to 
 be utterly indifferent to poetry, lukewarm in re 
 gard to culture, almost matter of fact in her men 
 tal attitude, and sedulously enamoured of athletic 
 pursuits. She had a fancy for dogs. From fifteen 
 to eighteen she had followed golf, tennis, and 
 boating, hatless and with her sleeves rolled up to 
 her elbows, a free and easy and rather mannerless 
 maiden, Amazon-like in her bearing, but unlike 
 an Amazon in that she was a jolly companion to 
 the boys, who called her promiscuously by her 
 Christian name, as she did them by theirs. Does 
 such a process of familiarity dull the edge of ro 
 mance? We do not yet know. Each rising gen 
 eration provides new problems for the wise elders, 
 and this was one of those which had kept Mrs. 
 Wilson uneasy. 
 
 She had looked forward to Lucille s formal 
 introduction to society as a social corrective, and 
 argued that, as soon as her daughter met the 
 world face to face, there would be a modification 
 both of Lucille s tastes and point of view. So 
 strong is the emphasis laid by American mothers 
 in fashionable society on what is called "the com 
 ing out" of their daughters that the concern en 
 gendered by the approach of the ordeal could fitly 
 be described as a phase of hysteria. The true per 
 spective of life becomes utterly and absurdly dis- 
 
 126 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 torted by apprehension lest the dear child should 
 not have "a good time" and by a fierce ambition 
 that she should have a better "time" than her 
 mates. As a consequence, competition that ab 
 sorbing passion of American character is prone 
 to take advantage of all the opportunities at its 
 command, not merely to decorate the unprepos 
 sessing or provide the duck with the environment 
 of the swan, but to make princesses out of goose 
 girls by sheer gorgeous manifestations of the 
 power of the almighty dollar. We all know that 
 every woman in the world would prefer at heart 
 to be called wicked rather than common, unless 
 she were common one of those extraordinary re 
 sults of the tyranny of the social instinct which 
 plays havoc with religious codes; and there is 
 probably no country where the most socially adept 
 are more intolerant of commonness than in dem 
 ocratic America a fact which should be discon 
 certing to that form of socialism which yearns for 
 a dead-level. Yet the tendency to exploit one s 
 daughters by means of money and to exploit them 
 even with barbaric splendor is current among our 
 most socially sophisticated people. 
 
 Mr. Carleton Howard s "coming-out" ball for 
 his niece was the most splendid function which 
 Benham had ever known, and for the next three 
 years Lucille s life had been one round of social 
 gayety, emphasized by the character of the things 
 done in her behalf by her family, which were sev 
 erally executed, if not conceived, in a spirit of 
 emulation, though Mrs. Wilson would doubtless 
 have resented the impeachment. Mrs. Wilson 
 would have put the blame on the tendency of the 
 
 127 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 age, arguing that American society was becoming 
 more and more exacting in its aesthetic demands, 
 and that one must conform to existing usage in 
 order to lead. But an examination of the facts 
 would reveal that whatever form of entertainment 
 was given by her for Lucille, as, for instance, the 
 four colored luncheons, when the food and the 
 table ornaments were successively red, orange, 
 blue, and heliotrope, and four sets of twelve 
 young girls stuffed themselves through eight 
 courses at mid-day, was carried out with a lavish 
 accentuation of new and costly effects. It was cur 
 rently recognized that at her house the cotillion 
 favors and the prizes at games were worth having 
 silver ornaments, pretty fans, things of price 
 always a step beyond the last fashion, as though 
 the world would not be content to stand still, but 
 must be kept moving by more and more expensive 
 social novelties. 
 
 Though three years of this life had served to 
 transform the mannerless Amazon into a socially 
 correct and fastidious young woman, the result, 
 nevertheless, was a secret disappointment to her 
 mother, who had hoped that Lucille would de 
 velop intellectual or aesthetic tastes under the influ 
 ence of these many advantages. But what can a 
 mother whose daughter prefers athletics to art, 
 and fox terriers to philanthropy, do but make the 
 best of it? Lucille had a will of her own and 
 seemed to know exactly what she wished, which 
 included marrying Clarence Waldo. To thwart 
 her would be useless, to quarrel with her was out 
 of the question. The only thing was to give her 
 as brilliant a wedding as possible and hope for 
 
 128 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 the best. And after all, the best was by no means 
 out of the question. Lucille was young and was 
 going to New York. There was no telling what 
 a girl of twenty-one, with large means and the 
 best social opportunities, might not become by the 
 time she was thirty-five. Mrs. Wilson had herself 
 cast sheep s eyes at New York as a residence be 
 fore building her new house, but she had decided 
 to remain dominant in a small puddle. There 
 were compensations in doing so. She flattered her 
 self that in this age of telephones and telepathy 
 she was able to keep in touch with the metropolis 
 and to get her social cues accordingly. But to 
 have a daughter there would be interesting, pro 
 vided all went well. The proviso should not be 
 overlooked; for Mrs. Wilson had not lowered her 
 own standards. She was merely trying to extract 
 all the maternal comfort and pride she could out 
 of the existing situation. 
 
 "But, my dear Lucille," said Paul, intending a 
 crushing blow to his cousin s returning assurance, 
 "if you were really so anxious to escape notoriety, 
 you had merely to mention it to father. A word 
 from him would have silenced every newspaper in 
 town." 
 
 "Scarcely that scarcely that, young man," in 
 terposed Mr. Howard in a tone of friendly 
 authority. "Very possibly, had I expressed a 
 preference, my wishes would have been respected 
 by one or two newspapers where I happen to have 
 some influence. But your statement is altogether 
 too sweeping." He spoke incisively, as though he 
 desired to deprecate the suggestion of the power 
 attributed to him by his more impulsive son. "The 
 
 129 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 press is jealous of its privileges and must be hu 
 mored as a popular institution. And, after all, 
 what does a little publicity matter? You mustn t 
 mind what Paul says, Lucille. There s no reason 
 to feel abashed because the public has been given 
 a chance to see the most charming bride of the 
 year." 
 
 "Abashed? She is tickled to death," retorted 
 Paul. 
 
 Mr. Howard put his arm around his niece s 
 shoulder in the guise of a champion. When con 
 troversy had reached the stage where adjustment 
 was no longer possible, he was an uncompromising 
 antagonist. But, as a successful man content with 
 existing conditions, he deplored friction in all the 
 relations of life, and to use an industrial phrase, 
 liked to see everything running smoothly. He 
 laughed incredulously, and patting Lucille s arm 
 exclaimed, "Nonsense!" Then, accosting the 
 clergyman, he added, "Now that this momentous 
 matter has been disposed of, Mr. Prentiss, will 
 you join me in a cigar in my own library?" 
 
 Mr. Prentiss excused himself. He had work 
 to do, and knew that if he remained he would be 
 apt to stay late. But he was interested from a 
 theoretic stand-point in the discussion to which he 
 had been listening. 
 
 "You evidently feel as I do, Mr. Howard," 
 he said, "that there are two sides to the question of 
 newspaper publicity, and that as good citizens we 
 are not always at liberty to insist on privacy." 
 
 Mr. Howard answered with the suave force 
 and clearness which gave to all his utterances the 
 effect of deliberate conviction. "Mr. Prentiss, I 
 
 130 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 accept the institutions of my country as I find 
 them, and try to make the best of them. There 
 are those whose only pleasure seems to be to carp 
 at what they do not wholly admire in our civic sys 
 tem. The press is one of the most powerful and 
 useful forces of modern life. As such I value and 
 support it, though I m keenly alive to the flagrant 
 evils and the cruel vulgarities for which it is daily 
 responsible. But one can t afford as an American 
 citizen to condemn as worthless and ill-begotten 
 the things of which the people as a whole approve. 
 We must compromise here as in so many matters 
 sin our complex civilization, and where trifles are 
 concerned, be complacent even against our con 
 
 victions." 
 
 "Indisputably," said the clergyman. "In the 
 constant faith that our tolerance will work for 
 mprovement." 
 
 "Ah, but the newspapers are worse than ever," 
 xclaimed Mrs. Wilson, with a sigh. "One has to 
 wade through so much for so little. I read them 
 crupulously, because, if I do not, I m sure to miss 
 omething which I would like to see. That sounds 
 nconsistent. But why doesn t somebody establish 
 really first-class newspaper?" 
 
 "Because a newspaper must be first of all a 
 successful business enterprise in order to be able 
 o exist," responded her brother. "It is a ques 
 tion of dollars and cents. All that will come pres 
 ently. And we are really improving all the time. 
 Just think of what a large and complicated indus 
 try a modern newspaper establishment has grown 
 to be." He spoke as though he saw and wished 
 to bring before his hearers eyes the towering, 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 mammoth homes of the press in all our large 
 cities, the enforced outcome of the ever-increasing 
 popular demand for the world s news. "Come, 
 Paul," he said, putting his arm through his son s, 
 "since Mr. Prentiss will not join us in a cigar we 
 will leave these good people to their own devices, 
 and go back to our work." 
 
 Paul, with a pocket full of documents and with 
 the obnoxious newspaper in his hand, had reached 
 the door of his father s house just as Lucille and 
 her betrothed were alighting from a carriage. 
 Lured by his goading remarks they had followed 
 him within and into his father s library, where at 
 a safe distance he had vouchsafed his cousin 
 glimpses of her tiara-crowned figure and read 
 aloud choice extracts until the spirit had moved 
 him to pass through the dividing door between the 
 two establishments in search of his aunt. He had 
 left home with the idea of an hour s confabulation 
 with his father over certain schemes in which they 
 were jointly interested a frequent habit of his 
 late in the evening. Mr. Carleton Howard never 
 went to bed before one, and was invariably to be 
 found after eleven in his library reading or cogitat 
 ing, and always prepared at that quiet time to give 
 his keenest intelligence to the issues presented to 
 him. 
 
 Father and son passed along through the secret 
 passageway until they found themselves in Mr. 
 Howard s capacious library. This superb room 
 was the result of an architect s conscientious am 
 bition to see what could be accomplished where 
 his client was obviously willing to obtain excellence 
 and had imposed on him no limits either in re- 
 
 132 
 

 THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 spect to space or expense. As regards size, it 
 bore the same relation to the ordinary library of 
 the civilized citizen that the Auditorium in Chi 
 cago bears to every-day hotels, or the steamship 
 Great Eastern bore to other ocean carriers. Con 
 sequently it was a little vast for strict cosiness. 
 The huge stamped leather chairs and sofas, though 
 inviting, seemed designed for persons of ele 
 phantine figure, in order perhaps to avoid being 
 dwarfed. But the shelves upon shelves of books 
 which covered completely from floor to ceiling 
 two of the walls choice editions in fine bindings 
 gained dignity from the superfluous dimensions. 
 If it be said in this connection that, to one familiar 
 with Mr. Howard s associations, the idea of many 
 storied office buildings might occur, the answer is 
 (that he was responsible for nothing which the room 
 contained except its large and admirable display 
 | of etchings, which, owing to almost weekly accre 
 tions, had begun to disarrange the original aesthetic 
 (scheme of the designer. Mr. Howard had left 
 [everything else to his architect, but etchings were 
 his hobby one which had attracted his fancy 
 {years before by accident, and had retained its hold 
 jUpon him. He was familiar now T , as a man of 
 jsagacity and method, with the many bibliograph- 
 lical and ethnological treasures by which he was 
 Isurrounded, and could exhibit them becomingly, 
 [but when the conversation turned on the etcher s 
 art he was on firm ground and could talk as clearly 
 and authoritatively as about his railroads. 
 
 The banker chose his favorite seat, within com 
 fortable distance of one of the fire-places, facing 
 a beautiful polar bear-skin rug of extraordinary 
 
 133 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 size. Close at hand was a large table with writ 
 ing materials and such magazine literature or doc 
 uments as he might wish to examine. Adjustable 
 lights were at either elbow, and in the direct line of 
 his vision as he ordinarily sat were two of his 
 favorite works of art, an Albert Diirer and a 
 Wenceslaus Hollar. He lighted another cigar 
 and, after a few puffs, said: 
 
 "That clergyman is decidedly a useful man. He 
 has common sense and he has discretion." 
 
 "He isn t at all a bad sort," responded Paul. 
 Though guarded in form, this was intended as 
 an encomium, just as when Paul meant that he had 
 enjoyed himself thoroughly, he was apt to state 
 that he had had a pretty good time. Anglo-Saxon 
 youth is proverbially shy of enthusiasm of the lips 
 lest it be suspected of freshness, as the current 
 phrase is. "I wonder," he added a moment later 
 as he stood with his back to the wood fire, straight 
 ening his sturdy shoulders against the mantel-piece, 
 "if he really believes all the things he preaches. 
 I d just like to know for curiosity. I suppose he 
 has to preach them even if he doesn t or else be 
 fired out, and he compromises with himself for 
 the mental reservation by the argument that if he 
 v/ere out of it altogether, his usefulness and occu 
 pation, like Othello s, would be gone. That s the 
 way clergymen must have to argue nowadays, or 
 there wouldn t be many of them left at the old 
 stands." 
 
 Though he spoke colloquially, and with an as 
 surance which dispensed with reverence of treat 
 ment, Paul intended to express genuine interest and 
 even sympathy. Knowing that his father s ideas 
 
 134 
 
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 on religious subjects were fundamentally liberal, 
 perhaps he was not averse to shocking him in a 
 mere matter of form. Mr. Howard was silent a 
 moment, then replied : 
 
 "In every walk of life it is necessary, from time 
 to time, to sacrifice non-essentials for the sake of 
 the essentials. As in everything else, so in relig 
 ion. The world moves ; opinions change. Human 
 society cannot prosper without religion, and human 
 society never needed its influence more than to-day. 
 Sensible religion, of course." 
 
 "All sensible men have the same religion. What 
 is that? A sensible man never tells." Paul was 
 quoting. He had heard his father more than once 
 in his comments on the mysteries of life utter this 
 Delphic observation. He laughed sweetly and 
 fearlessly. 
 
 Mr. Howard understood his son. They were 
 good comrades. He was aware that though Paul 
 felt free to jest at his remarks, his boy respected 
 his intellect and would ponder what he said. 
 
 "We agree about these things in the main, my 
 dear Paul. If one were to go out on the house 
 tops and proclaim one s scepticism concerning 
 some of the supernatural dogmas which the mass 
 of the people find comfort in, how would it benefit 
 religion? The world will find out soon enough 
 that it has been mistaken. But we can neither of 
 us afford to forget that the security of human 
 society is dependent on religion. One always 
 comes back to that in the end." 
 
 "It is good for the masses," said Paul, with a 
 chuckle. "We, as the present lords of creation 
 captains of industry should encourage it for the 
 
 135 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 protection of our railroads, mines, and other glo 
 rious monopolies. That is one of the arguments 
 with which the truly great salved their consciences 
 before the French revolution." 
 
 Mr. Howard frowned slightly. He knew that 
 Paul was only half in earnest, but the reference 
 to socialism was repellent to him, even though it 
 was rhetorical. Why was he the possessor of 
 twenty millions? Because he had been wiser and 
 more long-sighted than his competitors, because he 
 had used his clear brains to better advantage than 
 other men year after year, planning boldly and 
 executing thoroughly, making few mistakes and 
 taking advantage of every opportunity. Because 
 he had fostered his powers, and controlled his 
 weaknesses. He was rich because, like a true 
 American, he had conquered circumstances and 
 moulded them for his own and the world s profit. 
 Inequalities? Must there not always be inequal 
 ities so long as some men were strong and others 
 weak, some courageous and others shiftless? And 
 as for charity, God knew he was willing to do 
 was trying to do his part to help those who could 
 not or would not help themselves, and to encour 
 age all meritorious undertakings for the relief of 
 human society. 
 
 "Yes, we must humor the masses in this as in 
 a thousand matters, and our protection is their 
 protection. I am not disturbed by your insinua 
 tion, Paul. Ignorance and sloth and folly and 
 false sentiment would bankrupt mankind in three 
 generations if it were not for the modern captains 
 of industry, as you call them." 
 
 Mr. Howard spoke somewhat sternly, as one 
 
 136 
 
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 stating a proposition which was irrefutable and 
 yet was sometimes overlooked by an ungrate 
 ful world. "Similarly," he continued, "it is one 
 thing to be unorthodox in one s opinions and to 
 discard as childish articles of faith to which the 
 multitude adhere, another to deny the reality and 
 force of religion. So, though I am a free thinker, 
 if you will, I regard it as no inconsistency to up 
 hold the hands of the church. On the contrary, 
 every thoughtful man must realize that without 
 religion of some sort the human race would become 
 brutes again. " 
 
 "And your form is to present fifty or a hun 
 dred thousand to a hospital or a college whenever 
 you happen to feel like it, which every clergyman 
 will admit to be practical Christianity. You cer 
 tainly give away barrels of money, father." 
 
 "I can afford to." Mr. Howard was pleasantly 
 but not vain-gloriously aware that he had given 
 away a million dollars in the last three years. "In 
 what better way can I share my profits with the 
 public than by entrusting it to trained educators 
 and philanthropists to spend for the common 
 good? A great improvement, young man, on the 
 theory that every man jack of us should be lim 
 ited to the same wage, and originality, grit, and 
 enterprise be pushed off the face of the earth." 
 
 "Nevertheless it is tolerably pleasant to be your 
 son," said Paul, smiling brightly from his post 
 igainst the mantel-piece. 
 
 "Yes. But you have responsibilities as my son, 
 and pray do not imagine that I am blind to them. 
 I have made the money." He paused a mo 
 ment, for he was looking back along the vista of 
 
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 the years and recalling the succession of shrewd 
 undertakings by which his property had grown 
 from a few thousand dollars to imposing wealth. 
 "I have made the money, and it is for you to keep 
 and increase it yes, increase it, remember but 
 to spend it freely and wisely. And if you ask me 
 what is wisely, I can only answer that this is a prob 
 lem for your generation. If you will only use the 
 same pains in trying to solve it as I have in ac 
 cumulating the money, you will succeed. You are 
 fond, Paul, of exploiting radical propositions, of 
 which you at heart disapprove, in order to test my 
 self-control. Here is something, young man, to 
 chasten your spirit and keep your imagination 
 busy." 
 
 "You see through me, father, don t you? But 
 you ll admit that my familiarity with radical doc 
 trines is a good sign, especially since I recognize 
 their fallacies, for it shows that I sometimes think. 
 Yes, it is a great responsibility, but I wouldn t ex 
 change not even with Gordon Perry." 
 
 "With whom? Ah, yes, I remember; the at 
 torney who was on the foot-ball team with you at 
 Harvard. And why should you consider chang 
 ing places with him?" 
 
 "Because the mere question of dollars and cents 
 interests him so little." 
 
 "Ah! You have been employing him lately, I 
 believe?" 
 
 "Yes. I like to throw what I can in his way. 
 He understands his business. We lunched to 
 gether this morning. I enjoy his humor, his in 
 dependence and his common sense, and at the same 
 time his enthusiasm." 
 
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THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Concerning what?" 
 
 "Most things except the price of railroad shares 
 and the condition of the money market. We 
 didn t refer to them once." Paul paused with a 
 serio-comic sigh. Mr. Howard knocked the white 
 ash from his cigar and responded : 
 
 "One of the reasons for sending you to college 
 was that you need not be confined in your conver 
 sation to the money market. Another that you 
 should be free in life to do as you chose." 
 
 "Don t be alarmed, father. You know well 
 enough that nothing would induce me not to fol 
 low your lead. Give up business? I couldn t. I 
 love the power and excitement of it. It s bred in 
 the bone, I suppose." 
 
 The banker s eyes kindled with pride in the son 
 of his heart. 
 
 "And it s because I know I m myself that a 
 fellow like Don Perry fascinates me," pursued 
 Paul. "There s no nonsense in him. He objects 
 to cranks and mere psalm-singers as much as I do. 
 But he s absorbed in the social problems of the 
 day legislative questions, philanthropic ques 
 tions, all the burning questions. And your young 
 men shall see visions. He is one of them. You 
 will notice that I have not forgotten my Bible 
 altogether, father." 
 
 "We have, and to burn, reformers who see 
 visions and proclaim them from platforms which 
 have no underpinnings. What we need are re 
 formers who will study and think before they 
 speak, and not seek to destroy the existing structure 
 of society before they have provided a serviceable 
 substitute." 
 
 139 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "In other words, you are prepared to part with 
 a portion of your worldly possessions, but you 
 object to wholesale confiscation?" Having in 
 dulged in this pleasantry Paul took from the table 
 a packet of papers which he had brought with 
 him, as though to show that he had not forgot 
 ten business concerns. "Speaking of the existing 
 structure of society," he continued, "Don and I 
 got into a religious discussion. That is, I found 
 myself holding a brief for the proposition, which 
 I had read somewhere or other, that religion and 
 capital are in alliance against every-day men and 
 women, in order to preserve existing social condi 
 tions. Don t look so shocked, father. There are 
 two sides to every question, and I was curious to 
 see how Don would look at this." 
 
 "And how did he look at it?" inquired Mr. 
 Howard, coldly, seeing that he was expected to 
 display interest. 
 
 "He wouldn t deny that there was some truth 
 in the proposition, but he agreed with you, father, 
 that whatever else is true or false, the world will 
 never be able to dispense with religion. But he 
 says, too, that it must be sensible religion. Just 
 what you said, isn t it? And when two such intel 
 ligent individuals come to the same conclusion, it 
 is time for a sceptic like myself to take off his hat 
 to the church. You heard me just now concede 
 that the Rev. Mr. Prentiss is not at all a bad 
 lot." 
 
 "Paul, you are sometimes incorrigible. You 
 have common sense when it comes to action, I 
 admit, but you have a perverse fondness for har 
 boring all the philosophical sewage of the age. I 
 
 140 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 trust that your friend Perry brought you up with 
 a round turn." 
 
 "Oh, he did," said Paul, with mock meekness, 
 as he sorted his documents. "We must get to 
 work or else I d tell you about it. He was very 
 interesting. As to aggregations of capital, Don 
 was highly conservative too. He recognizes that 
 they will last far beyond our time. For a seeker 
 after ultimate truth, I thought that extremely rea 
 sonable." Whereupon Paul indulged in a laugh 
 of bubbling, melodious mirth. 
 
 Mr. Howard made no comment, but threw the 
 butt of his cigar into the fire-place with the em 
 phasis of one expelling folly by the scruff of the 
 neck, and composed his features for business. 
 
 141 
 
X 
 
 /CONSTANCE consented to be taught type- 
 >- writing and stenography at the expense of 
 Mrs. Randolph Wilson. She decided that to re 
 fuse an offer which would enable her presently to 
 become self-supporting would be false pride. She 
 acknowledged as sound, under her present circum 
 stances, Mr. Prentiss s assertion that it was no less 
 the duty of the unfortunate to accept bounty within 
 proper limits than of the prosperous to give. She 
 consented also at his instance to call upon her bene 
 factress. 
 
 Any encouragement on the part of Constance 
 would have induced Mr. Prentiss to raise a sub 
 scription to pay off the second mortgage on the 
 house incurred by Emil, and thus provide her with 
 a home. But at the first hint of such a thing she 
 shook her head decisively. A very different 
 thought was in her mind. Emil was still alive and 
 liable for the bills which he had incurred for the 
 expenses of the canvass, but she felt that the six 
 hundred dollars which he had withheld from his 
 client as an enforced loan must be paid at once or 
 the good name of her children would be tarnished. 
 His appropriation of this money on the eve of his 
 disappearance was damning in its suggestion; but 
 she had thankfully adopted and was clinging te 
 naciously to the explanation proffered by one of the 
 easy-going and good-natured co-tenants of the office 
 
 142 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 occupied by her husband, that the money had been 
 borrowed to carry out a speculation, and that Emil 
 had meant to return it. Did not the broker s re 
 port of the purchase and sale, found among the 
 papers in Emil s desk, support this? She realized 
 fully that from the mere stand-point of legal 
 responsibility his motive was immaterial. But with 
 her knowledge of his characteristics and of the past 
 she felt that she had the right to insist on the 
 theory that he had been led astray by sanguine 
 anticipations which, as usual, had been disap 
 pointed. His conduct had been weak and miser 
 able, and exposed him to obloquy, but it was not 
 the same as deliberate theft. As a mother, she 
 was solicitous to treat the transaction as a loan 
 and to repay it without delay. The world might 
 not discriminate, but for herself and for the chil 
 dren the distinction was essential. 
 
 Having been informed how matters stood, and 
 that there was probably still some small value left 
 in the house over and above the two mortgages, 
 she thought she saw an opportunity to discharge 
 this vital obligation. Accordingly, when she found 
 that the clergyman was still considering means for 
 rescuing her home, she disclosed her theory and 
 her purpose. 
 
 "My husband borrowed that money, Mr. Pren- 
 tiss. He expected to be able to return it. I am 
 sure of this. It was just like him. People think 
 it was something worse because of what was in the 
 newspapers. But, guilty as he was, he would not 
 have done that. This being so, I am anxious to 
 have the mortgages foreclosed, or whatever is 
 necessary done, and to have what is left returned 
 
 143 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 to the woman whose money he borrowed. It was 
 six hundred dollars, and there is the interest. You 
 told me you thought there would be over five hun 
 dred left, if the mortgagee was disposed to be rea 
 sonable." 
 
 Although Mr. Prentiss may have had doubts 
 whether Emil Stuart was entitled to the distinction 
 drawn by his wife, he understood and admired her 
 solicitude. "I see," he said. "I am told that the 
 value of real estate in the neighborhood of your 
 house has improved somewhat, and that you ought 
 to get at least five hundred dollars. But in any 
 event the money which your husband borrowed 
 shall be returned. You need give yourself no 
 further concern as to this; I will see that it is 
 done." 
 
 Constance shook her head again. "It wouldn t 
 be the same if anyone else were to pay it," she said, 
 directly. 
 
 "So it would not. You are right," he replied 
 with equal promptness, admitting the accuracy of 
 her perception, which had confounded his too glib 
 generosity. "Unless you paid it, you would feel 
 that you had no right to consider that the money 
 had been borrowed." 
 
 "Though I am certain of it." 
 
 "Precisely precisely. I understood what you 
 desired, and it was unintelligent of me to bungle." 
 A confession of lack of intelligence by Mr. Pren 
 tiss signified not merely deliberate self-mortifica 
 tion, but was offered as a tribute to the mental 
 quality of his visitor. He had chosen a word 
 which would have been wasted on or misinterpreted 
 by the ordinary applicant for counsel, that he 
 
 144 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 might let her perceive that he was alive to the 
 nicety of her spiritual intuitions. They were at 
 his house in his comfortable, attractive library 
 and he understood now that the object of her call 
 had been conscientious eagerness to discharge this 
 debt. There was nothing for him to do but ac 
 quiesce in her requirements, and to thank God for 
 this manifestation of grace. This quiet, simple 
 directness, which separated the right from the 
 wrong with unswerving precision, proceeding from 
 the lips and eyes of this pale but interesting woman 
 in faded garb, was fresh and invigorating testi 
 mony to the vitality of the human soul exposed to 
 the stress of sordid, workaday realities and un 
 assisted by the choicer blessings of civilization. 
 
 Mr. Prentiss pressed her hand with a new 
 warmth as he bade her good-by. "You must come 
 to see me often," he said. "Not for your needs 
 only, but for mine. It helps me to talk with you. 
 And I shall keep my eye on you and see that you 
 get work." 
 
 As the upshot of this conversation, Constance 
 surrendered her house to the mortgagee and re 
 vived six hundred and fifty dollars for her inter- 
 st in the equity. The small sum remaining after 
 he claim of Emil s client had been satisfied was 
 upplemented presently by the sale of that portion 
 )f the furniture unavailable in the tenement into 
 vhich she moved, so that she had about a hundred 
 lollars saved from the wreck of her former for- 
 unes. The tenement consisted of two sunny 
 ooms in a new apartment house for people of 
 nimble means, built by a real estate investor with 
 )rogressive business instincts from plans suggested 
 
 145 
 
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 by the Home Beautifying Society of Benham, an 
 aggregation of philanthropic spirits, of which Mrs. 
 Wilson was one of the vice-presidents. Here light, 
 the opportunity for cleanliness, and some modern 
 fixtures, including a fire-escape, were obtainable at 
 a moderate rental; and while the small suites were 
 monotonous from their number and uniformity, 
 their occupants could fitly regard them as a para 
 dise compared with the old-fashioned homes for 
 the poor supervised solely by the dull mercy of 
 unenlightened landlords. Though this was a busi 
 ness enterprise, the owner had felt at liberty even 
 to give some artistic touches to the exterior, and 
 altogther it could be said that the investment repre 
 sented a model hive of modern workingmen s 
 homes from the point of view of Benham s, and 
 hence American philanthropic commercial aspira 
 tion. The structure Lincoln Chambers, it was 
 called was on the confines of the poorer section 
 of the city where, owing to the spread of trade, the 
 expansion of the homes of the people was forced 
 further to the south. From two of her window 
 Constance looked out on vacant lands but hal: 
 redeemed from the grasp of nature, a prospec 
 littered with the unsightly disorder of a neighbor 
 hood in the throes of confiscation by a metropolis 
 but the mongrel character of the vicinity was to 
 her more than atoned for by the fresh air and the 
 wide expanse of horizon. Her home was on the 
 eighth story there were ten stories in all and on 
 the roof there was an arrangement of space for 
 drying clothes which seemed to bring her much 
 closer to the impenetrable blue of the sky. As 
 under the influence of this communion she gave 
 
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THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 rein to introspection and fancy, her thoughts har 
 bored for the moment chiefly thankfulness. The 
 stress of her plight had been relieved. Discrimi 
 nating kindness had enabled her to get a fresh hold 
 on life without loss of her self-respect. What 
 mattered it that her social lot must be obscure, and 
 that she had become one of the undistinguishable 
 many whose identity was lost in this towering com 
 bination of small and uniform tenements? She 
 had still a roof over her children s heads and a 
 legitimate prospect of being able to support them 
 without accepting the bitter bread of charity. Yes, 
 she had become one of the humblest of human 
 strugglers, but her abounding interest in these two 
 dear possessions made not only her duty plain but 
 her opportunity inspiring and almost golden. The 
 mortification and anguish of the past she would 
 never be able to forget entirely, but she would 
 make the most of this new chance for world-service 
 and happiness. 
 
 It had been necessary to sign some papers in 
 order to convey her interest in the equity of her 
 house, and she went for the purpose to the office 
 of the mortgagee s lawyer. He was a young man, 
 somewhat over thirty, with a noticeably frank face 
 and lucid utterance and kind, intelligent eyes. As 
 he handed her the six hundred and fifty dollars it 
 occurred to her that she would like to employ him 
 to satisfy Emil s obligation. She preferred not to 
 have a personal interview with the creditor lest 
 she be obliged to listen to recriminations against 
 her husband, and she was loth to bother Mr. Pren- 
 tiss. So she broached the matter, stating briefly 
 that it was a debt which her husband had intended 
 
 147 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 to pay before his departure. She had already dis 
 covered when the papers were signed that the at 
 torney was aware that she had been deserted, and 
 neither did she supply nor did he seek enlighten 
 ment beyond the bare explanation offered. Never 
 theless, it was obvious to Constance, despite his 
 professional reserve, that he was alive to the im 
 port of the transaction for which she was employ 
 ing him, and that it had inspired in him more than 
 a mere business interest. There was a gentle de 
 ference in his manner which seemed to suggest 
 that he knew he was charged with a delicate mis 
 sion and that he would fulfil it scrupulously. She 
 liked the straightforward simplicity of his address, 
 which was both emphasized and illuminated by 
 the intelligent, amiable glint of his eyes which in 
 dicated independence and humor, as well as 
 probity. As she rose to go, Constance realized 
 that she had forgotten his name, and was on the 
 point of opening the receipt for the money which 
 he had given her, in order to ascertain it, when 
 he reached out and taking some cards from one 
 of the pigeon-holes of his desk handed them to 
 her. 
 
 "I shall write to you the result of my interview, 
 Mrs. Stuart, and send you a written discharge. 
 Here are a few of my business cards. I hope that 
 none of your neighbors will need the assistance 
 of a lawyer, but if they do, that is my profession, 
 and I intend to do the best I can for my clients." 
 
 There was a pleasant earnestness in his tone 
 which saved his speech from the effect of mere 
 solicitation. It seemed to Constance as though he 
 had said not merely that he was eager to get on, 
 
 148 
 
i 
 
 THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 but that he stood ready to help those who like her 
 self had need to bring their small affairs to a sym 
 pathetic and upright counsellor. She had asked 
 him previously what his charge would be for secur 
 ing a release of the claim against Emil. He had 
 hesitated for a moment and she had been appre 
 hensive lest he might say that it would be nothing, 
 but he had replied that it would be three dol 
 lars. 
 
 She glanced at the cards and read the name 
 Gordon Perry, Attorney and Counsellor-at-Law, 
 144 Baker St. Their interview had been in an 
 inner office a room of moderate size, near the 
 roof of a modern building, with a fine view, eclips 
 ing that of her own flat, and furnished, besides a 
 couple of chairs, with rows of law books and a few 
 large photographs of legal celebrities. On the 
 way out she passed through the general office, 
 where there were more chairs, several of them 
 occupied by visitors who had been waiting for her 
 interview to come to an end, more shelves of books, 
 and two or three desks, at one of which a woman 
 type-writer was sitting at work. The click of the 
 machine sounded melodiously in Constance s ears, 
 and she turned her glance in that direction, in wist 
 ful anticipation of the time when she would have 
 similar employment. On her arrival her gaze had 
 been introspective, but now that her errand was 
 over she felt the inclination to observe external 
 things. As she closed the outer door she saw that 
 the glass panel bore a painted inscription similar 
 to that of the card Gordon Perry, Attorney and 
 Counsellor-at-Law. She reflected that he had been 
 courteous and sympathetic to her. and she felt 
 
 149 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 sure that he was to be trusted, notwithstanding the 
 rude shock which Emil s prefidy had given to her 
 faith in her own powers of discrimination. There 
 are some dispositions which are turned to gall and 
 forever charged with suspicion by a great shock 
 to love and faith as sweet milk turns to vinegar 
 at the clap of a thunder-storm. There are others 
 whose horizon is cleared by the bitterness of the 
 blow, and who, partly from humility, partly from 
 an instinctive revolt against the doctrine of despair, 
 readjust their perspectives and harbor still the 
 god-like belief that they can know good from 
 evil. 
 
 Preliminary to beginning her lessons, Constance 
 had still her call to make on Mrs. Wilson. The 
 new fashionable quarter of Benham, beyond the 
 river Nye, was scarcely more than a name to her, 
 though, especially in the early days of her mar 
 riage, she had from time to time included this in 
 her Sabbath saunterings with her husband, and 
 she remembered Emil s having pointed out in 
 terms of irony the twin mansions of Mr. Carleton 
 Howard and his sister in process of erection. She 
 had not felt envious, but when Emil, after in 
 veighing against the extravagance of millionaires, 
 had with characteristic inconsistency, as they stood 
 gazing at the walls of these modern palaces, 
 asserted that he intended some day to have a house 
 of this kind, she had wondered what it would be 
 like, and had contrasted for a moment the lives of 
 the dwellers in this locality with her own, with a 
 sudden appreciation of the power of material cir 
 cumstances and a wistful curiosity to be translated 
 into an experience which should include white- 
 ISO 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 aproned maids, drawing-room draperies, and a 
 private equipage as daily accessories. She had 
 silently wondered, too, pondering without abetting 
 her husband s caustic cue, how this contrast was to 
 be reconciled with what she had been taught of 
 American notions of social uniformity and the 
 subordination of the unnecessary vanities and 
 splendor of life to spiritual considerations. It was 
 puzzling, and yet the manifestations of these dis 
 crepancies were apparently in good repute and be 
 coming more obvious as the city grew in popula 
 tion and importance. 
 
 It is the personal equation in this world which 
 forces truths most clearly upon our attention. So 
 it was that Constance on her way to Mrs. Wilson s 
 was fully alive to the fact not bitterly, but philo 
 sophically and equably that, despite the theory 
 of democratic social institutions which she had im 
 bibed, actual conditions in Benham were repeating 
 the old-world distinctions between the powerful 
 and the lowly, the rich and the impecunious. There 
 was no blinking the knowledge that she was living 
 obscurely in a flat on the lookout for the bare 
 necessaries of existence, while the woman she was 
 going to see was a woman of wealth and impor 
 tance, to whom she was beholden for the oppor 
 tunity of a new start. Obviously, the American 
 experiment had not succeeded in doing away with 
 the distinctions between rich and poor, though pa 
 triotic school-books had given her to understand 
 that there were none, or rather that such as existed 
 were spiritual and in favor of people of humble 
 means. Constance could be sardonic if she chose, 
 but like most women she had little taste for irony. 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 On the other hand, she had a yearning to see things 
 clearly which her misfortunes had only served to 
 intensify. 
 
 As she entered Mrs. Wilson s house a new emo 
 tion superseded this consciousness of contrast. She 
 had expected to be somewhat edified by the decora 
 tions and upholsteries, and had felt a mild curiosity 
 regarding them. But she was wholly unprepared 
 for the superb and spacious surroundings in which 
 she found herself. She walked bewildered 
 through the august hall behind the solemn, fastidi 
 ous man-servant, who, when she had disclosed her 
 name and errand, ushered her into the reception- 
 room, which served as an ante-chamber to the vista 
 of elegant connecting drawing-rooms. While she 
 waited for Mrs. Wilson she sat gazing with sur 
 prise and admiration at the costly and elaborate 
 furnishings and ornaments. It was not that such 
 things were beyond the experience of her imagina 
 tion at least, for, though she had never been 
 abroad, she felt familiar, through books, with the 
 appearance of splendid houses. She had seen pict 
 ures of them, and was not without definite im 
 pressions of grandeur. But she had not expected 
 to behold them realized in the social life of Ben- 
 ham. If the discovery was, spiritually speaking, 
 a slight shock, it was a far greater source of de 
 light. Neat as wax herself, but confined both by 
 poverty and early associations to sober hues, she 
 found in the close presence of these bright, seduc 
 tive, and artistic effects a sort of revelation of the 
 power of beauty which thrilled her deliciously. 
 Here was the culmination of the movement in 
 aesthetic expression of which, as revealed in shop 
 
 152 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 windows and on women s backs, she had for some 
 time been vaguely aware, but in which she had 
 been forbidden by the rigor of her life to partici 
 pate. The full meaning of this as an ally to human 
 happiness now burst upon her, and gave her a new 
 joy, though it emphasized the lowliness of her own 
 station. 
 
 The aspect and greeting of Mrs. Wilson gave 
 the crowning touch to her pleasure by adding the 
 human complement to the situation. She was fac 
 ing a smiling, gracious personality whose features, 
 bearing, and gown alike were fascinating and dis 
 tinguished. Constance felt no inclination to be 
 obsequious. Her native birthright of unconscious 
 ease stood her in good stead. At the same time 
 she desired to appear grateful. She had come to 
 thank the lady of the house, and it was obvious 
 that the lady of the house was a superior individ 
 ual. What a melodious voice she had, and what 
 a pretty dress! How becoming her crinkly, griz 
 zled hair! What an interesting expression, what 
 
 sympathetic light in her eyes ! Constance noted 
 these points with womanlike avidity during their 
 interchange of greetings. Mrs. Wilson asked her 
 to sit down. 
 
 "I have heard all about you from Mr. Prentiss, 
 Mrs. Stuart," she said, evidently intending by this 
 comprehensive remark to obviate for her visitor 
 the necessity of recurring to a painful past. "He 
 tells me that you have shown great courage. He 
 tells me also that you have left your house and 
 moved into Lincoln Chambers the new dormi 
 tory built under the supervision of our Home 
 Beautifying Society." 
 
 153 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Yes; it is very comfortable. We get a glimpse 
 of the country from our windows." 
 
 "I know. That is a conspicuous factor in its 
 favor. Light and fresh air, good plumbing, pure 
 milk, a regular, even though small, supply of ice 
 these are some of the invaluable aids to health and 
 happiness for all of us, and especially for those 
 upon whom the stress of life falls most heavily. 
 You can command all of these where you are. You 
 have two children, I believe?" 
 
 u Yes. A boy of seven and a girl of six." 
 
 "They will be a great comfort to you." 
 
 "I do not know what I should have done with 
 out them." 
 
 The pride of maternity encouraged by courtesy 
 drew from Constance this simple avowal of the 
 heart. Though she was not unconscious that Mrs. 
 Wilson s friendliness was imbued with patronage, 
 it was sweet to open her heart for a moment to 
 another woman and to a woman like this. 
 
 "And you have planned to pursue type-writing 
 as an occupation?" 
 
 "Yes; I begin my lessons to-morrow, owing to 
 you. I came to thank you for your generosity. It 
 was " 
 
 "I understand. I am very glad that there was 
 something I could do for you. I was interested 
 when Mr. Prentiss spoke to me concerning your 
 necessities and your zeal; I am even more inter 
 ested now that we have met. I am told by those 
 best informed that there is steady employment for 
 accomplished stenographers. It may be that my 
 own private secretary a woman who, like your 
 self, had her own way to make will be able to 
 
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 send for you presently. My daughter is to be 
 married before long, and there will be errands to 
 be run and things to be done down-town and in 
 the house, if you would not object to making your 
 self generally useful." 
 
 "I shall be grateful for any employment which 
 you can give me." 
 
 "I shall remember." Mrs. Wilson smiled 
 sweetly. She had felt her way decorously, but was 
 pleased to find an absence of false pride in her vis 
 itor, who was obviously a gentle woman, though 
 lacking the advantages of wardrobe and social 
 prestige as she reflected, a sort of Burne-Jones 
 type of severe sestheticism, with a common-sense 
 individuality of her own, and an agreeable voice. 
 "It will be a little discouraging at first, I dare say, 
 until you acquire facility in your work; but I feel 
 certain that in a short time you will be not only 
 self-supporting but happy. A woman with two 
 young children can really live on very little if she 
 is provident and discerning. It is the man who 
 eats. Have you ever studied the comparative 
 nutritive properties of foods?" 
 
 Constance shook her head. 
 
 "I will send you a little pamphlet in regard to 
 this. Many Americans eat more meat than they 
 require; more Americans are wasteful, and igno 
 rant of food values. Housewives of moderate 
 means who approach this subject in a serious spirit 
 can learn how to nourish adequately the human 
 body at a far less cost than their unenlightened 
 sisters. Cereals, macaroni, milk, bread and but 
 ter, cheese they are all nutritive and easy to pre 
 pare. If I may say so, you appear to me just the 
 
 155 
 
 
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 woman to appreciate these modern scientific truths, 
 and to make the most of them." 
 
 It seemed to Constance that she had never heard 
 anyone speak more alluringly. What was said 
 interested her, and she was pleased by the flatter 
 ing personal allusion at the close, but every other 
 effect was subordinated for her at the moment to 
 the charm of expression, or, indeed, to Mrs. Wil 
 son s whole magnetic personality as shown in looks 
 and words. She had never before come in per 
 sonal contact with anything just like it, and it fas 
 cinated her. An admiration of this sort would 
 have promptly generated envy and dislike in some 
 women, but in Constance it awoke interest and 
 ambition. Although she felt that she had stayed 
 long enough, she was loth to go, so absorbed was 
 she by the consummate graciousness and sym 
 pathetic fluency, by the effective gown and elegant 
 personal details of her hostess. She rose at last, 
 and, impelled to make some acknowledgment of 
 her emotions, said, wistfully, yet in nowise 
 abashed : 
 
 "What a beautiful house this is! I have never 
 seen anything like it before. It must be a great 
 pleasure to live here." 
 
 The frank artlessness of this tribute was grate 
 ful to Mrs. Wilson. "Yes, we think it beautiful. 
 We have tried to make it so. Would you like 
 to walk through some of the other rooms?" 
 
 Constance was glad to accept this invitation. 
 As they proceeded Mrs. Wilson let the apartments 
 speak for themselves, adding only an occasional 
 phrase of enlightenment. She was pleased with 
 her visitor, and divined that words w r ere not need- 
 
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 ful to produce the proper impression. Constance 
 walked as in a trance, admiring unreservedly in 
 thought the splendor, elegance, and diversity of 
 the upholsteries and decoration, admiring also the 
 graceful magnetic woman beside her whose every 
 gesture and intonation seemed attuned to the ex 
 quisite surroundings. As they parted Constance 
 said: 
 
 "This has been a great pleasure to me." She 
 added, "I had no idea that people here in this 
 country had such beautiful homes, such beauti 
 ful things." 
 
 There was no repugnance in the confession, but 
 a mere statement of fact which suggested satis 
 faction rather than umbrage at the discovery, al 
 though the ethical doubt of the relevancy of these 
 splendors to American ideals was a part of her 
 sub-consciousness. Mrs. Wilson s response gave 
 the finishing touch to this passive doubt. That lady 
 had recognized that she was not dealing with dross 
 but a sensitive human soul, and had refrained from 
 didactic utterances. Yet she felt it her duty, or 
 rather her duty and her mission combined, to take 
 advantage of this opportunity to sow the seed of 
 culture in this rich but unploughed soil by a deft 
 and genuine illustration. 
 
 "The spirit which has accomplished what you 
 see here can be introduced into any home, Mrs. 
 Stuart, and work marvels in the cause of beauty, 
 health, and decency," she said with incisive sweet 
 ness, her head a little on one side. "Because one 
 is poor it is not necessary to have or foster ugly, 
 inartistic, and sordid surroundings. A little 
 thought, a little reverence for aesthetic truth will 
 
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 not enable those of restricted means to live in 
 luxury, but it will serve to keep beauty enshrined 
 in the hearts of the humblest household beauty 
 and her hand-maidens, cleanliness, hygiene, and 
 that subtle sense of the eternal fitness of things 
 which neither neglects to use nor irreligiously mis- 
 mates God s glorious colors. We as a people have 
 been loth to recognize the value of artistic merit 
 as an element of the highest civilization. Until 
 recently we have been content to cultivate morality 
 at the expense of aesthetic feeling, and have only 
 just begun to realize that that type of virtue which 
 disdains or is indifferent to beauty is like salt with 
 out savor. There is no reason why in its way your 
 home your apartment should not be as faith 
 ful to the spirit of beauty as mine. Do you under 
 stand me? Do I make myself clear?" Her 
 mobile face was vibrant with the ardor of prosely- 
 tism. 
 
 Constance looked at her eagerly. "I think I 
 understand," she said. "But," she added, "I 
 might not have understood unless I had seen this 
 house unless I had seen and talked with you." 
 She paused an instant, for the vision of her own 
 tenement as a thing of beauty, alluring as was the 
 opportunity, had to run the gauntlet of her com 
 mon sense. Then she asked a practical question. 
 "If one had aptitude and experience, I can see that 
 much might be accomplished. But how is one with 
 neither to be sure of being right?" 
 
 Conscious of these honest, thoughtful eyes 
 eyes, too, in which she felt that she discerned latent 
 charming possibilities Mrs. Wilson had an in 
 spiration which satisfied herself fully as she 
 thought of it later. 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "There is often the great difficulty also the 
 obstacle to those who labor in that vineyard. But 
 in your case I am sure that you have only to search 
 your own heart in order to find the spirit of beauty. 
 After all, the artistic sense is fundamentally 
 largely a matter of character." 
 
 Constance went on her way with winged feet. 
 She felt uplifted by the interview. Her starved 
 senses had been refreshed, and her imagination 
 imbued with a new outlook on life, which though 
 foreign, if not inimical, to some of her past asso 
 ciations, she already perceived to be vital and 
 stimulating. 
 
 159 
 
XI 
 
 r I ^HREE months later, on a rare day in early 
 i- June, Miss Lucille Wilson was made Mrs. 
 Clarence Waldo, in the presence of a fashionable 
 company. Journalistic social tittle-tattle had en 
 gendered such lively public interest that the 
 neighborhood of St. Stephen s was beset by a 
 throng of sight-seers chiefly random women 
 who for two hours previous to the ceremony occu 
 pied the adjacent sidewalks and every spot which 
 would command a glimpse of the bride and guests. 
 A force of policemen guarded the church against 
 the incursion of the multitude. Yet perhaps the 
 patient waiters felt rewarded for their pains, inas 
 much as the heroine of the occasion, after alight 
 ing from her carriage, stood for an instant at the 
 entrance to the canopy before proceeding, as 
 though she were willing to give the world a brief 
 opportunity to behold her loveliness and grandeur. 
 For those with pocket cameras there was time 
 enough for a snap-shot before she was lost to 
 sight. 
 
 Within the church were gay silks and nodding 
 bonnet plumes and imposing formalities. Six 
 maids, each wearing as a memento an exquisite 
 locket encrusted with diamonds, and six ushers with 
 scarf-pins of a pearl set in a circle of tiny rubies, 
 escorted the bride to the altar, where the Rev. Mr. 
 Prentiss and two assistant priests were in attend- 
 
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 ance. When the happy pair had been made man 
 and wife a choir of expensive voices chanted me 
 lodiously "O Perfect Love," and the procession 
 streamed down the aisle on its way to the wedding- 
 breakfast. This was served by a New York 
 caterer on little tables with all the gorgeous nicety 
 of which he was capable. Though June is a month 
 when most delicious things are to be had, an effort 
 had evidently been made to procure delicacies 
 which were not in season. The effect of a jam of 
 guests elbowing for their food, as is usual on such 
 occasions, would have lacerated Mrs. Wilson s 
 sensibilities. Her house was large, so she had been 
 able to invite her entire social acquaintance with 
 out crowding her rooms, and her instructions had 
 been that there should be numerous deft waiters 
 in order that each guest might come under the 
 benign influence of personal supervision. Accord 
 ingly everyone was pleased and in good spirits 
 unless it were the bridegroom, and the doubt in 
 his case was suggested only by the impassiveness 
 of his countenance at a time when it should prop 
 erly have been the mirror of his heart s joy. Per 
 haps he had not fully recovered from the farewell 
 dinner given him by his stag friends, as newspaper 
 women are apt to designate a bachelor s intimates, 
 where he had seen fit to express his emotion by 
 drinking champagne to the point when he became 
 musically mellow, a curious and singularly Anglo- 
 Saxon prelude to the holy rite of matrimony. 
 Nevertheless, he was dignified if unemotional; and 
 his frock coat, built for the occasion, his creased 
 trousers, and mouse-colored spats were irreproach 
 able. 
 
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 When the hour came for the bride and groom 
 to depart there were so many sight-seers about the 
 door that the police had to keep the public at bay 
 in order to afford the happy pair a clear passage 
 to the carriage; and also to give the blithe young 
 men and women ample scope for the discharge of 
 the rice and slippers which convention prescribes 
 shall be hurled at those who set forth on their 
 honeymoon in the blaze of social distinction. For 
 a moment the fun was furious, and, the contagion 
 spreading to the spectators, a cheer partly of sym 
 pathy, partly of derision broke forth as the 
 spirited horses, bewildered by the shower of mis 
 siles, bounded away toward the station. Two hat- 
 less, exhilarated youths chased the retreating vic 
 tims down the street, one of whom skilfully threw 
 an old shoe so that it remained on the top of the 
 vehicle. When the young couple entered the 
 special Pullman car reserved for them the news 
 boys were already offering papers containing full 
 accounts of the wedding ceremony, including a list 
 of the guests and of the presents with their donors, 
 large pictures of the bride and groom, and diverse 
 cuts reproductive of the salient features of what 
 one of the scribes designated as the most imposing 
 nuptials in Benham s social history. 
 
 And so they were married. And sorry as she 
 was to lose her daughter, Mrs. Wilson was thank 
 ful to have it all over, and to be able to settle down 
 once more and unreservedly to the schemes for 
 social regeneration which had shared with ma 
 ternal affection the energies of her adult mind. To 
 a certain extent these interests had been rivals, un 
 consciously and involuntarily so, but it has already 
 
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 been intimated that Lucille was not the kind of 
 girl her mother had intended her to be, and lacked 
 the sympathies which might have made Mrs. Wil 
 son s interests virtually one. To give Lucille all 
 which a modern parent could give and to see her 
 happily married had been her paramount thought. 
 This was now accomplished. The child had re 
 ceived every advantage which wealth could supply, 
 and every stimulus which her own intelligence 
 could suggest. Lucille had not chosen the husband 
 she would have picked out for her. Still Lucille 
 loved him, and since fate had so ordained it, and 
 they had become husband and wife, she was de 
 termined to be pleased, and she felt in a measure 
 relieved. The main responsibility was at an end, 
 and she could now enjoy her daughter s married 
 state, and was free to give almost undivided 
 thought to her social responsibilities. 
 
 Accordingly on the days which followed the 
 wedding Mrs. Wilson shut herself up in her study, 
 and with the aid of her private secretary proceeded 
 to dispose of her accumulated correspondence, and 
 to put her personal affairs to rights. June was the 
 fag end of the social year. Many of those who 
 had been energetic in social enterprises since the 
 autumn were now a little jaded and on the eve of 
 departure for the country, the Lakes, the Atlantic 
 coast or Europe, in search of that respite from the 
 full pressure of modern life which all who can af 
 ford it in our large cities now endeavor to procure 
 for themselves. Nevertheless it was the best time 
 to look the field over and to sow the seeds of new 
 undertakings by broaching them to those whose 
 support she desired by a short note of suggestion 
 
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 which could be mulled over during the summer. 
 It was not the season to extract definite promises 
 from allies or to enlist new recruits, but essentially 
 that for exploiting ideas which might bear fruit 
 later when the brains and sensibilities of Benham s 
 best element had been rested and refreshed. Mrs. 
 Wilson had numerous charities, clubs in further 
 ance of knowledge and classes promoting hygienic 
 or aesthetic development to be pondered. For 
 some of these the struggling annual charities 
 methods like a fair or theatricals must be devised 
 in order to raise fresh annual funds. The pro 
 gressive courses of the past winter, such as the 
 practical talks to young mothers, with live babies 
 as object-lessons, and lectures on the relaxation of 
 the muscles, must be superseded by others no less 
 instructive and alluring. Then again new blood 
 must be introduced into the various coteries which 
 worked for the regeneration and enlightenment of 
 the poor to make good the losses caused by matri 
 mony or fickleness, and new schemes originated for 
 retaining the attention of the meritorious persons 
 to be benefited. In this last connection the idea 
 of a course which should emphasize the impor 
 tance to every woman of learning something on 
 which she could fall back for self-support, sug 
 gested by Mrs. Stuart s plight, now recurred to 
 her as timely. And besides these public interests 
 there were the perhaps more absorbing because 
 more flattering numerous personal demands on 
 her sympathies and time made by other women 
 women largely of her own, but of every walk. 
 Here it seemed to her was her most precious vine 
 yard, for here the opportunity was given for soul 
 
 164 
 
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 to compass soul in an affinity which blessed both 
 the giver and the receiver of spiritual benefits. 
 Sometimes the need which sought her was that of 
 the sinful woman, eager to rehabilitate herself. 
 Sometimes that of the friendless, aspiring student 
 seeking recognition or guidance; but oftener than 
 any that of the blossoming maid or wife of her 
 own class whose yearning nature, reaching out to 
 her s as the flower to the sun and breeze, received 
 the mysterious quickening which is the essence of 
 the higher life, and gave to her in return a love 
 which was like sexual passion in its ardor, but 
 savoring only of the spirit. If she were thus able 
 by the unconscious gifts or grace which were in 
 her to relieve the necessities and attune the aspira 
 tions of these choice and it seemed to her that 
 often the neediest were the choicest natures, was 
 it strange that she should cherish and even culti 
 vate this involuntary power? Mrs. Wilson s 
 theory in regard to this personal influence was that 
 it was the grateful product of her allegiance to, 
 and passion for, beauty so far as she could lay 
 claim to any merit in the matter. She accepted it 
 as a heaven-sent and heaven-kissing gift which was 
 to be rejoiced in and administered as a trust. Since 
 her talent had turned out to be that of a leader to 
 point the way by virtue of sympathetic intelligence 
 or, to quote her own mental simile, the electric 
 medium which opened to eager, groping souls the 
 realm of spirit was not the mission the most con 
 genial which could have been offered her, and in 
 the direct line of her tastes and ambitions? Con 
 sequently her private correspondence with those 
 who sought counsel and inspiration in return for 
 
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 adoring fealty was a labor of care as well as of 
 love. Just the right words must be written, and 
 the individual personal touch imparted to each 
 message of criticism, revelation, homely advice, or 
 mere greeting. To be true to beauty and to main 
 tain her individuality by the free outpouring of 
 herself from day to day in felicitous speech of 
 tongue and pen was her glowing task. In the pur 
 suance of it she had acquired mannerisms which 
 were now a part of herself. Her phrases of en 
 dearment, her chirography, her note-paper, her 
 method of signing herself, had severally a distinc 
 tion or peculiarity of their own. All this was now 
 a second nature ; but at the outset she had been con 
 scious of it, and, though never challenged, she had 
 once written in vindication in one of her heart-to- 
 heart missives that the mysterious forces of the uni 
 verse through which God talks with man wear not 
 the garb of conforming plainness, but have each its 
 special exquisiteness ; witness the moon-bathed sum 
 mer night, the mountain peak at sunrise, the light 
 ening glare among the forest pines, the lordly 
 ocean in its many moods. She had a memory for 
 birthdays and anniversaries. In the hour of be 
 reavement her unique words of consolation were 
 the first to arrive. She was prodigal of flowers, 
 and her proselytes, knowing her affection for the 
 rose and the lily, were apt to transform her study 
 into a bower on the slightest excuse. She never 
 wrote without flowers within her range of vision. 
 In the evening of one of these days following 
 her daughter s wedding, Mrs. Wilson was inter 
 rupted in her correspondence by the entrance of 
 her maid with the bewildering news that a baby 
 
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 had been left on the doorsteps, and that a woman, 
 presumably its mother, had, in the act of stealing 
 away after ringing the bell, run into the arms of 
 one of the servants, and was now a prisoner below 
 stairs. The maid was agitated. Should they send 
 for a policeman, or what was to be done? The 
 course to adopt had not been clear to those in 
 authority in the kitchen, and the solution had been 
 left to the mistress whose eleemosynary tendencies 
 had to be taken into account. 
 
 An infant, a waif of destiny, left on her door 
 steps at dead of night ! There was only one thing 
 to do, to see the baby, and to talk to the mother, 
 and for this purpose Mrs. Wilson had both 
 brought before her in the ante-room where she had 
 received Constance Stuart. Rumor flies fast, and 
 by this time a burly, belted policeman had arrived 
 on the scene and stood towering in the background 
 behind the quartette of servants, the butler, the 
 second-man, who had apprehended the woman, a 
 housemaid who had taken the custody of the child, 
 and Mrs. Wilson s own maid. Mrs. Wilson sur 
 veyed the group for an instant with the air of a 
 photographer in search of a correct setting. Then, 
 with a smile of divination, she said, authorita 
 tively, "Now, Mary, give the child to its mother, 
 and when I need anyone, I will ring. You, too, 
 Mr. Officer, please wait outside. I am sure that 
 this woman will tell me her story more freely if 
 we are alone. And, James, bring some tea the 
 regular tea-service." 
 
 As the servants took their departure, Mrs. Wil 
 son looked again at the woman, whom she had 
 already perceived to be young and good looking. 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 She stood holding her baby securely but not ten 
 derly, with a half-defiant, half-bewildered air, as 
 of a cat at bay in strange surroundings. But 
 though her mien expressed a feline dismay, Mrs. 
 Wilson perceived that she was no desperate crea 
 ture of the slums. Nor was she flauntily dressed 
 like the courtesan of tradition. Her attire a neat 
 straw sailor hat, a well-fitting dark blue serge skirt 
 and serge jacket over a white shirt, and decent 
 boots indicated some social aptness; and her 
 features, especially her clever and sensitive, though 
 somewhat hard, mouth gave the challenge of in 
 telligence. It was a smart face, one which sug 
 gested quick-wittedness and the habit of self- 
 reliance, if not self-satisfaction, to the detriment 
 of sentiment and delicacy. She appeared to Mrs. 
 Wilson to be about twenty-three, and slightly 
 shorter than Mrs. Stuart, with a sturdier, less 
 flexible figure. Her hair was light brown, and 
 her complexion fair, but she had roving dark eyes 
 which gave a touch of picturesqueness to what 
 might be called the matter-of-fact modernness of 
 her aspect. They were curious eyes, almost Italian 
 in their hue and calibre, yet in repose coldly 
 scrutinizing and impassive. Mrs. Wilson appre 
 ciated with a sense of relief that here was no case 
 of sodden ignorance and degradation; for though 
 in such instances the remedy was more obvious, she 
 preferred to be brought in contact with natures 
 which drew upon her intellectual faculties. She 
 believed herself modern in her sympathies, and in 
 her capacity as a philanthropic worker was partial 
 to the problems with which modern conditions 
 
 168 
 
I am sure that this woman will tell me her story " 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 and modern thought confront struggling human 
 nature. 
 
 "Won t you sit down? And perhaps you would 
 like to lay your baby on the sofa while we talk and 
 I make you some tea." 
 
 The girl, who was prepared probably for a 
 sterner method, yielded, after a quiver of uncer 
 tainty, to the fascination of this gracious appeal; 
 pausing for a brief instant to examine the tiny 
 face peering from the folds of the knit shawl in 
 which the child was wrapped, but with a gaze 
 scientific rather than maternal, as though she were 
 seeking to trace a likeness or some law of heredity. 
 Then she sat down and raised her eyes to meet her 
 entertainer s with a glance bordering on irony, and 
 which seemed to ask, "Well, what are you going 
 to do about it?" Mrs. Wilson noticed that her 
 hands, which lay in her lap, lightly crossed, with 
 the palms down, were long and efficient-looking, 
 and that she wore no wedding-ring. 
 
 "Is it a boy or a girl?" Mrs. Wilson resumed, 
 with disarming gentleness. 
 
 "A girl." With a contraction of her mouth 
 which began in a bitter smile and ended against 
 her will in a gulp, she added, "I didn t intend to 
 have it. I didn t want to have it. I suppose you ve 
 guessed I m not a married woman." 
 
 "Yes, I guessed that. I see, too, that you are 
 in trouble, and my sole object in detaining you here 
 to-night is to give you all the aid in my power. 
 I m not seeking to judge or to lecture you, but to 
 help you." 
 
 The girl regarded her with a matter-of-fact 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 stare, then said, bluntly, "I d have been all right 
 now if your servant hadn t nabbed me." 
 
 "You mean if you had succeeded in abandoning 
 your child?" 
 
 "Yes. I was earning my living before, and I 
 could go on. I guess I could have got back my 
 old place." 
 
 "But Do you mind telling me why you 
 wished to abandon your baby?" 
 
 "That s why. I ve just told you. To make a 
 fresh start." 
 
 "I see. And it was chance, I suppose, that you 
 left it on my door-steps rather than elsewhere?" 
 
 "You re Mrs. Randolph Wilson, aren t you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I had read about you in the newspapers, and 
 all about the wedding, and that you were tremen 
 dously rich. When my child was born I hoped she d 
 die; but, as she didn t, I made up my mind that 
 the best thing I could do was to let you look after 
 her. But the luck was against me a second time. 
 I was caught again." She laughed as though her 
 only concern was to let fate perceive that she had 
 some sense of humor. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson frowned involuntarily. Yet, 
 though her taste was offended her curiosity was 
 whetted. 
 
 "But wasn t your wasn t he man enough to 
 look after you and provide for the child?" 
 
 "I didn t tell him. He doesn t know. It wasn t 
 his fault. That is" she paused for a moment, 
 but her expression suggested solicitude lest the 
 naked truth should be disconcerting rather than 
 shame "I took the chance. Neither of us in- 
 
 170 
 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 tended to be married. He travels mostly, and is 
 here only two or three times a year. What would 
 he do with a baby anyway?" 
 
 The entrance of the butler with the tea things 
 was opportune. It gave Mrs. Wilson time to 
 think. Her experience of women of this class had 
 been considerable. If not invariably penitent, they 
 had always shown shame or humble-mindedness. 
 Here was a new specimen, degenerate and appall 
 ing, but interesting to the imagination. 
 
 While the servant set the glittering, dainty 
 silver service on the table at his mistress s side the 
 girl watched her and him with obvious curiosity 
 and a mixture of disdain and fascination. Now 
 and again her roving eyes took in the exquisite 
 surroundings, then reverted to the face of her 
 would-be benefactress as to a magnet. It seemed 
 to be the triumph of a desire not to appear worse 
 than she really was which made her speak when 
 they were alone, and Mrs. Wilson, still in search 
 of inspiration, was busy with the tea-caddy. 
 
 "I wasn t going to let her out of my sight until 
 I knew she was safe." She nervously compressed 
 the back of one of her hands with the long fingers 
 of the other in the apparent effort to justify her 
 course, a consideration to which she was evidently 
 not accustomed. "Wouldn t she have had a better 
 home at the expense of the State than any I could 
 have given her? And there was the chance you 
 might take a fancy to her and adopt her. She s 
 less homely than the average new-born young one. 
 You see I thought everything over, lady. And 
 next to its dying that seemed to me the best chance 
 it had for happiness in a best possible world." 
 
 171 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 ""Ah, but you mustn t talk like that. It s hard, 
 I know, egregiously hard. But you mustn t be 
 bitter," said Mrs. Wilson, with mandatory kind 
 ness. 
 
 The girl smiled in a superior fashion; it was 
 almost a sneer. Her desire to justify herself had 
 been an involuntary expression. Now vanity in 
 tervened, vanity and the pride of smouldering 
 opinion. "I m not bitter; I m only telling you 
 the plain truth. I m ignorant, I dare say, com 
 pared to you ; but I m not so ignorant as you think. 
 I ve thought for myself some; and and all I say 
 is that this isn t any too good a world for a girl 
 like me anyway, and when a girl like me goes 
 wrong, as you call it, and has a kid, instead of 
 crying her eyes out the sensible thing for her to 
 do is to find someone to look after it for her." 
 
 "Which only proves, my child, that such a thing 
 ought never to happen to her." 
 
 "No not if she has luck." 
 
 There was a brief pause; then with an impulsive 
 glide Mrs. Wilson swept across the room and 
 transferred a cup of tea to the hands of this wan 
 derer from the fold of grace and ethics. The girl, 
 taken off her guard, tried to rise to receive it, and 
 looked at her with the half-fascinated expression 
 of a bird struggling against the fowler. Sitting 
 down beside her, Mrs. Wilson took one of her 
 hands and said, "Do you not understand, my dear, 
 that society must insist for its own preservation 
 that a woman shouldn t go wrong? The whole 
 safety of the family is based on that. That s the 
 reason the world has to seem a little cruel to those 
 of our sex who sin against purity. Children must 
 
 172 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 know who their fathers are." She had these pre 
 cepts in their modern guise at the tip of her tongue ; 
 she hastened to add, benignly, "But though the 
 world in self-defence turns a cold shoulder on the 
 unchaste woman, for her who seeks forgiveness 
 and a fresh start there are helping hands and lov 
 ing words which offer forbearance and counsel and 
 friendship." 
 
 "But supposing I m not seeking forgiveness? 
 That s the trouble, lady. If only now I were a 
 shame-faced, contrite sinner down in the dust at 
 the foot of the cross asking permission to lead a 
 new life, how much simpler it would be for both 
 of us!" 
 
 Mrs. Wilson gasped. The coolness of the 
 sacrilege disturbed her intellectual poise. The 
 girl might have been speaking of an invitation to 
 dinner instead of the redemption of her soul so 
 casual was her regret. "That is where you be 
 long; that is where you must come in order to find 
 grace and peace," she said, in an intense whisper. 
 
 "I ve shocked you." 
 
 "Yes, you ve shocked me. But that doesn t 
 matter. You don t realize what you re saying. 
 The important thing is to save you from yourself, 
 to cleanse the windows of your soul so that the 
 blessed light of truth may enter." 
 
 The girl regarded her curiously, nervously 
 abashed at the impetuous kindness of this prosely- 
 tism. "That s what I meant by saying I d thought 
 some. If it s church doctrine you mean, you d 
 only be disappointed. It may help people like you. 
 But for the working people well, some of us who 
 use our wits don t think much of it." 
 
 173 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Though Mrs. Wilson looked profoundly 
 grieved, the spiritual melancholy emanating from 
 her willowy figure and mobile countenance was 
 charged with resolution as well as pity. 
 
 "It isn t merely church doctrine that you lack. 
 You lack the spirit of Christian civilization. Your 
 entire point of view is distorted. You are blind, 
 child, utterly blind to the eternal verities." 
 
 The girl s dark eyes grew luminous in response 
 to this indictment, but a deprecating smile trem 
 bled on her lip in protest at her own susceptibility. 
 
 "What is it you want me to do?" she said at 
 last. 
 
 "To begin with, I wish you to support your 
 child as a woman should. You brought it into the 
 world, and you owe to the helpless little thing a 
 mother s love and care. Will you tell me your 
 name?" 
 
 "Loretta Davis." 
 
 "And what has been your employment?" 
 
 "They don t know. I don t want them to know. 
 I gave them as an excuse that I was tired of the 
 place." 
 
 "I m not asking your employer s name. What 
 kind of work was it?" 
 
 "I was assistant cashier in a drug store." 
 
 "And before that?" 
 
 "I answered the bell for a doctor." 
 
 "I see. I don t wish to pry into your affairs; 
 but do you belong here? Are your parents living?" 
 
 "I don t mind telling. There s not much to 
 tell. My father and mother are dead. I was 
 born about a hundred miles from here and at 
 tended the public school. I had my living to make, 
 
 174 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 so I came to Benham about two years ago. I had 
 acquaintances, and was crazy to go into a store. 
 But a girl who came from the same town as I was 
 going to be married, and got me her place to look 
 after the doctor s bell and tidy up. He was a 
 dentist. He lost his health and had to go to Col 
 orado for his lungs, and then I went to the drug 
 store. That s all there is to tell, lady that is, 
 except one thing, which doesn t count much now." 
 "You might as well tell me that also." 
 "Oh, well, I d been thinking of training to be 
 a nurse when I got into trouble. I d got used to 
 doctors and medicine, and they told me I had the 
 sort of hands for it." She exhibited her strong, 
 flexible fingers. "If I had got rid of my baby, I 
 was going to apply to a hospital. So you see I ve 
 got some ambition, lady. I wanted to be of some 
 use. I m not altogether bad." 
 
 "No, no, I m sure you re not. I understand 
 perfectly. And the baby shan t stand in the way 
 of your making the most of yourself. I will ar 
 range all that." Mrs. Wilson spoke with fluent 
 enthusiasm. She felt that she had discovered the 
 secret of, if not the excuse for, the girl s callous 
 ness. Unwelcome maternity had interrupted the 
 free play of her individuality at the moment when 
 she was formulating a career, and as a modern 
 woman herself, Mrs. Wilson understood the bit 
 terness of the disappointment. It gave her a cue 
 to Loretta s perversion, so that she no longer felt 
 out of touch with her. She refrained from the 
 obvious temptation of pointing out that a nurse s 
 best usefulness would be to guard her tender child, 
 and broached instead the project which swiftly 
 
 175 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 suggested itself the moment she felt that she had 
 fathomed the cause of the culprit s waywardness. 
 
 U I know just the home for you; a little tene 
 ment in the Lincoln Chambers. The rooms are 
 savory, convenient, and attractive, and on the op 
 posite side of your entry lives an earnest, interest 
 ing spirit, a woman whose husband has deserted 
 her, left her with two children to provide for. 
 She will be glad to befriend you, and you will like 
 her. I happen to know that the tenement is vacant, 
 and it is the very place for you." 
 
 Loretta had listened with sphinx-like attention. 
 When Mrs. Wilson paused her eyes began to 
 make another tour of her surroundings, and at the 
 close of her remark ignored the theme of conver 
 sation. 
 
 "I never was inside a multi-millionaire s house 
 before. That s what you are, ain t it?" 
 
 The query was queer, but not to be evaded. 
 "I m a rich woman certainly, which makes it all 
 the easier for me to help you." If this savored 
 of a pauperizing line, which was contrary to Mrs. 
 Wilson s philanthropic principles, she felt that she 
 must not at all hazards let the girl slip through 
 her fingers. 
 
 "If I m willing that you should." 
 
 "Of course. But you are, I m sure you are. 
 You re going to trust me and to put yourself into 
 my hands." 
 
 The confidence and charm of this fervor sud 
 denly met with their reward. Loretta had held 
 back from genuine scruples, such as they were. 
 Instinctive independence and a preconceived dis 
 trust of fine ladies had kept her muscles stiff and 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 her face set, though she felt thrilled by a strange 
 and delicious music. No one could have guessed 
 that it was only the habit of awkwardness which 
 restrained her from falling on her knees in an 
 ecstasy of self-abasement, not from an access of 
 shame, but as a tribute to the woman whose per 
 sonality had captivated her against her will. 
 
 "You seem to take a heap of interest in me, 
 don t you?" The words by themselves suggested 
 chiefly surprise, but the sign of her surrender 
 showed itself in her eyes. They were lit suddenly 
 with an intensity which overspread her counte 
 nance, bathing its matter-of-fact smartness in the 
 soft light of emotion. "I m willing to do what 
 ever you like," she said. 
 
 177 
 
XII 
 
 IF it be said of Gordon Perry, attorney and 
 counsellor-at-law, that he was loth to incur 
 the modern epithet, "crank," it was equally true 
 that he had ideals and cherished them. He be 
 lieved in living up to his convictions. At the same 
 time his sense of humor made him aware that to 
 dwell unduly on premeditated virtue is the pre 
 rogative of a prig, and that it is often wise in a 
 workaday world to yield an inch if one would 
 gain an ell. His form of yielding was apt to be 
 genial, thoughtful consideration of the other 
 man s point of view, a virtual admission that there 
 were two sides to the case, instead of flying in the 
 face of his opponent. The modern American re 
 gards this tactful moderation as essential to the 
 despatch of business, and prides himself on its 
 possession. It is the oil of the social industrial 
 machine. Also it is slippery stuff. One is liable 
 to slide yards away from one s point of view un 
 less one plants one s feet firmly. It is so much 
 easier to follow the trend than to resist it. The 
 natural tendency of those not very much in earnest 
 is to woo success by dancing attendance on the 
 powers which are, both movements and men. So 
 convictions become palsied, and their owners mere 
 puppets in the whirl of human activity. For the 
 sake of fortune, fame, or oftenest for the sake of 
 our bread and butter, we subscribe to theories and 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 support standards which we suspect at heart to be 
 unsound, lest we fail to keep step with the class to 
 which we belong. 
 
 How to preserve his poise as an independent 
 character and at the same time avoid antagonism 
 with some of his new friends had become inter 
 esting to Gordon Perry. He had reached a point 
 where he had only to be quiescent in order to reap 
 presently a rich harvest. His clear-headedness, 
 his quickness, and his common sense had been rec 
 ognized, and it was in the air that he was a rising 
 man in his profession. People of importance had 
 taken him up. It was known that he had attended 
 to certain matters for Paul Howard, from whom 
 it was only one step to the source of many gigan 
 tic undertakings productive of fat fees. To the 
 eye of shrewd observers in Benham he had only 
 to go on as he had been going, and attend strictly 
 to business, in order to emerge from the ranks of 
 his brother lawyers, and become one of the small 
 group which controlled the cream of the legal bus 
 iness of the city. Instead of bringing accident 
 cases he would defend them for powerful cor 
 porations. Instead of conducting many small pro 
 ceedings at an expense of vitality for which his 
 clients could not afford and did not expect to pay 
 adequately, he would be employed by banks and 
 trust companies, would organize and reorganize 
 railroads, be made the executor of large estates 
 and the legal adviser of capitalists in financial 
 schemes from which profits would accrue to him 
 in the tens of thousands. It ought to be com 
 paratively plain sailing. This was obvious to the 
 man in question as well as to his contemporaries. 
 
 179 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 He knew that his business was growing, and sun 
 dry rumors had reached him that he had been 
 spoken of in inner circles as skilful and level 
 headed. 
 
 To indicate the current which ran counter in 
 Gordon Perry s thoughts to his appreciation of 
 these possibilities it will be necessary to refer 
 briefly to his past and to his mental perspective. 
 He was the son of a widow. Also a soldier s son. 
 His father, a volunteer, had survived the Civil 
 War, and, attracted by the rising destinies of Ben- 
 ham, had made his home there, only to fall vic 
 tim to a fever within a year of his corning. Gor 
 don was then eleven years old. A policy of life 
 insurance kept the wolf from the door for the 
 afflicted widow so far as a bare subsistence was 
 concerned. She had a small roof over her head, 
 and was able by means of boarders and needle 
 work to present a decent front to the world while 
 she watched over her sole treasure, her only child. 
 Her ambition was to give him an education, and 
 her ambition in this respect was neither niggardly 
 nor ignorant. He was to have the best a col 
 lege training and to give him this it delighted 
 her to pinch and to slave. When a woman s duty 
 is squarely determined by responsibility for a 
 fatherless son, it is comparatively easy for her to 
 be true to her trust to the extent of complete de 
 votion and unselfishness. But devotion and 
 unselfishness do not include wisdom. Happy for 
 him whose mother is a victim neither to super 
 stition nor to silliness, but sees life with a clear, 
 sane outlook. Mrs. Perry was one of those Amer 
 ican women educated in the days of Emersonian 
 
 180 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 spirituality, when society walked in the lightest 
 marching order as regards material comforts and 
 embellishments, who were austere and sometimes 
 narrow in their judgments, but who set before 
 them as the one purpose of life the development 
 of character. She was simple, pious, brisk, and 
 direct; setting great store on acting and speaking 
 to the point, and abhorring compromise or 
 evasions. In her religious faith she believed, as 
 a Unitarian, about what liberal Episcopalians and 
 Presbyterians believe to-day. Doctrine, however, 
 appeared to her of minor importance compared to 
 the pursuit of noble aims and the practice of self- 
 control. She wished her son to care for the high 
 est things, those of the spirit and the intellect, be 
 cause she regarded them with sincerity as the 
 passports to human progress; and, though her 
 aesthetic aims were dwarfed, and human color and 
 grandeur may have seemed to her to smack of 
 degeneracy, the white light of her aspirations had 
 a convincing beauty of its own. 
 
 Under the influence of this training and this 
 point of view, Gordon went to Harvard. There 
 he encountered a new atmosphere. The old gods 
 were not dead, but they seemed moribund, for 
 there were others. The college motto, "Veritas," 
 still spoke the watchword of faith, yet the lan 
 guage of his class-mates led him to perceive that 
 what was the truth was again in controversy. The 
 Civil War was over, but the martial spirit which 
 had sprung into being at the call of duty and love 
 of country was seething in the veins of a new gen 
 eration eager to rival in activity the heroism of 
 its fathers. It was no longer enough to walk in 
 
 181 
 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 contemplation beneath the college elms and de 
 velop character by introspective struggle. Truth 
 the whole truth, lay not there. Was not useful, 
 skilful action in the world of affairs the true test 
 of human efficiency? A great continent lay open 
 to ingenious youth trained to unearth and master 
 its secrets. How was it to be conquered unless the 
 spirit of energy was nourished by robust frames, 
 unless men were practical and competent as well as 
 soulful? 
 
 Gordon listened to this new note with a recep 
 tive ear, and recognized its value. Hitherto he 
 had thought little of his body, which, like an excel 
 lent machine, had performed its work without call 
 ing itself to his attention. Now he took part in 
 college athletics, and realized the exhilaration 
 which proceeds from healthful competitive exer 
 cise. Through contact with his mates, and active 
 participation in the affairs of the college world, 
 he experienced also the still more satisfactory glow, 
 best described as the joy of life, which, partly 
 physical, partly athletic, had never been a portion 
 of his consciousness. He was drafted for the foot 
 ball team, and by his prowess and his pleasant, 
 manly style acquired popularity in the college so 
 cieties, that fillip to self-reliance and proper self- 
 appreciation. If, as a consequence, he relaxed 
 somewhat his efforts to lead his class in scholar 
 ship, which had been his sole ambition at the start, 
 he did not forget that he was a pensioner on his 
 mother s self-sacrifice; and though his rank at 
 graduation was not in the first half-dozen, it was 
 in the first twenty-five, and it could be said of him 
 that he looked fit for the struggle of life, the pos- 
 
 182 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 sessor of a healthy mind in a well-developed body. 
 He was sophisticated, but his soul was untarnished 
 by dissipation, and the edge of his enthusiasm for 
 enterprise and endeavor was not dulled. Then 
 followed three years at the law school, where in 
 common with nearly everyone he worked like a 
 beaver to equip himself for his profession. There 
 all interests it might be said all emotions were 
 absorbed in contemplation of technical training. 
 But he was still under the shadow of the Harvard 
 elms, and the great world lay beyond, a land of 
 mysterious promise to his eager vision. 
 
 However clear-sighted and philosophical a col 
 lege graduate, his first actual contact with the 
 great world is apt to be depressing. Society seems 
 so large and so indifferent; he is so insignificant 
 and so helpless he who six months ago was a 
 hero in the eyes of his companions. Especially is 
 this apt to be the case when one is translated from 
 the dizzy democratic heights of college renown to 
 a humble, humdrum social station. It was no 
 revelation to Gordon Perry to find himself the son 
 of a hard-working, inconspicuous boarding-house 
 keeper, but it sobered him. He was neither 
 ashamed of the fact nor dismayed by it. On the 
 contrary, the sight of his mother s tired face and 
 figure subordinated every ambition to his loving 
 determination to conquer the world for her sake. 
 It seemed, however, a less simple matter to con 
 quer the world now that he was an unknown stu 
 dent in a law office in a large city, with no family 
 influence or powerful friends to abet his endeavors. 
 For the first few years his lot was so obscure that 
 the contrasts of life arrested his attention as they 
 
 183 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 had never done before, though as a subconscious- 
 ness, for he never outwardly paused in his efforts 
 to become indispensable to the firm of lawyers in 
 whose office he was. He beheld acquaintances in 
 various employments, whose mental superior he 
 believed himself to be, put in the direct line of 
 preferment through pecuniary or social influence, 
 and had to solace himself with the doctrine also 
 the American doctrine that it was every man s 
 privilege to make the most of his own advantages, 
 and his duty to acknowledge the same privilege in 
 others. 
 
 Some young men are made cynical by the per 
 ception of the workings of free competition; 
 others simply thoughtful. Gordon was among the 
 latter. Life presented itself to him from a new 
 perspective, and if it suddenly appeared both per 
 plexing and distressing, it appeared none the less 
 interesting. His personal dismay, if this passing 
 reaction deserves so harsh a term, was transient, 
 but it was the precursor to graver, disinterested 
 musings. His attention once arrested by the in 
 equalities of life turned further afield and became 
 riveted by concern and by pity. Why in this city, 
 established under free institutions, was it neces 
 sary that thousands should be living in poverty, 
 ignorance, and social ineffectiveness if not degrada 
 tion? It ought not to be. It must not be. How 
 could it be averted? This outburst of his protest 
 ing spirit encountered the query of his dispassion 
 ate mind what remedy do you suggest? It was 
 like a douche of cold water. Instinctively he 
 reached out for help. He knew that he was in 
 search of truth this time, but he abhorred an ignis 
 
 184 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 atuus. He began to ask questions and to read. 
 
 There were various answers on the lips of those 
 
 vhom he consulted, for the question seemed to be 
 
 n the air. Many, and there were among them 
 
 ome whose broad shoulders, free carriage, and 
 
 prosperously self-reliant air told of that joy in 
 
 iving and practical, world-conquering serenity 
 
 ypical of the successful man of the present gen- 
 
 iration, who assured him, often in a whisper, as 
 
 hough it were a confidence, that these inequalities 
 
 nust always exist. Were not men s abilities differ- 
 
 :nt, and would they not always be so? Was it 
 
 \ ust that one man s energy and skill should be cur- 
 
 ailed to keep pace with another s incapacity? 
 
 What would become of human individuality and 
 
 Brilliancy if everyone s earning and owning were 
 
 ;:o be circumscribed by metes and bounds, and we 
 
 jvere all to become commonplace, unimaginative 
 
 ! slaves of socialism? It was right, of course, that 
 
 existing abuses in the way of long hours and in 
 
 sufficient pay should be rectified. That was on the 
 
 cards. In many cases it had been already con 
 
 summated. And what had malcontents or critics 
 
 pf the existing industrial system to say to the long 
 
 .ist of splendid benefactions free libraries, free 
 
 jiospitals, free parks, and free museums given to 
 
 pie community by rich men men who had been 
 
 ibler and more progressive than their fellows? 
 
 Surely the world would be a dull place without 
 
 jcompetition. 
 
 There were others who declared that the de 
 struction of the poor was their poverty, and that 
 the poor man was at fault. That if he would let 
 iquor alone, have fewer children, and brush his 
 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 teeth regularly, he would be happy and prosper 
 ous. They called Gordon s attention to the many 
 schemes for the uplifting of the industrial masses 
 which were already in operation in Benham, 
 homes for abandoned children, evening classes 
 where instruction and diversion were skilfully 
 blended, model tenements, and, most modern of 
 all, college settlements, the voluntary transplant 
 ing of individual educated lives into social Saharas. 
 
 The books which he read were of two classes. 
 Their writers were either optimistic apologists for 
 the current ills of civilization, deploring and de 
 precating their existence, and suggesting the grad 
 ual elimination of social distress by education and 
 intelligent humanity "the giving of self unre 
 servedly," as many put it without serious modi 
 fication of the structure of society; or they were 
 outspoken enemies of the present industrial status, 
 alleging that poverty and degradation were an 
 inseparable incident of unchecked human compe 
 tition, and that these evils would never be eradi 
 cated until the axe was applied to the fundamental 
 cause. These latter critics had diverse preliminary 
 crucial remedies at heart, such as the capitalization 
 of land, government control of railroads, mines, 
 and other sources of power, or the appropriation 
 to the use of the community of a slice of abnormal 
 profits. 
 
 Most of this presentation, whether through 
 men or from books, was not new to Gordon; but 
 it had been hitherto unheeded by him and had the 
 full effect of novelty. He found himself staring 
 at a condition of affairs which he had patriotically 
 if carelessly supposed could not exist in the land 
 
 186 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 if the free and the home of the brave until he 
 juddenly opened his eyes and beheld in full opera 
 tion in his native city, of which he was becomingly 
 proud, those grave contrasts of station common to 
 older civiliations. These included on the one hand 
 mot only the uneducated army of workers in Ben- 
 ham s pork factories, oil-yards, and iron mills, but 
 [an impecunious, shiftless lower class; and on the 
 other what was, relatively speaking, a corporal s 
 i guard of wealthy, wideawake, luxurious, ambitious 
 masters of the situation, to whom he hoped pres 
 ently to commend himself as a legal adviser. 
 
 But what was the remedy? What was his 
 remedy? In the coolness of second thoughts, 
 after months of ferment, he had to confess that 
 he had none at least none at the moment. Si 
 multaneously he had reached the further conclusion, 
 which was both a relief and a distress, that what 
 ever could be done must be gradual, so gradual as 
 to be almost imperceptible when measured by the 
 span of a single life. He recalled, with a new ap 
 preciation of the truth, the saying that the mills 
 of God grind slowly. From the vanguard hope 
 of a complete change in current conditions, by a 
 series of telling blows of his own conception, he 
 was forced back to a modest stand behind the 
 breast-works. Modest because he began to ex 
 amine with a new respect the philanthropic and 
 economic apparatus for attack already in position, 
 which he had at first glance been disposed to re 
 gard as too cumbersome and dilatory. Here was 
 where his purpose not to be quixotic and visionary 
 came to his support. He realized that it was nec 
 essary for him to wait and to study before he could 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 hope to be of service; that he must take his posi 
 tion in the ranks and observe the tactics of others 
 before attempting to assume leadership or to 
 initiate reforms. 
 
 One effect of this check to his soaring aspira 
 tions at the dictate of his common sense was to 
 give a fresh impetus to his resolve to succeed in 
 his profession. For a brief period the shock of 
 his discoveries had been so stunning that he almost 
 felt as though it were his duty and his mission to 
 devote his life to finding a remedy for the ills of 
 civilization. His mother s necessities stood as a 
 bar to this. But with the ebbing of his vision he 
 found himself no longer beset with doubts as to 
 the legitimacy of his apprenticeship. It seemed to 
 him clearly his duty, not only on his mother s ac 
 count but his own, to throw himself into his work 
 unreservedly with the intention of hitting the 
 mark. He had his bread to earn, his way to make. 
 How would it profit him or anyone that he should 
 forsake his calling and stand musing by the way 
 side merely because he was distressed by the in 
 equalities of the industrial system? Inequalities 
 which existed all over the world and were as old 
 as human nature. He had no comprehensive cure 
 to suggest, so for the time being his lips were 
 sealed and his hands tied by his own ignorance. 
 And if conscience, borrowing from some of the 
 books which he had read, argued that the pros 
 perous lawyer was the agent of the rich against the 
 poor, the strong against the weak, his answer was 
 that the taunt was not true, and his retort by way 
 of a counter-sally was that in no country in the 
 world did the laboring man receive so high wages 
 
 188 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 as in this. This at least was a step forward, and 
 so he felt justified to follow precedent and to bide 
 his time. 
 
 In order to succeed a young lawyer must be 
 ceaselessly vigilant. It is not enough to perform 
 faithfully what he is told. There are many who 
 will do this. The man who gets ahead is he who 
 does more than the letter of his employment de 
 mands, who anticipates instructions and disregards 
 time and comfort in order to follow a clue of evi 
 dence or elucidate a principle. So he becomes 
 indispensable, and by and by the opportunity pre 
 sents itself which the shiftless ascribe to luck. 
 Gordon Perry revealed this faculty of indefati 
 gable initiative. The firm in whose office he was 
 a student had a large business, chiefly in the line of 
 commercial law. The transit of the various com 
 modities to which Benham owed her prosperity 
 was necessarily productive of considerable litiga 
 tion against the railroads as common carriers and 
 between the shippers and consignees of wares and 
 merchandise. Besides, there were constant suits 
 for personal injuries to be prosecuted or defended, 
 involving nice distinctions as to what is negligence, 
 and bringing in their train much practice for the 
 juniors in the investigation of testimony. From 
 the outset Gordon worked with unsparing enthu 
 siasm, seeking to do the work entrusted to him so 
 thoroughly that those who tried the cases would 
 find the situation clearly defined and everything at 
 their fingers ends. When it was perceived that he 
 was not only diligent but discerning and accurate, 
 they began to rely on him, and by the end of three 
 years the responsibility of trying as well as of pre- 
 189 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 paring the less important proceedings in the lower 
 courts became his. Also, by showing himself 
 solicitous regarding the affairs of the clients of 
 the office, he was able now and again to supply 
 information or tide matters over when the mem 
 ber of the firm inquired for was out; and it was 
 not long before some of them formed the habit 
 of consulting him directly in minor matters. When 
 at the end of five years the senior partner, who 
 had independent means, retired in order to go to 
 Congress, his two associates came to the conclu 
 sion that it would be good policy, as well as just, 
 to give Perry, as the most promising young man 
 in the office, a small interest in the business. This 
 promotion naturally gave him a new status with 
 the clients, and most of those who had been in 
 the habit of consulting him offhand, now laid their 
 serious troubles before him. So by the time he 
 was twenty-nine he was well started in his profes 
 sion, and able to extract a promise from his mother 
 that if he continued to prosper for another year, 
 she would yield to his solicitations to give up her 
 boarders and move into a brighter neighborhood. 
 Although absorbed in his profession, Gordon s 
 genial charm soon brought him invitations of a 
 social nature. He became a member of a law club 
 of men of his own age, which met once a month 
 to compare impressions and banish dull care over 
 a good dinner. Still eager for exercise he joined 
 a rowing club on the river Nye, and a gymnasium. 
 After he was admitted to the firm he had his name 
 put up for election at one of the social clubs, The 
 University, so called because its members were 
 college graduates. Here he met the educated 
 
 190 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 oung men of the city, and though his mother had 
 .n old-fashioned prejudice against clubs, as aris- 
 ocratic resorts where men gambled and drank 
 nore than was good for them, Gordon felt that 
 ic needed some place where he could play a game 
 >f whist or billiards with congenial spirits or look 
 it magazines in a cosey library as an antidote to 
 lis sterner pursuits. Mrs. Perry was more than 
 milling to trust her son, so she sighed and set 
 lown to the changed temper of the day the spread 
 )f Benham s club fever. For, like other progres- 
 ive cities, Benham was fairly honeycombed with 
 lubs. The American social instinct had become 
 ilmost daft on the subject, and no two or three 
 nen or women could come together for any pur- 
 )ost without organizing. From a constitution and 
 )y-laws the road was apt to be short to rooms or 
 i clubhouse. The University was one of half a 
 lozen of the purely social clubs of the city, a spa- 
 ious establishment, modelled on European tra- 
 litions with American plumbing and other modern 
 omforts. Gordon was prompted to join by Paul 
 Howard, who declared that he preferred it for 
 genuine enjoyment to the Eagle Club, the favorite 
 esort of the very rich and fashionable the 
 Spread Eagle, as the malicious termed it. At The 
 Jniversity there was secular instrumental music on 
 Sunday afternoons, a custom copied from Boston, 
 hat former hotbed of ascetic Sabbath life, and on 
 Saturday nights a cold supper was provided, about 
 jvhich stood in pleasant groups the active profes 
 sional and business men of the city and those who 
 :ollowed the arts musicians, painters, and lit- 
 srary men. 
 
 191 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Exclusive and aristocratic all the samee," said 
 Hall Collins, contemptuously, one day when Gor 
 don vouchsafed to him a glowing account of these 
 Saturday nights. Hall was one of the moving 
 spirits in the only other club of which Gordon was 
 a member, The Citizens Club, the somewhat am 
 bitious title of an organization conducted by young 
 men interested in civic and industrial reform, not 
 unlike that to which the unhappy Emil Stuart had 
 belonged. 
 
 "Which only shows how little you understand 
 what we are after," was the prompt answer. 
 "There isn t a more truly democratic place in the 
 world only we insist that a man should win his 
 spurs before he is entitled to consideration. A 
 clod, while he is a clod, isn t a gentleman, and it 
 isn t good American doctrine to regard him as one. 
 No logic will make him so. You re talking 
 through your hat, Hall, and you know it." 
 
 Hall grinned. It was true he was not more than 
 half in earnest, but he was more than half sus 
 picious of Gordon. He could not make him out, 
 which nettled him, for Hall Collins liked to have 
 men docketed in his mind. 
 
 "To Gehenna with your gentlemen!" he re 
 torted. "What use are spurs to a man who has no 
 boots to wear them on?" 
 
 "Hear, hear!" interjected two or three by 
 standers whose attention was caught by the meta 
 phor. 
 
 "It strikes me, young man," pursued Collins, 
 who had his chair tipped back, his feet on the 
 table and was smoking a fat cigar which one of 
 
 192 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 I the aldermen had given him, appropriated by the 
 ! wholesale at a city banquet, "that you re trying 
 to ride two horses." He was glad to have an 
 audience to the discussion, for he could not make 
 I up his mind that Gordon was sincere in his inter 
 est in the Citizens Club, and he feared some ulte 
 rior motive, political or quasi-philanthropic. 
 
 "Yes, that s just what I m doing," answered 
 Gordon. "Half of the lack of sympathy between 
 the educated and the uneducated, between capital 
 and labor, as you like to call it, lies in the imagi 
 nation. What is there incompatible in being 
 a member of a club like this and wearing 
 patent-leather shoes and the latest thing in 
 .collars?" 
 
 "It smacks too much of college settlements. It 
 doesn t go to the root of things." 
 
 "But it helps just as they help, unless in the 
 ideal democracy you are aiming at there s to be 
 no place for the refinements of life, for soft 
 speech, gentle manners, and the arts. In the mil 
 lennium are we all to be uncouth and unimagi 
 native?" 
 
 "Score one for the man with the patent-leather 
 shoes, only he hasn t got them on," exclaimed one 
 of the listeners. 
 
 "You re beginning at the wrong end. You put 
 the cart before the horse; that s the trouble with 
 you. What s the use of decorating a house that s 
 going to be struck by lightning?" With all his 
 prejudice and homely exterior Hall Collins was at 
 heart no demagogue or charlatan. He was dead 
 in earnest himself and he wished others to be. He 
 
 193 
 
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 was conversant with the history of the develop 
 ment of trades-unions over the world. He was a 
 student of humanitarian reforms, and gave all the 
 time which he could spare from his occupation as 
 a master-mason to the furtherance of what he con 
 sidered legislative progress. 
 
 "Struck by lightning, and then there s no house, 
 only ruins. That s not what you desire, Hall Col 
 lins, you, I, nor anyone here. We re all seeking 
 the same thing, and we re all groping more or less 
 in the dark putting the cart before the horse, 
 may be. But you haven t any panacea for what s 
 wrong more than I have. All we can hope to do 
 is to make a few trifling alterations on the premises 
 paper a wall or enlarge a flue before our lease 
 expires. The chief reason I joined this club was 
 that I might stop theorizing and wringing my 
 hands and get down to business. We all recog 
 nize there s plenty of practical work waiting for 
 us, so what s the use of distrusting each other s 
 theories or motives? I ve no Congressional bee 
 in my bonnet. I m not trying to climb to political 
 prominence on the shoulders of the horny-handed 
 Citizens Club." 
 
 Hall colored slightly. He had been harboring 
 just that suspicion. 
 
 "Good talk." "Come off your perch, Hall. 
 This man Perry s all right," was the response of 
 several listeners. The group was now a dozen. 
 
 Hall took his feet from the table, stood up and 
 put out his hand. "It isn t because the boys say 
 so," he said. "I m taking you on your own word, 
 Perry, and you ll never hear me peep again. 
 You ve the right idea; it s no time for speculat- 
 
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 ing, for there s lots of business to be done right 
 here in Benham. And if I had a notion you might 
 be masquerading well, there have been cases 
 where men in patent leathers and dandy collars 
 showed up strong in working-men s clubs, and the 
 only business they ever did was to lay and pull 
 
 wires." 
 
 "Some men are born great, some achieve great 
 ness, and some have greatness thrust upon them," 
 said Ernest Bent. "Hall was born great, but if 
 Don Perry wants to go to the Legislature why 
 shouldn t the Citizens Club send him there?" 
 
 "That s so," said a second. 
 
 "Not until he wins those spurs he spoke of 
 bot if he s the man I take him to be," exclaimed 
 ; Collins, doughtily. 
 
 "Not under any circumstances. I have no wish 
 for office. I don t desire to be a politician." Gor- 
 lion spoke eagerly. The only thought in his mind 
 Lvas to deprecate the suggestion. It was true that 
 in looking over the field there had seemed to him 
 ilmost a glut of philanthropists, and he had chosen 
 the Citizens Club as a more promising opening 
 lhan charitable work. But his ambition was only 
 l:o be a private in the ranks. 
 
 "And yet," commented Hall, "what should we 
 llo without politicians? They are the only per 
 sons who put things through, and laws on the 
 Statute books are what we need. Look at this 
 Idgar." He exhibited the butt end, which was all 
 piat was left. "The man who gave it to me helped 
 liimself to a box, and the only thing he wouldn t 
 help himself to is a red-hot stove, but I didn t spit 
 In his face and I smoked his cigar, and I dare say 
 
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 he ll vote for some of our batch of bills because I 
 told him a good story. It s disgusting." He 
 threw down the butt and trod it under foot. "The 
 cardinal sin of the sovereign people is their igno 
 rance. Will they never learn not to send dishonest 
 men to represent them?" 
 
 "You see that Hall is both an idealist and prac 
 tical," said Ernest Bent to Gordon. It was 
 through Bent that Gordon had joined the Citizens 
 Club. He was his next-door neighbor, the son of 
 an apothecary, and had, while following his trade 
 behind the counter, read books on the science of 
 government, and the rights and wrongs of man, 
 with excursions to Darwin and Huxley. As the 
 result of bandying opinions from time to time he 
 had taken Gordon one evening to a meeting of 
 the club, and subsequently invited him to become 
 a member. Gordon did not need persuasion to 
 join. It seemed to him just the opportunity he 
 had been looking for to espouse the cause which 
 he had at heart, by focussing his sympathies on 
 practical measures. He recognized that the club 
 was not only a debating body, but aimed to be a 
 political force, and that many of its members were 
 expert and not entirely scrupulous politicians. But, 
 on the other hand, in spite of the jaundiced views 
 of some of those who harangued the meetings, 
 Gordon discerned that a half-dozen men were 
 really in control among them Collins and Bent 
 and that they were guided by a sincere and rea 
 sonably cautious ambition to procure scientific re 
 forms. A little consideration convinced him that 
 he was glad they were seeking to wield political 
 influence. It gave the effect of reality, of battle. 
 
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 Academic discussion was a vital prelude to well- 
 considered action, but, after all, as Hall Collins 
 said, the only thing which really counted was law 
 on the statute books. It suited his manhood to 
 feel that he was about to fight for definite issues. 
 
 197 
 
XIII 
 
 A TER eighteen months of prosperity the law 
 firm into which Gordon Perry had been ad 
 mitted was crippled by the death of one of the 
 two other partners. The survivor, who was the 
 junior of the two, and decidedly the inferior in 
 mental calibre and energy, proposed to Gordon to 
 continue the firm on the footing of two-thirds of 
 the profits for himself, and appeared pompously 
 grieved when his former student demurred to the 
 terms. Before he could make up his mind to a 
 more equable division Gordon had made up his to 
 separate and to practise alone. While Gordon 
 did not have a very high opinion of his partner s 
 talents, he was grateful for his own recent promo 
 tion, and was aware that his associate s wise coun 
 tenance and seniority combined would probably 
 avail to control the cream of the business that 
 brought by managers of corporations and success 
 ful merchants, both prone to distrust youth. But 
 the plan of setting up for himself was tempting, 
 especially as he disliked the alternative of the 
 lion s share going to a lawyer of mediocre ability, 
 and when Paul Howard asked why he did not 
 take the step in question, and intimated that he 
 would befriend him in case he did, Gordon re 
 solved to burn his bridges and make the plunge, 
 or in more correct metaphor to hang out his own 
 shingle. 
 
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 As he had expected, there was at first a slight 
 lull in his fortunes ; but, on the other hand, he was 
 able to pocket the whole income, and even from 
 the outset he was reasonably busy. Paul How 
 ard s promise was fulfilled. All his personal and 
 presently some of the firm matters were placed in 
 Gordon s hands, and the two men met not infre 
 quently as a consequence. At Harvard they had 
 been acquaintances rather than friends. Their 
 contact on the foot-ball team had inspired respect 
 for each other s grit, but they were not intimate. 
 As the possessor of a liberal allowance, Paul had 
 belonged to a rather frivolous set, notorious in 
 college circles through lavish expenditures, which 
 included boxes at the theatres and suppers and 
 flowers for the chorus girls. Though Gordon was 
 partial to comic opera himself, he had regarded 
 Paul as a high flyer, and Paul in his turn had 
 pitied Gordon as a good fellow spoiled by being 
 obliged to "grind." When they met again in 
 their native city after a lapse of years, each was 
 impressed by the other s improvement and found 
 him much more interesting than he had expected. 
 Paul had toned down. His spirits were less flam 
 boyant; he was gay-hearted instead of noisy, and 
 his manner had lost its condescension. On his 
 part, Gordon had mellowed through contact with 
 the world and was more easy-going in his address, 
 and no longer wore the New England conscience 
 in his nostrils. They met first by chance at a res 
 taurant at noon, and, habit bringing them to the 
 same resort, they lunched together from time to 
 time, and the favorable impression was strength 
 ened on each side. 
 
 199 
 
 
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 Gordon interested Paul because the former was 
 so different from most of the men with whom he 
 was in the habit of associating, and yet was, so to 
 speak, a good fellow. The true creed of most of 
 Paul s friends when reduced to terms, was sub 
 stantially this, that the important thing in life is 
 to be on top, that in America every one has a 
 chance and the best men come to the front, that 
 success means money, that money ensures enjoy 
 ment, and that no one is supposed to be enjoying 
 himself or herself who does not keep feeding the 
 dynamo of conscious existence with fresh sensa 
 tions and run the human machine at full pressure. 
 There were necessary corollaries to this, such as 
 "the devil take the hindmost," uttered consider 
 ately but firmly; "we shall be a long time dead," 
 murmured jocosely but shrewdly; and "the cranks 
 may prevail and the crash come, but we shall be 
 under the sod," spoken philosophically, with a 
 shake of the head or a sigh; the moral of it all 
 being that the position of the successful that is, 
 the rich is delectable and intoxicating, and the 
 rank and file are expected to comport themselves 
 with patriotic and Christian resignation, and not 
 interfere with the free workings of the million- 
 airium, an ingenious American substitute for the 
 millennium. 
 
 The stock market, athletic sports, and cocktails 
 were the tutelary saints of this section of society. 
 They were habitually long or short of the market 
 from one or two hundred to several thousand 
 shares, according to their means. They followed 
 feverishly the prevailing fads in sport, yachting, 
 tennis, polo, rowing, golf, rackets, hunting, horse 
 
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 I 
 
 shows (as now, a few years later, "bridge," ping- 
 ! pong, and the deadly automobile). And after 
 exercise, before lunch and dinner, and on every 
 other excuse, they imbibed a cocktail or a whiskey 
 and soda as a fillip to the nervous system. They 
 were dashing, manly-looking fellows, these com 
 panions of Paul, ingenious and daring in their 
 business enterprises, or, if men of leisure, keen and 
 brilliant at their games. They set great store by 
 physical courage and unflinching endurance of 
 peril and pain, and they would have responded 
 promptly to a national demand for troops in case 
 of war; but when anything arose on the political 
 or social horizon which threatened to disturb 
 prices on the stock exchange they set their teeth as 
 one man and howled maledictions at it and its 
 author, though it bore the sign manual of true 
 progress. In short, life for them meant a bull 
 market, a galaxy of competitive sports, and per 
 petual novelty. 
 
 In turning from this comradeship and point of 
 view to Gordon Perry, Paul did so guardedly. 
 That is, although he was not altogether satisfied 
 to follow the current in which he found himself, 
 he had no intention of being drawn into the eddies 
 by false sentiment or of rowing up-stream at the 
 dictates of envy and demagogism. He was ready 
 to admit that the policy of high-pressure enjoy 
 ment and acquisition might be ethically defective, 
 but he did not propose to exchange his birthright 
 for a mess of pottage and become pious or philan 
 thropic on sing-song lines. As he once expressed 
 it to Gordon, some two years after the latter had 
 set up for himself, between the hypocrites and the 
 
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 fools it was a comparatively simple matter to 
 charm an audience with a psalm tune compounded 
 of the Rock of Ages and the Star-Spangled Ban 
 ner until it passed resolutions against the rich and 
 in favor of the poor, which not merely confounded 
 common sense and subverted justice, but gave a 
 sort of moral sanction to the small lies, the sand 
 in the sugar, the dirt, the superstition and the slip 
 shod ways which distinguished the people without 
 brains and imagination from those with. 
 
 "We might divide all round," Paul continued, 
 "but what good would that do? I might move 
 into a smaller house, sell my steam yacht and all 
 my stable, except a horse and buggy, and play the 
 Puritan, but what good would that do? People 
 would laugh and my wife would think me crazy. 
 I tell you what, Don, we I mean the crowd I run 
 with may be a grasping, extravagant, gambling, 
 sporting, strenuous lot, but we trot square. There s 
 no sand in our sugar, and when there s music to 
 be faced we don t run away, squeal or delude our 
 selves. But I ve sworn off cocktails for good. I 
 began yesterday. And I m going to keep my eye 
 on you, Don. I don t promise to follow you, 
 but I m interested. When you get your plans in 
 working order let me look at them. I may be able 
 to syndicate them for you, even though I have to 
 shock my conservative father in the process. By 
 the way, do you happen to need a stenographer? 
 She s said to know her business. And this one is 
 in your line, too." 
 
 Gordon had been conscious lately that his work 
 required another clerk. "In my line?" 
 
 "Yes. A tale of woe. She s a protegee of my 
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 aunt s, and needs a helping hand. A widow with 
 two small children. Good looking, too, I believe. 
 Mrs. Wilson has had her taught until she can play 
 the type-writer like a learned pig, and take down 
 your innermost thoughts in shorthand. And now 
 the woman insists on being thrown down hard on 
 her own resources, like a good American. We 
 haven t a vacancy, unless I invent one; and it oc 
 curred to me that you must have work enough for 
 a second stenographer by this time." 
 
 "I ll try her." 
 
 "Thanks. One good turn deserves another. 
 I ll tell my aunt that she ought to ask you to dine; 
 and then if you don t give her to understand that 
 her will is all wrong and should be drawn over 
 again the fault will be yours." 
 
 "Bankers may advertise their wares in the shop 
 windows, but a self-respecting lawyer may only 
 look wise. He must hold his tongue until he is 
 consulted." 
 
 "Squat in his office, eh, like a spider waiting 
 for flies? But you ought to know my aunt all the 
 
 same." 
 
 "I should like to immensely," said Gordon. 
 
 "She s not like the rest of the family; she be 
 longs to a different flight. My father has brains 
 and force. It s not easy to equal him in those. 
 He hasn t had time though to sort his ideas and 
 tie them up in nice white packages with crimson 
 bows or to polish anything except his wits. But 
 Aunt Miriam goes in for the perfect life. That s 
 what she has in her mind s eye. You would suit 
 her to death, Don. You ought to be pals. She s 
 absorbed in reforms and aesthetic mission work, 
 
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THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 and she has a fine scent for national tendencies, 
 and there s no telling but you might each get 
 points from the other." 
 
 Gordon laughed. "You flatter me, Paul." 
 
 "No, I don t. You re not alike. You re both 
 aiming at the same thing, I suppose; but your 
 ways are different. And you can t very well both 
 be right. You may not be pals after all. You 
 may disagree and fight. Come to think of it, I 
 shouldn t be in the least surprised if you did. A 
 pitched battle between Gordon Perry and Mrs. 
 Randolph Wilson would be worth watching." 
 Paul chuckled mirthfully at the conception. "I m 
 not quite sure which of you I would back." 
 
 "And now you re enigmatic, not to say ab 
 surd." 
 
 "Wait until you get to know her; then you ll 
 understand. I should only tie myself up in a bow- 
 knot trying to explain. Her daughter s marriage 
 gave Aunt Miriam her head. If ever there was a 
 case of disappointment, Lucille was one. Aunt 
 Miriam had intended her to be a model of aesthet 
 ic sweetness and light, a sort of Matthew Arnold 
 girl with American patent electrical improve 
 ments, but she must have been changed at birth. 
 Lucille has her good points I m fond of her 
 but it s a matter of utter indifference to her 
 whether the world improves or not provided she 
 has what she likes. She must have been a constant 
 jar to her mother. Yet I never heard a whimper 
 from Mrs. Wilson. My aunt had no particular 
 use for Clarence Waldo; yet when the thing was 
 settled one could never have guessed from her 
 manner that she was not to be the mother-in-law 
 
 204 
 
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 of Lord Rosebery or of the author of the great 
 American novel. But now that her mission as a 
 mother is fulfilled, look out for storm centres in 
 the upper lake region of high ideas and fresh 
 winds in reform circles. By the way, the Waldos 
 are in this country again, and are to pass the sum 
 mer at Newport. My wife says that we are to go 
 there too, with a new steam yacht and all the 
 latest appliances for cutting ice. So you see, I 
 couldn t play the Puritan and the American hus 
 band in the same act." 
 
 As a result of this conversation, Constance 
 Stuart obtained employment in Gordon Perry s 
 office. When she presented herself he recognized 
 her with surprise as the client whose scrupulous 
 purpose he believed he had divined, though she 
 had given no clue to her instructions. He realized 
 that he was predisposed in her favor, so that she 
 scarcely needed the letter of encomium from Mrs. 
 Wilson, which he paused to read, chiefly be 
 cause of its chirography and diction. He observed 
 that both her face and figure were a little fuller 
 than when he had seen her last, which was be 
 coming, and that she was more trigly, though 
 simply, dressed. It was clear that she had risen 
 from the ashes of her adversity, and was deter 
 mined to put her best foot forward. And what 
 an attractive voice and fine eyes she had. As he 
 looked at her he said to himself that she was 
 qualified for the position as one in a thousand; the 
 sort of woman who would understand without be 
 coming obtrusive, who would be neither a machine 
 nor a coquette; and though she was a novice, the 
 endorsement was explicit on the score of her 
 
 205 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 capacity. Gordon felt that she would give a new 
 atmosphere to his office. 
 
 Constance, on her part, was pleased to encoun 
 ter one not wholly a stranger. Though she had 
 acquired deftness in her work, she felt nervous at 
 actual responsibility, and the memory of the law 
 yer s kind eyes and frank smile gave her assur 
 ance. As she saw him again she was sure that he 
 would be considerate and reasonable. Mrs. Wilson 
 had spoken of an opening in Mr. Howard s office, 
 where she would be one of a roomful of type 
 writers, but she was glad now that this oppor 
 tunity had been offered her instead. There would 
 be less excitement and less contact with the hurly- 
 burly of large events, and less chance for promo 
 tion and for better pay in case she proved profi 
 cient. But, on the other hand, she believed that 
 she would find here a secure and agreeable haven 
 where she could do her best with self-respecting 
 faithfulness and support her children suitably. 
 As she arranged her small effects in the desk pro 
 vided for her, she concluded already that she was 
 very fortunate. 
 
 Just a year had passed since Constance had begun 
 her new life in Lincoln Chambers, and the impulse 
 of that new life may be said to have dated from 
 her visit to Mrs. Randolph Wilson. From that 
 interview and that house she had brought away 
 encouragement and inspiration. The text of the 
 value of the spirit of beauty possessed her soul 
 with the ardor of a new faith. Suddenly and with 
 captivating clearness it had been revealed to her 
 that the external fitness of things is a fact and not 
 to be ignored, and that the purely introspective, 
 
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 subjective vision sees only half the truth of ex 
 istence. She perceived that she had been content 
 with rectitude, and unadorned plainness; that she 
 had been indifferent and blind to color, variety, 
 and artistic excellence. It was as though she had 
 been nourished on skimmed milk instead of cream, 
 as though her diet had been a monotonous simple 
 regimen without a lucious ingredient. 
 
 To begin with, she had turned her thought to 
 her own home, where cleanliness and order ruled, 
 but where she had hitherto refrained from other 
 than haphazard efforts at pleasing effects. Her 
 idea had been to be comfortable and decent, and 
 to let the rest take care of itself, but now the am 
 bition was awakened to impart taste to her sur 
 roundings. To her satisfaction she found that this 
 was not difficult to accomplish even with her 
 modest resources, as her mentor had predicted. 
 Her woman s intelligence and native refinement 
 reinforced her aroused interest, and by altering 
 the angles and position of her furniture, and by 
 introducing a few spots of color to enliven the 
 monotony of her rooms she was able to effect a 
 modest transformation delightful to her own eyes. 
 To plant flowers in boxes for her windows and to 
 arrange the few pictures she owned to advantage 
 was the next step. The modern design of her 
 apartment lent itself to her efforts, as though its 
 newness, its modern tiles and its wall-papers were 
 in league against dull commonplaceness, and it 
 seemed to her presently almost horrible that she 
 had remained indifferent for so long to the neces 
 sity of external appearances, absorbed in the 
 processes of introspection. When she and Emil 
 
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THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 had married her predominant impulse had been to 
 be a good, loving wife to him, and to make his 
 home inviting by her cheerfulness and tact. The 
 new, clean house had seemed to her pretty in 
 itself, and she had taken for granted that the sets 
 of furniture, the carpets, and other household 
 goods, bought hastily, could not fail to set it forth 
 to advantage. They were substantial, fresh, and 
 paid for, and in her happiness it had not occurred 
 to her to bother further. To do so would have 
 seemed to savor of undue worldliness. Now how 
 far away appeared that time of joyful ignorance, 
 and how foreign to her present sophistication its 
 artless outlook. She had deemed herself cultivated 
 then, and later, in the stress of her misfortunes, 
 had cherished thoughtful simplicity as the essence 
 of personal refinement, the life-buoy to which she 
 clung amid the waste of waters. By the light of 
 experience it was plain that she had starved her 
 self and eschewed as effete or unimportant that 
 which was wholesome and stimulating. The same 
 impulse led her to take a new interest in her own 
 personal appearance, to arrange her hair taste 
 fully, to consider a little what colors suited her 
 best, and in various simple ways to make the most 
 of her own personal advantages for the first time 
 in her life. Not in the spirit of vanity, but in 
 acknowledgment that she had too much neglected 
 the temple of the body. And not only in respect 
 to beauty in the outward manifestations of every 
 day life did she feel that she had been blind to 
 what existence offered, but where art touched re 
 ligion. She was able to approach faith from a 
 new point of view ; to wrap her naked intellectual 
 
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THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 communion with the garment of the church prop 
 erties to yield herself to the spell of the solemn 
 architecture, the new stained-glass windows, the 
 artistic reredos, and the vested choir of St. Ste 
 phen s without suspicion or doubt. Her life had 
 lacked the impulse of art, and in finding it she be 
 lieved that she had discovered the secret of a 
 closer approach to God. 
 
 She sought by zeal to make atonement to Mr. 
 Prentiss for her past deficiencies. It did not ap 
 pear to her essential to recant her errors formally; 
 indeed, she did not do so to herself, for in re 
 spect to certain dogmas and supernatural claims 
 of the creed she had not disowned her indepen 
 dence of thought. That which she wished to dis 
 own unmistakably was the coldness of her atti 
 tude toward spiritual things ; she wished her rector 
 to realize that heart was predominating over 
 mind, and that trusting, ardent worship had taken 
 the place of speculative lip service. A sermon by 
 Mr. Prentiss came in the nick of time to further 
 this attitude. It was on the essentials of the re 
 ligious faith, and he defined them as the spirit of 
 Christian brotherhood and love through man to 
 God. Although he did not in terms disparage the 
 importance of the dogmas and traditions of the 
 church, the impression left on Constance was that 
 he had passed them by as embodying the an 
 tiquated letter, but not the modern temper of 
 Christian doctrine. To her eager imagination 
 the doubts which had harassed her in the past con 
 cerning the truth of the miracles, and kindred 
 scriptural deviation, from the natural order of the 
 universe were reduced to trivial importance. In- 
 
 209 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 stead of stumbling-blocks to faith, they had be 
 come objects of secondary interest, to one side of 
 the high-road along which the Christ-life was 
 leading mankind. 
 
 How better could she manifest this change of 
 mood to Mr. Prentiss than by devotion to church 
 work? She became a teacher in the Sunday- 
 school in the Church of the Redeemer, the mis 
 sion church connected with St. Stephen s, joined 
 once more a Bible-class under her rector s instruc 
 tion, and undertook to befriend some poor fam 
 ilies less fortunate than herself on the parish lists. 
 But her dearest service was to help to deck the 
 church for the great Christian festivals, Christ 
 mas and Easter. To arrange the evergreen and 
 mistletoe, the profusion of lilies and roses, humbly 
 and under the guidance of those versed in such 
 matters, but with devoted hands, gave her a 
 chance to ventilate the new poetry of her soul. 
 She had become enamored of the charm of flow 
 ers; she delighted in the swell of the organ and 
 the melodious chants of the rejoicing choir. Her 
 willing fingers quickly became skilful. At the 
 second Easter she was even appealed to on minor 
 points of taste by some of her fellow-workers, so 
 that Loretta Davis, who was standing by holding 
 smilax, nudged her as a sign of congratulation, 
 for she had represented herself to Loretta as a 
 complete novice in such matters. Very grateful 
 and inspiriting to Constance was Mrs. Wilson s 
 voluntary tribute on the same evening that she 
 had been of notable service. Mrs. Wilson was 
 the presiding genius and lady bountiful of these 
 festivals, especially on Easter Day. It was she 
 
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THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 who said yearly to Mr. Prentiss, "Date plenis 
 lilia," and, acting on that cue, gave orders to the 
 florists to exhaust the green-houses of the neigh 
 borhood, and to spare neither expense nor pains 
 to make St. Stephen s the most beautiful sanctu 
 ary in Benham. It was she who organized and 
 tactfully controlled the large committee of ladies 
 whose annual labor of love it was to dress the 
 church. It was she who oversaw and checkmated 
 the commonplace intentions of the professional 
 decorators employed to fasten festoons and clus 
 ters beyond the reach of ladylike gymnastics; and 
 it was she who originated or set the seal of ap 
 proval on the artistic scheme of design adopted 
 by the committee. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson had had several triumphs as a 
 consequence of the freedom afforded her by her 
 daughter s marriage, but nothing had given her 
 more satisfaction than the progress of Loretta 
 Davis s redemption through association with Con 
 stance. She had jumped at the idea of placing 
 the wayward girl in the opposite tenement, feeling 
 that the experience would be a blessing to both 
 women ; that it would provide Loretta with a sym 
 pathetic fellow struggler and example, and give 
 Mrs. Stuart the self-respecting occasion to help as 
 well as to be helped. Still it was an experiment 
 until tried, the success of which could not be taken 
 for granted. 
 
 That their relations had become sympathetic 
 was due mainly to Constance. In her present 
 mood the unfortunate girl seemed to have been 
 sent to her as an opportunity for Christian useful 
 ness, as a test of her own spiritual regeneration. 
 
 211 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Here was the best chance of all to show her 
 changed heart to her rector. Her recognition 
 from the outset that Loretta was distasteful to 
 her, and her shrinking not only from the girl s 
 attitude toward sin but from her smart matter-of- 
 fact personality served merely as a spur to her 
 own zeal. She would win her over and be won 
 over herself; she would unearth the palpitating 
 soul of which Mrs. Wilson had confided to her 
 that she had caught a glimpse, and teach her to 
 reassert and develop her womanhood. Help came 
 unexpectedly from Loretta herself after the ice of 
 acquaintance was broken and the two women 
 found themselves close neighbors. Constance was 
 attracted by the keenness of her intelligence which, 
 though Loretta was ignorant and undisciplined, 
 was apt to go straight to the mark on the wings 
 of rough but pungent speech. It conciliated Con 
 stance to discover this trait, for she shrank from 
 self-deception as a moral blemish and one more 
 typical of women than of men. The girl s direct 
 ness awoke an answering chord. A clear head re 
 moved half the difficulty of the situation, and 
 held out the hope that wise counsel would not 
 be lost. 
 
 Loretta made no mystery of her circumstances. 
 She told the story of her shame with matter-of- 
 fact glibness as an every-day incident in human 
 life, lamentable possibly on conventional grounds, 
 but not to be judged harshly by the discerning, 
 among whom she chose to place Constance. The 
 thing had happened, and there was nothing to be 
 said or done but make the best of it which now 
 included the baby. 
 
 "She wanted me to keep it, and I said I would, 
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THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 and that I d come and live here and see how I 
 liked it. I shocked her and well, I had never 
 talked with anyone just like her before. She 
 seemed set on my living here, so I thought I d 
 
 tr y-" 
 
 "She" was always Mrs. Wilson. This was 
 Loretta s invariable way of referring to her, as if 
 there could be no question who was meant. She 
 talked of her constantly, with an eager yet shy 
 interest, which promptly revealed to Constance 
 how matters stood. Loretta had taken up her 
 duties as a mother and subordinated her own 
 wanton theories to please Mrs. Wilson. This 
 was the bond which held her, not religion or the 
 qualms of self-respect. Yet it was a bond, and 
 Constance recognized it as one to be cherished. 
 To hear this woman, so bold and indelicate in 
 every-day speech, ask questions concerning her di 
 vinity with a shyness not unlike that of a bashful 
 lover was interesting. Was not she herself under 
 the influence of the same charm? Was not this 
 infatuation another tribute to the power of the 
 spirit of beauty? Thus Constance felt that she had 
 a clue to her new companion s nature, which she 
 did her best to utilize. So it happened that Loret 
 ta went to church because she could catch a glimpse 
 of Mrs. Wilson from where they sat; and Loret 
 ta took a new interest in her baby from the hour 
 when Mrs. Wilson sent her, tied up with a pretty 
 ribbon, a little embroidered infant s jacket bought 
 at a fair; and Loretta helped to deck St. Stephen s 
 at Easter because of the chance that Mrs. Wilson 
 would speak to her, as of course she did. Con 
 stance found herself a silent but zealous conniver 
 and accomplice; and it impressed her that the ob- 
 
 213 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 ject of devotion seemed instinctively aware both 
 of it and the girl s need, for every now and then 
 Mrs. Wilson would make the occasion by a few 
 words, a note, a visit or a gift to lift Loretta above 
 the level of her own devices. For just as Antaeus 
 gained strength by contact with the earth, Loret- 
 ta s spirit seemed to crave the inspiration of Mrs. 
 Wilson s gracious patronage. 
 
 Though slap-dash and over-confident in her 
 ways, Loretta was capable and quick to adopt and 
 to perform skilfully whatever appealed to her. 
 Her experience as a cashier in a drug store had 
 given her a lingo and a certain familiarity con 
 cerning modern remedies, and she had a natural 
 aptitude with her hands. Some of the maternal 
 hygienic niceties practised by Constance appeared 
 to amuse her at first, but as she became more in 
 terested in her baby, she outdid her neighbor in 
 pharmaceutical experiments with powder, oil, per 
 fume, and whatever she thought likely to make 
 her child a savory specimen of babyhood. When 
 the child was a year old, Mrs. Wilson made good 
 her promise that Loretta should be instructed in 
 nursing by securing her admission to a hospital. 
 At the same time she engaged another of her 
 wards, a responsible, elderly woman, to take up 
 her abode in Loretta s tenement, and it was ar 
 ranged that this custodian should also tend Con 
 stance s children during their mother s absence 
 down-town. How to guard her children properly 
 after their return from school had been agitating 
 Constance, and this plan was exactly to her liking. 
 She paid a small sum weekly from her earnings 
 for the supervision, and it was understood that 
 
 214 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Loretta should have the same privilege after her 
 apprenticeship was over and she had become self- 
 supporting. So it was that Mrs. Wilson felt she 
 had reason to be gratified by her philanthropic 
 experiment in Lincoln Chambers. 
 
 215 
 
XIV 
 
 THE zest of existence must be largely ethical 
 and subjective for the majority of us or we 
 should speedily become despondent or bored. Con 
 tact with life is necessarily so commonplace for the 
 mass of humanity, that, were we dependent on per 
 sonal participation in large events and dramatic, 
 splendid experiences for inspiration and content, 
 few would not find themselves restless and in the 
 mental doldrums. Fortunately for our peace of 
 mind, most of us not only appreciate that pictorial 
 and world-stirring, or even exciting, affairs can 
 be the lot of only a fraction of mankind, but, by 
 virtue of the imagination, manage to impart to 
 our more or less humble vicissitudes the aspect of 
 an engrossing situation. We recognize the relative 
 insignificance of the individual drama, but its 
 reality holds us. Its characters may be few, its 
 scenery bare, its action trite and simple to other 
 eyes, yet each of us, as the leading actor, finds in 
 the development of a human soul a part which 
 fascinates him, and lends itself to the finest shades 
 of expression. Whether it be a king on his throne, 
 or a cripple in his cot, the essential matter to the 
 world is the nice interpretation. So, as the true 
 artist in a subordinate role forgets for the time 
 that he is not the leading actor, we refuse to be 
 depressed by the unimportance of our theatricals 
 
 216 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 and are absorbed by the unfolding perplexities of 
 our own soul play. 
 
 It is every American woman s privilege, accord 
 ing to her tastes, to dream that she may become 
 the wife of the President of the United States, or 
 wield a powerful influence as a poetess, humani 
 tarian educator, or other exponent of modern 
 feminine usefulness. In marrying Emil Stuart, 
 Constance had renounced the latter in favor of the 
 former possibility. She had sacrificed all hopes 
 of personal public distinction, but there still had 
 remained the vision of becoming famous by proxy, 
 through her husband. If this had never appeared 
 to her happy eyes as a bride more than an iridescent 
 dream, the idea that she would presently be work 
 ing in a lawyer s office would have seemed utterly 
 inconsistent with her scheme of life, and a viola 
 tion of her horoscope. Yet, now that she was 
 established in this position, she found the experi 
 ence not only satisfactory, as a means of subsist 
 ence, but interesting. In the first place, it stirred 
 her to be down-town in the swift current of affairs 
 and a part of the busy crowd which peopled the 
 huge office-buildings and swept to and from its 
 work with the regularity and rhythmic force of 
 the tide. Through this daily contact she discerned, 
 as never before, the dignity and the pathos of 
 labor, and gained both courage and exhilaration 
 from the thought that, though there were generals 
 and captains, and she was in the rear rank of pri 
 vates, the real strength of the army lay in the faith 
 ful performance by the individual of that portion 
 of the world s toil entrusted to himself or herself. 
 There was attraction, too, in her employment, 
 
 217 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 though her task was but to register and reproduce 
 with despatch the thoughts of others. The occu 
 pation tested her accuracy, patience, tact, and dili 
 gence. She must avoid blunders and be swift to 
 comprehend. There were secrets in her keeping; 
 affairs upon the issue of which hinged large sums 
 of money, and often the happiness of leading citi 
 zens, who were clients of the office; close legal 
 battles between mind and mind; domestic difficul 
 ties settled out of court; and suits for injuries, 
 where the price of a life or of a limb were at stake. 
 Her lips must be sealed, and she must seem un 
 aware of the tragedies which passed beneath her 
 observation. Yet the human element became a 
 constant, vivid interest to her, and now and then 
 it happened, as, for instance, when a forlorn hope 
 brought liberal damages to the wronged or the 
 afflicted, that she was taken into the secret by the 
 exultant plaintiff, and was able to rejoice openly. 
 There was, finally, her association with her em 
 ployer. From this she had not expected much. 
 She was there to execute his instructions without 
 superfluous words or the obtrusion of her own per 
 sonality. She knew, instinctively, that he would 
 not treat her merely as a machine, but she took 
 for granted that their relations would be formal. 
 It pleased her that, though this was the case, there 
 were moments, even from the first, when he let 
 her perceive that he regarded her as a social com 
 panion. To evince a kindly interest in her per 
 sonal affairs was simply human; anyone might 
 show this; but to talk with her on the topics of the 
 day, to call her attention to a book or an article, 
 or, as presently happened, to invite her opinion on 
 
 218 
 
There were moments, even from the first, when he let her perceive that he regarded 
 her as a social companion 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 a question of legal ethics, was a flattering indica 
 tion that he considered their point of view the 
 same. A difference in point of view is the most 
 insurmountable, because the most intangible, bar 
 rier to the free play of human sympathy and the 
 social instinct. It is the last great fortress in the 
 pathway of democracy; one which the besiegers 
 will be able to carry only by learning the password. 
 A free-masonry exists, from the cut of the mind to 
 that of the hair and coat, between those who recog 
 nize each other, and not to speak the same lan 
 guage palsies the best intentions. Modest as her 
 introduction to Mrs. Randolph Wilson had made 
 her, Constance in her heart believed that she spoke 
 the same mental language as Mr. Perry. But 
 would he recognize it? That he did so not only 
 increased her interest in serving him, but held out 
 the promise of a new friend. He might so easily 
 have passed her over, he who was so busy and had 
 so many acquaintances. Yet it was plain that he 
 liked to talk to her, and that he availed himself 
 of opportunities for conversation. At the end of 
 a year it happened that the other stenographer, 
 her predecessor, left Mr. Perry s employment in 
 order to marry. As a consequence, Constance be 
 came the senior clerk, and was given formal charge 
 of the office with a slight increase in pay. 
 
 She would scarcely have been human had Gor 
 don Perry s complimentary interest failed to in 
 spire her with some degree of hero-worship. Yet, 
 though she was presently aware that she had set 
 him on a pedestal, she felt that she had excellent 
 reasons for her partiality. Was he not a clear 
 headed, astute reasoner, as well as kind? A thor- 
 
 219 
 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 ough, conscientious worker, who went to the root 
 of whatever he undertook, and prosecuted it vigor 
 ously, as well as a gracious spirit with a sense 
 of humor? If she did not reveal much of the last 
 quality herself, she appreciated and enjoyed it in 
 others, especially when it was the sort of humor 
 which championed truth against error and could 
 be playful or caustic, as the occasion demanded. 
 He was simple and approachable, yet he had in 
 fluential and fashionable friends. Recently he had 
 made the acquaintance of Mrs. Randolph Wilson, 
 and was on pleasant terms with her. Constance 
 had recognized her handwriting, and had been 
 apprised by Loretta of his presence at Mrs. Wil 
 son s entertainments. Loretta had, what seemed 
 to Constance, almost a mania for the social depart 
 ment of newspapers. She knew by rote the names 
 of the society leaders, and was familiar through 
 reportorial photography with many of their faces. 
 Mrs. Wilson was the bright, particular star in this 
 galaxy of interest. Loretta searched with avidity 
 for every item of gossip which concerned her 
 divinity, and took a hectic pleasure in retailing her 
 information. Thus it happened that every now 
 and then she would exclaim: "I see that your boss 
 was at her last entertainment," the fact of which 
 was more agreeable to Constance than the phrase 
 ology. Loretta s diction was always clear, but 
 Constance, who wished to feel that they spoke the 
 same language, had often to bite her lips as a re 
 proof to her sensibilities; and, especially, when she 
 heard her hero spoken of as her boss. It was so 
 wide of the truth regarding him. 
 
 Then there was his mother, and here again Con- 
 220 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 stance had cause to feel gratified. Quite unex 
 pectedly Mrs. Perry had called upon her, seeking 
 ler at Lincoln Chambers in the late afternoon 
 ;vhen she was likely to be at home. While serving 
 ier five o clock tea, Constance had observed, with 
 nterest in her personality, marked resemblances to 
 ier son. He had inherited her naturalness and 
 nental vigor. Her cheerful directness, too, but 
 n his case the straightforward attitude was 
 ;oftened by the habit of deliberation and garnished 
 )y a more tolerant gaiety. It was obvious that 
 Mrs. Perry maintained the integrity of her con- 
 Actions until they ran counter in daily life to his, 
 ind in capitulating reserved always the privilege 
 :o be of the same opinion still, which she exercised 
 .vith her tongue in her cheek, thereby betraying 
 ier great pride in her son, and in her son s superior 
 wisdom. She professed, for instance, to regard 
 lis ideas concerning the new home in which he had 
 just installed her, and where she was keeping house 
 for him, as extravagant. What was the use of 
 spending so much on mere creature comforts? She 
 did not need them. She had sat on straight-backed 
 :hairs all her days and preferred them, and she did 
 not require a telephone to order her marketing. 
 
 "When I was young," she said to Constance, 
 "there was only one set bath-tub in a house, if any, 
 and no modern plumbing. We carried hot water 
 upstairs in pails, and those who drew water from 
 the boiler poured in as much as they took. But 
 there are so many labor-saving machines to-day, 
 that sheer laziness is at a premium. Gordon de 
 clares that I m all wrong, and that more people 
 are clean and comfortable as a consequence. Then, 
 
 221 
 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 as to the wall-papers and carpets and upholstery, 
 well, they re pretty, I can t deny that. But, some 
 how, it goes against my grain to see so many bright 
 colors. Yet when I say it looks frivolous, Gordon 
 simply laughs. So I ve promised to hold my 
 tongue until everything is finished, and to let him 
 have his way. He likes to have his way almost 
 as much as I do mine, Mrs. Stuart, and the strang 
 est part is that, though he doesn t always con 
 vince me, I have a secret feeling that he must 
 be right." 
 
 Constance was taken to see the new house in one 
 of the outlying and more fashionable wards of the 
 city, which, as Mrs. Perry had declared, was sup 
 plied with all the modern improvements and was 
 being furnished with an eye to artistic taste. It 
 became evident that the old lady, despite her mis 
 givings, was very proud at heart of the whole 
 establishment, but that her satisfaction centred in 
 the library her son s room a cosey, spacious 
 apartment with tall shelves for his books and 
 various conveniences adapted to a bachelor and a 
 student. As standing on the threshold, she ex 
 hibited it to her guest with a shy pride, which 
 almost seemed to gasp at the effects disclosed, she 
 murmured: "It sometimes seems to me a wicked 
 waste of money; but I m glad to think he s going 
 to be so comfortable." 
 
 Constance replied, "It s a delightful room. 
 Just the place, restful to the body and stimulating 
 to the spirit, which a busy man like Mr. Perry 
 ought to have." 
 
 "There can be nothing too good for him, if 
 that s what you mean." 
 
 222 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "I heartily assent," said Constance, smiling. 
 "And I agree with your son that it is sensible and 
 right to -surround oneself with pretty things if one 
 has the means." 
 
 "I guess that he must have talked it over with 
 you," said the old lady, with a keen glance. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, it s a wonder he hasn t, for he sets 
 store by your opinion on lots of things. In my 
 day, compliments weren t considered good for 
 young people, but I don t believe from your 
 looks that you ll work any the less well because 
 I let you know what he thinks of you. He was 
 saying the other day that he feared you must find 
 thumping on that machine of yours, week in and 
 week out, and taking down letters in double-quick 
 time, dull work, and I told him that a woman of 
 the right sort, with two children to support, had 
 no time to feel dull or to think about her feelings, 
 but was thankful for the chance of steady employ 
 ment. You see I know something about that my 
 self. You have your boy and girl to keep your 
 thoughts busy, just as I had him." 
 
 "Yes, indeed. But it is a pleasure to work for 
 Mr. Perry. No man is a hero to his valet, and 
 need not be, I suppose, to his stenographer. You 
 won t think it presumptuous of me to say that he 
 has been very considerate, and that I enjoy taking 
 down his words because he is so intelligent and so 
 thorough?" 
 
 "There s no one who likes to hear nice things 
 said about him so well as his mother. There s only 
 one fault about him, so far as I know, and that 
 may be cured any day. He s a bachelor. I would 
 
 223 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 move straight out of this house to-morrow in order 
 to see him well married." 
 
 "That wouldn t be necessary, I imagine, Mrs. 
 Perry." 
 
 "Yes, it would. I should make a detestable 
 mother-in-law. Gordon gets his clear-headedness 
 from me, and I know my own faults. I shouldn t 
 be jealous, but I should wish her to do things in 
 my way, and she would wish to do them in hers, 
 so we should clash. I wouldn t risk it. But I d 
 be willing to die to-morrow and never to kiss my 
 grandchildren if only he had a good wife. I 
 should be very particular, though." 
 
 "I should think so. I hope with all my heart 
 that he may meet a woman worthy of him." Con 
 stance was a little surprised by her own fervor. 
 Expressed in sound it seemed to her almost famil 
 iar. Then, without knowing why, she sighed. 
 Was it because she painfully recalled that marriage 
 was a lottery? 
 
 Mrs. Perry evidently ascribed the sigh to that 
 source, for after regarding her a moment, she said 
 softly, "It was easier for me than it is for you. 
 When I lost my husband we were very happy. 
 You are left alone. You see my son has told me 
 your story." 
 
 "I am glad that you should know." 
 
 "But you are young, my dear. Young and a 
 charming looking, lovable woman. The right 
 man may come along. Who knows?" 
 
 Constance stared at her in astonishment. "My 
 husband is not dead," she said, a little formally. 
 
 "Yes, I know. He deserted you." 
 
 "But he is alive." 
 
 224 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Gordon told me that you had not been di 
 vorced." 
 
 "I have never thought of such a thing." 
 "You know where he is?" 
 
 "I have not seen him or heard from him since 
 the day he left me nearly three years ago." 
 "Precisely." 
 
 "He is the father of my children, however." 
 For a moment Mrs. Perry seemed to be ponder 
 ing the thesis contained in her single word of 
 deduction, and her visitor s reply. Then she bent 
 her shrewd eyes on Constance, and said with a 
 quiet pithiness of utterance, which reminded the 
 latter of her employer. "I was not tempted to 
 marry again because I loved my husband, and 
 ! could not forget him. But I ve never been able 
 to convince my common sense that it is fair to 
 I asperse the woman who marries again after the 
 !law has separated her forever from the man who 
 has done her a grievous wrong, but to think it only 
 ; right and fitting for a widow to take a second hus 
 band when the first whom she has loved, and who 
 has loved her, is in the grave. If I were a young 
 Iwoman on my death-bed, I expect I couldn t make 
 jup my mind to beg my husband to marry again. 
 iBut I couldn t blame him if he did. It s the way 
 of human nature, often as not. It s hateful to be 
 lonely. And why shouldn t the girl marry again, 
 who has been left in the lurch by a cruel man, who 
 has been false to the vow he took to support and 
 protect her? Only the other day a rich merchant 
 whom my son knows, a man of over sixty, who 
 had lived with his wife for thirty years, married 
 again before she had been dead twelve months, 
 
 225 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 and they had a solemn church wedding. It was 
 your clergyman, Mrs. Stuart, who married them. 
 I d call it disgusting, except that some people said 
 he was solitary, although he had daughters. But 
 to make fish of one and flesh of the other, isn t 
 just. I m an old woman, and the longer I live the 
 more I dote on justice." 
 
 "I remember now. I know whom you mean. 
 Loretta insisted on reading me the account of it 
 from the newspaper. I ve seen him in church. He 
 is one of the vestrymen." 
 
 "Yes, it was a society function. But I don t 
 judge him," said Mrs. Perry, sitting up straight 
 to emphasize her intention to be dispassionate. 
 "Men are queer. His wife was dead, and he had 
 the right to ask another woman to fill her place. 
 But why, then, should anyone criticise you?" 
 
 "Have you heard anyone criticise me?" Con 
 stance asked, hoping to extricate the conversation 
 from the depths of this argument by a ripple on 
 the surface. 
 
 "Some of them would. You did yourself, you 
 know." 
 
 "It was a new idea to me. I have never thought 
 of marrying." After a moment s silence, she 
 added, simply: "How would you like your son to 
 marry a divorced woman, Mrs. Perry?" 
 
 Her mind had picked out, instinctively, the cru 
 cial question. The old lady gave a little gasp and 
 start. 
 
 "A divorced woman? Gordon?" Then she 
 laughed. "The way you said divorced woman 
 had a formidable sound." The personal applica 
 tion was evidently a surprise to her; evidently, too, 
 
 226 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 it interested her, and she wrestled with it sitting 
 erect and bright-eyed. In another moment she 
 had worked out the answer to her own satisfac 
 tion. "It would depend upon her what she was 
 like. If she were innocent if she had been grossly 
 wronged, and had sought the relief from her dis 
 tress which the laws allow, and I liked her and 
 he loved her, I shouldn t object. Or, put it in this 
 way: I should prefer that Gordon did not marry 
 a widow, but a girl with all the freshness of her life 
 : before her." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," murmured Constance. 
 
 "But plenty of young men fall in love with 
 widows and marry, and no one thinks any the 
 worse of the widows, or of them. I d fully as lief 
 Gordon married a divorced woman as one who 
 had buried her husband. And if I were sure she 
 was a fine woman, I can imagine my sentiment van 
 ishing like moonshine, and my not minding a bit." 
 
 Constance shook her head thoughtfully. "He 
 must marry some fine, sweet girl without a past," 
 she said with gentle positiveness. 
 
 "Amen to that, my dear. And the sooner the 
 better." 
 
 One day early in September, in the summer fol 
 lowing the date of this conversation, Paul Howard 
 entered the office. As he passed into Gordon s pri 
 vate room, omitting the gay greeting which he was 
 wont to exchange with her, Constance noticed that 
 his expression was grave and tense, and that he 
 looked tired. She said to herself that his summer 
 at Newport could not have rested him. 
 
 It was Paul s second season at Newport. In 
 227 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 accordance with his half-humorous prediction, he 
 had hired there, the previous summer, one of the 
 most desirable villas, a spacious establishment 
 with a superb outlook to sea. He had maintained 
 a large steam yacht, and an elaborate stable, and 
 had entertained lavishly. All to please his wife. 
 At least so he regarded it, and this was in a large 
 measure the truth. Ever since his marriage, five 
 years back, Paul had been thinking that he would 
 like to spend his vacation in some cool, picturesque 
 spot, far from scenes of social display, where with 
 his wife he could enjoy the beauties of nature un 
 reservedly, and recuperate from the fatigues of 
 the winter. But, though he had hankered after 
 this in theory, and had broached the project to 
 Mrs. Howard, somehow it had never come to pass, 
 and he had been secretly aware for some time that 
 it never would, unless one of them had nervous 
 prostration and were ordered away by a physician. 
 For when one is a millionaire and has an ambitious 
 wife, one gets into the way of doing what other 
 millionaires do, and becomes acclimated to the 
 amusements proper to millionaires, until presently 
 the necessity of having luxuries at one s fingers 
 ends makes any other programme seem insipid 
 and a bore. Those who neglect to follow their 
 own tastes cannot fail to be moulded by the tastes 
 which they adopt. We readily habituate ourselves 
 to our surroundings, whether it be too few baths, 
 or too many. Paul delighted in the plumbing fa 
 cilities of his establishment. He was perpetually 
 taking baths and changing his underclothes, and 
 the apprehension lest this orgie be interfered with 
 had taken the edge off his desire for closer con- 
 
 228 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 tact with the beauties of nature. He recognized 
 the change in himself, but charged it to the account 
 of the spirit of the age, that convenient depository 
 of modern philosophers. So, by the end of that 
 first summer, he had found himself content rather 
 than otherwise with the experience and disposed 
 to return. To begin with, his wife was enthu 
 siastic. As she expressed it, she had had the time 
 of her life, which was comforting. Although 
 from Monday morning to Thursday night had 
 been spent by him in New York (he had arranged 
 to be absent from Benham during the summer 
 months and take temporary charge of the New 
 York office), the rest of the week was passed at 
 Newport, and for the trip he had his own com 
 fortable yacht. Besides, he took a fortnight in 
 August, during the time of the New York Yacht 
 Club cruise, with its opportunities to meet famil 
 iarly men of importance in the financial world. 
 There was golf and riding and driving, his baths 
 and cocktails. If he found the widely advertised, 
 and rather foolish, extravagant entertainments in 
 dog-day August, to which his wife dragged him, 
 tedious, he could generally slip away early if she 
 wished to stay to dance, and often he could man 
 age to be in New York when they occurred. Be 
 sides, since to be present at them seemed to be 
 regarded as social recognition, he was gratified to 
 be treated as a millionaire would wish to be treated 
 in the society of millionaires. To go, or at least 
 to be represented by his wife, who made his ex 
 cuses most charmingly he was told, showed that 
 he had not been left out, which is the controlling 
 reason why people go to festivities at Newport, 
 
 229 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 except to those where trinkets of real value are 
 given away in the course of the evening. Paul 
 had fully intended to renounce cocktails. In fact, 
 he had sworn off at Benham; but since they ap 
 peared to take the place of a grace before meat 
 at every gathering of Newport s fashionable male 
 contingent, he had yielded again like a good fel 
 low to the spirit of the age just for one summer. 
 One swallow does not make a summer, as we all 
 know, and similarly, destiny often requires more 
 than one summer to carry the spirit of the age to 
 its logical conclusions. This is true of the effect 
 of cocktails on the coats of the stomach, accord 
 ing to the best medical authorities. But we are 
 not considering that here. Indeed, the working 
 out process which Paul now found confronting 
 him was outside of himself and concerned him 
 chiefly as a victim. If his first summer at Newport 
 had been propitious, taking all things, including 
 the spirit of the age, into consideration, the second 
 had been productive of momentous issues. It was 
 in relation to these that Paul had come to consult 
 Gordon Perry, his friend and legal adviser 
 
 230 
 
XV 
 
 GORDON PERRY looked up from his desk 
 with an air of surprise. u Why, Paul, I 
 thought you d shaken the dust of Benham from 
 your feet until the last of the month." Then 
 noticing his client s face as they joined hands, he 
 added, "I hope nothing has gone wrong." 
 
 u Everything is wrong." Paul seated himself 
 with grave deliberation. u Are you at leisure? 
 What I have to consult you about will take some 
 
 time." 
 
 "No one shall disturb us." 
 
 "It isn t business." Then, after a moment s 
 silence, "It s my wife. She has betrayed me." 
 
 "Your wife betrayed you?" Gordon, as in his 
 bewilderment he echoed the words, recalled a 
 woman with a dainty figure, a small, sphinx-like 
 mouth, full cheeks devoid of color, and black hair. 
 He had never been at Paul s house, but he had 
 been introduced to her, and he had frequently seen 
 her and her little girl driving in her victoria, a 
 picture of up-to-date fastidiousness. At the time 
 of her marriage she had been called the prettiest 
 girl in Benham. She was the daughter of a St. 
 Louis contractor with a reputation for executive 
 ability, who had moved to Benham in her child 
 hood to become the president of a car-building 
 company. Paul s friends had intimated that he 
 had gone rather out of his way to marry her. 
 
 231 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Certainly it had been considered a brilliant match 
 for her. 
 
 u Yes. It s a pretty kettle of fish, as you ll ap 
 preciate when you hear the story; a hopeless case 
 so far as our living together is concerned. I ve 
 come to you for advice and to talk it over, though 
 she and I threshed out the situation four days ago. 
 
 "May I smoke? Thanks. You don t here, I 
 know; but I go from cigar to cigar to keep my 
 nerves straight, for I m still dazed, and I haven t 
 slept much." 
 
 "It s ghastly," murmured Gordon. 
 
 "Now that I look back I suppose I ought to 
 have realized that she never really cared for me. 
 Perhaps the gradual, unconscious perception of 
 that reacted on me. I fell dead in love with her 
 looks, and would have worshipped the ground she 
 trod on had she proved what I thought her to be. 
 As it is, I m humiliated, angry, disgusted, all at 
 sea. But I can see that we should never be happy 
 together again. Love in the true sense is over on 
 both sides. I tell you this, Gordon, to begin with. 
 You haven t heard anything?" 
 
 "Not a word." 
 
 "I thought it likely they had copied the item 
 from the Newport into the Benham newspapers. 
 Five nights ago I popped at a man in my house 
 with a revolver a long shot just as he was es 
 caping over the balcony outside my wife s apart 
 ment, and missed. At the moment I would have 
 given half my fortune to kill him. I dare say, it s 
 just as well I didn t. There would have been a 
 bigger scandal. It was one o clock, and someone 
 who heard the noise servants, I know not who 
 
 232 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 talked, and two days later there appeared in one 
 of the newspapers an allusion to the mysterious 
 midnight pistol shot on the Howard place. A re 
 porter called on me; I declined to see him, but my 
 butler, who can be trusted, had instructions to say 
 I was shooting cats. That s all the public knows 
 as yet. Here s a nice problem for the women s 
 debating clubs: A man discovers his wife s lover 
 in his place ; ought he to shoot him like a rat on the 
 spot, or accept the situation for what it is worth, 
 just as he has to accept a death in the family, a 
 fire, or any other visitation of Providence? Eh?" 
 Paul gave a short laugh. "Of course the primitive 
 man shot every time. But we can remember one 
 husband who did shoot and who killed, and that 
 all the exquisite people and some of the wise peo 
 ple shook their heads and declared he ought to 
 have thought of his daughters. There was a 
 world-wide scandal, and after the funeral we were 
 told that the husband had always been a crank, 
 in proof of which he died later in an insane asylum, 
 while his wife has hovered on the outskirts of the 
 smart set ever since as a sort of blessed martyr 
 to the rigor of conventions. No, my dear fellow, 
 the only decent thing for me to do now is to com 
 promise myself deliberately with some common 
 woman, so as to give my wife the chance to obtain 
 a divorce from me. That is the duty of the gal 
 lant modern husband, according to the nicest and 
 latest fashionable code." 
 
 "You will do nothing of the kind, Paul." 
 "Wait until you have mulled over it as I have. 
 For the sake of my little girl her mother s repu 
 tation must be sacred." 
 
 233 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "I see. Then her misconduct is not known?" 
 
 "It s a profound secret. That is, no one has 
 seen her in the act, but it seems that all Newport 
 except myself has taken it for granted and been 
 whispering about it all summer. It began last 
 summer, dolt that I was. But it s not known 
 officially. That is, the newspapers have not got 
 on to it." Paul made a movement of impatience 
 and, rising, took a turn or two across the office. 
 He stopped in front of Gordon and said: "Mind 
 you, the temptation to xill him like a rat was not 
 presented to me. I don t say I would have done 
 it. I don t know what I would have done under 
 all the circumstances the gruesome circumstances 
 had we been face to face and he unarmed. He 
 heard me and fled by the window. I was in the 
 ante-room and stepped out on the balcony, and run 
 ning round merely saw a disappearing figure. I 
 did not know who he was, but I surmised; and on 
 the spur of the moment I felt it was almost a hope 
 less shot. Who do you suppose he was?" 
 
 "I have no idea, of course." 
 
 "Guess." 
 
 "It would be useless. I know no one at New 
 port except yourself, Paul." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you do. Here s situation number two 
 in the tragedy. It was my cousin Lucille s hus 
 band, Clarence Waldo." 
 
 "For Heaven s sake!" Gordon ejaculated. "It 
 can t be possible." 
 
 Paul s laugh broke forth again. "Stunning, 
 isn t it? No dramatist can improve on that. But 
 I can. I know what you re thinking," he said, 
 folding his arms, as he stood before Gordon with 
 
 234 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 a saturnine glee, as though he were enjoying the 
 other s consternation. "You re wondering what 
 Mrs. Wilson will say?" 
 
 Gordon shook his head. "It is terrible for her, 
 of course. But I was thinking of your poor 
 
 cousin." 
 
 "Spare your pity in that quarter, man, until 
 you know the truth. Situation number three ! Lu 
 cille and her husband have fallen out, agreed to 
 differ, ceased to love each other, never have loved 
 each other, and are to be divorced as soon as cir 
 cumstances will permit. Waldo is to marry my 
 wife, and she Lucille has plighted her troth to 
 Bradbury Nicholson, of New York, a son of the 
 president of the Chemical Trust, of whom she is 
 enamoured, and with whom, it seems, she has been 
 carrying on clandestinely for months. Didn t I 
 tell you I could improve on myself? The curtain 
 now to red fire and the strains of Tschaikowsky !" 
 
 Paul flung himself into his chair, and squared 
 his jaw. For a moment he looked like his father. 
 
 Gordon gazed at him with a brow of dismay. 
 "How do you know this?" 
 
 "From my wife. She made a clean breast of 
 their affairs, and seemed to be rather surprised 
 that I didn t know. It s all cut and dried. That 
 is, it is to work out that way in the end, and soon, 
 if I m accommodating. And I am expected to be. 
 After the first flare-up, which was all on my part, 
 and did not take place until next morning, we 
 talked in our ordinary voices, as we are talking 
 now." Since the climax of his narration, Paul s 
 sensational tone had ceased. He seemed simply 
 tired, as though he had been suddenly let down. 
 
 235 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "She set me the example. You know her face. 
 She looked whiter than ever, but was perfectly 
 clear and explicit. She said it was evident we were 
 not suited to each other. Although I agreed with 
 her, I was fool enough to ask her why, and she 
 intimated politely, but clearly, that I bored her 
 said we did not care for the same things. She 
 admitted that I was not to blame for that, and that 
 I had been very generous in money matters. Then 
 we talked and we talked and we talked, at that 
 time and again in the evening, until the small 
 hours. The upshot is, we re to be divorced as soon 
 as it can be arranged. She is to desert me, or I 
 her. She seemed to be posted as to the law. Or, 
 whatever way you suggest. I ve given in. She 
 appealed to my common sense, as she called it. 
 She told me that we had made a mistake, that we 
 both knew it, and that the sooner we recognized 
 it, the better. That there need be no disagreeable 
 publicity beyond the fact that we were no longer 
 to be husband and wife. I couldn t deny that my 
 love for her was dead. The only difficult ques 
 tion was the child. Neither of us wished to give 
 her up, and each of us would like to have her all 
 the time." 
 
 "Poor little thing!" 
 
 "Yes, indeed. When I thought of Helen, I 
 told my wife at first that I was ready to preserve 
 the outward forms of living together, in the teeth 
 of her unfaithfulness, for the sake of our child. 
 But she told me that I was old-fashioned. She 
 asked whether I thought it would be worse for 
 Helen, or whether Helen would be less happy to 
 live as we should mutually arrange than to grow 
 
 236 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 up in a wretched household, where the father and 
 mother were utterly at variance. That was a 
 poser. It s the devil either way. What do you 
 think?" 
 
 "It s the devil, as you say. Amen, to that! 
 But if it s got to be got to be," Gordon reit 
 erated, "I m inclined to think your wife was right 
 in terming your protest old-fashioned. Where a 
 marriage is utterly blasted, to retain the husk 
 merely for the sake of the children must fail, it 
 seems to me, in nine cases out of ten, to accom 
 plish its purpose to preserve what society is 
 pleased to call the sanctity of the home." 
 
 "There would not be much sanctity left in 
 mine," Paul murmured. "However, when she 
 saw that I was determined to have my full share 
 of Helen, or fight, we came to terms. Helen is 
 to spend her winters with me, her summer vaca 
 tions with her mother; or some such arrangement; 
 and, of course, I am to provide for the child." 
 Paul paused reflectively. "I don t think it ever 
 occurred to my wife that we do not stand on an 
 equal footing, and that she would not be the best 
 of moral influences for a daughter. It seems to 
 be an answer to everything that we were not sym 
 pathetic, and that she has met somebody who is; 
 her affinity, as they say. I had observed her in 
 timacy with Waldo, and was aware of some cases 
 at Newport where women had compromised them 
 selves with other women s husbands; and, though 
 I didn t exactly fancy Waldo s attentions, and had 
 hinted to her twice my disapproval to which the 
 first time she pleaded surprise, and the second, 
 shrugged her shoulders I never divined the truth 
 
 237 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 until I received this." He drew a letter from his 
 pocket and handed it to Gordon. "Even then, I 
 couldn t believe the worst." 
 
 Gordon perused the contents of the envelope, a 
 single sheet of paper on which were the words: 
 "When the cat s away, the mice will play." 
 
 "Humph! Anonymous!" he said. 
 
 "She asked me what brought matters to a crisis, 
 and I told her. She thinks it must have been sent 
 by a maid whom she discharged. I received it at 
 my New York office in the middle of the week, 
 and the following Sunday night, instead of leav 
 ing Newport in my yacht, as usual, I pretended to 
 do so, and returned late to my house on foot. 
 The rest you know. It may be I was too much ab 
 sorbed in my business. However, it s all over 
 now, and it s best it should be over. What I wish 
 is advice as to the necessary steps ; that you should 
 tell me what I ought to do." 
 
 "As to a divorce?" 
 
 "Yes. She is to follow my instructions in regard 
 
 to it." 
 
 "And what as to the others the Waldos?" 
 "No wonder you ask. I put the same question 
 to her, and she told me that I needn t concern 
 myself about them; that they would find a way." 
 
 "There are certainly various ways if people 
 choose to connive at divorce. There are certain 
 States where the residence essential to give the 
 court jurisdiction can be obtained in a pitifully 
 short time even as short as three months, and 
 where an agreement to live apart is allowed, 
 through lack of scrutiny, to pass for genuine de 
 sertion. If Mrs. Waldo and her husband have 
 
 238 
 

 THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 both been guilty of infidelity, neither is entitled 
 to a decree of divorce in any court of justice. But 
 that concerns them, not you. I was merely voicing 
 the regret which every decent man feels that there 
 shouldn t be a uniform law in all our States. But 
 here one runs up against the vested rights of sov 
 ereign peoples. It s a far cry from South Caro 
 lina, where no divorce is granted for any cause 
 whatever, to Wisconsin or Colorado, where de 
 sertion for one year is sufficient. Yet, if one had 
 to choose between the two, there is less injustice 
 and more regard for the welfare of society in the 
 latter extreme, radical as it is, than in the former. 
 Whatever happens, the world will never go back 
 to marital chains and slavery." Turning to the 
 book-case at his elbow, Gordon selected a law book 
 and opened it. "I don t hanker after divorce cases, 
 but I m very glad you have come to me, Paul. I 
 was simply shocked, at first; let me tell you now 
 how heartily sorry I am for you." 
 
 "Thank you, Don. I knew you would be. As 
 to my cousin, Lucille, I cannot say, positively, that 
 she has taken the final step actually sinned. My 
 wife admitted that she had no real knowledge, 
 though she took the worst for granted. But it is 
 certain that the marriage is at an end, that she and 
 her husband are hopelessly alienated, and that at 
 the first opportunity she will marry this young 
 Nicholson. As to myself, you agree with me, don t 
 you, that a divorce is the only possible, the only 
 sensible, course to adopt?" 
 
 Gordon paused a moment before replying. 
 "The only possible, no; the only sensible since 
 you ask me as a friend as well as a client in my 
 
 239 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 opinion, yes. It s a point which every man must 
 decide for himself, if it confronts him. Some peo 
 ple would say to you that you should stick to your 
 wife, not live with her necessarily, but refuse to 
 break the bond; that she might repent and return 
 to you. It seems to me, though, that if my wife 
 had been false to me and my love for her were 
 dead, I would not allow such a sentiment and it 
 is only sentiment to tie me forever to a woman 
 who was no longer my wife, except in name. Your 
 life is before you. Why should a vitiated con 
 tract be a bar between you and happiness? You 
 may wish to marry again." 
 
 Paul shook his head. 
 
 "Naturally you don t think so, now. But why 
 not?" 
 
 "As George the Second said, ^f aural des mai- 
 tresses " Paul answered, a little bitterly. 
 
 "Exactly!" exclaimed Gordon, with eagerness. 
 "The continuance of such a bond would be a pre 
 mium on immorality. That s a point which senti 
 mentalists do not take sufficiently into account. 
 Why is it necessary to marry again, they ask. For 
 one thing, because a man s a man, as you and I 
 know. It s a new question to me, Paul, because, 
 though it s one of the questions ever on the sur 
 face, I have never had to deal with it squarely 
 until now. The more I think of it the more sure 
 I am that a divorce would be sensible, and more 
 than that, sensible in the highest sense, without a 
 jot or a tittle of deprecation. I know; you don t 
 wish to have to apologize. All I can say is, if I 
 were in your shoes, I would do the same. You 
 have a right to your freedom." 
 
 240 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "I couldn t see it in any other light. Besides, 
 my wife is bent on being free, herself. If I do 
 not apply for a divorce, she will and in the 
 shortest way." 
 
 "As to the method," continued Gordon, after a 
 moment s scrutiny of the volume before him, "it 
 is simple enough a mere question of time. In 
 this State where a party is guilty of a cause for 
 divorce as in this case, infidelity the injured 
 ; party is justified in leaving the home, and after 
 such separation has continued for the statutory 
 period, the injured party may obtain a divorce for 
 desertion. Or, simpler still, your wife can desert 
 you, and after the necessary time has elapsed, the 
 same result would follow. The statutory period 
 I is three years." 
 
 "My wife will not like that." 
 
 "It is the only course, if she desires to preserve 
 her reputation. If she prefers to have you bring 
 a libel for divorce on the ground of infidelity, she 
 can be free in a much shorter time. Also she could 
 obtain her liberty somewhat sooner by changing 
 her residence to a more accommodating jurisdic 
 tion and asking a divorce from you. Provided 
 you offered no opposition, she might succeed, but 
 that would be a back-handed method discreditable 
 to you both, and an evasion of the laws of this 
 State, which might, hereafter, be productive of 
 unpleasant complications. It s a sad business, but 
 you should have a clean job." 
 
 "Assuredly. We could separate at once?" 
 
 "Yes. But one of you must actually desert the 
 other. An agreement to live apart does not con 
 stitute legal desertion. On the other hand, if she 
 
 241 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 were to leave your house, the court would not in 
 quire what was going on in your mind, provided 
 you did not show by any overt sign that you wished 
 to get rid of her. You can be glad, but you must 
 not say so." 
 
 "I understand. She need not be burdened with 
 my presence from the outset. As for marrying 
 Waldo, she must wait her three years." 
 
 "And she may be thankful that she will be able 
 to marry as soon as the divorce is absolute. In 
 some States the person against whom a divorce is 
 granted, is forbidden to marry altogether, or for 
 a period of years as a punishment. To forbid 
 marriage altogether, in such cases, appears to me 
 another premium on immorality. To forbid it 
 for a time, may sometimes prevent indecent haste 
 on the part of the guilty, but it is a good deal like 
 keeping after school children who have been 
 naughty. Besides, the party forbidden to marry, 
 as in New York, for instance, has merely to step 
 into New Jersey and be married, and the second 
 marriage will be held legal by the New York 
 courts and everywhere else." 
 
 Paul was silent for a few moments. "That 
 seems to me a decent programme. My wife can 
 go to Europe, and and when the time is up, 
 marry Waldo. It s easy as rolling off a log." He 
 clapped his strong hand on the wooden arm of his 
 chair, so that it resounded. "My father will be 
 terribly cut up. My aunt God knows what she 
 will say or do. As for myself" he paused while 
 he lit a fresh cigar "I shall have to go into 
 politics." 
 
 "Politics?" 
 
 242 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Yes. I d like to go to Congress." Paul sat 
 back in his chair with the air of one taking a 
 fresh brace on life. "I ve always intended to, 
 sooner or later. Had it at the back of my mind. 
 But now well, if I were sent to Washington, and 
 presently got a foreign mission, my wife might 
 feel sorry for a few minutes that I bored her. Yet 
 I wouldn t have her back. Waldo is welcome to 
 her. The real reason," he added, suddenly, after 
 another pause, "is that I ve been asked. One of 
 the Republican State Committee spoke to me about 
 it in June, just before I went to Newport. The 
 election isn t until a year from this autumn. I 
 told him I d think it over. I ve got to do some 
 thing to counteract this disgrace, and to forget it. 
 
 : Well, I must be going. I ll see you again as soon 
 as I hear from my wife." 
 
 Gordon detained him. "You mustn t take too 
 despondent a view of it. After all, it s not your 
 fault, it s your misfortune. All your friends will 
 
 srecognize that; and no one will be able to under 
 stand how any woman could weary of the love of 
 a man like you, and prefer a listless, pleasure- 
 seeker, such as Clarence Waldo." 
 
 Paul shrugged his shoulders. "It s the spirit 
 of the age, I suppose. I m not sorry, I tell you, 
 but I m piqued. We are shells upon the beach. 
 
 I The tide sweeps us along even though we know it 
 is the tide, and can say of the next man, what 
 
 : : a fool he is, to drift like that! But what is a 
 fellow to do? How is he to escape? I m a mill- 
 
 I ionaire I m likely to be several times that if 
 
 1 nothing breaks. I didn t wish to go to Newport, 
 
 I but I went. I don t care for half the things I 
 
 243 
 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 do, but they have to be done; that is, I do them 
 of my own accord, when the time comes, and, 
 though I kick, I know I should regret not doing 
 them merely because they seem to be the proper 
 things for people of my kind. There you are. I 
 have a sort of double self, as you know. It isn t 
 that I m weak, it s what do you call it? the 
 force of my environment. And a millionaire s 
 environment has a pressure of two hundred pounds 
 to the square inch. It s the same with the women. 
 What with rich food, splendid apparel, perpetual 
 self-indulgence, and the power which money gives 
 them to gratify every whim, is it any wonder that 
 they don t let a little thing like the marriage vow 
 stand in the way of their individual preferences? 
 Who is to hold them to account? The church? 
 Some of them go to church, but in their hearts 
 they are satisfied that this is the only world. And 
 as to loss of social position of which they really 
 would be afraid the tide is with them. There 
 are too many sympathizers. Or at least, it is in 
 convenient to be obliged to hurt other people s 
 feelings in a free country." 
 
 "Rather a formidable indictment against New 
 port," said Gordon. 
 
 "It isn t against Newport. It s against the 
 plutocracy all over the country. Newport merely 
 happens to be the place where very rich men with 
 social instincts most do congregate in summer. 
 My domestic tragedy is typical, yet sporadic. 
 Every season has its crop, but, numerically, it is 
 small. Infidelity is only one of the phases of the 
 spirit but the spirit is rampant. Money-money- 
 money, luxury-luxury-luxury, self-self-self (indi- 
 
 244 
 

 THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 vidualism, they call it), and in the process every 
 thing is thrown overboard, except the American 
 flag, and life becomes one grand hurrah, boys, with 
 no limitations, save murder and lack of physical 
 cleanliness. And I belong to the procession, my 
 dear fellow. I m disgusted with it at the moment, 
 that s why I rail. But in six months I shall be in 
 it again. See if I m not." 
 
 "You re simply depressed, Paul, and no won 
 der," said Gordon, with genial solicitude. "But 
 we mustn t judge our plutocracy aristocracy, or 
 whatever you choose to call the personal repre 
 sentatives of the prosperity of the country by 
 the antics of a few, disgusting as they are. I 
 agree that their behavior apes the frivolity and 
 license of the old French court without its ele 
 gance, and I don t suppose that the founders of 
 our institutions ever included a leisure class as a 
 part of their scheme. Absorbed in ideals, they 
 neglected to take poor human nature sufficiently 
 into account. We have lost the buffalo, but we 
 have acquired a leisure class, and we must make 
 the best of it, not the worst. We can t cut their 
 heads off; this is a free country. It would be 
 dreadful dreadful, wouldn t it, if our institu 
 tions, of which we are so proud, were to produce 
 merely the same old thing over again a leisure 
 class of voluptuaries?" Gordon paused for a mo 
 ment and his smile died away at the vision which 
 his words evoked. "I don t intend to believe it; 
 you don t. There are students of destiny who 
 maintain that nations rise, reach maturity and de 
 cline by regular economic laws, but that human 
 nature never really improves. That s fatalism. 
 
 245 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 The free play of human individualism is having 
 its last grand chance here in these United States. 
 If our aristocracy proves no better than any other 
 if the rich and powerful are to sneer at morals 
 and wallow in licentiousness, we couldn t blame 
 society if it should try a strong dose of socialism, 
 with its repressing, monotonous dead level, rather 
 than accept the doctrine that the law of supply 
 and demand is the sole ruler of the universe. But 
 as good Americans we can t afford to judge our 
 plutocracy, as yet, by the vices of a few people at 
 Newport." 
 
 "They sin in such a cold-blooded way," said 
 Paul. "If they really cared, as some of the for 
 eigners do, one could understand; but they don t." 
 
 "I know. It s one of the canons of old-world 
 traditions that adultery is almost redeemed by the 
 possession of an artistic sense. To commit the 
 one without possessing the other, may be no worse 
 morally, yet it seems much more vulgar. But we 
 mustn t take them too seriously, even though they 
 are our countrymen and women. They are the 
 exceptions the excrescences. Look at your father, 
 for instance. He belongs to them but he is not 
 of them. The same is true of yourself; and it is 
 a privilege, with all its responsibilities, a privilege 
 I envy you. Who wouldn t be a multi-millionaire 
 if he could? What is more alluring than power?" 
 
 Paul returned the pressure of his friend s hand. 
 "You re a good fellow, Don. I suppose I m 
 hipped. That s not my way, as you know. Usu 
 ally everything with me is rose color; I m too 
 good an American, if anything." He buttoned his 
 well-fitting coat with a dignified air, as though the 
 
 246 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 pride of the suggestion had stirred his pulses like 
 a brass band. "The trouble is, that when I m feel 
 ing well, everything goes, and the only thing 
 which seems of importance is to come out ahead of 
 the other fellow. So we kick over standards and 
 degenerate. This time I ve been struck with a 
 club, and and I don t see that it s my fault. 
 Well, good-bye. As soon as I hear, I ll let you 
 know." 
 
 247 
 
XVI 
 
 THERE was only one shadow on Constance s 
 present happiness, for she was happy in her 
 independence and her work. She had demon 
 strated her ability to support herself and to defy 
 the blow of fate which had deprived her of a 
 husband s aid and protection. It was the growing 
 perception that she might not be able to do all 
 she desired for her children. This sprang from 
 her own keener appreciation of the value not only 
 of the best educational advantages, but of refined 
 personal surroundings in the development of char 
 acter. She could inculcate noble morals; she 
 could teach her children to be truthful, brave, and 
 simple; she could provide them with public school 
 instruction, and she was resolved to give them, if 
 her health remained good, the opportunity to con 
 tinue their education longer than was the wont 
 with parents whose offspring had their own way 
 to make in life unaided. But her ambition, or 
 rather her perception of what she desired for 
 them, did not stop here. There were present de 
 mands which must be neglected solely because 
 of her straitened circumstances; and she beheld 
 ahead a long and widening vista of privileges 
 from which, perforce, they would be debarred 
 during the formative years for a similar reason. 
 Henrietta s teeth were disconcertingly crooked, 
 and should have the continuous attention of a skil- 
 
 248 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 ful dentist, and her voice had already that nasal 
 twang which, if unchecked, is sure to result in 
 feminine inelegance of speech. She wished that 
 
 i both the children, especially the girl, might have 
 thorough instruction in French and music, and be 
 sent to dancing school. Little Emil was giving 
 signs of marked talent for drawing, and the 
 thought of how that gift could be developed, was 
 already causing her concern. It was obvious to 
 
 iher that each of the next ten years had more in 
 sistent instances in store for her. She knew that 
 she could give her children what the democratic 
 world delights to call a solid foundation, but she 
 was eager to equip them with stimulating mental 
 ideals and bodily graces, to put them within reach 
 
 Kof excellence and culture. 
 
 She was too grateful to repine or to allow this 
 shadow to oppress her spirit. Its sole effect was 
 to stimulate her energies, to make her fertile in 
 resources to counteract this disability, and pains 
 taking in attention to her duties in the hope of a 
 small increase in salary. She kept a close watch 
 on Henrietta s voice, and put her on her own 
 guard against its piercing quality; she organized a 
 small dancing class from among the children in 
 Lincoln Chambers for one evening in the week, 
 and from her own past experience essayed their 
 instruction in waltzing and social decorum. Also, 
 on Sunday afternoons, she would often lure Emil 
 and Henrietta to the new Art Museum and give 
 them the opportunity which her own youth had 
 lacked to discern artistic form and color, and to 
 acquire inspiration from world-famous or ex 
 emplary paintings and sculpture. Then there sud- 
 
 249 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 denly came to her as treasure-trove a new fund to 
 be drawn on for such purposes. Her employer, 
 scanning the field of philanthropy by the light of 
 his own professional experience, had realized that 
 there was need in Benham of a legal aid society 
 that is, of an organization which would defray 
 the charges of a firm of attorneys to whom people 
 in utter distress, without means, and with petty but 
 desperate grievances in which busy lawyers could 
 not afford to interest themselves, could apply for 
 succor. When it appeared that the clerical duties 
 incident to the fund collected for this charity must 
 be performed by some suitable person, it occurred 
 to Gordon Perry he had been seeking some such 
 occasion that Mrs. Stuart would make an ad 
 mirable secretary and treasurer, especially as he 
 intended that the society should pay two hundred 
 dollars for the annual service. Constance s heart 
 throbbed with delight at the announcement, and 
 the first fifty dollars was devoted by her to the 
 treatment of Henrietta s irregular front teeth. 
 Would she be able some day to send Emil to col 
 lege? Might she hope that her daughter would 
 grow to be thoroughly a lady, not merely a smart, 
 self-sufficient woman, but a gracious, refined, ex 
 quisite spirit like Mrs. Randolph Wilson? In her 
 outlook for her children s future, she had become 
 aware that she had set up two individuals for 
 emulation : the woman whose aesthetic Christianity 
 had enriched her life, and the man whose un 
 affected intelligence and vigor offered to her daily 
 observation an example of honorable modern liv 
 ing. To lift her own flesh and blood above the 
 rut of mediocre aims and attainments was now 
 
 250 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 the ambition of her soul, and she was ready to 
 strain every nerve to bring this to pass. 
 
 Her acquaintance with Mrs. Perry had ripened 
 into intimacy. The old lady had taken a strong 
 fancy to her, and the liking was cordially recipro 
 cated. This meant increasing friendliness on both 
 sides. Not infrequently, on her return from the 
 office, Constance would find her in possession at 
 Lincoln Chambers with the room warm, five 
 o clock tea ready, Henrietta in her lap and Emil 
 beside her, listening to absorbing reading or 
 stories, each of which had a pungent, personal 
 flavor, with a not too obtrusive moral. On the 
 other hand, Constance was asked to dine every 
 now and then in the new house, and after dinner, 
 sometimes it happened that they went to the thea 
 tre with Mr. Perry, or on evenings when he was 
 busy, the two women would sit cosily with their 
 work, and conversation never flagged. Women, 
 when sympathetically attached to each other, 
 seem to be inexhaustible reservoirs of speech, 
 which flow with a bubbling copiousness bewilder 
 ing to masculine ears. In their case, the hands of 
 the clock set the only limit to their mutual enjoy 
 ment. The hour of departure brought the single 
 uncomfortable moments of the evening for Con 
 stance that is, for the first two evenings. Her 
 apartment was a full mile distant, but her friends 
 house was not more than two hundred yards from 
 a line of electric cars which passed within a block 
 from her own door. Until Gordon Perry, who 
 came out of his library to say good-night, an 
 nounced his intention of accompanying her home, 
 the idea had never occurred to her that it was 
 
 251 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 necessary, or that he would offer his escort. Yet 
 such are the inconsistencies of the feminine mind 
 that the moment he did so she became aware that, 
 if he had not offered it, she would have felt a 
 trifle hurt. At the same time she did not wish 
 him to accompany her. It would be obviously a 
 superfluous piece of politeness; there was no risk 
 of any kind in going home in the cars alone. She 
 told him this in a few words of clear remon 
 strance. But he smilingly put on his overcoat, 
 said it was a beautiful moonlight night, and as 
 sured her that he was anxious for a walk before 
 going to bed. The idea of his walking only made 
 the situation worse. Constance turned to his 
 mother for support, but Mrs. Perry cordially sec 
 onded his assertion that it would do him good, 
 so there was no escape from acceptance. The 
 thought of having dragged a busy man and her 
 employer out of his house at night disturbed her 
 equanimity all the way home, so that although 
 she delighted in having him as a companion in 
 the exhilarating autumn air, under a glorious 
 moon, she determined to prevent its recurrence. 
 Yet, as she approached her destination, the fear 
 of seeming ungracious supervened, and she had 
 almost decided to postpone her protest until the 
 next time, when he unwittingly gave her an op 
 portunity to speak by remarking that he hoped 
 that this was only one of many evenings which 
 she would spend with them during the winter. 
 "You must know," he added, "that my mother 
 has taken a great fancy to you, and that it will not 
 suit her at all if you are niggardly in your visits." 
 Constance smiled acquiescingly. "I love your 
 252 
 
Constance would find her in possession at Lincoln Chambers 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 mother," she said, "and it will be a pleasure to 
 me to come as often as she wishes." At the same 
 instant she said to herself, "Now for it!" Where 
 upon she began sturdily, "Only, Mr. Perry " 
 
 Why did she pause ? She was at a loss to know. 
 It was the reverse of her custom to begin a sen 
 tence and leave it dangling in this unfinished man 
 ner. She accused herself of being a goose, and, 
 simultaneously she took a new breath to go on, 
 only to be met by her companion s blithe sally : 
 
 "Only what, Mrs Stuart?" She could see that 
 his eyes were laughing. Did he divine what was 
 choking her? 
 
 "Only this : if I come to your mother, you must 
 let me go home by myself. The electric cars are a 
 stone s throw from your house, and run close to 
 mine, so there is not the slightest necessity 
 for your incommoding yourself." She paused, 
 troubled. The last turn of the sentence, though 
 it expressed her meaning, had not the felicitous 
 sound she desired. 
 
 "I came because I knew it would give me pleas 
 ure," he answered, quickly, still with a laughing 
 light in his eyes, under which she let her own fall 
 quite unnecessarily, as it seemed to her. She was 
 provoked with herself. The dialogue had ac 
 quired the aspect of social give and take, which 
 was entirely remote from her intention. 
 
 "I have enjoyed it, too." She felt that this 
 was the least she could say. "But there is no 
 need; besides, Mr. Perry, you are my employer, 
 and and " (she was halting again, but she bit 
 her lip and plunged forward, seeking only to make 
 herself clear) "that does make a difference it 
 
 253 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 should make a difference. If I were if I were 
 not your stenographer, I should probably go home 
 in a carnage, but I can t afford one, and and the 
 cars are perfectly safe and comfortable. I am 
 used to looking after myself." 
 
 Her cheeks were burning. She had said what 
 she meant to say, but it sounded crude and almost 
 harsh. She wondered now why it had seemed 
 necessary to her to make such a pother. As no 
 immediate answer came from Mr. Perry, she stole 
 a glance at his face. It had grown almost grave, 
 and there was a different light in his eyes a curi 
 ous expression which puzzled her. "I hope you 
 understand," she said, "and that I do not seem 
 ungracious." 
 
 "I understand perfectly. I was admiring your 
 sense your sanity. Such things do make a differ 
 ence must make a difference, so long as human 
 nature is constituted as it is; but every woman has 
 not the hardihood to accept the limitations of her 
 social lot. As you say, you are used to looking 
 after yourself. I should not have been guilty of 
 a breach of manners, had I allowed you to go 
 home in a car as you came put you into one, 
 perhaps, at the street corner, if I were not occu 
 pied. That would have been the natural course 
 under all the circumstances, although it might 
 have been equally natural to treat another woman 
 with more ceremony. I came with you to-night 
 because it gave me pleasure, as I told you, and 
 because I wished you to understand that the rela 
 tions between us are not those of employer and 
 employee, but social in every sense. You are my 
 mother s friend and mine." 
 
 254 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Constance s nerves tingled pleasantly at the 
 apostrophe. "You are very good. You have al 
 ways been kindness itself to me. I have felt that 
 you both were my friends." She put out her hand 
 shyly and gratefully to bid him good-night, and 
 at the same time to indicate the warmth in her 
 /heart. "But now that I do understand," she add- 
 j ed, "you must be sensible, too, and realize that I 
 do not need, an escort." She was rather appalled 
 by her own boldness. His plea had only strength 
 ened her feeling that his politeness was superflu 
 ous. 
 
 "Do you forbid it?" he asked, with an inflec 
 tion of gayety. 
 
 She could not help smiling. "I cannot do that, 
 you know. But if you wish to make me feel en- 
 tirely at home, you will limit yourself at most to 
 seeing me safely on a car at your street corner." 
 She felt that she had touched firmer ground that 
 she was making her claim as a friend of the fam- 
 iily, not being forced against her will into the pose 
 <of a coquette. 
 
 "A compromise!" he ejaculated. "And what a 
 one-sided one." 
 
 "Life is made up of compromises, is it not? 
 I thought I was being very generous." 
 
 There was a gentle, plaintive cadence to her 
 words which both charmed his ear and touched 
 his sensibilities. Was she about to strike her flag 
 in the last ditch out of sheer weariness at his 
 bravado? 
 
 "My only wish would be to please you," he 
 said with sudden earnestness. 
 
 Constance looked at him wonderingly, a little 
 
 255 
 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 appalled at the change in his manner and speech. 
 What had called forth their intensity? She be 
 came conscious that the blood was rising to her 
 cheeks again, and that she had lost her composure 
 a second time. For an instant Gordon gazed 
 at her eagerly, as though he enjoyed her bewilder 
 ment, then with a return of gayety, he exclaimed: 
 "But I promise nothing nothing." 
 He raised his hat and Constance, .who had al 
 ready entered the vestibule of her apartment- 
 house, stood irresolute before ascending the stairs 
 as one in a trance. She was displeased with her 
 self; for the first time in her life it had seemed to 
 her that her tongue and her wits were not under the 
 control of her will. Presently she reflected that 
 she might be working too hard and was run down, 
 which on the whole, was comforting, until she 
 looked in her mirror and saw there the refutation 
 of this theory in her own hue of health. No, it 
 could not be this, for there was no blinking the 
 fact that she had improved notably in her appear 
 ance of late, which was comforting in a different 
 way. She was so struck by the fact that she stood 
 for a moment surveying her face and figure with 
 contemplative surprise. But why had Mr. Perry 
 been so queer? She asked herself that question 
 more than once before she fell asleep, and in the 
 morning ascribed it to her own social inaptness. 
 
 The next occasion when she spent the evening 
 with Mrs. Perry was a fortnight later. When 
 she was ready to go home Gordon put on his over 
 coat without a word and confronted her tantaliz- 
 ingly. She was conscious of a little disappoint 
 ment, for, in spite of his declaration of independ- 
 
 256 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 ; snce, she had believed that he would not persist, 
 ibut as he opened the front door she heard the 
 ! welcome words: 
 
 u To-night I am going to comply with your wish 
 by putting you on a car at the next corner." 
 
 "Thank you, very much." She forebore to 
 add what was in her mind, that it was the only 
 sensible way. But her little triumph gave elastic 
 ity to her steps. 
 
 For the first few moments the night seemed to 
 
 set a seal upon his lips as he walked beside her, 
 
 so that his response had the effect of being pon- 
 
 dered. "My desire is to please you. But I shall 
 
 j reserve the right of pleasing myself now and then 
 
 as I did the other day." 
 
 "It pleased me, too," Constance said, amiably. 
 "What I feared was that it might become a cus 
 tom an unnecessary burden." 
 
 Gordon signalled an approaching car. "A bur 
 den? Mrs. Stuart, the burden of walking home 
 by moonlight with the wrong woman is one which 
 men generally manage to shift." 
 
 Constance laughed. "Perhaps I should have 
 thought of that. But now you will be protected 
 at all events." 
 
 From her seat in the electric car she beheld him 
 standing at the street corner until his figure was lost 
 in the shadows of the night. She felt complacent. 
 She had gained her point, and since it was on 
 terms need she feel otherwise than happy at the 
 prospect of having him sometimes as a companion 
 on her journeys home? The more she could see 
 of him rightfully, without encroaching on his 
 time, surely the better for her. The discretion 
 
 257 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 rested with him, not with her; she was simply the 
 fortunate beneficiary. 
 
 So it came to pass that once in three or four 
 times Gordon would exercise his privilege; and 
 as another year slipped away and the spring 
 brought milder nights and more inviting sidewalks, 
 the occasions became more frequent, so that before 
 either seemed to be aware of it, the custom 
 of riding was more honored in the breach 
 than the observance, and this without further dis 
 cussion. They would simply start as though 
 she were to take an electric car, and before reach 
 ing the corner he would casually interrupt their 
 discourse to say, "It is a fine night; shall we 
 walk?" to which Constance would reply, "If you 
 like." After a while even this formula was dis 
 pensed with, and she was ready to take for 
 granted that they both preferred the exercise. 
 One day he asked permission to accompany her 
 and her children on one of their Sunday afternoon 
 strolls into the country, a proposal which startled 
 her, but which she had no obvious excuse for re 
 fusing. On their return home from the excursion 
 Henrietta and little Emil were so enthusiastic over 
 this addition to the party that she felt reluctant 
 on their account to prevent its repetition. So the 
 experience was renewed every now and then, and, 
 since he seemed to enjoy it, she accepted it as one 
 of the pleasures which Providence had thrown in 
 her way. 
 
 Intimacy naturally resulted from this increas 
 ing association. It was a constant comfort to 
 Constance that Mr. Perry was such a natural per 
 son; that he obviously liked her for herself, but 
 
 258 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 did not affect to ignore or gloss over the fact that 
 her life was circumscribed and straitened by her 
 necessities; that, while assuming that she was in 
 terested in and able to appreciate the finer aspira 
 tions and concerns of existence, he let her perceive 
 that he understood her predicament. Consequent 
 ly she felt at liberty and encouraged to speak to 
 him from time to time on the subject nearest her 
 heart the advancement of her children and to 
 ask advice in relation thereto. 
 
 On one of their evenings a moonlight night, 
 which rivalled in beauty that when he had first ac 
 companied her she had been consulting him as to 
 the conditions of a free art school recently started 
 in the new Art Museum, having little Emil in 
 mind. After a short silence she suddenly said, 
 "I admire your mother greatly, as you know. 
 But sometimes I am doubtful whether she does 
 not discourage me even more than she gives me 
 hope; her example, I mean. She brought you up. 
 She was almost as friendless as I. I dare say she 
 did not have so many friends. Yet yet you are 
 you. She managed to give you everything." 
 
 "God bless her, yes, brave heart that she is." 
 
 "But " 
 
 He cut her pensive conjunctive short. "I can 
 guess what you are going to say. Excuse me; go 
 
 on." 
 
 "I cannot give my children everything. But 
 everything, then, would not be everything now." 
 
 "I divined your thought." The sympathy 
 radiating from his sturdy tone brought a pleasant 
 light to her eyes. 
 
 "Yet you are you," she reasserted. 
 259 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 He laughed. "Logician and flatterer! But 
 you are right. My mother would have had a far 
 harder struggle had she begun to-day. She might 
 not have been able to give me everything, for 
 everything then was not everything now, as you 
 have said." 
 
 "Yet you have everything," she persisted, 
 doughtily. 
 
 "Even if that were true, it would not signify. 
 You are facing a condition, not a theory. Flour 
 and sugar and standard oil may be cheaper to-day, 
 but the demands of civilization on the individual 
 are so much greater of civilization everywhere, 
 but especially in this country, where the growth of 
 prosperity has been so prodigious and the stress 
 of competition has become so fierce." 
 
 "Oh, yes; oh, yes. You understand," she said, 
 eagerly. "There are so many things which I 
 should like to give my children which I cannot 
 which I know are beyond my reach, but which 
 would be of infinite service to them in the struggle 
 to make the most of life. You spoke to me once 
 of the limitation of my social lot. That is 
 nothing. What is hard for a mother to bear is 
 the consciousness that her children will fall short 
 of what she would wish them to become because 
 she has not the power to secure for them the best. 
 Yet it must be borne, and borne bravely." 
 
 "Yes, it is lamentably hard. The chief blot on 
 the triumph of individualism on the American 
 principle of the development of self is that the 
 choicest privileges of civilization should hang be 
 yond the reach of those who are handicapped 
 merely because they are handicapped. The de- 
 
 260 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 struction of the poor is their poverty, as my old 
 school-master used to state, though I didn t know 
 then what he meant. And it must be borne, as 
 you say. Even here, where everything is pos 
 sible to the individual, renunciation still stares 
 the majority in the face as the inexorable 
 virtue." 
 
 "Surely," she answered, with simple pathos. 
 "Thank you for understanding me. I knew you 
 would. If I struggle, it is because I am so ambi 
 tious for my children to rise. I would not have 
 them remain mere hewers of wood and drawers 
 of water one of the majority you speak of as 
 I have been." 
 
 He turned his face toward her. "You are far 
 more than that, you are a sweet woman. You 
 must not underestimate character in your recogni 
 tion of the power of things. You can give your 
 children that, and it is no cant to say that char 
 acter remains everlastingly the backbone of human 
 progress." 
 
 "Things!" she echoed, ignoring apparently 
 both the tribute and the consolation proffered. 
 "That is the word." She hugged her thought in 
 silence for a moment as though fascinated. 
 "When I was a girl there were no things to speak 
 of; now " she paused and sighed; evidently the 
 vision which her spirit entertained disconcerted her 
 powers of speech. "It is not that I wish my chil 
 dren to be rich merely rich, Mr. Perry. You 
 know that. It is that I wish them to be able to 
 appreciate, to feel, to enjoy what is best in life. 
 You spoke of the power of character just now. 
 There is Mrs. Randolph Wilson. She has all the 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 virtues of plain character and so much more be 
 sides. Compare her with a woman like me." 
 
 "Mrs Randolph Wilson!" His tone revealed 
 his surprise at the antithesis. "I see. I see," he 
 repeated, interested by the completeness of the 
 contrast. 
 
 "I owe so much to her," Constance murmured. 
 "Before I knew her my outlook was so narrow 
 and colorless. She has taught me to enrich my 
 life, poor as it still is." 
 
 "She is a fine woman. And yet, in my opinion, 
 you need not fear comparison with Mrs. Wilson." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Perry!" She stopped short for an 
 instant in recoil. The protesting astonishment of 
 her exclamation showed him not only that he had 
 violated a temple by his words, but that, as a 
 consequence, she believed him insincere, which in 
 her eyes would be a more grievous fault. 
 
 "It is quite true," he said with decision. "You 
 are very different; but it is quite true. Your out 
 look was narrow, perhaps, but it was clear and 
 straight." 
 
 "Oh, no. You do not know her, then, nor me. 
 I tried to see clearly according to my lights, but 
 that is just it my lights were defective, and I 
 saw only half the truth until she revealed it to 
 
 me." 
 
 "Mrs. Wilson has had great opportunities." 
 "Yes, indeed. And she has taken advantage of 
 them. Great opportunities!" she repeated with 
 an exultant sigh. "They are what I had in mind 
 a few minutes ago ; not for myself, you know, but 
 for my children. I envy yes, I envy opportuni 
 ties for them." Her voice had a quiver as though 
 
 262 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 ! she were daring a confession to the sphinx-like 
 stars. 
 
 She had changed the emphasis of the dialogue, 
 but Gordon pursued his tenor. "Her daughter 
 has had every opportunity, yet her mother can 
 scarcely regard her with pride." 
 
 "I barely know Mrs. Waldo. It was just be 
 fore her wedding that her mother was so kind to 
 to me. I saw her once or twice at the house, but 
 only for a moment." 
 
 "At least she has made a mess of her mar 
 riage." 
 
 Constance started. "It is true, then, what was 
 in the newspapers?" 
 
 "It is true that she and her husband have 
 agreed to separate. It is an open secret that she 
 has gone to Sioux Falls in order to obtain a divorce 
 on a colorless ground in the shortest possible time. 
 They will both be free in less than a year." 
 
 "How terrible ! Loretta Davis read me a para 
 graph last week to the effect that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Waldo were not happy. I set it down as baseless 
 gossip. It seemed to me impossible that Mrs. 
 Wilson s daughter Ah, I am so sorry for Mrs. 
 Wilson." 
 
 "She was in the office last week." 
 
 "I remember." 
 
 "She came to consult me; to see if anything 
 could be done. She has reasoned with her daugh 
 ter used every argument in her arsenal but 
 without avail. Mrs. Waldo s one idea is to be 
 free. And yet she has had every opportunity." 
 
 "But that proves nothing, Mr. Perry, surely." 
 They had reached the threshold of Lincoln Cham- 
 
 263 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 bers. There was the courage of conviction in the 
 frank gaze she bent on him. 
 
 "Only that the power to have everything may 
 numb the spirit and make individual self-will the 
 sole arbiter of conduct." 
 
 "Agreed. But there can be no doubt that civi 
 lization offers us more to-day than it ever did, if 
 we can only be put within reach of it. The 
 thought sometimes haunts me that I may die and 
 Henrietta grow up to be like like Loretta Davis; 
 never know what life may mean, because she has 
 not had the chance." 
 
 He looked at her admiringly. "I am more 
 than half teasing you," he said. "While it is true 
 that the general standard of living is higher than 
 ever before, it remains true as ever that only the 
 attuned spirit can grasp and utilize the best. To 
 argue otherwise would be cant." 
 
 "So it seems to me," she said, with her air of 
 direct simplicity. 
 
 "As for this tragedy for it is a tragedy al 
 most Sophoclean in its scope, as you will presently 
 learn, my lips are sealed for the moment beyond 
 what I have told you. But you are right in your 
 enthusiasm for Mrs. Wilson. She is in touch with 
 the temper of the world s progress according to 
 her lights." 
 
 She smiled faintly. "I still wish I were more 
 like her." 
 
 Gordon seemed for a moment to be pondering 
 this assertion, then fixing her with his eyes, said: 
 "I believe you have never heard anything from 
 your husband since he deserted you?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 264 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "You do not know his whereabouts, nor whether 
 he is alive or dead?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "More than three years have elapsed. So you 
 ;are entitled to a divorce in this State, if you see fit 
 to claim it." 
 
 Constance had listened in astonishment. His 
 tone was so respectful that she could not take of 
 fence. He seemed to be merely informing her as 
 to her rights ; and though the topic had never been 
 broached up to this time between them, was he not 
 her intimate friend? Nevertheless she felt agi 
 tated. 
 
 "It has never occurred to me that a divorce 
 would be desirable," she answered with as much 
 formality as her dislike of artifice allowed her to 
 adopt. Then, yielding to curiosity or the inclina 
 tion to break another lance with him, she added: 
 "Of what benefit would it be to me to seek a 
 divorce?" 
 
 "Merely that the bond is already broken; what 
 remains is a husk." 
 
 "My husband may return." The response 
 struck her as futile; still it had risen to her lips 
 as a convenient possibility. 
 
 "That is true. But if he did return after what 
 has happened, I should think I have no right 
 to invade your privacy " He stopped short, evi 
 dently appalled by the sound of his own presump 
 tion. 
 
 There was a brief silence. It would have been 
 easy for Constance to leave his inquiry where he 
 had left it, but her love for the truth caused her 
 first to face the issue thus presented, and having 
 
 265 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 solved it by one full glance, to bear testimony to 
 what was in her heart. Why she felt this frank 
 ness necessary, she did not know, unless it were 
 that he was such a friend she did not wish him to 
 think he had offended. The interval was only 
 momentary, but she appeared to herself to have 
 been standing speechless in the presence of the 
 ashes of her past for an awkward period before 
 she said: 
 
 "My husband said when he went away that we 
 could never be happy together. I do not wish him 
 
 
 to return." 
 
 She realized she was telling him her love was 
 dead. It was the truth; why should he not know? 
 She heard him draw a deep breath. Suddenly re 
 membering the argument which had provoked his 
 question, her mind flew to it for refuge and shel 
 tered itself behind it as a bulwark. 
 
 "But that is no reason why I should seek a di 
 vorce. A divorce could not alter the situation." 
 
 He hesitated a moment as though he were about 
 to continue the discussion, then evidently thought 
 better of it. "I simply wished you to know your 
 rights. Good-night." 
 
 266 
 
XVII 
 
 A S she reached the landing upon which her own 
 d~*- apartment opened, Constance noticed that 
 dhere was a light in Loretta Davis s room. Lor- 
 
 tta was now a full-fledged nurse. That is, she had 
 :ompleted her course at the hospital, and was 
 taking cases of her own. She had already ob 
 tained two or three through the patronage of Mrs. 
 Wilson, but she happened to be out of work at 
 the moment. It occurred to Constance that she 
 would impart her information to her neighbor. 
 Loretta was deeply interested in everything which 
 concerned their benefactress. Loretta had seen 
 what was in the newspapers, and, since it was true, 
 why should not she know? This was a plausible 
 excuse for gratifying that strong desire to share 
 ler knowledge which assails every woman who has 
 something to tell. Had it been a real secret, Con 
 stance would have been adamant. As it was, she 
 did not appreciate until too late that this was just 
 the sort of subject which she and Loretta could 
 not discuss sympathetically. She was sorry for 
 ler; she did her best to befriend and encourage 
 ler, and tried to like her; but though they got on 
 pleasantly, their point of view was apt to be radi 
 cally different. 
 
 Loretta opened the door. "Oh, it s you, Con 
 stance. I d made up my mind that someone had 
 sent for me." 
 
 267 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "I m sorry to disappoint you, Loretta. But I ve 
 something to tell you something you ll be dis 
 tressed to hear. What you read in the newspaper 
 about Mrs. Wilson s daughter the Waldos is 
 
 true." 
 
 Then she repeated briefly what she knew, omit 
 ting reference to Mrs. Wilson s visit to the office. 
 Loretta listened with parted lips and an expression 
 in her usually matter-of-fact face curiously com 
 pounded of solicitude and knowingness, as though 
 commiseration and the glamor of the scandal were 
 contending forces. 
 
 "I knew it was true; the newspapers wouldn t 
 have printed it unless there d been something in it. 
 My! but she ll feel bad, won t she?" 
 
 "It will wound -her terribly." 
 
 "How did your boss find out?" 
 
 Constance winced. Somehow the epithet jarred 
 worse than usual, and she felt that she could not 
 stand it. The experiences of the evening were on 
 her nerves, though sympathy for Mrs. Wilson had 
 thrust her personal emotions to the back of her 
 mind for more leisurely inspection. 
 
 "You mustn t call him that, Loretta. It doesn t 
 express him at all." 
 
 Loretta looked surprised and laughed. 
 "What s the matter? He is your boss, isn l 
 he?" she asserted. "Oh, well your employer, 
 Mr. Gordon Perry, Esq., counsellor-at-law, i: 
 that ll suit you. My ! but you re getting red." 
 
 Constance was annoyed with herself for having 
 protested. Indeed, she was biting her tongue for 
 having brought on the interview. Now that sh( 
 had told the facts she shrank from further dii 
 
 268 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 cusoion. Yet it was patent that Loretta had every 
 intention of discussing the episode with her. 
 
 "There s no doubt about the truth of the mat 
 ter, unfortunately," she said, by way of answer 
 to the original question. 
 
 Loretta s large eyes began to rove. Then they 
 suddenly fixed Constance with the gleam of a 
 transporting idea. 
 
 "I m going to see her, right off to-morrow, I 
 mean," she added, noting the swift, barometric 
 sign of disapproval which her words evoked, 
 though it was no more than a contraction of the 
 eyelids. But, suspicious as she was, she assumed 
 that the only criticism had been that she was going 
 forthwith. 
 
 From the moment Gordon Perry had spoken, 
 Constance had been yearning to hasten to Mrs. 
 Wilson s side and offer the sympathy which she 
 felt. This had been her first impulse too, but a 
 moment s reflection had proved to her that to do 
 so was out of the question; that it would be an 
 intrusion a violation of that subtle code of nicety 
 which governed her benefactress s life. Mrs. Wil 
 son was the last woman to betray to the every-day 
 world that she was sorely wounded. Was not en 
 durance of suffering without plaint and with an 
 unruffled countenance one of the tenets of her 
 friend s aesthetic creed? So what right had a per 
 son like herself to invade her privacy? No, she 
 must remain dumb until Mrs. Wilson gave her the 
 opportunity to speak or publicity offered an excuse 
 for flowers or some token of affection. Thus she 
 had reasoned, and hence her involuntary challenge 
 to Loretta s confident announcement. 
 
 269 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "She ll expect me to be sorry for her, and I am," 
 pursued Loretta, complacent over her project. 
 "I ll ask her all about it. Won t it make a stir in 
 the newspapers ! There ll be a new picture of her, 
 sure." Thus reminded, she opened a table drawer 
 and produced a large scrap-book, which she ex 
 hibited to Constance with an air of satisfaction. 
 It was made up of newspaper illustrations and 
 clippings relative to the object of adoration pict 
 ures of Mrs. Wilson in a variety of poses, of her 
 house, of her equipages, and of everything which 
 the reportorial artist had been able to reproduce; 
 also scores of allusions to her in print culled from 
 the social columns. It was a current, but a thor 
 ough collection, for Loretta had purchased back 
 issues in order to possess the newspaper features 
 of the wedding ceremonies. It was to these she 
 now turned, staying her hand at a page where the 
 bride and her mother looked forth, ranged side 
 by side in festal attire. Loretta surveyed them 
 contemplatively. "I never laid eyes on the 
 daughter. They re not much alike, are they? 
 Perhaps she ll be at home when I go. I d give 
 anything to see her." 
 
 The scrap-book was not new to Constance, but 
 it had been considerably amplified since she had 
 seen it last. She had never been able to under 
 stand why Loretta had undertaken or prized it. 
 Nevertheless, it was a symptom of hero-worship 
 in line with collections of the photographs of 
 adored actors by matinee girls, and was not to be 
 despised too heartily if she wished to remain sym 
 pathetic. But just now Constance s mind was 
 otherwise busy. She, too, adored Mrs. Wilson, 
 
 270 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 and she painfully depicted to herself the annoy 
 ance which this visit with its threatened frankness 
 would cause her divinity. 
 
 "Don t you think, Loretta, that it would be 
 better to wait a little before you call?" she said, 
 in gentle appeal. 
 
 "Better? Why better?" 
 
 "More appropriate. Mrs. Wilson will not feel 
 like discussing the matter just yet. If her daughter 
 is with her, so much the more reason. She must 
 be very unhappy, and, if either of us were to visit 
 her now to offer sympathy, I m sure she would re 
 gard it as an intrusion." 
 
 Loretta bridled. "If I were unhappy, she d 
 come to see me. If my baby were to die, wouldn t 
 she come gliding down here to make me feel re 
 signed? Two can play at that game. She s been 
 nice to me ; why shouldn t I let her know that I m 
 sorry for her? Besides," she added, with a shrug 
 of her shoulders and a bold look, "I d like to see 
 how she d behave how she d take it. I want to 
 see the house again, too." 
 
 Appalled as Constance was, she said to herself 
 that she must not let the shock of this lack of taste 
 palsy her own effectiveness. To upbraid Loretta 
 would only confirm her in her intention. 
 
 "Let us hope that there will be no publicity; that 
 the matter will be kept very quiet. If Mrs. Wil 
 son is desirous of concealing it, surely she would 
 not be pleased to know that we had heard of it. 
 I told you because I know how fond you are of 
 her, and that her secret would be safe in your 
 hands." 
 
 "Publicity? Of course there ll be publicity." 
 
 271 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 The suggestion of concealment was obviously dis 
 tasteful to her. "Why, I read it to you in the 
 newspaper. The reporters are certain to get wind 
 of it in a few days, see if they don t. And when 
 they do, look out for head-lines and half-page 
 illustrations. The public have a right to know 
 what s going on, haven t they?" she asked in 
 the assertive tone of one vindicating a vested privi 
 lege. 
 
 "Not things of this kind private concerns, 
 surely." Constance sighed, realizing that it was 
 only too probable that the newspapers, alert as 
 bloodhounds for the trail of a new social scandal, 
 would come upon this shortly and blazon it to the 
 world. 
 
 "Private concerns! Suppose a multi-million 
 aire s daughter tires of her husband and runs away 
 to South Dakota to get a divorce as quick as the 
 law allows, do you call that a private concern? I 
 guess not, Constance. The public meaning such 
 as you and me naturally take an interest, and 
 object to its being hushed up. The multi-million 
 aires have the money; we have the newspapers. 
 We don t get any too much that s interesting in 
 our lives." 
 
 "We don t know any of the facts; we mustn t 
 prejudge Mrs. Waldo until we hear what they 
 are," said Constance, ignoring the philosophy of 
 this tirade in her dismay at the assumption. 
 
 "That s why I m going to see her. I want to 
 find out the facts," said Loretta, triumphantly. "I 
 was only supposing. Like as not her daughter 
 has been ill-treated, and is running away because 
 she has to. If so, there s not much to worry about. 
 
 272 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 She ll get her divorce, and be able to marry again 
 as soon as she has the chance." 
 
 "But even so, Loretta, her mother must neces 
 sarily regard it as a family misfortune, which she 
 would not like to talk about. As to marrying 
 again, that would only make the matter worse for 
 Mrs. Wilson." 
 
 "Worse? Why worse?" 
 
 "It would distress her, I m certain. It would 
 be contrary to her ideas of the eternal fitness of 
 things." 
 
 Constance recognized her own sententiousness, 
 which was due to the perception that she had al 
 lowed herself to speak by the card without suffi 
 cient authority. She had never discussed the sub 
 ject or anything analogous to it with Mrs. Wilson, 
 and to put arguments in her mouth would be surely 
 a liberty. Yet her heart told her that the con 
 clusion which she had uttered, both in its substance 
 and phraseology, stated correctly Mrs. Wilson s 
 position. What suddenly interested her was the 
 wonder whether it expressed her own convictions.. 
 
 Loretta lost no time in bringing this to an issue.. 
 "Supposing Mrs. Waldo has been miserable and! 
 without fault, do you mean to tell me she d object 
 to her daughter marrying the right man if he came 
 along? Why, wouldn t you be glad, after all T 
 you ve been through, if the right person came 
 along some decent man with a little money who 
 could look after your children?" 
 
 "I?" To the ears of Constance the sound of 
 her own voice resembled a wail. Why should 
 Loretta be so unfeeling as to make her personal 
 experiences the test of such a text? 
 
 273 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Yes, you." 
 
 Constance gathered her forces for a display of 
 proper dignity. She wished to be kind still, but 
 conclusive. 
 
 "Mine is not a case at all in point. I am not 
 divorced from my husband." 
 
 Loretta plainly regarded this argument as 
 flimsy, for she snapped her fingers. "Pooh!" she 
 said. "You could get a divorce any day you like." 
 She stared at Constance a moment, then rose from 
 her chair, planted her palms on the table and bent 
 forward by way of emphasis with an air both de 
 termined and a little diabolical. 
 
 "Supposing your your employer, Gordon 
 Perry, Esq., counsellor-at-law, was to make you an 
 offer of his hand and heart to-morrow, do you 
 mean to tell me, Constance Stuart, that you 
 wouldn t snap him up in a jiffy?" 
 
 "It isn t a supposable case," replied poor Con 
 stance. One can slam a door in an intruder s face; 
 there is no such buffer for impertinent speeches. 
 
 "But supposing costs nothing. Of course it s 
 supposable, why not? You re the sort of woman 
 who s twice as good looking now that you ve filled 
 out as you were at nineteen. You know well 
 enough you re growing handsomer and more fetch 
 ing every day. Only a blind man couldn t see 
 that." 
 
 "That would have nothing to do with it even 
 if it were true." 
 
 "You may bet a man like that wouldn t marry 
 you if you were plain. But just supposing? I do 
 believe you re getting red again." 
 
 The victim, conscious of the fact, sought relief 
 274 
 

 THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 in merriment. She jumped at the impulse to treat 
 this indelicate effrontery jocosely as the only possi 
 ble attitude. "It s because you re so absurd, 
 Loretta. But since you seem to wish an answer 
 to your ridiculous question " 
 
 The sharp note of the electric bell broke in upon 
 the slight pause which she made to weigh her 
 words. 
 
 "Someone for me!" cried Loretta, and she ran 
 to the tube. But she looked over her shoulder to 
 say "Continued in our next! The offer is good 
 for a week." 
 
 Constance felt the inclination to throw the scrap- 
 book at her head. The next moment she was 
 vexed with herself for allowing her equanimity 
 to be disturbed, and began to rehabilitate the in 
 terrupted sentence. What had she been going to 
 say? It dawned upon her that, curiously enough, 
 she had not formulated the conclusion. Mean 
 time Loretta was going through the functions of 
 whistling down the tube and receiving the message. 
 The surprising import of her next words roused 
 Constance from a brown study. 
 
 "Talk of the devil! It s a messenger from Mr. 
 Perry s. Somebody s ill and I m wanted. The 
 boy s coming up." 
 
 Somebody ill! It must be Mrs. Perry. The 
 few moments of suspense which elapsed before the 
 district messenger-boy arrived seemed interminable 
 to Constance. Loretta had opened the door and 
 the tramp of his ascent sounded leisurely. When 
 he appeared he thrust his hand into his breast 
 pocket and produced a letter. 
 
 "It s for Mrs. Stuart," he said, guardedly. 
 275 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "I m Mrs. Stuart," said Constance. 
 
 "I was told to ring at your bell first, and if you 
 was asleep or didn t answer the tube to try the 
 other lady." 
 
 Constance read the brief contents of the note 
 with perturbation. It was from Mr. Perry, in 
 forming her that on his return home he had found 
 his mother stricken with paralysis, that the doctor 
 was in attendance, and that a trained nurse was 
 necessary. He had thought of Loretta; would 
 Constance send her if disengaged? 
 
 "Oh, Loretta, dear Mrs. Perry is seriously ill 
 a stroke of paralysis. Mr. Perry asks you to come 
 to her at once." 
 
 "I ll be ready to start in a few minutes," an 
 swered Loretta, briskly. 
 
 "We will both go," added Constance, as though 
 to herself. "There may be something I can do." 
 She turned to the messenger: "Return as quickly 
 as you can, and tell the gentleman that we wait 
 a moment." She tore the sheet of note-paper apart 
 and seating herself at the table wrote hastily on 
 the blank half in pencil: "Loretta will come at 
 once, and I shall accompany her. My heart 
 grieves for you, my dear friend." She folded it 
 and bent down one corner. "Give him this," she 
 said, "and please make haste." 
 
 At this time in Benham the doctrine that sewage 
 must be diverted from the sources of water supply 
 used for drinking purposes was firmly established, 
 and the doctrine that not every woman able to read 
 and write is qualified to teach school was being 
 gradually, if grudgingly, admitted to be not alto 
 gether un-American. So swift had been the change 
 
 276 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 of attitude toward special knowledge that there 
 had even been a revolution in regard to the theory 
 advocated by the original board of trustees of the 
 Silas S. Parsons Free Hospital that every woman 
 is a born nurse, and is competent, after a fort 
 night s training at the utmost, to take charge of 
 the sickest patients. Those familiar with affairs 
 in Benham will recall that the original ruling spirit 
 of that institution was Mrs. Selma Lyons, wife 
 of United States Senator Lyons. She disapproved 
 of special training and was a strong champion of 
 the principle that an American woman with aspi 
 rations is more likely to be fettered than helped 
 by conventional standards, and that individuality 
 should be given free play in order to attain brilliant 
 results. Yet though this principle was reverenced 
 at first in the employment of nurses for the hos 
 pital, progress, that stern derider even of the 
 American woman, gradually set it at naught dur 
 ing the period when Mrs. Lyons was resident in 
 Washington and unable to give that close personal 
 attention to the affairs of the institution which she 
 desired. It so happened that after her husband s 
 defeat at the end of his first term through the hos 
 tility of Horace Elton, one of the financial mag 
 nates of that section of the country, who harbored 
 a grudge against him for alleged duplicity when 
 Governor, the President of the United States 
 threw a sop to the defeated candidate in the form 
 of the Spanish mission. Selma, who was still en 
 gaged in the effort to chastise her enemies and to 
 reestablish what she regarded as true American 
 social principles, was sorry to leave Washington, 
 but she found some consolation in the thought of 
 
 277 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 introducing American ethical standards at a for 
 eign court, especially of dealing a death-blow to 
 bull-fights by her personal influence. She was 
 obliged, however, to relax considerably her vigi 
 lance in regard to the hospital; even to consent to 
 an enlargement of the board of trustees. This 
 in its new form presently adopted what the mem 
 bers regarded as modern methods. Mrs. Wilson 
 had been one of the recent additions to the body. 
 Yet, under her regimen, though every applicant 
 for a nurse s diploma was obliged to serve a rigor 
 ous apprenticeship of two years at the hospital, the 
 idea of scrutinizing the antecedents and previous 
 education of the young women offering themselves 
 was still novel. Selma would have regarded an 
 inquiry of this kind as aristocratic and hostile to 
 the free development of the individual. Now 
 but a few years later such a system of scrutiny 
 is in vogue in Benham; but at the date of Loretta 
 Davis s admittance to the Silas S. Parsons Free 
 Hospital, though it doubtless occurred to Mrs. 
 Wilson that her candidate was not ideal, she had 
 not demurred. On the contrary, she had wel 
 comed the opportunity of giving the girl a chance 
 to redeem herself in this field of usefulness. 
 
 Similarly, though Constance might not have 
 picked out her neighbor for this particular service, 
 she felt only thankfulness that Loretta was disen 
 gaged, and that they were able to betake them 
 selves at once to Mrs. Perry s bedside. The old 
 dame employed to look after the baby in Loretta s 
 absence was still available. Constance waked her, 
 and requested her to keep an eye on her own chil 
 dren in case she were away all night. After their 
 
 278 
 

 THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 arrival at their destination, however, it was soon 
 clear to Constance that there was nothing she could 
 do. Mrs. Perry had not regained consciousness, 
 and the physician in attendance was non-committal 
 as to the outcome. So Gordon informed them 
 briefly, and Constance was left in the library to 
 her own reflections while he showed Loretta to 
 her post. She was not sorry that she had come; 
 but much as she wished to remain, plainly she 
 would be in the way. Loretta was trained, and 
 was the proper person to be in the sick-room. Yet 
 she would not go until Mr. Perry returned. He 
 might have instructions for the morrow concerning 
 the changes in his plans consequent upon his; 
 mother s illness. Besides, she wished to express 
 more specifically her desire to be of any possible 
 service. 
 
 Gordon returned before long. He put out his 
 hand as though they had not met already. "I 
 thank you heartily for your message of sympathy/ 
 he said. 
 
 "There is no change?" 
 
 "None. It is the beginning of the end." 
 
 "Yet " 
 
 "Oh, yes, she may recover, thanks to the tire 
 less methods of modern science; but what would 
 the only possible recovery mean to a woman like 
 her? Merely durance vile. No one s natural 
 impulse, of course, is to hold on to one we love 
 to delay the parting at any price. The doctors 
 must have their way. But when I allow myself 
 to think, I know it would be best for her not to 
 wake again. She would prefer it. You know 
 that." 
 
 279 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Yes, she would prefer it," Constance mur 
 mured. "I must not keep you from her," she 
 added. 
 
 "Please stay a little. I can do nothing. It hurts 
 me to see her so unlike herself, though the doctor 
 says she is not suffering." He glanced at the clock 
 apprehensively. "It is getting late, I know; but 
 you must not go quite yet. I will telephone for a 
 carriage presently. I must give you directions as 
 to what to do at the office to-morrow in case I 
 should not be there." Then, as though he divined 
 what was in her thoughts, he said, "I was glad 
 when I knew you were coming. I said to myself, 
 if my mother should recover consciousness, the 
 sight of Constance at her bedside would do her 
 more good than any medicine. 
 
 He had never before employed her Christian 
 name in her presence. The use of it now seemed 
 to her to put a seal upon the bond of their friend 
 ship. He was become, indeed, a wise older brother 
 whom it delighted her to serve. 
 
 "But you will come to-morrow?" he said. 
 
 "If I may. I should like to be near her. I 
 hate to feel helpless where she is concerned." 
 
 "We are both helpless. What a mother she has 
 been to me ! I owe everything to her. Truth has 
 been her divinity, truth truth and she has had 
 the courage to live up to what she believed." He 
 paused. Evidently his spirit quailed before the 
 impending future. "And now she is slipping away 
 from me. The common destiny. But she is my 
 mother. I wonder where she is going what is to 
 become of all that energy and clear-headedness. 
 Modern science tells us that force never perishes. 
 
 280 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 [t is as difficult to imagine my mother s individual- 
 ty at an end as it is to convince one s self in the 
 Dresence of death that the grave is not master." 
 He sighed and turned to hide a tear. 
 
 " I know not where His islands lift 
 
 Their fronded palms in air, 
 I only know I cannot drift 
 Beyond His love and care." 
 
 The lines rose to Constance s lips and she re 
 peated them. They were not symbolic of her 
 church ; rather they were a text from the universal 
 hope of mankind. She felt instinctively that any 
 more orthodox definition would have jarred upon 
 fhim. 
 
 "Thank you," he said, softly. "It is so easy 
 in this age of conscientious investigation to reject 
 everything which will not bear the test of human 
 reason. Death is no greater a mystery than birth. 
 We know not whence we came, nor whither we go. 
 ?But when the world ceases to believe that there is 
 some answer to it all worthy of our aspirations, it 
 ; will be time for this planet to become a frozen 
 pole again. You women are apt to bear that in 
 mind more faithfully than we," he added, lifting 
 his eyes to hers. "Come," he said, "we must not 
 forget to-morrow; you have work to do. I must 
 not be selfish." 
 
 A few minutes later he put her in a carriage. 
 
 In the morning Constance, imbued with his speech, 
 
 ihalf hoped that she might hear that Mrs. Perry 
 
 was dead. But Gordon appeared at the office 
 
 about ten o clock, announcing that the night had 
 
 281 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 brought a change for the better. His mother had 
 smiled at him recognizingly, and faintly pressed 
 his hand. Though she was unable to speak, the 
 doctor had encouraged him to believe that she 
 would do so. Constance perceived that he was in 
 better spirits, showing that, despite his words, he 
 was rejoicing that the parting had been delayed. 
 
 The improvement in Mrs. Perry s condition 
 continued for nearly three weeks. One side of her 
 body was completely paralyzed, but she regained 
 presently the power to utter a few occasional 
 words, though her enunciation was difficult to un 
 derstand. At the end of the fourth day from her 
 seizure she was permitted to see Constance for a 
 few minutes. Soon after daily visits increasing 
 gradually in length were sanctioned, and Con 
 stance, after her duties at the office were over, 
 was enabled to spend an hour or more at the bed 
 side of her friend before returning to her own 
 home. This was an agreeable arrangement to 
 Loretta, for it gave that young woman a breath 
 ing spell the opportunity to take the fresh air 
 or to do whatever she pleased. Mrs. Perry evi 
 dently delighted in Constance s attendance. She 
 listened to reading with satisfaction for a time, 
 but later it seemed to suit her better to lie quietly, 
 her unmaimed hand resting in or near one of Con 
 stance s, while the latter now and then broke the 
 twilight silence by recounting the news of the day. 
 "I like the sound of your voice, my dear," she said 
 to Constance. "It is refreshing and musical as a 
 brook." Occasionally Gordon joined them, but 
 he would never permit Constance to relinquish her 
 seat beside the bed in his favor. 
 
 282 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "My turn comes later," he said. "I tuck my 
 liother up for the night." 
 
 Mrs. Perry seemed to enjoy especially the days 
 
 7hen they were there together. She would turn 
 
 ler eyes from one to the other as though she de- 
 
 ighted in them equally. But only once did she 
 
 nake any reference to what may have been in her 
 
 noughts concerning their joint presence. It was 
 
 lin the third week of her illness, and what she said 
 
 [vas spoken low to Constance, though evidently 
 
 >ntendecl to be audible to them both. 
 
 "You must take good care of him, dear, when 
 . am gone." 
 
 It was one of her best days as regards articula- 
 |ion, so there was no room for misunderstanding. 
 The words were harmless enough and Constance 
 :ook them in the only sense in which they were 
 ipplicable. 
 
 "I shall stay with him as long as he will keep 
 Tie, you may rely on that, Mrs. Perry," she re- 
 jponded, brightly. 
 
 A pleasant smile came over the old lady s face 
 and she looked in the direction of her son. Her 
 mouth twitched. "Do you hear what she says, 
 Gordon?" There was a humorous twinkle in her 
 voice, which doubtless was not lost on him. His 
 back was to the light, so that he had the advantage 
 of shadow to cover his mental processes. 
 
 "I regard it as impossible that Constance and 
 I should ever drift apart," he said. 
 
 His sphinx-like reply seemed to be reassuring 
 to the invalid. She lay like one serenely satisfied, 
 and did not pursue the subject further. As for 
 Constance, she noticed the use by Mr. Perry of 
 
 283 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 her Christian name again, but it seemed to her only 
 fitting and friendly. She did not need his assurance 
 to feel that they were not likely to drift apart, but 
 it was delightful to hear it from his lips. 
 
 When Mrs. Perry s seeming convalescence had 
 reached a stage at which the doctor was on the 
 point of sending her out to drive, a second attack 
 of her malady occurred and brought the end. She 
 became unconscious at once, and passed away 
 within a few hours. On the afternoon after the 
 funeral Constance returned to the house with 
 Loretta in order that the latter might collect and 
 bring away her belongings. Gordon was closeted 
 in his library alone with his sorrow, and the two 
 women moving noiselessly through the silent house 
 made but a brief stay. While they were on their 
 way to Lincoln Chambers a newsboy entered the 
 street-car crying the evening papers. Loretta hav 
 ing bought one made an ejaculation. Absorbed in 
 what she had discovered, she paid no heed at first 
 to Constance s glance of interrogation, but read 
 with an avidity which seemed breathless. Then 
 she thrust the sheet under her companion s eyes, 
 and pointing to a column bristling with large head 
 lines, exclaimed : 
 
 "Here it is at last; a full account of the divorce 
 proceedings with their pictures, and a picture of 
 her. It s a worse affair than anyone imagined. 
 It says Paul Howard and his wife are mixed up 
 in it, and there s something about a pistol going 
 off at Newport. I haven t read it all yet. But 
 look look!" 
 
 Loretta s demeanor suggested not merely ex 
 citement, but a sort of saturnine glee, so that Con- 
 
 284 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 tance turned from the printed page toward her as 
 i hough seeking to fathom its cause, then back to 
 he newspaper, the capitals of which told their 
 ensational story with flaring offensiveness. 
 
 "I won t read it now, Loretta. I ll wait until 
 ye get home. What a cruel shame it is that the 
 )ress has got hold of it." 
 
 Loretta gave a questioning jerk to her shoul- 
 lers. "I don t know about that. I knew she 
 ! vouldn t be able to hush it up. How could she 
 expect to? Besides " She did not finish her 
 jentence. Instead, she wagged her head, as one 
 1-n possession of a secret and grinned knowingly. 
 Til tell you something, some day. But not now 
 not now." Then she reassumed control of the 
 hiewspaper, saying, "Well, if you don t care to 
 read it, I do. There are three columns." She 
 uttered the last words as though she were announc 
 ing treasure-trove. 
 
 But the ellipsis had left no doubt as to her atti 
 tude, which led Constance to remark on the spur 
 of the moment, "Neither of us would like to have 
 our misfortunes paraded before the world. I 
 know what it means; how it cuts and stings." 
 
 Loretta looked up admiringly. "When your 
 husband ran away?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And your picture appeared?" 
 "No, not that, thank heavens!" 
 Loretta laughed indulgently. "You re queer, 
 Constance. You re so scared of publicity. I 
 shouldn t mind a bit having my picture in the pa 
 pers. What s more, I don t believe she does. This 
 divorce had to come out, sooner or later. I 
 
 285 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 shouldn t wonder in the least," she added, boldly, 
 "if she lets the reporters know when she has a new 
 photograph taken. By the way, I went to see her." 
 
 Constance knew at once what she meant, and 
 the dismay and curiosity inspired by the announce 
 ment rose paramount to her other feelings of pro 
 test. 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "It surprises you, doesn t it? I went on two 
 of those afternoons when you sat with Mrs. Perry. 
 And I saw her, too. The first time the butler said 
 she was engaged. He tried to shunt me off the 
 same way again, but I was too smart for him. 
 Tell her Loretta Davis is very anxious to talk 
 with her on business, I said, and the message 
 came back that she d be down presently. Between 
 my baby and my nurse s work it wasn t hard to 
 find the business, and then I told her plump I was 
 sorry to hear about her daughter. At that she col 
 ored up you ought to have seen her, and looked 
 as though she had swallowed a steel rod. Said 
 she, I appreciate your desire to be sympathetic, 
 Loretta, but that is a subject I cannot discuss with 
 anyone, please.* Loretta spoke mincingly, evi 
 dently aiming to reproduce Mrs. Wilson s ex- 
 quisiteness of manner and speech. "Said I, I 
 thought it might make you feel better to talk it 
 over with someone. It would me, I know. But 
 it wasn t any use. She wouldn t, and she sort of 
 froze me ; and pretty soon we both got up, I to go, 
 and she to have me go. However, now it s all out, 
 and everyone will be talking about it." 
 
 "But not with her. I warned you that she 
 wouldn t like it." 
 
 286 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Yes, you warned me. And I don t mind say 
 ing I think she needn t have been so stiff, seeing I 
 told her everything when I was in trouble. Any 
 how, I saw the house again and her, and now 
 there s a new picture of her in the paper, and the 
 thing is going to make a big sensation, if what s 
 printed here is true, and I guess it is." She nod 
 ded her head with a repetition of her air of mys 
 tery. "There are the facts you said we ought to 
 wait for." 
 
 "But you seem almost glad," Constance could 
 not refrain from remarking. "You stated you 
 went to see Mrs. Wilson because you were sorry 
 for her." 
 
 "So I did; so I am. I m dreadfully sorry for 
 her. I d do anything to help her, but I can t; and 
 she won t let me show my sympathy. But since 
 the thing has happened, I m glad it s exciting." 
 
 Constance looked puzzled. "I don t think I 
 understand." 
 
 "I enjoy sensations, and big head-lines. They 
 tone me up. You re different, I guess." A sud 
 den thought seemed to occur to her, for she re 
 garded Constance for a moment as a doctor might 
 look at a patient, then she thrust her hand into 
 the pocket of her jacket and produced a small 
 bottle which contained white tablets. "When 
 I feel low in my mind done up I take one 
 of these." 
 
 "What are they?" 
 
 "Something a friend of mine at the hospital 
 recommended. They do the work." While de 
 livering this not altogether candid response, Lor- 
 etta unscrewed the stopper and emptying a tablet 
 
 287 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 on to her palm swallowed it, then offered the 
 bottle to her companion. "Have one?" 
 
 Constance shook her head. 
 
 "Well, the next time you feel fagged, ask me 
 for one." An instant later she sprang to her feet, 
 exclaiming, "Why, here we are! We ought to 
 get out." 
 
 It was even so. The interest of their conversa 
 tion had been such that they had neglected to no 
 tice the flight of time or to observe where they 
 were. As the car was virtually at the point where 
 they wished it to stop, Loretta hurried toward the 
 door, signalling to the conductor as she did so; 
 but she failed to catch his eye, for he happened to 
 be absorbed by an organ-grinder on the other side 
 of the car from that on which they were to get 
 off. The car was moving slowly, and, though she 
 had her hand-bag, it was a simple matter to spring 
 to the ground without further ado. She did so 
 successfully, landing a few feet beyond the cross 
 ing. Constance, who was following close behind, 
 heard the voice of the conductor, "Wait, lady, 
 until the car stops," and the jingle of the bell, but 
 she disdained to heed it. She jumped lightly, but , 
 somehow the heel of her boot caught on the edge 
 of the platform or she slipped. At all events her 
 impetus was thwarted, and instead of landing on, 
 her feet, she pitched forward, striking her fore 
 head on the pavement. 
 
 288 
 
XVIII 
 
 WHEN Constance came to herself she was in 
 her own bed. It appeared that she had 
 been carried insensible into a drug store, and 
 thence to Lincoln Chambers, which were close at 
 hand. A doctor presently restored her to con 
 sciousness, but he gave imperative instructions that 
 she was to be kept absolutely quiet or he would 
 not answer for the consequences of the nervous 
 shock. It was the second day before her counte 
 nance expressed recognition of Mrs. Harrity, the 
 pensioner who looked after the children, and who 
 sat sewing at her bedside. Even then her senses 
 shrank from every effort, and having learned by 
 a question or two that she had fallen, and that the 
 children were well, she lapsed into a comatose 
 state. When she emerged from this she was very 
 weak, but her mind was clear. She could not bear 
 the light, however. Her eyes burned with a sting 
 ing pain whenever they encountered it, and she 
 was forced to submit to the physician s orders that 
 she remain in a dark room for a week. 
 
 Her first inquiry after her mind was able to 
 focus itself was whether word had been sent to the 
 office. She was told that Loretta had done this 
 by telephone; that Mr. Perry had called prompt 
 ly, and that the roses on the table were from him. 
 Mrs. Harrity seemed proud of the visit and the 
 gift. 
 
 289 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "He told me to say you weren t to worry, and 
 to take all the time you need to get well. He s 
 a pleasant-spoken gentleman, Mrs. Stuart, and 
 wanted to know everything the doctor had said." 
 
 Mrs. Harrity was proud also of the fact that 
 Loretta had been summoned to attend a new pa 
 tient. She was proudest of all of a piece of intel 
 ligence, or rather prophecy, which Loretta had let 
 fall the day after the accident, which she hastened 
 to impart to Constance the first moment the latter 
 appeared able to take it in. 
 
 "She says as how you ought to get big damages 
 from the railroad." 
 
 "But I m not much hurt, am I?" asked Con 
 stance. 
 
 The dame perceived that she had not lived up 
 to the doctor s orders. Yet now she could con 
 scientiously relieve her patient s natural solicitude. 
 
 "Mercy, no. You ve broken nothing. You re 
 only shook up. And it hasn t hurt your good looks 
 a mite. But," she added, still conscientious, "the 
 doctor says it s your nerves, and nerves are most 
 as good as bones before a jury, especially if one 
 has a smart lawyer handy as you have." 
 
 Constance sat up in bed. Instead of being a 
 comfort, as was intended, the broad hint distressed 
 her. 
 
 "I don t wish any damages. It was my own 
 fault. I jumped before the car stopped. It was 
 very silly. I only want to get well." 
 
 The dread of a tedious convalescence was al 
 ready haunting her reviving faculties. Her 
 absence from the office would be very inconvenient 
 to Mr. Perry, and confinement at home for more 
 
 290 
 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 than a few days would prove a disastrous inroad 
 
 *on her resources. She must hasten to recover. 
 Meantime Mrs. Harrity was looking blank at 
 
 ithe reception accorded to what she had supposed 
 would be a nerve tonic to the sufferer. She replied 
 stanchly : 
 
 "She says different. She s ready to go on the 
 stand and swear against the company. You re all 
 
 i right, darling. Smell them flowers, and lie down 
 
 ; like a good girl. The doctor says you must keep 
 still and not talk." So saying, she pushed a little 
 nearer the vase of roses, one of which Constance 
 
 -had reached with her outstretched hand in the 
 dark. Constance s impulse had been to detach it 
 
 ifrom its fellows so as to enjoy its fragrance at 
 close range. But the larger opportunity afforded 
 
 her, or else the jogging of her purpose, changed 
 her mind. She bent forward and burying her face 
 in the cool rose leaves inhaled their rich perfume. 
 "It was very kind of him to send them," she 
 murmured, as though in monologue. Then appre 
 ciating for the first time her weakness she sank 
 back upon her pillow. She said to herself that he 
 Was such a friend that he would make the best of 
 her absence for a week and by the end of that time 
 
 I she would be herself again. But what a fool she 
 
 ! had been to jump; to take such a risk, she a grown 
 woman with children! She ought to have known 
 
 i better; she was getting middle-aged, and she must 
 be more staid. Still it was some consolation to 
 
 1 know she had not broken her nose. 
 
 A note received from Mr. Perry twenty-four 
 hours later and read to her by her little daughter 
 
 ! reassured her as to his indulgence in respect to 
 
 291 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 her absence. All her interest now became centred 
 on a rapid recovery, and she made sundry attempts 
 to bring the doctor to book as to the date when 
 she would be able to resume work again, which he 
 smilingly evaded. She was conscious, however, of 
 increasing bodily vigor, which was comforting. 
 The inability of her eyes to endure the light was 
 her chief discomfort, a condition which her phy 
 sician appeared to her to ignore, until he arrived 
 one morning with a brother practitioner, who 
 proved to be an oculist, and who had brought with 
 him some of the apparatus of his specialty for the 
 purpose of a diagnosis. Constance could not bear 
 the sphinx-like urbanities which followed the ex 
 amination. She felt possessed by a desire to have 
 the exact condition of affairs revealed to her. She 
 lifted her head, and addressing her own doctor, 
 said: 
 
 "I should like to know the truth, please. Do 
 not conceal anything. It will be much worse for 
 me to find out later that something has been kept 
 back." 
 
 The family physician looked at the specialist as 
 much as to say that he proposed to throw the bur 
 den on him, but he answered, "So far as your gen 
 eral physical condition is concerned, you are prac 
 tically well, Mrs. Stuart. All the brain symptoms 
 have disappeared, and there are no lesions of any 
 kind. It is now simply a question of nerves and 
 your eyes. Dr. Dale can speak more authorita 
 tively about the latter." 
 
 Dr. Dale, the oculist, a man in the prime of 
 life, with precise methods and a closely cut Van 
 Dyke beard, hesitated briefly, as though he were 
 
 292 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 analyzing his patient, then said with courteous in- 
 cisiveness "It is a question of nerves, as Dr. 
 Baldwin has explained. The nerves affected in 
 your case are those of the eyes. Since you have 
 expressed a wish to know the exact state of affairs, 
 I take you at your word, Mrs. Stuart. I agree 
 with you that it is more satisfactory to know the 
 truth, and I am glad to be able to assure you that 
 by the end of six months, if you give your eyes 
 entire rest, their weakness will be cured, and you 
 will be able to use them as freely as before." 
 
 He had rather the air of conferring a benefit 
 than of pronouncing a sentence, and Constance re 
 ceived his statement in that spirit. 
 
 "Thank you," she said. "I will be as careful 
 as I can." 
 
 "The condition of your cure," the specialist con 
 tinued with polite relentlessness, "is that you 
 abstain from using them altogether." 
 
 Constance experienced a thrill of concern. 
 "Which means?" 
 
 "It means, Mrs. Stuart, that you must not sew, 
 read, write, or undertake any form of application 
 where the eyes are a factor." 
 
 She could not believe her ears. "I am a clerk 
 in a law-office. My employment is stenography 
 and type-writing," she said, tentatively. 
 
 He nodded. Evidently he had been informed. 
 "It will be impossible for you to continue it." 
 
 "But I must. I must do my work. My chil 
 dren are dependent on it." Her tone suggested 
 that there could be no answer to such a plea. 
 
 "You cannot. If you do, you will become blind. 
 I am very sorry for you." 
 
 293 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 The truth was out. She lay dum founded. 
 "Blind? Blind?" she echoed. 
 
 "But there is not the least danger of your be 
 coming blind if you obey my instructions. You 
 will be entirely cured, as I have said." 
 
 There was a painful silence. Her sentence was 
 too appalling to grasp. There must be some es 
 cape from it. "Six months? Half a year?" 
 
 "Knowing your necessities, I have given you 
 the shortest period that I dared consistent with per 
 fect recovery. You will have to wear colored 
 glasses at first," he continued, seeking a business 
 like basis, "and accustom yourself to do without 
 them by degrees. I will bring them to-morrow. " 
 
 She leaned back on her pillow bewildered. The 
 trickling of a tear into her mouth reminded her 
 that she could not afford to cry, though but for 
 the presence of the doctors she knew that she 
 would have burst into sobs. Her plight demanded 
 thought, not sorrow. But what could she do? 
 What, indeed ? Yet, even as she asked herself the 
 dreadful question, she began to nerve herself not 
 only against breaking down at the moment, but 
 against the threat of the future. She would keep 
 a stiff upper lip in the teeth of all the odds, and 
 be able to manage somehow. As thus she rea 
 soned, swallowing the salt of her single moment 
 of weakness, she heard Dr. Baldwin saying : 
 
 "You have had a very fortunate escape, all 
 things considered. It might have been much 
 worse. You might have disfigured yourself per 
 manently, which for you," he added with a gal 
 lant bow, "would have been a serious matter, in 
 deed. As it is, you will be able to do even thing 
 
 294 
 

 THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 as formerly in another week, except use your eyes. 
 Your friends will look after you, Mrs. Stuart, and 
 six months will pass much more quickly than you 
 expect." 
 
 "I don t suppose they ll let me starve," she 
 found herself saying, though the notion of a re 
 turn to alms almost strangled her effort at buoy 
 ancy, so that the sprightliness of her tone com 
 peted with the water in her eyes, as the sun 
 struggles with the rain-pour just before it clears 
 up. But she remembered that the room was dark, 
 and that they could not see her tears. "Wasn t I 
 a fool to jump off that car?" 
 
 "You were unlucky, that s all. You mustn t be 
 too hard on yourself. It is the privilege of the 
 young to jump, and you will jump again." It was 
 Dr. Dale who spoke. His enunciation imparted a 
 cleansing value to his note of sympathy, just as it 
 had ruthlessly epitomized her tragedy a few min 
 utes before. 
 
 "But I am not young; that is the folly of it," 
 she protested. 
 
 The oculist smiled. "Excuse me if I differ with 
 you," said he. "You have the best years of your 
 life before you." 
 
 They left her under the spell of this assertion, 
 which lingered in her mind on account of its ab 
 surdity, until in sheer self-defence she said to her 
 self under her breath that she was only thirty-one. 
 The best years of her life ! And yet he knew that 
 she was to be deprived during half of one of them 
 of the joy of seeing and the source of her liveli 
 hood. What could he mean? 
 
 In taking his departure, Dr. Baldwin, by way 
 295 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 of showing his friendliness, had volunteered to 
 write to her employer. "I know Mr. Perry," he 
 said, "and I will explain to him the situation. Per 
 haps he will be able to keep your place for you." 
 
 Constance had interposed no objection. It 
 would obviate the necessity of an elaborate expla 
 nation on her part, and would, moreover, be a 
 guaranty of her later usefulness. The future 
 would take care of itself; it was the present which 
 stared her in the face and demanded an immediate 
 answer. 
 
 One solution of her quandary was offered to her 
 a few days later. Dr. Baldwin had given her per 
 mission to get up and resume her ordinary house 
 hold duties as soon as her glasses arrived, which 
 proved to be the next morning, as the oculist had 
 promised. Consequently, she dressed herself and 
 sat with her children in the parlor that afternoon, 
 and on the following day rose, bent on facing the 
 new problem of existence with a clear brain and 
 resigned spirit. If Mr. Perry would save her place 
 for her, so much the better. But obviously there 
 was nothing for her to do in the office until she 
 was cured. She must, either through her own 
 energies or the advice of others, discover some em 
 ployment compatible with her infirmity. She 
 might have to accept help at first, for the money 
 she had on hand would be needed to pay the bills 
 of the two physicians, which would necessarily be 
 considerable; but with the aid of her friends she 
 would surely be able to find some handiwork which 
 would yield her enough to keep her treasures well 
 fed and decently clothed. Humiliating as it 
 would be to have recourse to others, it was clearly 
 
 296 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 her duty to inform her friends of her predicament, 
 and invite their counsel. They would only thank 
 her, she knew, and she certainly was fortunate in 
 having three persons, to whom she felt at liberty 
 to apply, so pleasantly interested in her welfare 
 as her employer, Mrs. Wilson, and the Reverend 
 George Prentiss. Mr. Perry was to be made 
 aware of what had befallen her, without further 
 action on her part ; but she would write to the two 
 others, and soon, for the thought was harassing 
 her that her employer, in a spirit of benevolence, 
 might try to invent duties for her at the office, and 
 give her some sinecure in order that she might re 
 tain her salary. This would be galling to her self- 
 respect, and was not to be entertained for a mo 
 ment. As the possibility of it grew upon her she 
 became quite agitated; so much so that in the hope 
 of heading off any such attempt by him, she dic 
 tated to her daughter, that afternoon, letters to 
 Mrs. Wilson and the clergyman, informing them 
 briefly what had occurred. 
 
 Just after the little girl had returned from put 
 ting these in the letter-box, and Constance was 
 musing over a cup of tea, a messenger with a note 
 arrived. It was from Gordon Perry, and read by 
 Henrietta it ran as follows : Might he not call that 
 evening? He had the doctor s permission to do 
 so; and she was to send a simple "Yes" or "No" 
 by the bearer. Now for it, she thought; he was 
 coming to overwhelm her with his cunning schemes 
 for continuing her salary. Her first impulse was 
 to protect herself by delay; to ask him to wait a 
 day or two until she felt stronger. But this would 
 be a subterfuge, and, excepting that she dreaded 
 
 297 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 his philanthropy, she yearned to see him. He 
 would put her in touch with the world again, 
 from which she had been shut off too long. "No" 
 trembled on her lips, but the fear of hurting his 
 feelings occurred to her in the nick of time as a 
 counterbalance to her dread of being pauperized by 
 him, and her natural inclinations found utterance. 
 
 "Tell Mr. Perry, yes," she answered, and her 
 spirits rose from that moment, though she resolved 
 to be as firm as a rock on the threatened issue. She 
 ascribed his coming in the evening rather than the 
 afternoon to his being busy at the office, and as she 
 put the children to bed she reflected that it would 
 be pleasant to have an uninterrupted visit. She 
 made her toilette as best she could with Mrs. Har- 
 rity s aid, and she inwardly rejoiced again that she 
 had not broken her nose. 
 
 Gordon arrived about half-past eight. The 
 cheer which his manner expressed did not detract 
 from its sympathy. It seemed to say that he rec 
 ognized and deplored her misfortune, but took for 
 granted her preference to face it smilingly, and 
 not to waste time in superfluous lamentation. At 
 the same time, she could not but notice his eager 
 solicitude and the ardor of his bearing, which was 
 slightly disconcerting. Yet he made her tell him 
 the details of the accident, listening with the ear 
 of a lawyer. At the close his brow clouded slightly 
 as though her story failed to coincide with his pre 
 possessions. 
 
 "You see I haven t any case, have I?" she said, 
 divining what was passing in his mind. She cher 
 ished a half hope that his cleverness might still 
 extract a just cause of action from her delinquency. 
 
 298 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Not on your evidence. " 
 
 "So I supposed. Those are the real facts. I 
 jumped before the car stopped, though the con 
 ductor warned me, and I heard the bell." 
 
 "That settles it; contributory negligence. But 
 the trained nurse who was with you tells a differ 
 ent story." 
 
 "Loretta has been to see you?" 
 
 "Yes. She came ostensibly for her pay night be 
 fore last. But she seemed very anxious to testify 
 in court in your favor. She says the conductor 
 wasn t looking at first, and that he pushed you off 
 the car just as you were jumping." 
 
 Constance shook her head. "She is entirely 
 mistaken as to the last part." 
 
 "There is nothing to be said. It struck me that 
 Miss Davis, unlike most women, enjoyed the pros 
 pect of being a witness. It was a great event to 
 her, and she would be able to do you a good turn." 
 He sat for a moment pondering this diagnosis, 
 then with a start, as though he had been surprised 
 in a trivial occupation, exclaimed: 
 
 "But what does it matter whether you can get 
 paltry damages or not? I did not come here to 
 consider that. I came to talk with you about your 
 future." 
 
 He spoke the last words with a tender cadence 
 which was partly lost on Constance, for she sprang 
 to the conclusion that the moment for her to dis 
 play firmness had arrived, and that he was about 
 to broach a scheme for retaining her in his em 
 ployment. 
 
 "I must find some other occupation for the next 
 six months, of course. I am forbidden to use my 
 
 299 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 eyes for any purpose. I have written to Mrs. Wil 
 son and my rector, thinking they may know of 
 some opening or vacancy where I could work with 
 my hands or do errands until my eyes are well." 
 Then noticing the curious smile with which he re 
 ceived this rather impetuous announcement, and 
 apprehensive lest he might be hurt by her avowed 
 reliance on others, she added: "And you, too, must 
 be on the lookout for me. You may hear of some 
 thing which would suit me." 
 
 u As for that, do you suppose that because your 
 service to me is interrupted I would not stand in 
 the breach? That I would not insist on continuing 
 your salary until you were able to return to your 
 post?" 
 
 "I knew it would be just like you to wish to," 
 she said, quickly, "but I could not possibly allow 
 it. That s why I wrote to Mrs. Wilson and Mr. 
 Prentiss," she added, not averse to having him 
 know the real reason now that it could serve her as 
 a shield. 
 
 Her naive admission was evidently an agree 
 able piece of intelligence. "I took for granted 
 that your salary would continue. That was a mat 
 ter I did not have in mind in the least." 
 
 "It can t, I assure you." 
 
 He appeared entertained by her adamantine air. 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "It isn t an absence of a week or two," she said, 
 trying to show herself reasonable. "It will be six 
 months before I am able to work again." 
 
 "A whole six months?" 
 
 She met the mockery in his tone with quiet de 
 termination. "I could not allow anyone to sup- 
 
 300 
 

 THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 port me for that period. Do you not see that I 
 must find something to do in order to remain 
 happy?" 
 
 Happy? You do not consider my side. Do 
 you not see that a haggling calendar account of 
 weeks and months is not applicable to such service 
 as you render me? How would the satisfaction of 
 saving the modest sum I pay you compare with 
 that I should derive from enabling you to get well 
 as rapidly as possible, untormented by painful 
 necessities?" 
 
 There was a strange gleam in his eyes. She 
 looked at him wonderingly. His rhetoric troubled 
 her, and by dint of it he had managed to make her 
 scruples seem ungenerous. But she was uncon 
 vinced. 
 
 "You would be obliged to pay someone else," 
 she replied with cruel practicality. 
 
 "Enough of this," he said, impetuously. "It 
 is absurd. I have something very different at 
 heart. When I spoke of your future just now, 
 Constance, it was to tell you that I have come here, 
 to-night, to ask you to be my wife to say to you 
 that I love you devotedly and cannot live with 
 out you. This is my errand. It is not friendship 
 I offer, it is not pity, it is not esteem for your 
 gentle, strong soul, it is passionate human 
 love." 
 
 He paused and there was profound silence in 
 the darkened room where they could scarcely see 
 each other s faces. Constance trembled like a 
 leaf. In a moment the whole card-board house of 
 sisterly affection fell about her ears, and she knew 
 the truth. These were the sweetest words she had 
 
 301 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 ever listened to, though they stabbed her like a 
 knife. "Oh!" she whispered, "Oh!" 
 
 "Is it such a surprise, Constance?" he mur 
 mured, ascribing her accents of dismay to that 
 source. "You must have known you were very 
 dear to me." 
 
 The dimness gave her time to consider how she 
 should deal with this startling certainty, the music 
 of which was dancing in her brain. The meaning 
 of his devotion was now so clear. Yet she had 
 never guessed either his purpose or the secret of 
 her own disconcerting heart-beats. 
 
 "I knew you were fond of me, but it never oc 
 curred to me that you could think of me as a wife." 
 
 "Why not? You are beautiful and charming as 
 well as sweet and wise, and I adore you." 
 
 "I liked to feel that we should go on being dear 
 friends for the rest of our lives," she answered, 
 tingling with the thrill which this avowal caused 
 her. 
 
 From the tremor of her speech he was em 
 boldened to regard the sigh which followed this 
 simple voicing of the exact truth as an ellipsis 
 hiding a precious secret. 
 
 "Then you love me, Constance?" 
 
 Whatever happened, why should he not know? 
 Why should she deny herself that ecstasy? 
 
 "Oh, yes, Gordon, I love you dearly." 
 
 "And you will be my wife?" 
 
 "How can I, Gordon? You know I must not." 
 There was gentle pleading in her tone and a tinge 
 of renunciating sadness. 
 
 "I mean presently. As soon as you obtain a 
 divorce?" 302 
 

 THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 The ugly word brought back reality. "Oh, no, 
 we must put it from us. It is a delightful vision, 
 but we must dismiss it forever." 
 
 "Why?" he asked, with the resonance of vig 
 orous manhood. 
 
 "Because it would be an offence." 
 
 "Against what?" 
 
 "The eternal fitness of things." This phrase of 
 Mrs. Wilson s rose to her lips again as a shib 
 boleth. "I have made my mistake," she mur 
 mured. "I must suffer the penalty of it." 
 
 "Never!" he ejaculated. "It would be mon 
 strous monstrous. 
 
 There was a momentary silence. While he 
 gazed at her ardently he was seeking command of 
 himself so as to plead his cause with discriminating 
 lucidity. To her darkened sight imagination 
 pictured a swift river of fire flowing between them, 
 across which they could touch their finger-tips, but 
 no more. 
 
 "Do not think," he said, "that I have not con 
 sidered this question from your side. It has been 
 in my thoughts night and day for months. The 
 idea of divorce is repugnant to you though you 
 have ceased to love the husband who deeply 
 wronged you. You shrink even more from mar 
 rying again because your children s father is still 
 alive. If he were dead, the bar would be removed, 
 and you would not hesitate. I appeal to your com 
 mon sense, Constance. What sound reason is there 
 why you should sacrifice your happiness the hap 
 piness of us both?" 
 
 "It is not a question of common sense is it?" 
 
 303 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 It was a faltering query which followed the asser 
 tion. "The question is, what is right?" 
 
 "Amen to that!" he cried. "Yes, right, right. 
 And who says it is not right?" 
 
 She had been so sure she would never marry 
 again that she had never sought exact knowledge 
 of her church s attitude in this regard, and yet now 
 she had her fears. She knew that no Roman 
 Catholic could marry again during the life of a 
 divorced husband or wife, except by special dis 
 pensation, and she was aware of the increasing 
 reluctance of the officials of her own church in 
 this country to give the sanction of the marriage 
 service to the remarriage of divorced persons; but 
 she had never examined the church canon on the 
 subject, for she had flattered herself that she would 
 never need to. Discussions of the topic which she 
 had listened to or read had played like lightnings 
 around her oblivious head, but had served merely 
 to intensify her repugnance to the blatant divorces 
 and double-quick marriages, which she had seen 
 heralded from time to time in the daily press, and 
 which had recently been brought home to her with 
 peculiar force by the events in Mrs. Wilson s fam 
 ily circle. Now the flare of the lightning was in 
 her own eyes, and her brain was numb with the 
 emotion of the personal shock. 
 
 "Would Mr. Prentiss marry me to you?" she 
 asked, seeking as usual the vital issue. 
 
 "Your clergyman?" His query was merely to 
 gain time. But he loved directness, too. "Sup 
 pose that he would not, there are plenty of clergy 
 men who would." 
 
 "But he is mv clergyman." 
 
 304 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Gordon moved his chair nearer, and bending 
 forward, took her hand in both of his. 
 
 "Dearest, this question is for you and me to set 
 tle, not for any outsider. It must bear the test of 
 right and wrong, as you say, but I ask you to look 
 at it as an intelligent human being, as the sane, 
 noble-hearted American woman you are. The 
 State the considered law of the community in 
 which we live gives you the right to a divorce 
 and freedom to marry again. Who stands in the 
 way? Your clergyman the representative of 
 your church. The church erects a standard of 
 conduct of its own and asks you to sacrifice your 
 life to it. It is the church against the State 
 against the people. It is superstition and privilege 
 against common sense and justice. I should like 
 to prove to you by arguments how truly this is so." 
 
 "But I would rather not listen to your argu 
 ments now," she interposed. "I am on your side 
 already. My heart is, and I think my common 
 sense." 
 
 His pulses gave a bound. "Then nothing can 
 keep us apart!" he cried, pressing his lips upon 
 her hands and kissing them again and again. "You 
 are mine, we belong to one another. Why should 
 a young and beautiful woman starve her being on 
 such a plea, and reject such happiness as this?" 
 
 She drew her hands gently away, and herself 
 beyond his reach. "Ah, you mustn t. If my 
 church objects, it must have a reason, and I must 
 hear that reason, Gordon. I must consult with 
 Mr. Prentiss with him and others. He is not an 
 outsider. He was my friend and helper in the 
 bitterest hours of my life." 
 
 305 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "He will do his best to take you from me." 
 She shivered. u How do you know?" 
 "He cannot help himself. The canon of the 
 Episcopal Church forbids a clergyman to marry 
 one who has been divorced for any cause except 
 adultery. The Catholic Church goes one step 
 further and forbids altogether the remarriage of 
 divorced persons. It does not recognize divorce. 
 A large number of the clergy of your church are 
 fiercely agitating the adoption of a similar abso 
 lute restriction. The two churches and their at 
 titude has stirred up other denominations are 
 seeking to fasten upon the American conscience an 
 ideal inconsistent with the free development of 
 human society." 
 
 She caught at the phrase. "Yet it is an ideal." 
 Gordon took a long breath. In the ardor of 
 his mental independence he seemed to be seeking 
 some fit word to epitomize his deduction. 
 
 "It is a fetish!" he said, earnestly. "It repre 
 sents the past privilege superstition injustice, 
 as I have already told you." 
 
 "Oh, no," she murmured, "it cannot be simply 
 that. You forget that I am a woman. You do 
 not realize what the church means to me." 
 
 "I remember that you are an American woman." 
 The remark evidently impressed her. She pon 
 dered it briefly before she said, "I am, and I 
 know how much that ought to mean. I wish to 
 be worthy of it." She appeared troubled; then 
 putting her hand to her head she rose, seeking in 
 stinctively an end of the interview. "I must think 
 it over. You must not talk to me any more to 
 night. I did not realize how weak I am." Sud- 
 
 306 
 
 I 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 denly she exclaimed, "Ah, Gordon, you do not 
 understand all! I forsook the church once in the 
 pride of my heart. I wandered among false gods, 
 and it took me back without a word of rebuke for 
 my independence. I must do what is right this 
 time what is really right at any cost." 
 
 As she stood in the shadow, erect and piteous, 
 but with the aspect of spiritual aspiration in her 
 voice and figure, stalwart as he was in his sense of 
 righteousness, he thought of Marguerite in the 
 prison scene when Faust implores her to fly with 
 him. 
 
 "Forgive me," he said, "for having tired and 
 harassed you. It was my love for you that led 
 me on." He spoke with tenderness, and under the 
 spell of his mood dropped on one knee beside her 
 and looked up in her face. 
 
 "You may tell me about that before you go," 
 she whispered, like one spellbound. 
 
 "It is not much to tell except that it means 
 everything to me. It has grown from a tiny seed, 
 little by little, until it has become the harvest and 
 the glory of my manhood. Ah, Constance, we 
 love each other. How much that means. It sets 
 the seal of beauty on this commonplace world. It 
 will transfigure life for both of us." 
 
 She started. "The seal of beauty?" she mur 
 mured, as to herself. "If I were but sure of that! 
 What I fear is lest I mar the beauty of the world, 
 and so sin." 
 
 "It was my mother s hope that we should mar 
 ry," he said, reverting to concrete ground. 
 
 "I think so," she answered, faintly, pressing his 
 hand. 
 
 307 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "And her idea was to do right." 
 
 "I know." 
 
 She sighed, then whispered, "You must go now." 
 
 Rising from his posture beside her he prepared 
 to obey. They stood for an instant, irresolute, 
 then, as by a common impulse, his arms opened 
 and she suffered herself to be clasped in his strong 
 embrace. It seemed to him as he felt her head 
 upon his breast and her nervous, wistful face 
 looked up into his that his happiness was assured. 
 But she was thinking that come what might and 
 she was conscious of a dreadful uncertainty in her 
 heart she would not deny herself this single 
 draught of the cup of happiness. It was a precious, 
 sentient joy to be thought beautiful, and to feel 
 that she was desired for herself alone by this hero 
 of her ripe womanhood. So she let herself go as 
 one who snatches at escaping joy, and their lips 
 met in the full rapture of a lover s kiss. 
 
 308 
 
XIX 
 
 THE news of the tragedy in her daughter s 
 life of the double domestic tragedy, which 
 included her nephew came to Mrs. Wilson as an 
 appalling surprise. She had gathered from the 
 tenor of Lucille s letters that her daughter was not 
 entirely happy; but her appreciation of this was 
 derived rather from what she read between the 
 lines than from actual admissions. It had never en 
 tered her head that there was danger of a rupture 
 between Lucille and her husband until the dreadful 
 truth was disclosed to her by her brother. From 
 him she learned that Paul and his wife had sepa 
 rated and were to be divorced because of the rela 
 tions between Paul s wife and Clarence Waldo. 
 Carleton Howard added that his son had not the 
 heart to tell her himself before his departure for 
 New York, and had delegated him to break the 
 intelligence. 
 
 When the first wholesale mutual commiserations 
 had been exchanged between the brother and sister, 
 Mrs. Wilson realized that she was practically in 
 the dark regarding Lucille. Paul s calamity was 
 so completely the controlling thought in her 
 brother s mind that, though he occasionally de 
 plored the plight in which his niece appeared to be 
 left, he was evidently bent on working his way 
 through the labyrinth of his personal dismay until 
 
 39 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 he could find a clue which would lead his mind to 
 daylight. After various ebullitions of anger and 
 disgust, he found this at last in the assertion that 
 it was best for Paul to be rid of such a wife; that 
 he had never really fancied his daughter-in-law, 
 and that the only course was to obliterate her from 
 their memory. She had disgraced the family, and 
 her name was never to be mentioned again in his 
 presence. This was an eminently masculine method 
 of disposing of the matter. After Mr. Howard 
 had accepted it as a solution, he was able to com 
 pose himself in his chair and to smoke. For the 
 past two days, ever since Paul had talked to him, 
 he had been walking up and down his library, 
 champing an unlighted cigar, with the measured 
 stalk of a grim lion. Now his brow lifted appre 
 ciably. But his sister s eyes fell before his aspect 
 of dignified relief. His solution was of no avail to 
 her. It could not answer the distressing questions 
 which were haunting her. Why had not Lucille 
 written? What did the silence mean? She re 
 solved that if she did not hear something in the 
 morning she would take the first train East, for 
 might not the child be sobbing her heart out, too 
 mortified even to confide in her mother? Thus 
 speculating, Mrs. Wilson looked up to inquire once 
 again whether Paul had not said something more 
 definite regarding his cousin. She had asked this 
 twice already, and on each occasion Mr. Howard 
 had suspended his cogitations in order to ransack 
 his memory, but only in vain; which was not 
 strange, for Paul had taken pains in his conversa 
 tion with his father to avoid unnecessary allu 
 sion to Lucille, letting her appear, like himself, 
 
 310 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 an innocent victim of the family disaster. Mr. 
 Howard was now equally unsuccessful in his recol 
 lection. Yet while he was speaking, the tension 
 of Mrs. Wilson s mind was relieved by the receipt 
 of a telegram. Lucille was on her way from New 
 port, and would reach Benham the following 
 evening. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson met her at the station. The 
 mother and daughter embraced with emotion, thus 
 betraying what was uppermost in the thought of 
 each. But Lucille promptly recovered her com 
 posure, chatting briskly in the carriage as though 
 she were bent on avoiding for the time being the 
 crucial topic. On reaching the house she evinced 
 a lively interest in the supper which had been 
 prepared for her, eating with appetite and leading 
 the conversation to matters of secondary import. 
 Mrs. Wilson, though burning to ask and to hear 
 everything, held her peace and bridled her impa 
 tience. It seemed to her that Lucille was looking 
 well, and had gained in social dignity, which might 
 partly be accounted for by the fact that she was a 
 matron and a mother, partly by a slight access of 
 flesh ; but the impression produced on Mrs. Wil 
 son s mind was that she appeared less spiritually 
 heedless than formerly a consummation devoutly 
 to be desired in this hour of stress. As she watched 
 her at table she noted with a mother s pride the 
 tastefulness of her attire, and the sophistication of 
 her speech. For the first time much as she had 
 longed for it in the past the hope took root in 
 her heart that their tastes might yet some day coin 
 cide, and each find in allegiance to the fit devel 
 opment of the human race the true zest of life. 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Yet how could Lucille be so calm? How could she 
 appear so unconcerned ? 
 
 Lucille s mask, such as it was, was not lifted 
 until she had been shown to her room. "I will 
 come to you presently, mamma," she said, and 
 Mrs. Wilson understood what was meant. When 
 she came it was to her mother s boudoir and 
 study she had loosened her hair, and was 
 wrapped in a dainty pink and white wrapper. She 
 established herself comfortably on a lounge, and 
 crossed her hands on her breast. Mrs. Wilson was 
 sitting at her desk obliquely in the line of vision, 
 so she had merely to turn her head on her sup 
 ported elbow in order to command her daughter s 
 expression. So they sat for a moment, until Lu 
 cille said: 
 
 "Well, mamma, I suppose Paul has told you 
 everything. Clarence and I have separated for 
 good, and I am on the way to South Dakota." 
 
 There was a profound silence. In spite of the 
 introduction the import of the last words was lost 
 on Mrs. Wilson. She was simply puzzled. "South 
 Dakota?" she queried. "Paul told me nothing. 
 Your uncle " 
 
 "You know surely what has happened?" It was 
 Lucille s turn to look surprised. 
 
 "I know, my child, that your husband has been 
 false to you with your cousin Paul s wife." 
 
 "And both Paul and I are to obtain a di 
 vorce." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson winced. "Your uncle intimated as 
 much in the case of Paul. I had hoped you might 
 not think it obligatory to break absolutely with 
 your husband. Or, rather, Lucille, my mind was 
 
 312 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 so full of distress for you that I did not look be 
 yond the dreadful present. You do not know how 
 my heart bleeds for you, dear." 
 
 As she spoke, Mrs. Wilson left her seat, and 
 kneeling beside the lounge, put her arms around 
 her daughter s neck. Lucille, grateful for the sym 
 pathy, raised herself to receive and return the em 
 brace, but her speech was calm. 
 
 "It is a mortification, of course; it would be to 
 iany woman. If he had been faithful to me, I 
 would never have left him. But we were mismated 
 from the first. We found out six months after our 
 marriage that we bored each other; and then we 
 drifted apart. So there would be no use trying to 
 patch it up. We should only lead a dog and cat 
 life. Besides " she paused an instant, then inter 
 jected, "I hoped Paul had broken this to you, 
 mamma I want to be free because I am going to 
 marry again." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson sprang back as though she had 
 been buffeted. "Marry again?" she gasped. 
 
 Lucille spoke softly but with firmness. "I am 
 going to marry Mr. Bradbury Nicholson of New 
 ?York." She added a few words as to his identity, 
 then with an emphasis intended to express the ar 
 dor of a soul which has come to its own at last, 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "I m deeply in love with him, mamma; and I 
 rnever was with Clarence. I thought I was, but I 
 wasn t. This time it s the real thing." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson rose and returning to her desk 
 rested her head again upon her supported elbow. 
 She was stunned. The shock of the announcement 
 iwas such that she did not attempt to speak. But 
 
 313 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Lucille, having begun, was evidently bent on 
 making a clean breast of her affairs. 
 
 "So I am on my way to Sioux Falls to obtain a 
 divorce." 
 
 "Why do you go there?" 
 
 "Because it is one of the quickest places. Resi 
 dence is necessary to enable me to sue, and residence 
 can be acquired by living there ninety days. Then, 
 too, the courts don t insist on very strict proof, 
 so I can obtain a divorce for neglect or cruelty, 
 and avoid the unpleasantness of alleging anything 
 worse. I thought of Connecticut, where the law 
 allows a divorce for any such misconduct as perma 
 nently destroys one s happiness and defeats the 
 marriage relation, but my lawyer said it would be 
 simpler and quicker to go to South Dakota. Clar 
 ence knows all about it, and is only too glad, and 
 he has agreed to give up all claim on baby." 
 
 The reference to her grandchild plunged a fresh 
 dagger into Mrs. Wilson s heart. 
 
 "Where is your baby?" she asked, sternly. She 
 had already in the carriage inquired for its welfare, 
 taking for granted that its mother had been un 
 willing to bring it on what had appeared to be a 
 flying journey. 
 
 "At Newport. Two of my maids and baby are 
 to join me here. I don t wish to start for a week, 
 if you will keep me, and, as there was packing still 
 to be done, and the Newport air is fresher so early 
 in the autumn, I told them to follow. You may 
 keep baby here until I send for her, if it would 
 make you feel any happier, mamma." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson made no response to this self-sacri 
 ficing offer. She was asking herself whether it were 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 ot her duty as an outraged parent to rise in her 
 rony and, pointing to the door, bid Lucille choose 
 jtween her lover and herself. But would not this 
 ; old-fashioned? Could she endure to quarrel 
 ith her own and only flesh and blood? Over- 
 helmed as she was by her daughter s absolute in- 
 I fference to considerations which she reverenced 
 j ; the laws of her being, Mrs.Wilson prided herself 
 : i being equally a leader of spiritual progress, a 
 I <oman of the world, and an American. She recog- 
 | zed that it behooved her to display no less acu- 
 |ien and tact in dealing with her personal problem 
 jian in confronting the quandaries of others. She 
 pew instinctively that violent opposition would 
 imply alienate Lucille and confirm her in her pur- 
 iDse. It was obvious that their point of view was 
 I divergent as the poles. How could Lucille take 
 ke affair so philosophically? How could she 
 Umly regard the neglect and sin of her husband 
 uerely as the logical sequence of the discovery that 
 icy were mismated, and find a sufficient explana- 
 pn for everything in the announcement that they 
 ad bored each other? Yet Mrs. Wilson appre 
 ciated in those moments of horror that it would be 
 rorse than futile to give bitter utterance to her 
 notions. By so doing she would alienate her 
 aughter and fail to alter the situation. Though 
 Protesting with the full vigor of her being, she 
 Imst be reasonable or she could accomplish 
 lothing. So she put a curb upon her lips. There 
 rere so many things she wished to say that for a 
 pell she could not formulate her thoughts. She 
 I r as reminded that she appeared tongue-tied by 
 | earing Lucille remark: 
 
 315 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "I was afraid that you would be distressed, 
 mamma. That s why I didn t write or consult 
 you. You don t approve of divorce, I know. It s 
 opposed to your ideas of things. But I ve thought 
 over everything thoroughly, and it s the only possi 
 ble course for me." 
 
 This complacency was disconcerting as a stone 
 wall, and made still plainer to Mrs. Wilson that 
 the offender indulgently regretted the necessity of 
 explaining and vindicating such common-sense 
 principles. 
 
 "It is true, Lucille, that I disapprove of divorce 
 on aesthetic if not religious grounds. It is an un 
 savory institution." She paused a moment to give 
 complete effect to the phrase. "It seems to me to 
 diminish spiritual self-respect, and to impair that 
 feminine delicacy which is an essential ornament 
 of civilization. At the same time, if you had told 
 me that, on account of your husband s sin, you had 
 decided not merely to leave him, but to dissolve the 
 bond, I should have demurred, perhaps, but I 
 should have acquiesced. I should have counselled 
 you to live apart without divorce, as I regard mar 
 riage as a sacrament of the Christian church, but 
 I should have accepted your decision to the con 
 trary without a serious pang. But you have just 
 told me, my child, that you are seeking a divorce 
 from your husband because you are mismated, in 
 order to become as quickly as possible the wife of 
 another man, whom you profess to love. I cannot 
 prevent you from doing this if you insist, but as 
 your mother, I cannot let you commit what seems 
 to me, from the most lenient standpoint, a gross 
 indelicacy, without seeking to dissuade you." 
 
 316 
 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 [n conjunction with her ambition to reason in a 
 capacity, Mrs. Wilson was well aware that 
 : world demands promptness of decision no less 
 n wisdom from its busy leaders; that the public 
 lies on the past equipment of the lawyer or the 
 jysician for correct advice on the spur of the 
 ijjment. It was her custom to face confidently 
 tj ; problems of life which others invited her to 
 l.ve, as a surgeon confronts the operating table, 
 Jidy to do her best on the spot. She knew that 
 t * consciousness of being rushed is part of the 
 jnalty of success, and that half the effectiveness 
 I a busy person consists in the ability to think and 
 jjt quickly. So now, face to face with her own 
 Ire problem, her mind centred on the fit solution 
 I her daughter s tragedy, she relied on the same 
 isthod, yearning to apply the knife, tie up the 
 I laments and cauterize the heart-sorrow in sum- 
 Iiary fashion by virtue of her past equipment. So 
 i.e spoke with conviction, yet aware that the prob- 
 Im presented had been hitherto for her mainly 
 |:ademic, and now for the first time loomed up 
 Ji the horizon of life as an immediate practical 
 isue. 
 
 j Pursuing her theme Mrs. Wilson singled out 
 br urgent protest the one point which stood out 
 Ike an excrescence on the surface of the sorry 
 jrory, and put all else in the background the 
 rejected hasty marriage. Its precipitancy of- 
 hnded her most cherished sensibilities. With all 
 lie sentiment and mental suppleness at her com- 
 liand she endeavored to point out the vulgarity 
 |f the proceeding. How was it to be reconciled 
 nth true womanly refinement? Was the holy 
 
 317 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 state of matrimony to be shuffled off and on as 
 though it were a misfit glove? She appealed to 
 the claims of good taste and family pride. But, 
 though Lucille listened decorously, it was obvious 
 that the effect of the scandal of mutual prompt re 
 marriages had no terrors for her. Or, rather, 
 when her mother paused, she disputed it, claim 
 ing that the affair would be a seven days wonder; 
 that the world would speedily forget, or, at least, 
 forgive, if the new ventures proved successful;- 
 that precipitancy in such cases was not novel, and 
 that the people whose social approbation she de 
 sired would consider her sensible for putting an 
 end to an intolerable relation and claiming her 
 happiness at the earliest possible date. 
 
 From a wholesale plea of what she referred to 
 as spiritual decency directed against unseemly 
 haste, Mrs. Wilson, sick at heart, began to par 
 ticularize, and at the same time enlarged her atti 
 tude so as to disclose her innate feeling against 
 divorce in general. She spoke of the plight of the 
 children concerned, and in alluding to her grand 
 child, her tone was piteous. The thought seemed 
 to give her courage, so that when Lucille, who 
 evidently had a pat response to this contention 
 ready, sought to interrupt, Mrs. Wilson raised a 
 warning hand to signify that she must insist on 
 being heard to the end. She dwelt upon the value 
 of the home to human society, and in this appeal 
 she gave free utterance to her religious convic 
 tions, defending the sacredness of the marriage tie 
 from the point of view of Christian orthodoxy. 
 She spoke with emotion and at some length. 
 Though she had never thought the matter out 
 
 318 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 hitherto as a personal issue, she found that she 
 had in reserve a whole set of argumentative prin 
 ciples to back her aesthetic eloquence. She urged 
 upon her daughter that if neither good taste, fam 
 ily pride, nor maternal solicitude would restrain 
 her, she heed the teachings of the church, which 
 had prescribed the law of strict domestic ties as 
 essential to the righteous development of human 
 civilization, and which regarded the family as the 
 corner-stone of social order and social beauty. 
 Was her only child prepared to fly so flagrantly 
 in the face of this teaching? Would she refuse to 
 reverence this standard? As she evolved this final 
 plea, Mrs. Wilson felt herself on firmer ground. 
 It seemed to her that she had welded all her pro 
 testing instincts into a comprehensive claim which 
 could not be resisted, for, though emphasizing the 
 obligations of the soul, she had tried to be both 
 broad and modern. She had not quoted the lan 
 guage of Scripture the words of Christ impos 
 ing close limitations, if not an absolute bar on 
 divorce. She felt that there was more chance in 
 influencing Lucille through an intellectual appeal 
 to her sense of social wisdom based on present 
 conditions, though to the speaker s own mind the 
 modern argument was simply a vindication of the 
 precious inspired truth. But she dismissed the 
 thought that her daughter was regarding her as 
 old-fashioned, and she spoke from the depths of 
 her being, so that when she ceased, there were tears 
 upon her cheeks. 
 
 Lucille had listened indulgently with downcast 
 eyes. She was unmoved; nevertheless, with ner 
 vous inappropriateness, she turned slowly round 
 
 319 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 and round the wedding-ring on her finger as she 
 revolved her mother s appeal. When the end came 
 she remained respectfully silent for a moment, but 
 there was matter-of-fact definiteness in her reply. 
 
 "You know, mamma, that you and I never did 
 agree on things like that. I don t recognize the 
 right of the church to interfere, so I put religion 
 out of the question. As to injury to civilization, 
 it seems to me of no advantage to society, and pre 
 posterous besides, that two persons utterly mis- 
 mated, like Clarence and me, should continue 
 wretched all our lives when the law of the land 
 will set us free. What good would it do if I re 
 mained single?" 
 
 "Live apart, if you like; but to marry again 
 and so quickly, Lucille, is an offence both against 
 the flesh and the spirit," said Mrs. Wilson, tensely. 
 "Good? It would help to maintain the integrity 
 of the home upon which progressive civilization 
 
 rests." 
 
 Lucille pursed her lips. "I shall have a home 
 when I marry again. A far happier home than 
 before; and baby will be far happier than if she 
 grew up in a discordant household where there 
 was no love and mutual indifference. Besides, 
 supposing I didn t marry again supposing Paul s 
 wife did not marry again, what would happen? 
 We should lead immoral lives, as people similarly 
 situated do in the Latin countries, where the 
 church forbids the marriage of divorced persons. 
 It ought to satisfy you, mamma, that there is not 
 a word of truth in the story of too intimate rela 
 tions between me and Mr. Nicholson circulated at 
 Newport. I told him I should keep him at arm s 
 
 320 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 length until I was divorced and at liberty to marry 
 him. I let him kiss me once, and that was all. 
 What would a woman in Paris or London have 
 done? The church there doesn t seem to mind 
 what goes on behind the scenes, provided the mass 
 of the people is kept in ignorance." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson had colored at the reference to 
 calumniating rumors. It was clear, now, why 
 Paul had preferred to speak by proxy. Could it 
 be her own daughter who was claiming credit for 
 such forbearance? Her first impulse was to in 
 quire what conduct had given rise to the more 
 serious imputation, but she shrank from the ques 
 tion. It was Lucille who spoke first. 
 
 "I assure you, I expect to have a very charming 
 home, and, if I have more children, to bring them 
 up well. In a year or two the hateful past will 
 seem only a nightmare. Why should you or the 
 church seek to deprive me of happiness? In my 
 individual case our your church would marry me 
 because my husband had been unfaithful, pro 
 vided I procured a divorce on that ground which 
 I do not intend to do. But I am defending my 
 self on general principles. As your daughter you 
 would wish me to have the courage of my con 
 victions." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson sighed. This appeal to her in 
 dependence was discouragingly genuine. "Then, 
 where do you draw the line?" she asked, repeat 
 ing a formula. 
 
 "As to divorce?" Lucille shrugged her shoul 
 ders. "The courts decide that, I suppose. I asked 
 what the law was, and the lawyer told me." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson groaned. "The courts! And, ac- 
 321 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 cordingly, you apply to the court which will grant 
 you a divorce most speedily." 
 
 "And with the least possible unpleasant pro 
 cedure. Certainly, I wish to be married as soon as 
 possible." 
 
 "The law must be changed." Mrs. Wilson 
 clasped her hands energetically. 
 
 "Very likely, mamma. Now we are on sensible 
 ground. But if the law were made more strict the 
 church would still object. So it wouldn t make 
 much difference from your point of view." 
 
 There was a touch of complacent paganism in 
 the tone of this last remark which fused Mrs. Wil 
 son s poignant emotions to a fever point. 
 
 "It crucifies renunciation. It is individualism 
 run mad. Child, child!" she exclaimed, "do not 
 be too sure that easy-going rationalism is the an 
 swer to all the problems of the universe. The 
 time will yet come when you will recognize what 
 ideals mean when your eyes will be opened to 
 the unseen things of the spirit. Before you take 
 this step I beg of you to talk with Mr. Prentiss." 
 
 Lucille shook her head, but her reply was unex 
 pectedly humble. She avoided an opinion regard 
 ing the prophecy, but her words disclosed that she 
 wished her mother to perceive that her soul had 
 its own troubles, and was not altogether self-con 
 gratulatory in its processes. 
 
 "Of course I would give anything if Clarence 
 and I had not fallen out, and our marriage proved 
 a failure. I can see that such an experience takes 
 the freshness from any woman s life. It would be 
 of no use, however, for me to see Mr. Prentiss. 
 We should differ fundamentally. I do not regard 
 
 322 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 marriage as a sacrament, he does. You see I have 
 considered the question from all sides, mamma." 
 
 "You regard it as a contract, I suppose," said 
 Mrs. Wilson, pensively. 
 
 "Yes; the most solemn, the most important of 
 contracts, if you like, but a contract." Lucille was 
 trying to be reasonable, but her sense of humor 
 suddenly getting the better of her filial discretion, 
 she added: 
 
 "Why, of course, it is simply a contract. Every 
 one except clergymen regards it so nowadays. If 
 Clarence had died, I could marry again; why 
 shouldn t I be just as free, when he has been un 
 true to me, to regard our marriage at an end 
 and " 
 
 Mrs. Wilson put up her hand. "I am familiar 
 with the argument. For adultery, perhaps, yes; 
 but for everything else, no. And the Roman 
 Church forbids it absolutely." She reflected a mo 
 ment, then, as one who has worked out vindication 
 for an ancient principle by the light of modern 
 ideas, she added, impressively, "It may well be, 
 that from the standpoint of the welfare of the 
 home the protection of human society against 
 rampant selfish individualism the oldest church 
 of all was wise, and is wise, in insisting on ad 
 herence to the letter of the words of Christ as best 
 adapted to the safety of civilization. And that, 
 too," she continued, significantly, "even though the 
 souls affected sin in secret, because they cannot 
 override the law. I do not say," she added, no 
 ticing the surprise in her daughter s face, "that 
 this winking of the church is defensible ; but I sub 
 mit that the consequences can be no worse than 
 
 323 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 those resulting from the flood-tide of easy divorce, 
 the fruit of unbridled caprice." 
 
 "And what do you say to the attitude of the 
 Church of England, of which our Episcopal 
 Church is an offshoot. An English woman in 
 Newport told me the other day that a wife can 
 not obtain a divorce from her husband unless in 
 fidelity be coupled with cruel and abusive treat 
 ment, though the contrary is true in case of a man. 
 A husband can have his affairs, provided he does 
 not make them public or beat his wife, but she 
 must toe the mark. And in England the law of 
 the church is the law of the land." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson pondered a moment. "Our Epis 
 copal Church sanctions no such distinction. But, 
 after all, woman is not quite the same as man. Her 
 standard is different; she still expects to be held to 
 a subtler sense of beauty and duty in matters which 
 involve the perpetuation of the race. The English 
 rule seems old-fashioned to us, for we insist on 
 equal purity for the husband and the wife as essen 
 tial to domestic unity. Yet the framers of that 
 law were wise in their day; wise, surely, if the 
 doctrine of loose marital bonds is to imperil the 
 permanence of the institution we call the family." 
 
 "But I fail to see the advantage to human so 
 ciety of any family the two chief members of which 
 are at daggers drawn, and mutually unhappy." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson recognized that the gulf of con 
 tradiction which yawned between them was bot 
 tomless, and not to be bridged. We learn with 
 reluctance that each generation is a law unto itself. 
 Yet she said, as a a swan song, "The Episcopal 
 Church and also the Roman Catholic Church stand 
 
 324 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 for, and reverence, the ideals of beauty, of imagi 
 nation, of aspiration. They abhor spiritual com 
 monness. They forget not the words of the pro 
 verb : Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of 
 it are the issues of life. Divorce is a device of 
 mediocrity and dwarfed vision. It is a perquisite 
 of commonness." 
 
 The phrase made Lucille start, and she sat 
 troubled for a moment. To be adjudged common 
 was the most disconcerting indictment which could 
 have been framed. But reflection was reassuring. 
 She answered presently. 
 
 "I m sure it won t make any difference in my 
 case; everybody I care about will call on me just 
 the same." 
 
 Meanwhile, under the shock to her convictions, 
 Mrs. Wilson had bowed her face on her hands on 
 her desk, and hot tears moistened her palms. Lu 
 cille watched her nervously, then rose and went to 
 her, and put her arm about her. "You mustn t feel 
 so badly, mamma. It will come out all right: I 
 know it will. I am certain to be happy and 
 though you may not think it, I am much more 
 serious than I used to be. Of course, I wouldn t 
 belong to any other church than the Episcopal; all 
 the nicest people one knows are Episcopalians now. 
 As you say, that and the Roman Catholic are the 
 only ones which appeal to the imagination." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson s tears flowed faster at this demon 
 stration of sympathy. She accepted and was 
 soothed by the caresses, but she was ashamed of 
 and stunned by her defeat, and could not reconcile 
 herself to it. She would make one effort more. 
 
 "Since you will not permit Mr. Prentiss to re- 
 
 325 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 monstrate with you," she said, "you will, at least, 
 talk with your uncle?" 
 
 Lucille reflected. She had not forgotten the 
 diamond tiara with which her uncle had presented 
 her as a wedding present, the crowning act of 
 many splendid donations, though to have only one 
 tiara had already become a sign of relative im- 
 pecuniosity in the social circle in which she aspired 
 to move. The wife of a genuine multi-millionaire 
 was expected to have as many tiaras as she had 
 evening dresses. Lucille was fond of her uncle, 
 and she still wished to appear what she considered 
 reasonable. "He could not alter my determina 
 tion, mamma. But if Uncle Carleton wishes to 
 talk with me, I shall feel bound to listen," she 
 responded. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson felt encouraged by the first effect 
 on her brother of the announcement of Lucille s 
 plans. From Paul s report, Mr. Howard had 
 assumed that his niece, like his son, was simply a 
 victim of the distressing double-tragedy, and the 
 news of Lucille s projected hasty divorce with a 
 view to immediate remarriage offended his sense 
 of propriety, and evoked at once a fiat no less ex 
 plicit than his earlier declaration that the sooner 
 Paul s nuptial knot was cut, and the wretched busi 
 ness terminated, the better. His present words 
 that such indecorous proceedings were not to be 
 tolerated for a moment were uttered with the de 
 liberate emphasis which marked his important ver 
 dicts his railroad manner, some people called it 
 and conveyed the impression of a reserve force 
 not to be resisted with impunity. The interview 
 between him and Lucille took place in the evening, 
 
 326 
 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 and lasted nearly an hour. Mrs. Wilson was not 
 present. At its close she heard her daughter re- 
 enter the house through the private passageway 
 and go up-stairs. Shortly after, her brother joined 
 her. He sat for a few moments without speaking, 
 as though reviewing what had occurred, then said, 
 with the plausible air of one claiming the right to 
 revise a judgment in the light of having heard the 
 other side of the issue : 
 
 "Apparently we have to decide whether we pre 
 fer that Lucille should marry young Nicholson as 
 soon as the law allows, or that she should continue 
 to receive his marked attentions, which have al 
 ready inspired compromising rumors, happily base 
 less. It seems that the object of her infatuation 
 a circumstance which she did not state to you is 
 anxious in fact, hopes, to obtain one of the minor 
 diplomatic appointments. His father, as you 
 know, is president of the Chemical Trust and in 
 timate with some of the influential Senators. 
 Should I intervene in his behalf with the authori 
 ties at Washington, the probabilities of his obtain 
 ing the position, already excellent, will be im 
 proved, provided, of course, there is no scandal. 
 If we could shut Lucille up confine her by sum 
 mary process for six months, until she had time 
 to reflect she might change her attitude. At any 
 rate, we should avoid the precipitancy which is the 
 most objectionable feature of the affair. But the 
 girl is a free agent. We cannot prevent her from 
 going to South Dakota if she insists, and she does 
 insist. She refuses to wait the three years requisite 
 to obtain a divorce for desertion here; and were 
 she to allege what the newspapers are pleased to 
 
 327 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 call the statutory offence, the proof required by 
 our court would be exceedingly painful. She pre 
 fers a more accommodating jurisdiction, where 
 fewer questions are asked, and the tie is promptly 
 dissolved. So on the whole " 
 
 He paused to choose his phraseology, and his 
 sister, guessing its substance, interposed: 
 
 "Then you sided with her?" 
 
 "On the contrary, I opposed her strenuously. 
 I expressed my disapproval in positive terms. But 
 it became evident to me that she is in love with 
 this young man and determined to marry him, and 
 from every point of view I prefer the sanction of 
 the law to clandestine illicit relations. Would you 
 prefer to have her abstain from a divorce and live 
 abroad with Bradbury Nicholson? That is what 
 she intimated would happen if she followed our 
 wishes." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson groaned. "And to think that this 
 is the reasoning of my daughter!" 
 
 "I will do her the justice to say," continued Mr. 
 Howard, joining the points of his fingers, "that she 
 talked quietly and with some discrimination. It 
 troubles her greatly that you are distressed. I 
 disapprove of her conduct, but I was pleased on 
 the whole with her mental powers." 
 
 "Yes. She is cleverer than I supposed," mur 
 mured Mrs. Wilson. "So you gave in?" 
 
 "Not at all. We agreed to differ. I presume 
 you did not wish me to quarrel with her?" 
 
 "Oh, no. We must never do that." 
 
 "Exactly. In the course of our discussion she 
 asked me if I thought she ought to remain a widow 
 
 328 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 all her days, and, as a reasonable human being, I 
 was obliged to admit that there was much to be 
 said on her side." 
 
 "A widow ! She is not a widow." 
 
 "She chose the word, not I. She tells me that 
 you have already discussed with her the religious 
 the sentimental side of the question." 
 
 "And failed utterly." 
 
 There was a silence, which was broken by the 
 banker. "I advise you, Miriam, to make the best 
 of a painful situation. There are only two courses 
 open : to disown her, or to let her follow her own 
 course, and put the best front on it we can. After 
 all, she is only doing what thousands of other 
 women in this country " 
 
 "Ah, yes !" cried Mrs. Wilson. "And with that 
 argument what becomes of noble standards of 
 fine ideals of life? I almost wish I had the moral 
 courage to show myself the Spartan mother, and 
 to disown her." 
 
 "Oh, no, you don t. You would only make 
 yourself miserable." Having discovered that he 
 had been checkmated, it was a business maxim with 
 Mr. Howard to accept the inevitable and clear the 
 board of vain regrets. He set himself to counter 
 act these hysterical manifestations of his sister. 
 "Besides, it would do no good in this case to cut 
 off the revenue, for Nicholson has plenty for them 
 both. To disinherit one s children is an antiquated 
 method of self-torture." 
 
 "I had no reference to money," answered Mrs. 
 Wilson, with a gesture to express disdain for the 
 consideration. "I was thinking of my love as a 
 mother." 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "You cannot help loving her, whatever hap 
 pens," answered her brother significantly. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson acknowledged the force of this 
 comment by a piteous stare. She forsook the per 
 sonal for the philosophic attitude. "But if this 
 loose view of the marriage tie is to obtain, where 
 is it to end? How long will it be before we imi 
 tate the degeneracy of Rome? We are imitating 
 it already." 
 
 "I made a similar remark to Lucille. I re 
 minded her that the ease and frequency of divorce 
 were among the causes of the decline of Rome. 
 Her reply was that we are Americans, not Ro 
 mans. Of course, there is something in what she 
 says. Our point of view is very different from 
 theirs." Mr. Howard felt of his strong chin medi 
 tatively. 
 
 "But where is it to end?" repeated Mrs. Wilson 
 in a tragic tone. 
 
 He shook his head. "It is an abuse, I admit; 
 especially as administered in some of our States. 
 Presently, when we get time, we Americans will 
 take the question up and go into it thoroughly." 
 
 The hopeless incongruity of this reply from 
 Mrs. Wilson s point of view put the finishing 
 touch to their conversation. It was obvious to her 
 that she could not expect true sympathy or com 
 prehension from her brother. It was clear that he 
 was satisfied with opportunist methods, and that 
 the precise truth had no immediate charms for him. 
 
 Rebuffed in respect to the support of both her 
 champions, Mrs. Wilson felt strangely powerless; 
 almost limp. She made no further appeal to her 
 daughter; the discussion was not resumed, but 
 
 330 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 when the baby arrived, she reminded Lucille of the 
 proposal that she keep possession of her grand 
 child during its mother s sojourn in South Dakota, 
 and accepted it. This was some comfort, and 
 Mrs. Wilson remained in a trance, as it were, seek 
 ing neither sympathy nor outside suggestion until 
 after the evil day of Mrs. Waldo s departure. 
 
 Not until then did she send for Mr. Prentiss. 
 That the rector could do nothing to thwart the 
 programme outlined by Lucille was clear, and she 
 had dreaded the possibility of his advising an atti 
 tude on her part which would induce complete 
 estrangement from her daughter. When he came 
 she was relieved that he made no such suggestion. 
 He seemed, like herself, overwhelmed with dis 
 may, and, after he had heard her story, equally 
 conscious of helplessness in the premises. Indeed 
 it resulted that Mr. Prentiss, having realized that 
 he could be of no avail in the particular emergency, 
 turned from the shocking present to the future. 
 Lucille was beyond the pale of influence (though 
 he declared his intention of writing to her), but 
 this painful example would be a fresh spur to the 
 church to take strong ground against the deadly 
 peril to Christian civilization involved in playing 
 fast and loose with the marriage tie. Mr. Prentiss 
 glowed with the thought of what he could and 
 would put into a sermon. Consciousness of the 
 abuse had for some time been smouldering in his 
 mind, and he reflected that it was time for him to 
 imitate the example of other leaders of his sect by 
 undertaking a crusade against indiscriminate di 
 vorce. Appalled as he was by the behavior of his 
 friend s daughter, he reverted but not aloud to 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 his previous opinion that it had been a godless 
 marriage. Hence there was less occasion for sur 
 prise, and the instance in question lost some of its 
 pathos as a consequence. But it provided him with 
 a terrible incentive for saving others from the pit 
 fall which had engulfed this self-sufficient and 
 worldly minded young woman. His zeal com 
 municated itself to Mrs. Wilson for he did not 
 fail in due manifestation of personal sympathy 
 and when he left her at the end of a visit of two 
 hours her favorite impulse toward social reform 
 was already acting as a palliative to her anguish 
 and disappointment as a mother. 
 
 A few days later her brother informed her that 
 Paul s wife had refused to wait the three years 
 necessary to entitle the one or other of them 
 to institute dignified divorce proceedings, on the 
 ground of desertion, in the State where her hus 
 band had his domicile, and that she had gone to 
 Nebraska to pursue her own remedy. Mr. How 
 ard, though obviously disgusted, finally dismissed 
 the matter with a sweep of his hand, and 
 the utterance, "I guess, on the whole, the sooner 
 he is rid of her the better." But this apothegm, 
 which for a second time did him service, only in 
 creased his sister s dejection. The disgrace of the 
 family seemed to stare her in the face more potent 
 ly than ever. Following within a few weeks of this 
 information came the disclosures in the newspapers 
 of the double divorce with their sensational innuen 
 does as to what had occurred at Newport. For 
 three days she kept the house, too sick at heart to 
 attempt to simulate in public the veneer of an un 
 ruffled countenance. Then she visited Gordon Per- 
 
 332 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 ry s office, and consulted him as to the feasibility of 
 putting some legal obstacle in the way of her 
 daughter s procedure; but learned from him, as she 
 had feared, that she was powerless. When she re 
 sumed her ordinary avocations she feared lest the 
 shame she felt should mantle her cheek and impair 
 the varnish of well-bred serenity. It was while 
 she was in this frame of mind that she was accosted 
 by Loretta, and the effect of the bald remarks was 
 as though someone had invaded her bosom with 
 a rude cold hand. They froze her to the marrow, 
 and while, on second thought, she ascribed the lib 
 erty to ignorance, she felt disappointed at the evo 
 lution of her ward. Such lack of delicacy, such 
 inability to appreciate the vested rights of the soul 
 argued ill for Loretta s progress in refinement. 
 There was no second invasion of Mrs. Wilson s 
 privacy. It seemed to her, as the days passed, that 
 she had been through a crushing illness, and she 
 felt the mental lassitude of slow convalescence. 
 The receipt of Mrs. Stuart s brief letter informing 
 her that she had been injured and was in need of 
 counsel was a sudden reminder that she had al 
 lowed her personal sorrow to render her selfishly 
 heedless of all else. It served as the needed tonic 
 to her system. She swept away the cobwebs of de 
 pression from her brain, and with a firm purpose 
 to resume her place in the world despatched forth 
 with a sympathetic note and two bunches of choice 
 grapes to the invalid, and on the following morn 
 ing gave orders to her coachman to drive her to 
 Lincoln Chambers. 
 
 333 
 
XX 
 
 THE sight of Constance s colored glasses 
 stirred Mrs. Wilson s sensibilities, already 
 on edge. 
 
 "You poor child!" she exclaimed, advancing 
 with emotional eagerness, as the culmination of 
 which she drew the young woman toward her and 
 kissed her. This was a touch of bounty beyond 
 Mrs. Wilson s ordinary reserve, but in bestowing 
 it she was conscious that the recipient had deserved 
 it, and consequently she was pleased at having 
 yielded to the impulse. Besides having noticed 
 with satisfaction the gradual change in Constance s 
 appearance both her increasing comeliness and 
 tasteful adaptiveness in respect to dress it dis 
 tressed her that her ward s charm should be 
 marred by so unaesthetic an accompaniment. 
 
 "What does this mean? What grisly thing has 
 happened?" 
 
 Constance was touched by the embrace. She 
 had passed a sleepless night confronting her ex 
 citing problem. Already this morning she had 
 listened to the passages in those chapters of the 
 first three gospels, Matthew xix, Mark x and Luke 
 xvi, in which are set forth Christ s doctrine con 
 cerning divorce and remarriage. As soon as the 
 children had gone to school, she had taken her 
 concordance of the Bible from the shelf, and heed 
 less of Mrs. Harrity s wonder, had pressed the old 
 
 334 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 woman into service to find and read to her the 
 texts in question. Constance had not considered 
 these for years, and had only a general remem 
 brance of their phraseology, but in the watches of 
 the night her thoughts had turned to them as tra 
 ditional spiritual sign-posts with which she must 
 familiarize herself forthwith. Just before Mrs. 
 Wilson s entrance she had taken up her broom, 
 hoping that, while she performed her necessary 
 housework, she might thresh out the truth from 
 her bundle of doubts. What if the truth meant 
 the sacrifice of bright, alluring prospects for her 
 children, and of her own new, great happiness? 
 Could it then be the truth? More than ever did 
 she feel the need of counsel and sympathy. At the 
 appearance of her benefactress her pulses bounded, 
 and the appeal in her glad greeting doubtless gave 
 a cue to the visitor s initiative. The gracious kiss 
 on her cheek, so unexpected and so grateful, added 
 the finishing touch to her overstrained nerves, and 
 she burst into tears. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson folded her in her arms and en 
 couraged her to sob. Such philanthropy seemed 
 to bless the giver no less than the receiver. She 
 had arrived in the nick of time to be of service. 
 
 "There, there," she said, "you are suffering; 
 you should be in bed. You must tell me presently 
 everything, and I will send my own doctor to pre 
 scribe for you." So, presuming the cause of this 
 distress, she stroked the back of Constance s hair 
 and held her soothingly. 
 
 For some moments Constance made no attempt 
 to check her convulsive mood, but with her head 
 bowed on the friendly shoulder wept hysterically. 
 
 335 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 When the reaction came she drew back dismayed 
 at having lost her self-control, and as she wiped 
 away her tears and hastily regained her ordinary 
 dignity of spirit, exclaimed, "It isn t that. I have 
 been in bed I had a fall in the street; but I am 
 quite strong again except for my eyes. I am for 
 bidden to use them for six months. But otherwise 
 I am as well as ever. And I have had a competent 
 doctor." 
 
 "Not use your eyes for six months?" 
 
 There was incredulity no less than horror in 
 Mrs. Wilson s tone. Constance was herself again 
 by this time. She made her visitor sit down, and 
 she succinctly described the circumstances of the 
 accident and the specialist s examination, so that 
 the authenticity of his verdict and the reality of 
 her predicament were patent. Mrs. Wilson rose 
 gladly and promptly to what seemed to her the 
 occasion. 
 
 "You poor child. It is cruel disastrous. But 
 give yourself no concern. I shall claim my pre 
 rogative as a warm friend to see that you and 
 yours do not suffer until the time when you are 
 able to resume your regular work. Your em 
 ployer, Mr. Perry, what has he said to this? His 
 necessities oblige him to let you go, I dare say." 
 
 "On the contrary, he has been kindness itself. 
 He wished me to remain; he would have invented 
 occupation for me. Then I wrote to you and Mr. 
 Prentiss. It occurred to me that you might think 
 of something genuine which I could do for a living 
 until I could use my eyes." Constance paused. 
 Her heart was in her mouth again at the approach 
 of the impending revelation. 
 
 336 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Leave it all to me. There will not be the 
 slightest difficulty. I will find just the thing." 
 Then, suspecting that Constance s troubled look 
 was due to suspicion of this blithe generality, 
 Mrs. Wilson bent forward and added beseech 
 ingly, "You will let me help you this time, won t 
 you?" 
 
 "Indeed I will if if you wish," answered 
 Constance with a sweet smile. So at this heart-to- 
 heart appeal she stripped herself of her pride as 
 of a superfluous garment and cast it from her. 
 Then she said, "You don t understand. Every 
 thing has changed since I wrote to you yesterday 
 afternoon. I need your help, your advice, Mrs. 
 Wilson, more than I ever needed it before. You 
 do not know how thankful I was when I saw you 
 at the door. I have been trying to bring myself 
 to the point ever since. I think I can talk com 
 posedly now. Last evening my employer, Mr. 
 Gordon Perry, asked me to become his wife." 
 
 The instinctive thrill which the disclosure of 
 unsuspected romance inspires in every woman 
 seized Mrs. Wilson, and with it swift realization 
 of what a piece of good fortune from every point 
 of view had befallen her deserving ward. Con 
 stance s tears and need for counsel suggested but 
 one thing, a situation old as the hills, but like them 
 always interesting. Jumping at this hypothesis, 
 Mrs. Wilson, eager to show that she had compre 
 hended in a flash, responded, "And you do not 
 love him?" 
 
 "That is the pity of it; I love him with all my 
 heart." 
 
 Then Mrs. Wilson remembered.- She had been 
 
 337 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 so accustomed to think of Constance as alone in 
 the world, that in the first glow of interest she had 
 overlooked the crucial fact in the case. The recol 
 lection of it was disconcerting in a double sense, 
 for she suddenly found herself confronting the 
 same dire problem from the haunting considera 
 tion of which she had just emerged. But though 
 her first resulting emotion was similar to that 
 which one feels at re-encountering an obnoxious 
 acquaintance, from whom one has escaped, that 
 which followed was a sense of contrast between 
 the two points of view presented by the separate 
 situations, which culminated in the animating 
 thought that here at last was a soul alive to its 
 own responsibilities. Meanwhile she heard Con 
 stance say by way of interpretation : 
 
 "My husband is still living so far as I know, 
 and I have never been divorced from him." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson put up her hand. "I know, I 
 know, my dear. Pardon the momentary lapse. I 
 am entirely aware of your circumstances. And 
 there is no need, Constance, to explain anything. 
 Believe me, I appreciate all; I understand the 
 meaning of your agitation, I recognize the lumin 
 ous reality of the issue with which you have been 
 brought face to face." 
 
 Constance drew a deep breath. It was a relief 
 to her to be spared preliminaries and to pass di 
 rectly to the vital question. 
 
 "It would mean so much for my children." 
 
 To Mrs. Wilson s ear the simple words were 
 imbued with a plaintive but courageous sadness, 
 suggesting that the speaker was already conscious 
 that this plea for her own flesh and blood, al- 
 
 338 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 though the most convincing she could utter, fell 
 short of justification. 
 
 "It would." 
 
 Constance ignored if she observed the laconic 
 intensity of the acquiescence. She was bent on 
 setting forth the argument with more color, so she 
 continued : 
 
 "If I become Mr. Perry s wife, my children s 
 future is assured. My son will be able to acquire 
 a thorough education in art; my daughter, instead 
 of being obliged to earn her living before she is 
 mature, will have leisure to cultivate refinement. 
 They would become members of a different social 
 class. I need not explain to you, Mrs. Wilson, 
 for it is from you that I have learned the value 
 and the power of beauty. I covet for them 
 the chance to gain appreciation of what is in 
 spiring and beautiful in life, so that they need 
 not be handicapped by ignorance as I have 
 been." 
 
 No other appeal so well adapted to engage her 
 listener s sympathies could have been devised by a 
 practical schemer. And the obvious ingenuousness 
 of the almost nai ve statement increased the force 
 of it, for like the woman herself the plea stood out 
 in simple relief impressive through its very lack 
 of circumlocution and sophistry. Except for the 
 church s ban a new marriage seemed the most de 
 sirable the most natural thing for this sympa 
 thetic woman in the heyday of feminine maturity 
 and usefulness. Mrs. Wilson felt the blood rush 
 to her face as the currents of religious and aesthetic 
 interest collided. Her brain was staggered for a 
 moment. 
 
 339 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Oh", yes. I am sure you do," she murmured. 
 "But " 
 
 Her utterance was largely mechanical and the 
 pause betrayed the temporary equilibrium of con 
 tending forces. But Constance received the quali 
 fying conjunction as a warning note. 
 
 "There is a but/ an unequivocal but/ That 
 is why I wish to consult you. I need your help. 
 There is something more to add, though, first. 
 Marriage with Gordon Perry would freshen, 
 sweeten my life, and make a new woman of me. 
 He is the finest man I have ever known." She 
 spoke the last sentence with heightend emphasis, 
 plainly glorying in the avowal. "The simple ques 
 tion is, must I is it my duty, to renounce all this ? 
 I ask you to tell me the truth." 
 
 "The truth?" Mrs. Wilson echoed the words 
 still in a maze. Yet the clew was already in her 
 grasp, and she delayed following it only because 
 the greatness of the responsibility, precious as it 
 was to her, kept her senses vibrant. At length she 
 said with emotion : 
 
 "This is a strange coincidence, Constance. I 
 have been face to face with this same issue for the 
 past fortnight. My daughter has begun divorce 
 proceedings against her husband in order to marry 
 again. They simply were tired of each other; that 
 is the true, flippant reason they are separating. 
 Each is to marry someone else. Her light view 
 of the marriage relation has almost broken my 
 heart. And what is to blame ? The low standard 
 of society in respect to the sacredness of the mar 
 riage tie. I endeavored with all my soul to dis 
 suade her, but in vain. I come from her to you. 
 
 340 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 The circumstances of your two lives are very differ 
 ent, but is not the principle involved the same? 
 My dear, if Lucille my daughter could have 
 seen the question as you see it, I should have been 
 a happy mother. You ask my opinion. I recog 
 nize the solemnity of the trust. A blissful future 
 is before you if you marry, welfare for your chil 
 dren and yourself. But in the other scale of the 
 balance are the eternal verities, the duty one owes 
 to society, the fealty one owes to Christ. You 
 spoke of beauty. The most beautiful life of all is 
 that which embraces renunciation for a great cause, 
 even at the cost of the most alluring human joys 
 and privileges." 
 
 Gaining in fluency as she proceeded, because 
 more and more enamoured of the cruel necessity 
 of the sacrifice, Mrs. Wilson poured into these con 
 cluding words all the intensity of her nature. She 
 would gladly have fallen on her knees and joined 
 in ecstatic prayer with the victim had the demeanor 
 of the latter given her the chance. Her heart was 
 full of admiration and of pity for Constance and 
 also of solicitude for the triumph of a human soul 
 in behalf of an ideality which was at the same 
 time the highest social wisdom. If for a moment 
 her modern mind had revolted at the sternness of 
 the sacrifice demanded, she was now spellbound by 
 the shibboleth which meditation on her late experi 
 ence had reaffirmed on her lips as a rallying cry, 
 the safety of the home. 
 
 "You cannot be ignorant," she exclaimed in 
 another burst of expression, that the stability of 
 the family the greatest safeguard of civiliza 
 tion is threatened. What is the happiness of 
 
 341 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 the individual compared with the welfare of all? 
 In this day of easy divorces and quick remarriages 
 is it not your duty to heed the teaching of the 
 Christian Church, which stands as the champion 
 of the sacrament of marriage?" 
 
 Constance s mien during the delivery of this ex 
 hortation suggested that of a prisoner of war 
 listening to sentence of death, one who yearned to 
 live, but who was trying already to derive comfort 
 from the consequent glory; yet a prisoner, too, 
 who clung to life and who was not prepared to 
 accept his doom, however splendid, without ex 
 hausting every possibility of escape. Though her 
 face reflected spiritual appreciation of the great 
 opportunity for service held out to her, and her 
 nostrils quivered, her almost dauntless and obvi 
 ously critical brow offered no encouragement to 
 Mrs. Wilson s hope of a tumultuous quick sur 
 render. She listened, weighing impartially the 
 value of every word. But suddenly at the final 
 sentences she quivered, as though they had pierced 
 the armor of her suspended judgment, and inflicted 
 a mortal wound. 
 
 "Would the church demand it absolutely?" she 
 asked after a moment. 
 
 "Our church forbids remarriage except in case 
 of divorce for adultery granted to the innocent 
 party. The language of Christ in the gospel of 
 Matthew seems to sanction this exception, con 
 trary to His teaching as expressed in the other 
 gospels. But there are many who maintain with 
 the Roman Catholic Church that the marriage tie 
 can be dissolved only by death." 
 
 "I know. I had them read to me this morning." 
 
 342 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Though Mrs. Wilson regarded herself as a 
 liberal constructionist of scriptural texts, and as in 
 sympathy with the priests of her faith who glossed 
 over or ignored biblical language justifying out 
 worn philosophy, she was glad now of the support 
 of the letter of the Christian law for the great 
 social principal involved. Divining by intuition 
 what was working in the struggler s mind, and 
 ever on the watch to satisfy her own standard as 
 regards modern progressiveness of vision, she 
 ventured this : 
 
 "Though the words of Christ seem far away 
 though His world was very different from ours, 
 as perhaps you were thinking, the human needs of 
 to-day are a grand and unanswerable vindication 
 of His teachings and of the church s canon." 
 
 Constance looked up wonderingly. Was she 
 dealing with a seer? 
 
 "I was thinking that very thing, that the 
 Saviour s words seem so far away, perhaps He 
 did not anticipate such a case as mine." 
 
 "He invites you to suffer for His sake even as 
 He did for yours." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson had heard the doctrine of the 
 atonement criticised as outworn, and she was by no 
 means sure in her heart that it would survive the 
 processes of religious evolution; yet she felt no 
 scruples in proffering this cup of inspiration to a 
 thirsty and not altogether sophisticated spirit. 
 
 Constance s lip trembled. U I neglected once to 
 heed the voice of the church. I strayed away from 
 Christ. When I was in trouble the church sought 
 me out, helped me and took me back." 
 
 "I remember. Mr. Prentiss has told me." 
 
 343 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Would Mr. Prentiss consent to marry me?" 
 
 "He could not perform the service; he is for 
 bidden. You could be married only by some 
 clergyman of another sect, if one would consent, 
 or before a justice of the peace." 
 
 It was evident from her tone that Mrs. Wilson 
 classed the civil ceremony with the ugly things of 
 life. 
 
 "I see," said Constance. "I feared that he 
 would not that he could not." She sat for some 
 moments with her hands clasped before her staring 
 at destiny. Then spurred by one of the voices of 
 protest she cried like one deploring an inevitable 
 deed, "Gordon will not understand. He will deem 
 that I am flying in the face of reason and sacri 
 ficing our and the children s happiness to a delu 
 sion. He is a sane and conscientious man. He 
 strives to do what is right. Is it common sense 
 that I must give him up?" she asked almost 
 fiercely. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson recognized the cry as the flutter 
 ing of a spirit resolved to conquer temptation. 
 "To satisfy common sense would not satisfy you, 
 Constance," she answered with gentle fervor. 
 "What you desire would be selfish; what the 
 church invites you to do for the sake of the world, 
 of the family, would be spiritual." 
 
 "I wish to do what is right this time at any 
 cost." 
 
 As Constance spoke there was a knock, and a 
 moment later the rector of St. Stephen s appeared 
 in the doorway, a large, impressive figure. For 
 an instant he stood looking to right and left, 
 taking in the surroundings while the two women 
 
 344 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 rose to greet him, and Mrs. Wilson uttered an 
 eager aside to Constance : 
 
 "Here is someone who will tell you what is 
 right." 
 
 Perhaps she did not intend to smother the re 
 mark. At all events it was overheard by Mr. 
 Prentiss, and it suggested to him an appropriate 
 greeting. 
 
 "I know of few better qualified to decide for 
 herself what is right than Mrs. Stuart," he ex 
 claimed with sonorous geniality, advancing. "I 
 received your letter, and here I am. I am glad 
 to see that another friend has been even more 
 prompt," he added, shaking hands with Mrs. 
 Wilson. 
 
 "Yes, I wrote to you both that I had been ill 
 because I felt sure that you would be willing to 
 advise with me as to my future," said Constance. 
 
 She endeavored to take the clergyman s silk 
 hat, but he urbanely waved her back, and, depos 
 iting it on the table, threw open his long coat, and 
 squaring himself in the chair offered him glanced 
 around the somewhat darkened room. 
 
 "Well," he said, with cheery solicitude, "you 
 must tell me your story." 
 
 "Let me explain, my dear," interposed Mrs. 
 Wilson, and thereupon she glided from her chair, 
 and seating herself on the sofa beside Constance, 
 proceeded to enlighten him. "Our young friend 
 has had a painful accident," she began, and in half 
 a dozen graphic sentences she informed Mr. Pren 
 tiss of the details of the catastrophe and the scope 
 of the injury. Meanwhile she possessed herself 
 of Constance s hand, and from time to time pat- 
 
 345 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 ted it softly during the narration, in the course of 
 which the rector on his part expressed appropriate 
 concern for the victim. 
 
 "When Mrs. Stuart wrote," she continued, "it 
 was in order to consult us as to how she might 
 best earn her livelihood until such time as her 
 eyesight is restored. This was a pressing and deli 
 cate consideration for the reason that she suspected 
 her employer of a design to invent occupation for 
 her relief, which under all the circumstances was 
 distasteful to her pride. The particular matter 
 of providing her with suitable means of support 
 I have taken upon myself, and the question is no 
 longer perplexing her. It has been put in the 
 shade by another and far more momentous prob 
 lem, the solution of which we have been discussing 
 for the last half hour. You come just in time to 
 give her the benefit of your abundant insight and 
 experience. Since she wrote to you an unexpected 
 and appealing event has come to pass. Mrs. 
 Stuart has received an offer of marriage from Mr. 
 Perry, her employer, who of course is aware that 
 she still has a husband living from whom she has 
 never been divorced." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson designedly threw this searchlight 
 upon the past history of her ward in order to save 
 her rector from the possibility of finding himself 
 in the same slough into which she had slipped as a 
 result of inadvertence, and also to place the pre 
 cise situation before him in one vivid flash. 
 
 Presumably what he had heard was a stirring 
 surprise to Mr. Prentiss, but versed in receiving 
 confessions he gave no sign of perturbation beyond 
 compressing his lips and settling himself further 
 
 346 
 

 THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 back in his chair like one seeking to get his grip 
 on an interesting theme. When Mrs. Wilson in 
 bright-eyed consciousness of having sprung a sen 
 sation waited to enjoy its effect, he nodded, as 
 much as to inform her that he had grasped the 
 facts and that she might proceed. 
 
 She fondled Constance s hand for a little before 
 doing so. She wished to come to the point di 
 rectly, yet exhaustively; to avoid non-essentials, 
 yet to present the theme with picturesqueness. 
 
 "This little woman s heart is deeply engaged," 
 she resumed. "She loves dearly the man who has 
 offered himself to her. His wish to make her his 
 wrfe is not only a precious compliment, but it holds 
 forth interesting opportunities for happiness and 
 advancement for her and for her two children. 
 He is, as you know, a man of high standing in 
 the community with prospects of distinction. 
 From the point of view of worldly blessedness the 
 offer is exceptionally alluring. Moreover she 
 would be a wife of whom he could be justly proud. 
 You see what I mean. I have given you, I think, 
 all the vital data which bear on the case." As she 
 paused she noticed that Constance stirred beside 
 her. It had not been her intention to proceed 
 further, but she made this clear by saying, "I leave 
 the rest for you, my dear." 
 
 The next moment the rector responded with 
 grave, solicitous emphasis. "I believe that I recog 
 nize precisely the circumstances with all the in 
 separable perplexities and pathos." 
 
 By an involuntary restless movement Constance 
 had indeed revealed her dread that Mrs. Wilson 
 was about to state the arguments as well as the 
 
 347 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 point at issue, and her spirit had risen in protest. 
 For sitting there intent on every word she had 
 had time to realize that a crucial moment in her 
 life had arrived, and that no one else however 
 clever could fitly express what was working in her 
 mind in defence of her lover s cause. When now 
 the desired chance to speak was afforded her there 
 was no hesitation; the necessary burning question 
 was on her lips the one question which demanded 
 an unequivocal answer. 
 
 "Mrs. Wilson has stated all the facts. I ask 
 you, Mr. Prentiss, to tell me truly if it is possible 
 for me to marry Mr. Perry without doing wrong, 
 without doing what you the church would not 
 have me do. I am ready to renounce this great 
 happiness if it would not be right in the highest 
 sense for me to become his wife." 
 
 It was the rector s turn to stir uneasily. His 
 soul was rampant over the horrors of the divorce 
 evil, but his humanity was momentarily touched 
 by the rigor of this particular case. He, too, had 
 had time to think, and his opinion was already 
 formed. It had indeed arisen spontaneously from 
 the depths of his inner consciousness as the only 
 possible answer. Yet as a wrestler with modern 
 social problems he was disturbed to perceive that 
 this sacrifice on this petitioner s part would have 
 the surface effect of a hardship which, however 
 salutary as a tenet of Christian doctrine, was not 
 altogether satisfactory from the practical stand 
 point. Consequently his reply was a trifle militant. 
 
 Have you as a woman considered whether re 
 marriage while your husband is alive would be 
 consistent with the highest feminine purity? 
 
 348 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 It was a specious attack, but for a moment Con 
 stance did not comprehend. Then when it came 
 over her that he was imposing chastity upon her, 
 and expressing surprise at her restlessness, she low 
 ered her eyes instinctively. That phase of the case 
 had occurred to her many times already. Was it 
 an impurity that she, with a husband living, should 
 love another man? Was the implied reproach 
 sound? Her feminine self-respect was dearer to 
 her than life. Yet she had not discussed the point 
 with Mrs. Wilson, as exploration with the plum 
 met of conscience of the recesses of her womanly 
 self had left her without a qualm. She had even 
 faced the repugnant possibility that, as the wife of 
 Gordon, she might hereafter be brought in con 
 tact with Emil, and decided that it could not be 
 come a controlling bugbear. Yet now when she 
 raised her eyes again she looked first at her 
 mentor. That lady had hers turned toward the 
 ceiling in rapt meditation, but becoming conscious 
 of Constance s glance, she lowered them to meet 
 it, and Constance gathered from their troubled 
 appeal that she agreed with the clergyman that 
 remarriage for her would be incompatible with 
 the highest personal delicacy and a breach of the 
 law of beauty. This was almost a shock, and in 
 creased her trouble. Her reason was still uncon 
 vinced that the objection was other than an affec 
 tation, but the joint disapproval was a challenge to 
 her confidence. Still she answered with the courage 
 of her convictions : 
 
 "I should like to marry because I am in love. 
 If my husband were dead, it would not seem inap 
 propriate that I should wed another." 
 
 349 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "You are well provided for; you have employ 
 ment and are earning a decent livelihood. You 
 have friends who will see that your children do not 
 lack opportunities for advancement. Is not that 
 enough?" He paused and quoted rhetorically: 
 "Wherefore they are no more twain, but one 
 flesh." 
 
 Constance broke the silence by completing the 
 passage with reverence, "What therefore God hath 
 joined together let not man put asunder." 
 
 "Precisely," murmured the rector. 
 
 Constance slipped her hand from Mrs. Wilson s 
 and rose to her feet. Why, she scarcely knew. 
 She felt the impulse to stand before her judges, 
 even as a petitioner at a court of final resort. 
 Though her heart was hungry for permission to 
 enter the land of promise, she already guessed 
 what the verdict would be. If her rector s hint 
 that the project ought to have jarred upon her 
 finer feminine instincts had left her unconvicted 
 before the tribunal of her own wits, it had set her 
 thinking. It had brought before her a retrospec 
 tive vision of the long fealty of her sex to the 
 voice of carnal purity, and its twin sister, woman s 
 long fealty to the church. She must be true to 
 her birthright as a woman; she must obey the 
 higher law whatever the cost. No happiness could 
 be comparable to that which obedience would 
 bring. Yet another thought held her, and a little 
 doggedly. Whatever her penitence for past error, 
 she had never abdicated her heritage as an Amer 
 ican woman her right to the exercise of free judg 
 ment where the interests of her soul were con 
 cerned. Her intelligence must be satisfied before 
 
 350 
 
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 she yielded. Yet even as she rallied her energies 
 for a second bout, it seemed to her that the mem 
 ory of her late forgiveness by the church stood in 
 the guise of an angel at the rector s side with 
 grieving eyes, and the charge of ingratitude on its 
 lips. But Constance said sturdily and carefully: 
 
 "I have reread the Bible texts, Mr. Prentiss, 
 and Mrs. Wilson has explained to me that as a 
 priest of the Episcopal Church you could not 
 marry me. I understand that. What I wish you 
 to tell me is whether it would be a sin, a real sin, 
 were I to be married elsewhere. The law allows 
 it, only the church forbids. Has the church no 
 discretion, could no exception be made in a case 
 like mine? In this age of the world it would seem 
 as though justice and the demands which religion 
 makes on the conscience ought to tally. You 
 know the circumstances of my first marriage. Be 
 cause I made a dreadful mistake, is it my highest 
 duty to renounce this happiness as a forbidden 
 thing? It is for you to tell me. I must trust in 
 you ; I cannot decide for myself. My reason whis 
 pers to me that it would not be wrong for me to 
 consent, but I am prepared to put this seeming 
 blessing from me if by accepting it I should be 
 guilty of a genuine weakness, should be helping to 
 push society down instead of helping to maintain 
 the standards of the world." 
 
 Mr. Prentiss beamed upon her with pitying, 
 gracious approval. Now that he had recovered 
 from his momentary access of temper he beheld 
 in a clear light the reality of the sacrifice, her 
 touching sincerity and his own opportunity. From 
 the standpoint of righteousness there was no room 
 
 351 
 
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 in his mind for doubt or evasion; yet he felt that 
 it behooved him to meet this spiritual conflict with 
 all the tenderness of his priestly office. He had 
 learned to admire this lithe, dark-haired woman, 
 nor was her greater physical attraction lost on 
 him. He realized as she stood before him that 
 under the new dispensation she had waxed in charm 
 and social effectiveness; and once more she was 
 showing herself worthy of his enthusiasm. His 
 ear had noticed the felicity of her last thought, 
 and he was musing on the sophisticated scope 
 of it when Mrs. Wilson s dulcet voice broke the 
 silence. 
 
 "I have made clear to Mrs. Stuart, Mr. Pren- 
 tiss, that the advanced thought of the church finds 
 in the words of Christ not merely an inspired 
 utterance concerning divorce, but the rallying cry 
 in behalf of a profound, practical, social reform." 
 
 The rector bent on his ally a discerning glance 
 of satisfaction. He perceived gratefully that she 
 had made the most of her opportunities to till the 
 soil from which he looked for a rich harvest. 
 
 "My dear friend," he said to Constance, "you 
 have put upon me a great responsibility from 
 which I must not shrink. But however uncom 
 promising my duty as a servant of Christ may 
 cause me to appear, believe me that my under 
 standing is not blind to the human distress under 
 which you labor. You are asked to renounce what 
 is for woman the greatest of temporal joys, the 
 love of a deserving man." He paused a moment 
 to mark the fervor of his sympathy. "Were I 
 willing to palter with the truth, and did I deem 
 you to be common clay unable to appreciate and 
 
 352 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 live up to it, I might say to you go and be mar 
 ried elsewhere. It will be an offence; it will not 
 have the sanction of the church; but others have 
 done the same, and you will have the protection of 
 the secular law. Although the Roman Catholic 
 priest has but one answer under all circumstances 
 however pitiful, who, having a husband or wife 
 living, marries again, cannot remain a member of 
 the church, it might seem permissible to some of 
 my cloth not to condemn remarriage in the case of 
 a dense soul as a grievous sin. But such palliation 
 would sear my lips were I to utter it for your re 
 lief. You have asked me what is the vital truth 
 your highest Christian duty. There can be but 
 one answer. To respect the marriage bond and, 
 keeping yourself unspotted from the world, hold 
 to one husband for your mortal life so long as 
 you both do live. To yield would not be a crime 
 as the ignorant know crime, but it would be a 
 sapping carnal weakness, inconsistent with the 
 spiritual wisdom which has hitherto led you. It 
 would indeed help to lower the standards of hu 
 man society. I may not equivocate, my dear 
 friend. This is the ideal of the Christian Church 
 in respect to marriage and divorce. Invoke the 
 human law for your protection against your hus 
 band if you will, but he is still your husband in the 
 eyes of God, and if you wed another you commit 
 adultery." 
 
 Constance, seeming like a breathing statue, save 
 for her odd disfigurement, her arms before her at 
 full length, her hands folded one upon the other, 
 heard her sentence and love s banishment. Already 
 she felt the thrill of a solemn impulse to bear this 
 
 353 
 
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 cross laid upon her, not as a cross but as a fresh 
 opportunity for service, yet she said: 
 
 "Then the law of the church and the law of 
 the State stand opposed to each other !" She spoke 
 in soliloquy as it were, phrasing an existing condi 
 tion for the explanation of which her intelligence 
 still lacked the key. 
 
 Mr. Prentiss drew himself up. "Yes, they stand 
 opposed, as in so many other instances. The law 
 of the State is for the weak; the law of the church 
 of Christ is for the strong. Verily the church 
 has been magnanimous and forbearing. It has 
 resigned to the State little by little control of the 
 social machinery. But here, where the founda 
 tions of society are at stake, it behooves her to 
 stand firm. The law of spirit is at war with the 
 law of flesh. Monogamy is the corner-stone of 
 Christian civilization." 
 
 "And hence it is that marriage is a sacrament; 
 that the marriage bond bears the seal of heaven," 
 added Mrs. Wilson ardently, as the rector, con 
 tented with his metaphor, stopped short in his 
 righteous foray. 
 
 "If my marriage was made in heaven, we were 
 ill-mated," retorted Constance. The thought 
 seemed so repugnant to her that she revolted at 
 it. But Mr. Prentiss, like a true physician of the 
 soul, was equal to the emergency. 
 
 "The choice was yours, and you made a dread 
 ful mistake. Have you yourself not said so? Shall 
 you not pay the penalty, my daughter? You 
 thought you knew him whom you married." 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed; but I was very young." 
 
 "May they not all say the same? And yet," 
 
 354 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 pursued the rector, in a tone of proselytizing tri 
 umph, "the demon of divorce lurks at our firesides 
 and, stalking through every walk of life, makes 
 light of the holy tie as though it were of straw, 
 mocking the solemn associations of the family, and 
 taking from the innocent child the refining and 
 safe-guarding influence of a stable, unsullied home. 
 Yet the State stands by and winks at aye, con 
 nives at and promotes the foul programme, re 
 habilitating shallowness and vice through the re 
 spectable red seal of the law. Yes, there are two 
 standards. As a modern priest I am aware of the 
 sophistry of the criticism, for who, if the church 
 does not, will stand as the protector of the home? 
 And if it sometimes happens, as it must happen/* 
 he concluded in an exalted whisper, "that the ap 
 parent earthly happiness of one must be sacrificed 
 for the good of the many, I know that you are not 
 the woman to falter." 
 
 4 Oh, no oh, no," answered Constance, shak 
 ing her head. "It is a terrible condition of affairs, 
 is it not? I see; I understand." She resumed her 
 seat on the sofa and covered her face with her 
 hands. For a few moments there was silence. 
 Mrs. Wilson restrained a melting impulse to put 
 her arm around her ward s shoulder in pitying 
 encouragement. She felt that it was wiser to 
 wait. 
 
 "Terrible," repeated Constance, as though she 
 had been dwelling on the thought, and she looked 
 up. Her manner was calm and sweetly deter 
 mined. "Thank you, Mr. Prentiss thank you 
 both so much. There is only one thing to do 
 one thing I wish to do, now that my duty has been 
 
 355 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 made entirely plain. I shall tell Mr. Perry that 
 though I love him I cannot marry him." 
 
 "There is no reason that you should come to a 
 decision on the spot," said Mr. Prentiss, reluctant 
 to take undue advantage of an emotional frame 
 of mind. "Take time to consider the matter." 
 
 But Constance shook her head. "That would 
 not help me. I have thought it out already. I 
 could not consent to sin, and you have explained 
 to me that it would be a sin." 
 
 "A sin surely; a carnal sin for you, Mrs. 
 Stuart," said the clergyman with doughty firm 
 ness. 
 
 Constance gave a little nervous laugh or was 
 it the echo of a shiver? "I had a conviction that 
 it could never be. It was a pleasant dream." 
 
 The pathos of the simple utterance reawoke 
 Mrs. Wilson s strained sensibilities. She bent 
 and kissed Constance on the forehead. Then 
 turning to her rector she murmured with reverent 
 ecstasy : 
 
 "Will you not pray with us, Mrs. Prentiss?" 
 
 It was a grateful, benignant suggestion to the 
 sufferer; the tonic which her yearning, baffled spirit 
 needed. Divining as by telepathy that the mo 
 ment had arrived for just this spiritual commu 
 nion, the clergyman set the example to the two 
 women by falling on his knees, and presently his 
 voice was raised in fervent prayer. It was the 
 prayer of praise and victory, not of consolation 
 and distress. He thanked God as he could do 
 with an overflowing heart for this triumph of 
 intelligent spiritual discernment over the lures of 
 easygoing and numbing materialism. The out- 
 
 356 
 

 THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 come of the occasion was indeed for him an oasis, 
 one of those green, fruitful passages in the more 
 or less general dryness of heart-to-heart contact 
 with his parishioners, the occurrence of which 
 made him surer both of his own professional ca 
 pacity and of the eternal truths of his religion. 
 His invocation of his God was alike a psean of 
 thanksgiving and an acknowledgment of rekindled 
 faith. As for Constance, his words were so many 
 cups of water to a thirsty soul. Scorched by his 
 exaltation, the cloud mists of doubt no longer per 
 plexed her, and she beheld with radiant eyes her 
 cross, her privilege to renounce what reason and 
 human passion urged, for the sake of an ideal 
 the higher, vital needs of the human race. 
 
 When Mr. Prentiss had finished Mrs. Wilson 
 did not for a moment trust herself to speak. Her 
 eyes were full of tears. She had knelt as close to 
 Constance as she felt to be harmonious. It was 
 a glorious hour also for her. The steadfastness 
 of this woman of the people was not only a subtle 
 personal tribute, but it had refreshed the tired 
 arteries of her being. When her daughter had 
 left her house, secure and cold in the pride of a 
 revolting scheme of life, it had almost seemed that 
 God mocked her. But now the glories of His 
 grace were manifest. 
 
 "Constance," she said, "I will call for you to 
 morrow, to sit in my pew. It is Sunday, you 
 know." 
 
 357 
 
XXI 
 
 IN saying to Constance that he had pondered 
 the question of their marriage from her 
 standpoint, Gordon Perry felt that he had given 
 indeed the fullest weight to every legitimate 
 scruple, and believed that, provided he was be 
 loved, there was no substance in any one of them. 
 He knew that Constance had shrunk from a di 
 vorce. What more natural so long as she was 
 undisturbed by her deserting husband? But now 
 that the element of a new, strong affection was in 
 troduced, the necessary legal proceedings seemed 
 a paltry bar to her happiness. He had expected 
 that she would demur to the step at first, but he 
 had felt confident that her acute sense would short 
 ly convince her that she was divorced to all intents 
 and purposes already, and that the mere formal 
 adjudication of the fact, however unpleasant sen 
 timentally, was not a valid obstacle. He had also 
 appreciated that this repugnance to a legal dissolu 
 tion of the marriage tie for the purpose of becom 
 ing a second time a wife would be accompanied 
 by an instinctive feminine aversion to giving her 
 person to another man while it was still possible 
 to encounter the original husband in the flesh. He 
 did not pride himself on his knowledge of women, 
 but the attitude suggested itself to him as possible, 
 even probable, in the case of one whose sensibili 
 ties were so delicate as hers, for the reason that 
 
 358 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 there lingered in his mind the remembrance of 
 shrinking words both in books and in real life 
 by other women when the same topic had been 
 broached in the past. Consequently it was a re 
 lief to him that Constance did not openly manifest 
 this form of repugnance, and he radiantly jumped 
 to the conclusion that her love for him was so 
 reciprocal and mastering that false delicacy had 
 been shrivelled up as in a furnace. Was not such 
 a process in keeping with her sterling sanity and 
 intelligence? For a moment he had jubilantly 
 assumed that all was won, since, after conscien 
 tious if somewhat scornful analysis of the 
 Church s claim, he had already decided that the 
 pure religious objection would never in the end 
 avail to keep them apart. Nor did the forebod 
 ing definiteness of her opposition discourage him 
 appreciably. It merely cast a damper on his 
 hopes for an immediate surrender, and indicated 
 to him that he had been premature in supposing 
 that she had been able to purge herself of super 
 stitions and conventional prejudices forthwith. It 
 could simply be a question of time when so human 
 and discerning a bride would come to his arms 
 without a qualm. 
 
 Nevertheless he felt that he must convince her. 
 Now that he was sure she loved him, the possi 
 bility of losing her was not even to be entertained; 
 but he wished her to succumb as the result of 
 agreement, and not in spite of herself, both be 
 cause he realized that she would not be happy 
 otherwise, and because the doctrine which she had 
 invoked as a binding obligation jarred not only 
 with his desires, but with his deepest opinions. 
 
 359 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Therefore, at the conclusion of their interview, 
 he took up straightway the cudgels of thought in 
 defence of his convictions against what seemed to 
 him the essential injustice and unreasonableness of 
 the Church s claim. This necessarily involved 
 fresh consideration of that claim itself. That 
 night before he went to bed he rehearsed the argu 
 ments by which he purposed to appeal to her. Did 
 she not appreciate that they were influenced by 
 no base motives? That neither lust nor undue 
 haste, nor covetous trifling with the feelings of 
 others tarnished their mutual passion. Theirs 
 was no case of putting off the old bonds of matri 
 mony in order to be on with the new, but one 
 where love had been starved to death, and been 
 born again by gradual and chaste processes in a 
 lonely, forsaken heart. What could be wrong in 
 such a union ? And were not their own consciences 
 and their own intelligences the only fit judges of 
 the eternal merits? 
 
 Gordon Perry s attitude toward religion tow 
 ard churches and toward churchmen was ab 
 stractly respectful and friendly. He had been 
 brought up by his mother in her faith, and the 
 period of stress through which most young men 
 pass in early life had been productive of a frame 
 of mind which was reverent as well as critical. 
 Not a small portion of mankind in Benham accept 
 ed their religious doctrine on trust, as they did 
 their drinking water. Either they were too busy 
 to question what seemed authority, or that particu 
 lar compartment of the brain where absorbing in 
 terest in the unseen germinates was empty. Some 
 of the most pious never reasoned, and their docile 
 
 360 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 worship constituted the cement in the walls of 
 dogma. Again, there was a class a growing 
 class in Benham as elsewhere composed of well- 
 equipped, active-minded men who were polite to 
 Religion if they met her in the street, and would 
 even go to church now and again to oblige a 
 wife or preserve outward appearances, for they 
 were still of the opinion that religion is good for 
 the masses. But in their secret souls what did 
 they believe? 
 
 Gordon belonged to still another class. Re 
 ligious truth had an absorbing interest for him, 
 but what was religious truth? Different sects 
 and they were manifold in Benham told him 
 different things, and each sect proclaimed its doc 
 trine insistently as vital, if not to salvation, to the 
 highest spiritual development. Like many a young 
 man before him, he argued that all could not be 
 right, and as a result he presently found himself a 
 member of that secret society of able-bodied, able- 
 minded male citizens the largest class of all 
 who reasoned about religious doctrine somewhat 
 in this way: That they were hopefully looking 
 forward to the time when the controversial differ 
 ences which divided the sects into rival camps 
 should disappear; and that until then they and 
 their successors, whose number was sure to be le 
 gion, would turn deaf ears to the clashing of the 
 divines, and attend church in order to gain 
 strength and inspiration to play their parts well in 
 complex modern human society, ignoring all else 
 but the spirit of Christian love. If it be said that 
 they and Gordon were not strong on dogma, de 
 nied that the laws of the universe had ever been 
 
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 suspended to produce fear or admiration in man, 
 because to believe the contrary seemed to be an 
 insult to God, and looked askance at certain other 
 extraordinary phenomena to which the orthodox 
 cling, it should also be stated that they and he were 
 heartily in sympathy with every effort of all the 
 clergy to improve human nature along intelligent 
 lines, to help the poor to help themselves, to pre 
 vent the rich from misappropriating the earth and 
 to foster truth, courage, unselfishness and refine 
 ment in the name of religion. Therefore it hap 
 pened that (Gordon was apt to take with a grain 
 of salt what he heard in the pulpit; and now and 
 then he would play golf on Sunday if he were in 
 need of fresh air for his soul; but although he was 
 slightly impatient of clerical sophistries up town, 
 down town he lent a ready hand in the active re 
 forms of the city, in the furtherance of which he 
 had learned to know well, and to admire as good 
 fellows, half a dozen energetic, enthusiastic clergy 
 men. Was not religion one of the great forces 
 of the world? Because one could not believe 
 everything, and revolted at mystical or puerile 
 superstitions, were the highest cravings of one s 
 nature to be allowed to atrophy? So, just as in his 
 social perplexities, he had sought refuge in prac 
 tical service from the conflict of theories, and on 
 more than one occasion he had been agreeably sur 
 prised by the confidential admission of the divines 
 with whom he was co-operating that their and his 
 views were not essentially far apart. Gordon was 
 glad on their account to hear so, and was only the 
 more convinced as a consequence that it was diffi 
 cult to reconcile most of the strict tenets of the- 
 
 362 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 ology with the modern ideas of wide-awake, en 
 lightened laymen concerning the workings of the 
 universe or the best social development of the 
 creature man. 
 
 Gordon made no attempt to see Constance on 
 the day following his proposal. Impatient as he 
 was to renew his suit, he concluded to let her muse 
 for twenty-four hours on the situation. It occurred 
 to him that he would ask leave to accompany 
 her to church on Sunday morning, but reflecting 
 that it would not be fair to disturb her meditations, 
 he decided instead to attend the service at St. Ste 
 phen s and walk home with her after it. What 
 ever the New Testament language on the subject, 
 would she be able to convince herself that the sun 
 dering of such love as theirs would be in keeping 
 with the true spirit of Christianity? It seemed to 
 him that there could be but one answer to this 
 proposition, and as he walked along in the beauti 
 ful bracing atmosphere of the autumn day his step 
 was buoyant, for he believed that his happiness 
 would be sealed within a few short hours. Ec 
 stasy ruled his thoughts. Was not the woman of 
 his heart an entrancing prize? Fortune and sta 
 tion she had none, but far more important for him, 
 she was lovable and she was lovely; she was intel 
 ligent and she was good. 
 
 He had attended service at St. Stephen s once 
 or twice before, and had a bowing acquaintance 
 with Mr. Prentiss; but he knew well and enter 
 tained a cordial liking for the latter s assistant, the 
 rector of the Church of the Redeemer, the mission 
 church in the squalid section of the city supported 
 by the larger establishment. St. Stephen s, as the 
 
 363 
 
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 fashionable Episcopalian church of the commu 
 nity, was apt to draw a large congregation, espe 
 cially when the pew owners were not confronted 
 by wet skies or sidewalks. This brilliant Sunday 
 at the beginning of the social season had drawn 
 most of the regular congregation and also a large 
 contingent of strangers chiefly women some of 
 them visitors in Benham, but the majority students 
 and other temporary residents who found the aes 
 thetic music and devotional ritual of St. Stephen s 
 stimulating. Gordon, who was a little late, ob 
 tained a seat in the gallery. It had occurred to 
 him that he would be more likely to catch sight of 
 his ladylove from this eminence than if he re 
 mained below. His eyes sought at once the so- 
 called free benches where she was accustomed to 
 sit, but she was not in her usual place. After re 
 peated scrutiny of the rows of faces had convinced 
 him of this, he concluded dejectedly that she had 
 not come. Perhaps she had stayed at home hop 
 ing he would call. Or had she been loth to dis 
 play her glasses in public before she had become 
 accustomed to the disfigurement? His glance 
 wandered over the rich flower garden of autumn 
 bonnets, but to no purpose. While in perplexity 
 he reviewed the probable causes of her absence 
 he became aware that the music of the processional 
 had ceased and that Mr. Prentiss was speaking. 
 Ten minutes later, when the congregation rose to 
 take part in the selection from the Psalms, his 
 glance fell on Mrs. Randolph Wilson in one of 
 the front pews. Her profile was almost in a line 
 with his vision. While he looked his heart gave 
 a bound, for he suddenly recognized that the 
 
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 young woman next to her in the gay, attractive 
 bonnet was she for the sight of whom his soul was 
 yearning. 
 
 After leaving Constance on the day of their 
 eventful interview, Mrs. Wilson had conceived 
 the plan of presenting her with a new bonnet and 
 jacket. These she brought with her to Lincoln 
 Chambers a little before church time, and placed 
 with her own hands on the surprised recipient. 
 Pleased at the aesthetic progress of her ward, she 
 seized this opportunity to promote it, and also to 
 cater to her own generous instincts at a time when 
 to indulge them was not likely to cause offence. 
 Though astonished, Constance accepted without 
 demur these welcome additions to her toilet, and 
 the donor had the satisfaction of beholding how 
 admirably they became her. Besides, Mrs. Wil 
 son had on the tip of her tongue and was eager to 
 communicate the plan which she had been working 
 out since they separated, and which she imparted 
 to Constance as soon as they were in her brougham 
 on the way to church. 
 
 "I have been carefully considering your affairs, 
 my dear, and, in the first place, you are to do 
 nothing for the next six months but get well. I 
 shall insist upon looking after you. You promised 
 me, remember." She paused as though she half 
 expected to encounter opposition to this project, 
 and, though her ward revealed no insubordination, 
 she added the argument which she held in reserve : 
 "For, having deprived you by its counsel of the 
 means of support, it is the Church s duty, and my 
 privilege as a disciple of the Church s cause, to 
 watch over you until you are able to provide for 
 
 365 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 yourself. At the end of the six months, when 
 your eyes are strong again, I wish you to become 
 my private secretary." 
 
 On the way from her house she had pictured to 
 herself the astonishment and delight which such 
 an unexpected and splendid proposition must nec 
 essarily inspire, and she could not refrain from 
 stealing a sidelong glance at Constance in order 
 to observe the effect it would have on her. 
 
 "Your private secretary?" 
 
 Mrs. Wilson felt rewarded by the incredulous 
 bewilderment conveyed by the interrogatory, and 
 hastened to explain her benefaction. "It seems 
 almost the interposition of Providence in your be 
 half," she added. "Last evening and I was 
 thinking of your noble resolution at the time my 
 secretary came in to inform me that she was en 
 gaged to be married, and to ask me to be on the 
 lookout for someone else. The very place for 
 Constance Stuart, I said to myself at once. What 
 could suit her better? And what an admirable 
 arrangement it will be for me ! For, after re 
 fusing Mr. Perry s offer, I take for granted that, 
 even when your eyesight is restored, the continu 
 ance of your present business relations would be 
 out of the question." 
 
 "Oh, yes; entirely so," answered Constance 
 with rueful promptness. "I could not continue 
 in his employment; we should both be unhappy." 
 She was making a confession of what she had been 
 saying to herself all the morning. 
 
 "Exactly." Mrs. Wilson beamed over the 
 success of her divination. 
 
 "Then we will consider it settled. And I wish 
 366 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 to tell you besides that I shall take it upon myself 
 to see that your boy s artistic gift is given full op 
 portunity for expression, and your daughter thor 
 oughly educated. Your salary, I mean, will be 
 sufficient to enable you to give them proper advan 
 tages, for I can see that you will be very useful 
 to me." 
 
 She was determined to make plain that virtue in 
 this case was to be its own reward, and that the 
 material losses in the wake of renunciation were 
 rapidly being eliminated. At the same time she 
 wished to conceal a too obviously eleemosynary 
 intent. 
 
 "I don t see how anything could be nicer for 
 me. And if you think that I should suit that I 
 could perform the duties properly I shall be 
 thankful for the position," answered poor Con 
 stance. 
 
 She had passed another sleepless night. Fixed 
 as was her conviction that separation from her 
 lover was inevitable, she felt deeply sorry for him 
 if not for herself, and dreaded the impending final 
 interview between them. Despite her spiritual ex 
 altation the consciousness that she was letting slip 
 a great chance for her children still haunted her, 
 in that the future by comparison seemed vague and 
 forbidding. For it had been clear to her from the 
 moment of her decision that under no considera 
 tion could she remain in Gordon s office. There 
 fore, though doubtless her friends would help her, 
 the struggle for a livelihood must be begun again. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson s amazing, timely offer lifted a 
 great weight from her heart; by it the question of 
 her future employment was disposed of, and dis- 
 
 36? 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 posed of in a way more congenial to her than any 
 she could have imagined possible. It did indeed 
 seem providential that the vacancy should have oc 
 curred at this time, and she realized that the cer 
 tainty that her children would be protected would 
 nerve her for the necessary ordeal of parting, for 
 now there was only selfishness in her desire for 
 marriage. She longed for it to be over with that 
 she might put away once and forever this great 
 temptation. 
 
 The thought that Gordon would probably come 
 for his answer that afternoon was uppermost in 
 her mind during the service; but she was in a mood 
 to respond to the beautiful music, and before Mr. 
 Prentiss gave out the text of the sermon she was 
 already thrilling with the joy of her sacrifice on 
 the altar of faith. She prayed that she might be 
 granted strength to renounce this seeming bless 
 ing ungrudgingly and to close her ears to the whis 
 pers of regret, and as she joined in the jubilant 
 anthem of rejoicing for a risen Lord it seemed to 
 her that the angel of peace brushed her forehead 
 with the wings of heaven s love. The text was 
 "Except a man be born again he shall not enter 
 into the kingdom of heaven." It was a sermon of 
 immortality and hope, and a sermon of the tri 
 umph of the spirit over the flesh for the sake of a 
 Christ who had set the great example and con 
 quered self through suffering. It was one of Mr. 
 Prentiss s most happy efforts from the standpoint 
 of orthodoxy, graphic, eloquent, and practical. 
 He set no narrow limits of a creed as the arbiter 
 of truth, but declared that the opportunity to 
 
 368 
 
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 choose between the path of righteousness and the 
 path of self-sufficiency or self-indulgence was of 
 fered to every one in the great struggle of modern 
 life; that he who would follow the blessed Lord 
 and Master must shun as evil that which was in 
 jurious to the highest interests of human society 
 and thus hateful to God. As she listened Con 
 stance could not doubt that he had her in mind. 
 It seemed to her that more than once his glance 
 rested on her encouragingly and fondly. Her 
 brain was transported with ecstasy and zeal. Her 
 opportunity was at hand, and she would serve 
 Christ and mankind faithfully. 
 
 Leaving the church under the spell of the ser 
 mon, she became suddenly aware that her lover 
 was beside her and was suggesting that he escort 
 her home. At sight of him her chaperone, scent 
 ing danger, led the way sedulously toward the 
 brougham, but in the interval Constance decided 
 to take him at his word. Would it not be the 
 simplest course to explain to him quietly on the 
 street that what he asked her was impossible, and 
 thus avoid the pain of a more intimate parting? 
 Therefore she made her excuses to Mrs. Wilson, 
 pleading the radiance of the day and her need of 
 fresh air. She felt so sure of herself that, though 
 she noticed her friend seemed disappointed, it did 
 not occur to her that it was from concern as to the 
 result of the interview until she heard a whispered 
 "Be firm." Constance turned a resolute face 
 toward her, and by a close pressure of the hand 
 gave the desired assurance, then as the stylish 
 equipage rolled away from the church door, she 
 
 369 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 stepped to Gordon s side, sadly conscious that this 
 was to be their last walk together. 
 
 Three days later, in the evening, Gordon Perry 
 rang at the house of the Rev. George Prentiss, the 
 comfortable looking and architecturally pleasing 
 rectory in the neighborhood of St. Stephen s. A 
 trim maid ushered him into an ante-room where 
 all parochial visitors were first shown, and asked 
 for his name. There was a nondescript elderly 
 woman in black ahead of him. In his capacity 
 as rector of a large parish, Mr. Prentiss followed 
 the modern methods of other busy professional 
 men. An electric bell at his desk notified the ser 
 vant that the interview with the last comer was 
 at an end and that the next in order was to be in 
 troduced. Gordon had not long to wait. His 
 remaining predecessor s stay was brief. The rec 
 tor s heartiness was almost apologetic as he strode 
 a pace or two forward to greet his visitor. 
 
 "Mr. Perry, I am very glad to see you. I am 
 sorry that you should have been kept waiting. But 
 the clergy cannot afford to be unbusiness-like, can 
 they? We intend to live down that taunt. So my 
 rule is first come, first served. " 
 
 "The only proper rule, I am sure." 
 
 It was a spacious, well-filled room, the manifest 
 workshop of an industrious man, but furnished 
 with an eye to aesthetic appropriateness as well as 
 utility. Red leather chairs and lounges of goodly 
 proportions, two symmetrical, carved tables cov 
 ered with documents, books, and pamphlets, warm 
 curtains, an open wood fire, a globe, sundry busts 
 and framed photographs of celebrities, mainly 
 clerical, including a large one of Phillips Brooks 
 
 370 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 and another of Abraham Lincoln, were its distin 
 guishing characteristics. 
 
 Mr. Prentiss stepped to one of the tables and 
 opening an oblong Japanese box drew out a hand 
 ful of cigars. 
 
 "Will you smoke, Mr. Perry?" he asked, 
 cheerily. 
 
 Gordon took one, and the clergyman, who re 
 served his use of tobacco for occasions when by so 
 doing he might hope to make clearer that he was 
 human, did the same. As soon as they were lit, 
 Mr. Prentiss with a sweep of his hand indicated 
 two easy chairs on either side of the fire, but after 
 his guest was seated he himself stood with his back 
 to the mantel-piece, his hands behind him, the com 
 manding affable figure of a good fellow. Still he 
 chose to show at the same time what was in his 
 heart at the moment coincident with his manifes 
 tations of secular hospitality. 
 
 "That woman who just went out has recently 
 buried her only son, the joy and prop of her old 
 age. She came to thank me for a trifling donation 
 I had sent her. Her courage and her trust were 
 beautiful to witness. These humble lives often 
 furnish the most eloquent testimonials of the eter 
 nal realities." He spoke with the enthusiasm of 
 his calling, as a doctor or a lawyer might have set 
 before an acquaintance an interesting case. He 
 liked to feel that he was on the same footing with 
 the world of men as they, with respect to privileges 
 no less than responsibilities. For an instant he 
 seemed to muse on the experience, then briskly re 
 curring to the immediate situation said: 
 
 "But what can I do for you, Mr. Perry? My 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 assistant, Mr. Starkworth, tells me that you take 
 an active personal interest in the social problems 
 of our community." 
 
 This bland presumption of ignorance as to the 
 cause of his visit made Gordon smile. He could 
 not but suspect that it was artificial. Yet the in 
 quiry was by no means hypocritical; for though 
 Mr. Prentiss was fully conscious of his caller s 
 identity, and had given him a correspondingly 
 genial reception, he regarded the episode of the 
 proposed marriage as so completely closed by 
 Constance s decision that he did not choose to be 
 lieve that Gordon had come for the unseemly pur 
 pose of reviving it. It seemed to him far more 
 probable that his advice or assistance was sought 
 in some humanitarian or civic cause. 
 
 "Yes," said Gordon slowly, enjoying the de 
 velopment of the opening which occurred to him, 
 "Mr. Starkworth and I have co-operated from 
 time to time, with mutual liking, I think. It is in 
 regard to a social problem that I have come to 
 consult you this evening." 
 
 "Ah," said the rector, relieved in spite of his 
 belief, and thereupon he settled himself in the 
 other capacious easy chair and turned a cordially 
 attentive countenance to his guest. "You may 
 feel assured of my interest in anything of that 
 kind." 
 
 "It concerns my own marriage," said Gordon. 
 
 The challenge was so unmistakable, like a 
 gauntlet thrown at his feet, that Mr. Prentiss was 
 for an instant disconcerted, then irritated. But the 
 pleasant manner of his opponent negatived the 
 aroused suspicion that effrontery lurked behind this 
 
 372 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 slightly sardonic introduction, and he met the at 
 tack with a grave but supple dignity. 
 
 "Indeed," he said. "I shall be very glad to 
 hear what you have to say, Mr. Perry." 
 
 373 
 
XXII 
 
 ORDON drew deeply several times at his 
 cigar, then laid it on the bronze tray for 
 ashes within reach, as thought he felt that it might 
 profane his thought. 
 
 "I come to you to-night, Mr. Prentiss, as man 
 to man, knowing that you wish truth and justice 
 to prevail, and asking you to believe that I desire 
 the same. We are both of us men of affairs in the 
 modern sense." 
 
 The rector bowed. 
 
 "Then you as the rector of one of the most in 
 fluential churches in the city will doubtless agree 
 that religion must be sane and reasonable in its 
 demands to-day or it will lose more followers 
 among the educated and education is constantly 
 spreading than it gains from the ignorant and 
 superstitious?" 
 
 "Assuredly." 
 
 "I, on my side, as a layman whatever our dif 
 ferences of precise faith and dogma am glad to 
 bear witness that the present social world could do 
 without true religion less than ever before." 
 
 The summary pleased Mr. Prentiss. It was 
 reasonable and progressive. "We are entirely in 
 accord there," he answered heartily. 
 
 "As I supposed. Then it obviates the necessity 
 of feeling my way. With some clergymen I 
 
 374 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 should not venture to take anything unorthodox 
 for granted, but I believed that we should readily 
 find a common ground of agreement." 
 
 The assertion was regarded by Mr. Prentiss as 
 a compliment. Nevertheless he perceived that it 
 behooved him to mark the limits of his liberality. 
 
 "The essence of Christianity has nothing to fear 
 either from the higher criticism or the modern 
 world s lack of interest in moribund dogma. May 
 I not say with Paul but this one thing I do, for 
 getting those things which are behind, and reach 
 ing forth to those things which are before ?" 
 
 "And from that point of view may I ask why 
 you have felt constrained to separate Mrs. Stuart 
 and me?" 
 
 There was a brief pause. The rector had not 
 the remotest intention of shirking responsibility, 
 but he wished the precise truth to appear. 
 
 "It was Mrs. Stuart s own decision." 
 
 "I asked her in good faith, after an attachment 
 of several years, to become my wife. She loves 
 me fondly, as I do her. She would have married 
 me had you not convinced her that to do so would 
 be a sin." 
 
 "I told Mrs. Stuart that from the standpoint of 
 her highest duty as a Christian woman, it would be 
 a sin. Not unpardonable sin, if finite intelligence 
 may venture to distinguish the grades of human 
 error, but conduct incompatible with the highest 
 spirituality and modern spirituality, Mr. Perry." 
 
 There was a doughty ring to the rector s tone, 
 betokening that he was not averse to crossing 
 swords with his visitor. 
 
 375 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Why would it be a sin?" 
 
 Mr. Prentiss knocked the ash from his cigar and 
 held up the glowing tip. "Do you not know?" he 
 asked, fixing his gaze squarely on his antagonist, so 
 that he seemed to attack instead of defend. 
 
 "Because she has a husband living a brute of 
 a husband who, after dragging her down, deserted 
 her shamefully; a husband whom she has ceased 
 to love and from whom the law of this commu 
 nity would grant her a divorce." 
 
 "Proceed." 
 
 "Because the Church has seen fit to stigmatize 
 as evil that which the State sanctions in a matter 
 vitally affecting the earthly happiness of the human 
 
 sexes." 
 
 Waiting briefly to make sure that the indict 
 ment was complete, Mr. Prentiss rejoined dryly: 
 "You state the case accurately. My answer is that 
 the Church is merely inculcating the precepts of the 
 Saviour of mankind." 
 
 Gordon drew a deep breath. He rejoiced in his 
 opportunity. 
 
 "Mr. Prentiss," he said, "you referred just now 
 to the world s lack of interest in moribund dogma ; 
 we agreed that the demands of religion to-day must 
 be sane and reasonable. I speak with entire rev 
 erence, but I ask whether you honestly believe that 
 the few casual sentences which Christ is reported 
 to have uttered thousands of years ago in Pales 
 tine in regard to man s putting away his wife 
 should control complicated modern human society 
 the Christian civilization of to-day so as to 
 preclude a pure woman like Mrs. Stuart, under the 
 existing circumstances, from obtaining happiness 
 
 376 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 for herself and her children by becoming my wife? 
 I ask you as an intelligent human being and a just 
 man if this is your opinion?" 
 
 There was no hesitation on the rector s part; on 
 the contrary, firm alacrity. 
 
 "It is." ^ 
 
 "And yet you know that a large portion of the 
 civilized world ignores the doctrine," answered 
 Gordon, curbing his disappointment. He had not 
 expected to encounter this stone wall. 
 
 "I do, to its shame and detriment. The Church 
 is not responsible for that." 
 
 "Then your argument rests on the letter of 
 Christ s words?" 
 
 "It does and it does not." There was triumph 
 in the rector s voice as he laid emphasis on the 
 qualifying negation. He had hoped to lead his 
 censor to this very point. "Nor does the spiritual 
 objection of the woman who has refused to marry 
 you rest solely on that ground. She is an intel 
 ligent person, Mr. Perry. She perceives, as I per 
 ceive, that what you ask her to consent to do would 
 be evil for the human race as well as contrary to 
 the teachings of our Lord. There is nothing 
 moribund in that attitude. It is vital, timely 
 righteousness. Mrs. Stuart must have set this 
 double reason before you." 
 
 Gordon remembered that she had. In his agi 
 tation during their final interview, believing that 
 she was laboring under a neurotic delusion, he had 
 given little heed to her argument. Now, as a law 
 yer, he perceived the ingenuity of the plea, though 
 he still regarded her as the victim of clerical soph 
 istry. Yet he made no immediate response, and 
 
 377 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Mr. Prentiss took advantage of the opportunity 
 to elucidate the situation. 
 
 "Mr. Perry, you are led away by the special 
 merits of your own case. I acknowledge the hard 
 ship; I grant the pathos of the circumstances. 
 They present the strongest instance which could 
 be cited in justification of remarriage by a divorced 
 person. But there must be more or less innocent 
 victims on the altar of every great principle. The 
 Lord has demanded this service of His hand 
 maid, and, though her heart is wrung, she rejoices 
 
 in it." 
 
 "I see," said Gordon, "and that presents the 
 real issue. Why should the Church usurp the 
 functions of the State? Why in this age of the 
 world should it decide what is best for the human 
 race in a temporal matter, and substitute an arbi 
 trary and inflexible ethical standard of its own for 
 the judgment of organized society?" 
 
 Mr. Prentiss s nostrils dilated from the inten 
 sity of his kindled zeal. "Why? For two rea 
 sons. First, because the Church declines to regard 
 as a temporal matter an abuse which threatens the 
 existence of the family, the corner-stone of Chris 
 tian civilization; and second, because the State has 
 flagrantly neglected its duty, allowing divorce to 
 run riot through the nation without uniform sys 
 tem or decent limitations. Is the Church to re 
 main tongue-tied when the stability of the holy 
 bond of matrimony has become dependent on the 
 mere whims of either party?" 
 
 "I see the force of your position. I will answer 
 you categorically. As to the first reason, it seems 
 to me untenable. As to the second, you accused 
 
 378 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 me just now of seeing only my side. Let me re 
 taliate, and at the same time suggest that, though 
 you may seem to have a strong case, you do not 
 know the real facts." Gordon, having reached a 
 more dispassionate stage of the argument, remem 
 bered his cigar, which he proceeded to relight. But 
 the rector, not accustomed to such colloquial dis 
 sent, threw his own in the fireplace and crossed his 
 arms. 
 
 "Regarding your first plea in behalf of the 
 Church s interference that the Church does not 
 look on marriage as a temporal concern, let me 
 remind you," continued Gordon, "that marriage 
 is the only matter in the realm of human social 
 affairs where the Church undertakes to nullify by 
 positive ordinance the law of the State where 
 there is divided authority. In all other social af 
 fairs the law of the State is paramount. The 
 Church forbids abstract vices malice, uncharita- 
 bleness, lust, selfishness, intemperance, but it does 
 not attempt to define these in terms of human con 
 duct, or to substitute canons for the secular statute 
 book." 
 
 "The Church regards marriage as a sacrament." 
 "The Roman Catholic and the Episcopal. If 
 I may say so, the attitude of both these churches 
 is a foreign influence." 
 
 The clergyman drew himself up. "Foreign?" 
 "Yes, foreign to native American ideas, and I 
 might add foreign to the claims of the first fol 
 lowers of Christianity, for the early Christian 
 Church did not assert the right to perform the 
 marriage ceremony, or to regulate marriage. Its 
 protectorate dates from a later period. But what 
 
 379 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 I had in mind was that it is antagonistic to the 
 spirit both of our forefathers and their descend 
 ants. In the early days of New England the ser 
 vice of marriage was performed not by the min 
 ister, but by the magistrate, and marriages by 
 clergymen were forbidden. It was the authority 
 of the State, the commonwealth, the considered 
 judgment of the community which was recog 
 nized." 
 
 Mr. Prentiss nodded. "You are a Unitarian, 
 I judge." 
 
 "I was brought up in the Unitarian faith. Like 
 most American men, I believe in the power of the 
 individual to work out his own salvation." 
 
 "But what message have you for a world of sin 
 ners?" asked the rector, trenchantly. 
 
 "I appreciate the force of your criticism. I am 
 conscious that the weakness of Unitarianism of 
 individual liberty of conscience is its coldness, 
 that it does not constantly hold out to the degen 
 erate soul the lure of a new spiritual birth. It is 
 for this reason largely that your Church and the 
 Catholic Church have gained fresh converts in this 
 country and this city. Moreover, those churches 
 have promoted among us picturesqueness, color, 
 and sentiment. But, on the other hand, their 
 spirit is autocratic if not aristocratic, and in their 
 love for the pomp of the ages, in their fealty to 
 the so-called vested rights of civilization, they have 
 little sympathy with the rational, every-day rea 
 soning of republican democracy." 
 
 Mr. Prentiss pursed his lips. There was no 
 offence in the speaker s manner or tone which 
 would justify a rebuke; on the contrary, they both 
 
 380 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 suggested that he was trying to speak dispassion 
 ately. But the conclusions stirred the rector s 
 blood, and he tightened his folded arms. 
 
 "You seem to forget that the spirit of Chris 
 tian philanthropy, of the loving brotherhood of 
 man, is the controlling emotional force in the 
 Episcopal yes, in the Roman Church to-day. You 
 yourself are familiar, for example, with the work 
 of my Mr. Starkworth in the Church of the Re 
 deemer." 
 
 "Yes. But neither Church has compassion on 
 the misery of common humanity when to relieve it 
 would conflict with the hard and fast letter of 
 church law. That is where and notably in this 
 matter of recognizing divorce the other Protes 
 tant churches, the Presbyterian, the Methodist and 
 the Baptist, have been more tolerant. They have 
 refused to insist that it is for the benefit of man 
 kind that, under all circumstances, men and women 
 unhappily married should remain in durance vile 
 without the possibility of escape, or, having es 
 caped, should be condemned by precept to celibacy 
 for the rest of their lives. And these are sects 
 whose creed is based on the essential sinfulness of 
 human nature." 
 
 The rector glowered at Gordon for a moment 
 from under his brows. "Then where will you 
 draw the line?" This was Mr. Prentiss s trump 
 card. It expressed his utter weariness with what 
 he regarded as the foul system of conflicting and 
 irresponsible legislation, unceasingly and scandal 
 ously availed of. 
 
 "That brings us to your second proposition!" 
 exclaimed Gordon. "As to whether the State is 
 
 381 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 faithless to its duty. Have you a copy of the pub 
 lic laws, Mr. Prentiss?" 
 
 "Assuredly." The rector strode across the 
 room and taking down two large volumes from the 
 book-shelf presented them to his visitor. It grati 
 fied him to demonstrate by this practical test the 
 broadness of his humanity. 
 
 "Do you happen to know the causes for which 
 divorce is granted in this State?" 
 
 Mr. Prentiss hesitated. Evidently he had no 
 exact information on the subject, which at this 
 juncture was disconcerting. "For far too many 
 causes; I am sure of that," he replied, stoutly. 
 
 "I will read them to you. Impotence; adul 
 tery ; desertion for three years ; sentence for felony 
 for two years; confirmed habits of intoxication; 
 extreme cruelty; grossly and wantonly refusing to 
 support wife. 
 
 The rector listened alertly, hoping to be able 
 to pounce on some conspicuously insufficient pro 
 vision. Since this did not appear he made a 
 sweeping assertion. "They are all inadequate in 
 my opinion except unfaithfulness to the marriage 
 vow, and I often doubt the wisdom of making an 
 exception there. I am by no means sure that the 
 Roman Church is not right in its refusal to admit 
 the validity of divorce for any cause whatever." 
 
 "But what has been the course of history since 
 the Roman Church promulgated its canon at the 
 Council of Trent more than three hundred years 
 ago? The cause of common sense and justice as 
 represented by the State has, in spite of the fierce 
 opposition of the clergy, won victory after victory, 
 until the institution of marriage has been placed 
 
 382 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 under the control of the secular law on most of the 
 Continent of Europe, and the right to divorce and 
 the right to remarry widely recognized for in 
 stance in France, Germany, Switzerland, Norway, 
 Denmark. In France it s a criminal offence for a 
 priest to perform the religious ceremony of mar 
 riage until after the civil ceremony." 
 
 "Yes, and it was France which during the days 
 of the revolution permitted divorce at the mere 
 option of either party. And there are signs that 
 we are rapidly imitating that same barbaric laxity 
 in the United States, and in this community." 
 
 "And if it were, would it be so much more bar 
 barous a condition than the conservatism of the 
 English law of Church and State, which grants 
 divorce to the man whose wife has been guilty of 
 adultery, but withholds it from a woman unless 
 her husband has been guilty of cruel and abusive 
 treatment into the bargain?" 
 
 The rector was touched on another sensitive 
 point. He put out the palm of his hand. "I fail 
 to see the relevancy of your comparison, Mr. 
 Perry. However, the American Episcopal Church 
 is not responsible for the flaws in the details of the 
 English establishment. The two are harmonious 
 and their aims are identical, but we do not follow 
 blindly." 
 
 "Yet the American Episcopal Church follows 
 its English parent and the Roman Catholic in 
 maintaining that the woman whose husband is an 
 inveterate drunkard, is convicted of murder or em 
 bezzlement, kicks and beats her shamefully, or 
 deserts her utterly in cold blood, is guilty of a 
 crime against heaven and against society if she 
 
 383 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 breaks the bond and marries again. Progressive 
 democracy in the person of the State is more leni 
 ent, more merciful. It refuses to believe that one 
 relentless, arbitrary rule is adapted to the exigen 
 cies of human society. It insists that each case 
 should be judged on its merits, and both relief 
 afforded and fresh happiness permitted when 
 justice so demands. Think of the many poor 
 creatures in the lower ranks condemned by your 
 inexorable doctrine to miserable, lonely lives, who 
 might otherwise be happy!" 
 
 Mr. Prentiss s brow contracted as though he 
 were a little troubled by the appeal to his sympathy 
 with the toiling mass. "One wearies of this ever 
 lasting demand for happiness in this life," he mur 
 mured. "Was Christ happy? They are free to 
 disregard the authority of the Church if they see 
 fit," he added. "I for one should not feel justified 
 in refusing the communion to a divorced woman 
 who had remarried." 
 
 "But the Catholic Church would and does uni 
 formly; and the high church party in your own 
 church would disapprove of your leniency. The 
 vital point is that both churches and you yourself 
 brand those who disobey as spiritually impure, or 
 at least inferior, a stigma which appalls the best 
 women. And so they are held as in a cruel vice. 
 So you have held her who was to be my wife." 
 
 The reversion to the personal equation remind 
 ed the rector that this was no academic discussion. 
 
 "You have not answered my question yet. 
 Where will you draw the line? Granting for the 
 moment which I by no means agree to that 
 gross habits of intoxication, felony, or absolute 
 
 384 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 desertion are valid grounds for breaking the nup 
 tial bond, let me cite the law to you in turn, Mr. 
 Perry." Thereupon Mr. Prentiss stepped to the 
 shelves again, and running through the pages of 
 a book, discovered presently the data of which he 
 was in search. "What do you think of these rea 
 sons?" he asked in a scorching tone. "American 
 grounds of divorce : When it shall be made to 
 appear, to the satisfaction and conviction of the 
 court, that the parties cannot live in peace and 
 union together, and that their welfare requires 
 a separation, Utah; Voluntarily living separate 
 for one year, Wisconsin; For any cause that per 
 manently destroys the happiness of the petitioner 
 and defeats the purposes of the marriage relation/ 
 Connecticut; For any cause in the discretion of the 
 court, Kentucky; Whenever the judge who hears 
 the cause decrees the case to be within the reason 
 of the law, within the general mischief the law 
 intended to remedy, or within what it may be pre 
 sumed would have been provided against by the 
 legislature establishing the foregoing cause of di 
 vorce, had it foreseen the specific case and found 
 language to meet it without including cases not 
 within the same reason, he shall grant the divorce, 
 Arizona; and in a host of States, One year s ab 
 sence without reasonable cause. 
 
 "I told you that you seemed to have a good 
 case," said Gordon, smiling. "But I do not think 
 that you understand the facts, understand the real 
 nature of the abuse, for I heartily agree that an 
 abuse exists even from the standpoint of those who 
 maintain that divorce should be granted on the 
 slenderest grounds. As to the extracts which you 
 
 385 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 have just read, I judge that the book is not a re 
 cent publication." 
 
 "I have reason to believe that it is authorita 
 
 tive." 
 
 "Undoubtedly it was so at the time. But sev 
 eral of the provisions in question have been re 
 pealed and are no longer law." 
 
 "Ah," said the rector. "But you cannot deny 
 that it is still the law that a man and woman may 
 be married in one jurisdiction and adjudged guilty 
 of adultery or bigamy in another; that the mar 
 riage tie is broken daily on the most frivolous 
 grounds and with the most indecent haste; and 
 that there is wide and revolting discrepancy be 
 tween the statutes of the several United States." 
 
 Gordon nodded. "I cannot deny the substan 
 tial accuracy of the indictment." 
 
 "Well, sir, how do you justify it? Is not civil 
 society neglecting its duty?" 
 
 "I do not justify the defects in some of the legal 
 machinery, and to this extent I agree that society 
 is derelict. But what I wish to make clear is that 
 nearly all the legal grounds for divorce in the 
 several states are just and reasonable substan 
 tially the same as in this State and that the 
 abuses against which they afford relief are such 
 as render the relation of husband and wife in 
 tolerable. There are a few vague and lax excep 
 tions such as you have cited, but they are fast 
 disappearing. The real and the salient evil lies 
 in the looseness of administration sanctioned in 
 some jurisdictions, by means of which collusive di 
 vorces are obtained by pretended residents, and 
 close scrutiny of the facts is avoided by the 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 courts. To permit legal domicile to be acquired 
 by a residence of three months, as in Dakota, is a 
 flagrant invitation to fraud; but that and kindred 
 abuses are defects in the police power, and have 
 only a collateral bearing on the main issue between 
 us, which is whether democracy can ever be in 
 duced to reconsider its decision that it is for the 
 best interests of human nature that the innocent 
 wife or husband, to whom a cruel wrong has been 
 done, should be free to break the bond and marry 
 again. There is the real question, Mr. Prentiss. 
 You as a churchman a foreign churchman I still 
 claim demand that the woman whose life has 
 been blighted by a husband s brutality, sentenced 
 for heinous crime, abandonment, or degrading 
 abuse of liquor should remain his wife to the end, 
 though he has killed every spark of love in her 
 soul. The Church will never be able to convince 
 the American people or modern democracy that 
 this is spiritual or just." 
 
 "And yet a man who has been prohibited by the 
 courts of New York from marrying again has 
 merely to step into New Jersey and his marriage 
 there will be recognized and upheld by the courts 
 of New York. But that you will probably de 
 scribe as another instance of defect in the police 
 power. The line which you draw is evidently that 
 which any particular body of people sovereign 
 states I believe they call them sees fit to estab 
 lish. The logical outcome of such a theory can 
 only be social chaos. The sanctity of the home 
 is fundamentally imperilled thereby." 
 
 "And yet," said Gordon, "the family life of the 
 American people compares favorably with that of 
 
 38? 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 any nation in affection, morality, and happiness. 
 More than three-fourths of the applicants for di 
 vorce in the United States are women. They have 
 thrown off the yoke of docile suffering which the 
 convention of the centuries has fastened upon 
 them." 
 
 "Some of them," interposed the rector with 
 spirited incisiveness. "The shallow, the self-indul 
 gent, the indelicate, the earthly minded. There 
 are many who are still true to the behests of the 
 spirit," he added significantly. It was doubtless 
 an agreeable reflection to him that the one woman 
 in the world for his antagonist was among the 
 faithful. 
 
 "On the contrary, I believe that their number 
 is made up largely of the intelligent, the earnest, 
 and the vitally endowed. Democracy maintains 
 that it is no worse for children to be educated 
 where love or legal freedom exists than where 
 there is thinly concealed hate, contempt, or indif 
 ference." 
 
 It was obvious that neither had been or would 
 be convinced by the other s argument. Probably 
 each had been well aware of this from the first. 
 Gordon had come warm with what he regarded 
 as the unwarranted injustice of the clergyman s 
 successful interference, unable to credit the belief 
 that it would not be withdrawn when the case was 
 coolly laid before him. On his part Mr. Prentiss 
 had listened indulgently, certain of the deep-rooted 
 quality of his convictions, but willing to hear the 
 opposite side stated by a trained antagonist. He 
 had been glad of an opportunity to elucidate the 
 Church s attitude, and had not been without hopes 
 
 388 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 of making cogent to this censor of different faith 
 the civilizing righteousness of the ecclesiastical 
 stand, or at any rate which would be in the line 
 of progress the demoralizing insufficiency of the 
 current secular reasons for divorce. Apparently 
 he had failed in both, and moreover had encoun 
 tered a disposition toward obnoxious radicalism 
 which was disturbing. 
 
 "Then I am to presume that you, and so far 
 as you are at liberty to speak for them, the Ameri 
 can people" (Mr. Prentiss could be subtly biting 
 when the occasion demanded), "sanction practi 
 cally indiscriminate divorce?" 
 
 Gordon disregarded the sarcastic note. The 
 bare question itself was sufficiently interesting. 
 
 "It is true, as you suggested just now, that the 
 American people have gone further in that direc 
 tion than any other except the French. In France, 
 after the latitude of optional divorce palled, di 
 vorce was abolished and was never authorized 
 again, as you may remember, until very recently 
 1884. In the exuberance of our enthusiasm for 
 personal liberty the legislators in some of our 
 states especially those of the most recent origin, 
 have shown an inclination to pass laws which 
 justify your conclusion. But there is at present a 
 reaction. The people have become disgusted with 
 the licentious shuffling on and off of the marriage 
 tie by the profligate element of the fashionable 
 rich through temporary residence and collusive 
 proceedings in other states. You and I have a re 
 cent flagrant instance in this city in mind. Every 
 good citizen abhors such behavior, Mr. Prentiss. 
 But the public conscience has become aroused, and 
 
 389 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 steps are being taken to reform what I termed 
 the defects in the police power, partly by amend 
 ment of the loose provisions by some of the offend 
 ing states, and partly by provisions in other states, 
 challenging the jurisdictional validity of foreign 
 divorces granted to their own citizens on paltry 
 grounds. It is a misfortune that a national divorce 
 law is only among the remote possibilities. And 
 yet, can there be any doubt that any uniform law 
 which the American people would consent to adopt 
 would necessarily include every one of the grounds 
 already law in this State, and which the Church 
 labels as inadequate?" 
 
 Mr. Prentiss twisted in his chair. "If the 
 Church were satisfied that the State was sincere, 
 a reasonable compromise might not be impossible. 
 Some of our thoughtful clergy have been feeling 
 their way toward this." 
 
 Gordon shook his head. "But even your Church 
 would yield so little; and the Roman Catholic 
 nothing at all. Would you consent to divorce for 
 gross drunkenness or conviction for felony?" 
 
 "If so, what becomes of the spiritual obligation 
 that one takes the other for better or for worse? 
 Shall a woman desert her husband in misery? Is 
 long-suffering devotion to become antiquated?" 
 
 "As an obligation, yes. If she loves him still, 
 she will cling to him. But if their natures are 
 totally at variance, if she has been cruelly wronged 
 and disappointed by his conduct, she should have 
 the right to leave him and to wed again. The 
 world of men and women has ceased to believe 
 that individual happiness should be sacrificed until 
 death to the cruel or degenerate vices of another." 
 
 390 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "The doctrine of selfish individualism," mur 
 mured the rector. 
 
 "Mrs. Stuart informed me that you made that 
 cry the basis of your objection. I agree with you 
 that individualism has in many directions been 
 given too free scope, and that modern social 
 science is right in demanding that it should be 
 curbed for the common good. But only when it 
 is for the common good, Mr. Prentiss. Divorce 
 and remarriage are in many instances necessary 
 for the welfare of humanity, for the protection 
 and relief of the suffering and virtuous and the 
 joyous refreshment of maimed, tired lives." 
 
 "And how liable they are to become tired with 
 such easy avenues of escape!" Mr. Prentiss has 
 tened to exclaim. "So long as remarriage is stig 
 matized as a lapse from spiritual grace, young 
 couples will be patient and long-suffering. The 
 truest love is often the fruit of mutual forbear 
 ance during the early years of wedlock. It is only 
 one step from what you demand to divorce for 
 general incompatibility. I have yet to hear you 
 disclaim belief that this would be for the common 
 good, Mr. Perry." Mr. Prentiss rolled out the 
 phrase "general incompatibility" with fierce gusto, 
 as though he were scornfully revelling in its felic 
 ity as an epitome of his opponent s theory carried 
 to its logical conclusion. He had been sparring 
 for wind, waiting for an opening as it were, and 
 feeling that he had found it, he forced the fighting. 
 
 "It is difficult to forecast what is to be the future 
 evolution of the divorce problem," answered Gor 
 don, reflectively. "On one side is the security of 
 the home, as you have indicated, on the other the 
 
 391 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 claims of justice and happiness. Just now respect 
 able society stands a little aghast and no wonder 
 at the scandalous lack of reverence for the mar 
 riage tie shown by our new plutocracy " 
 
 "Godless people !" interjected the rector. 
 
 "And will doubtless mend its fences for the 
 time being so as to refuse divorce except for genu 
 ine tangible wrongs, such as those we have dis 
 cussed. But if you ask me whether I believe that 
 in the end general incompatibility meaning there 
 by total lack of sympathy between husband and 
 wife will be recognized by human society as a 
 valid and beneficial ground, my answer is that the 
 social drift is that way. It will depend on the 
 attitude of the women. They constitute by far the 
 majority of the applicants for divorce, as you 
 know. If they become convinced that it will not 
 be for the welfare and happiness of themselves 
 and their children to remain tied to men utterly 
 uncongenial, the State probably will give them 
 their liberty. But one thing is certain," he added, 
 "the Church will never be able to fasten again 
 upon the world its arbitrary standard." 
 
 Gordon rose as he finished. He felt that the 
 interview was at an end, a drawn battle so far as 
 change of opinion was concerned.. But he had 
 chosen to complete his bird s-eye glimpse of the 
 possible future with a definite and pointed predic 
 tion. 
 
 Mr. Prentiss had listened with astonishment to 
 the speculative suggestion. He had expected a 
 disavowal of the license embodied in his taunt, and 
 a floundering attempt at limitation which he hoped 
 would involve his adversary in an intellectual 
 
 392 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 quicksand. Up to this point he had fancied Gor 
 don, though he had disagreed with him. But now, 
 as he also rose, he manifested a shade of haughti 
 ness, as though he were dismissing someone who 
 had come perilously near landing himself outside 
 the pale of the respect which one man owes an 
 other of the same class. Ignoring the assertion 
 as to the decay of the Church s power, he said: 
 
 "Such an evolution as you predict, sir, would 
 undermine the structure of human society." 
 
 "It would be more or less revolutionary, cer 
 tainly," answered Gordon, blandly. The possi 
 bility seemed not to have proper terrors for him, 
 which was puzzling to the clergyman, who was 
 loth to regard this well-appearing young man as 
 a sympathizer with radical social doctrines. He 
 stared at Gordon a moment. 
 
 "So long as women are as pure and spiritual 
 minded as Mrs. Stuart the laxity which you seem 
 to invite will be out of the question." 
 
 Here was an unequivocal reminder to Gordon 
 of the real fruitlessness of his interview. It was 
 in effect a challenge; and he accepted it as such. 
 
 "She will yet become my wife." 
 
 Mr. Prentiss shook his head. "I have known 
 her longer than you," he asserted proudly. 
 
 For a moment there was silence. Issue had 
 been joined in these two sentences, and further 
 speech was superfluous. It was Gordon who re 
 lieved the tension, which seemed almost hostile, 
 by putting out his hand. 
 
 "Mr. Prentiss," he said, "we disagree utterly, 
 but that is no reason surely why we should not part 
 with amicable respect for each other s differences 
 
 393 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 of opinion? I know you are actuated solely by 
 the desire to accomplish what you believe to be 
 right." 
 
 The manly appeal was instantly reciprocated. 
 The clergyman grasped the outstretched hand and 
 shook it firmly. To agree to disagree gracefully 
 was in keeping with his theories as to the proper 
 attitude of men of affairs. 
 
 "Mr. Perry," he said, "I am glad to have made 
 your acquaintance. Believe me, I grieve that the 
 church in my person must stand between you and 
 happiness. If any matter at any time arises where 
 you think I could be of public service, do not 
 hesitate to consult me. I am well aware that we 
 both are laborers in the same vineyard." 
 
 Considering that their theological views were 
 nearly as divergent as the poles, and that they 
 were battling for a woman s soul, this was emi 
 nently conciliatory and rational on either side. 
 
 394 
 
XXIII 
 
 THE parting with Gordon had been exceed 
 ingly painful for Constance, but she had 
 not wavered. The circumstance that they were 
 in the street had been a serviceable protection, for 
 it forced upon the interview a restraint which must 
 have been lacking had they been indoors. She 
 was enabled to keep her lover at bay, and to meet 
 his protestations of devotion and dismay with the 
 answer that she had made up her mind. At the 
 outset she had explained to him in a few words 
 that she had become convinced that marriage 
 would be inconsistent with her highest spiritual 
 duty and hence must be renounced. Her responses 
 to his arguments and impetuous questions were 
 brief and substantially a repetition of her plea 
 that it was incumbent on them for the good of 
 civilization to stifle their love. He did most of 
 the talking, she listened, and under the influence 
 of her resolution rebuffed him gently from time 
 to time, trying to make plain to him that separa 
 tion was inevitable. When they had reached Lin 
 coln Chambers she felt it advisable for both their 
 sakes that he should not enter, but that they should 
 part with as little excitement as possible. Of what 
 avail an emotional scene such as would be sure to 
 take place were she to let him in? So she had 
 bidden him good-by then and there, informing him 
 
 395 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 that she was to become Mrs. Wilson s secretary. 
 She had permitted herself finally one last hand 
 clasp and the luxury of saying, "May God bless 
 you, Gordon. You have been the truest friend 
 a woman ever had. I wish you might be more. 
 Good-by." Then she had fled, leaving him stand 
 ing aghast and still refusing to believe that she 
 could be in earnest. 
 
 After she was alone she was free to weep, and 
 weep she did, divining, perhaps, that the surest 
 way to drown her grief was to let sorrow have 
 sway for the moment. When she faced life on the 
 morrow, quiet and resolute, she could not help 
 thinking of the Catholic Sisters of Charity whom 
 she was in the habit of seeing on the street, whose 
 faces so constantly suggested that they had dis 
 pensed with earthly happiness. But her elastic 
 nature demanded that she should seek earthly hap 
 piness still, and she found herself protesting 
 against the thought that her renunciation might 
 sadden the remainder of her life. Was not her 
 sacrifice for the welfare of society? If so, it be 
 hooved her to behold in it a real blessing over 
 which she should rejoice. If it were not a cause 
 for congratulation, a real escape from evil, she 
 was simply worshipping a fetich as Gordon had 
 declared. It was no case of preference for spir 
 itual over mundane things, but of a choice of what 
 was best for her as a human being. Hence she 
 ought to find fresh zest in life itself, not wait for 
 future rewards. 
 
 So she sought to deaden her senses to every 
 thought or memory of Gordon, and to take up her 
 new life as a quickening privilege. The first thing 
 
 396 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 to do was to regain the complete use of her eyes, 
 and for this patient idleness during several months 
 would be necessary. 
 
 Therefore, without demur, she lived up to her 
 promise to Mrs. Wilson by accepting the funds ne 
 cessary for her support until such time as she should 
 be able to assume the full duties of her position. 
 Mrs. Wilson made this easier for her by sending 
 her to investigate diverse philanthropic and socio- 
 ogical appeals and employing her on a variety of 
 errands. The present secretary had agreed to re 
 main until Constance could take her place, and was 
 glad to delegate such duties as the latter could 
 perform. Accordingly Constance reported daily 
 for instructions and had the run of the office ap 
 propriated to the secretary s use, a pretty room 
 furnished with a convenient but artistic desk, a 
 typewriter and all the paraphernalia for the 
 despatch of a large correspondence. She longed 
 for the day to arrive when this room would be 
 hers, and she could devote herself unreservedly 
 to the furtherance of Mrs. Wilson s wide inter 
 ests. 
 
 One evening, some fortnight after the parting 
 between Constance and Gordon, Loretta came 
 bouncing into Constance s apartment. She had 
 been employed in one place as a nurse during that 
 period, but had completed her engagement the day 
 before. She appeared to be in good spirits, and 
 Constance noticed that she had on a new hat and 
 jacket more gaudy than was her custom, as 
 though she had spent her earnings promptly and 
 freely. Moreover she looked knowing. The 
 cause of this last manifestation was disclosed 
 
 397 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 when, after a few preliminary greetings, she ex 
 claimed: 
 
 "And so you ve left Gordon Perry, Esq., 
 Counsellor-at-Law !" 
 
 "Yes. It wouldn t have been fair to Mr. Perry 
 to ask him to wait. Besides, Mrs. Wilson has in 
 vited me to become her private secretary. Miss 
 Perkins is going to be married." 
 
 Loretta cocked her head on one side and winked 
 an eye. She appeared amused by this plausible 
 explanation, which apparently was not news to 
 her. 
 
 "I guess somebody else is going to be married 
 too." 
 
 Constance felt uncomfortable; she scented mis 
 chief. But there was nothing to do but look inno 
 cent. 
 
 "A litle bird told me to-day that you had only 
 to nod your head to become Mrs. Gordon Perry, 
 Esq." Enjoying the look of confusion which this 
 bold sally evoked, Loretta approached Constance 
 and peered mockingly into her face. 
 
 "It s so, isn t it? You re engaged and you can t 
 deny it. I knew it!" 
 
 "Nothing of the kind, Loretta," she managed 
 to articulate with decision. 
 
 The little bird was evidently Mrs. Harrity. But 
 the charwoman s gossip could only have been con 
 jecture, and of course her inquisitor knew nothing 
 definite. 
 
 "Well, it s your own fault if it isn t. From 
 what I hear he s just crazy to get you." Loretta 
 paused a moment; she was ferreting for infor 
 mation. She seized Constance by the shoulders 
 
 398 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 and fixed her again with her shrewd gaze. "You 
 can t fool me, Constance Stuart. There s some 
 thing in the wind. I shan t rest until I find 
 
 out." 
 
 Constance noticed that her cheeks were slightly 
 flushed, and her eyes unnaturally bright. Could 
 she have been drinking? Surely not, or her breath 
 would have betrayed her. Doubtless it was only 
 the excitement of deviltry awakened by feminine 
 curiosity. Then it occurred to Constance to tell 
 her. Was it not best to tell her? Loretta would 
 make her life miserable, so she had intimated, if 
 she concealed the truth. And then again, as she 
 was sacrificing her love for a principle, why conceal 
 from this other struggler the vital conclusion she 
 had reached? It might help, or at least stimulate 
 Loretta. She shrank from disclosing her precious 
 secret, but now that she was interrogated, was it 
 not the simplest, the most straightforward course 
 to confess what had happened and explain her 
 
 reason r 
 
 u 
 
 Sit down, Loretta, and I will tell you." 
 The girl obeyed, surveying her with an exultant 
 mien. Constance hesitated a moment. It was not 
 easy to begin. "Mr. Perry and I have talked 
 things over. Yes, Loretta, he did ask me to marry 
 him." 
 
 Loretta uttered what resembled a whoop of 
 triumph, partly to celebrate her own perspicacity, 
 partly by way of congratulation. "I felt sure of 
 it. I knew he loved you by the way he was carry 
 ing on." 
 
 "And I loved him, but I m not going to marry 
 him. We are to see no more of each other for the 
 
 399 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 present. It would be wrong for me to become his 
 wife." 
 
 Loretta stared as though she could not believe 
 her ears. "Wrong? Who says so? You don t 
 mean to tell me you ve refused him?" 
 
 "Yes," said Constance a little sadly, for the 
 genuineness of the surprise expressed recalled her 
 own perplexity in discerning an adequate reason 
 for the sacrifice. 
 
 Loretta gasped. "Well, you are a fool, and no 
 mistake ! Refuse a man like that who s crazy to 
 marry you and whom you love! Wrong? What s 
 wrong about it?" 
 
 "It s contrary to the law of my church, which 
 forbids a woman who has a husband living from 
 marrying again." 
 
 "But he s as good as dead so far as you re con 
 cerned," interjected Loretta. 
 
 Without heeding this pertinent remark Con 
 stance proceeded to state the so-called spiritual ob 
 jections with succinct fervor. She felt the desire 
 to reiterate aloud their complete potency. 
 
 Loretta listened closely, but with obvious be 
 wilderment and disdain. Even now she seemed 
 unable to credit her companion s announcement as 
 genuine. 
 
 "If your clergyman won t marry you, get a 
 justice of the peace. That s just as good." 
 
 Constance shook her head. "From my point 
 of view remarriage would be sinful impure." 
 
 Loretta leaned back on the lounge where she 
 was sitting and clasped her hands behind her head. 
 She appeared to be at a loss to find words to ex 
 press her feelings. 
 
 400 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "And you mean to tell me that you ve let that 
 man go the man you love and who d give you 
 a fine home and be a fond husband to you for 
 such a reason as that?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Constance, stanchly. 
 
 "Then all I can say is you didn t deserve such 
 luck. He s too good for you." 
 
 Loretta s conviction went so deep that she had 
 become grave, and, so to speak, dignified in her 
 language. 
 
 "He s too good for any woman I know," Con 
 stance felt impelled to assert. "But for both our 
 sakes, all the same, it was my duty not to marry 
 him. Mr. Perry knows my reasons and and re 
 spects them." 
 
 Constance had wondered many times what her 
 lover s present emotions were, but she chose to 
 take no less than this for granted. 
 
 "If he loves you as much as I guess he does, 
 he must just hate you, Constance Stuart. My! 
 Think of throwing up a chance like that." Then 
 suddenly a thought occurred to Loretta, and 
 leaning forward she asked tensely, "Does she 
 know?" 
 
 The suggestion of resentment on Gordon s part 
 had been to Constance like a dash of scalding 
 water. The question just put served as a restora 
 tive. 
 
 "Mrs. Wilson? It was she who advised me to 
 let him go. She agrees with me entirely." 
 
 Loretta looked astonished and disappointed; 
 then she frowned. 
 
 "Just because you ve been married once? Not 
 if you got a divorce?" 
 
 401 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Never, so long as my husband is alive and we 
 are liable to meet in the flesh." 
 
 Constance realized that her phraseology had a 
 clerical sound; still she felt that she had a right to 
 the entire arsenal of the church. 
 
 u And she believes that too, does she? Believes 
 that it would be wicked for a good looking, hard 
 working girl, whose husband had left her in the 
 lurch, and may be dead for all she knows or cares, 
 to get a divorce and marry again? And that s 
 the Church? My! but it s the crankiest thing I 
 ever heard. That s the sort of thing which sets 
 the common folk who use their wits against re 
 ligion. There s no sense in it. She s a widow; 
 would she refuse to marry again if the right man 
 came along?" 
 
 "That s different," said Constance, perceiving 
 that an answer was expected. 
 
 "And what s the difference? It s all right to 
 be spliced to another man in three months after 
 the breath is out of the first one s body, as some of 
 them do, but impure to marry again so long as 
 the husband who has dragged you round by the 
 hair of your head is liable to drop in. If it comes 
 to that, and marriages are made in heaven, as the 
 clergy say, what do the dead husbands and wives 
 think about second marriages anyway? I d be 
 real jealous if I were dead." 
 
 "The Church has thought it all out and come 
 to the conclusion that it is the best rule for human 
 society." 
 
 Constance spoke with hurried emphasis, hoping 
 to terminate the discussion. She did not desire 
 to argue the matter with Loretta ; at the same time 
 
 402 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 she recognized the familiar pertinency of the allu 
 sions to dead husbands and wives. 
 
 Loretta detected Constance s nervous agitation. 
 "I hate to think it of her," she cried with sudden 
 illumination, "but I believe she has badgered you 
 into it!" 
 
 "Nothing of the kind, Loretta. It s my own 
 free choice. Mrs. Wilson simply made clear to 
 me the Church s side." 
 
 Loretta sneered. "It s downright cruel, that s 
 what I call it. The Church s side ! The Church 
 doesn t recognize divorce, but there s always been 
 ways for the rich the folk with pull, kings and 
 such to get the marriages they were tired of pro 
 nounced void from the beginning. It was only 
 necessary to show that they had been god-parents 
 to the same child, or were twenty-fifth cousins by 
 affinity, as it s called, or some such tomfoolery. 
 It didn t take Napoleon long when he wished to 
 get rid of Josephine to induce the Catholic Church 
 to declare that they never had been married, 
 though it was a good church wedding before a 
 cardinal. Pshaw ! The Church has fooled the 
 people long enough. What we want is justice and 
 
 common sense." 
 
 That same cry for justice, that same appeal to 
 common sense ; and from what very different lips ! 
 Yet though Constance shrank from the coarseness 
 of the exposition, somehow the naked saliency of 
 the argument was more persuasive than Gordon s 
 subtler plea. Her instinctive compassion for the 
 masses asserted itself. The fact that Loretta 
 should have touched at once the crucial point which 
 Gordon s trained intelligence had emphasized 
 
 403 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 struck her forcibly. And after all, what was she 
 herself but one of the common people? But she 
 said: 
 
 "The scandal in Mrs. Wilson s own family has 
 been the greatest grief and mortification to her." 
 
 Loretta bridled. "Yes, and when Mrs. Waldo 
 gets her divorce in South Dakota and comes back 
 married again, won t everybody she cares about 
 receive her just the same? In six months she ll be 
 staying in Benham and her mother ll be inviting 
 all the other multi-millionaires to meet her at a 
 big blow-out; see if she don t." She paused, and 
 her eyes took on a crafty look. "What do you 
 suppose she d say if I were to go back to my 
 man?" 
 
 Constance sat bolt upright from apprehension. 
 Loretta s air of mystery, which was accentuated 
 by a whispering tone, conveyed to her the true im 
 port of the intimation. Yet she would not seem 
 to understand. 
 
 "What do you mean, Loretta?" 
 
 "My man; the father of my child. He was in 
 town the other day. He has found out where I 
 am and has been plaguing me to go back to him." 
 
 "Did he ask you to marry him?" asked Con 
 stance, seeking that solution. 
 
 "That s not what he meant. But I ve thought of 
 that too on baby s account. I guess he would if 
 I were set on it. But we re both doing well single, 
 and " She stopped and laughed sarcastically 
 "and supposing we didn t like each other and got 
 divorced, I could never marry anyone else." 
 
 "No matter about that now, Loretta. Do you 
 love him still?" 
 
 404 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 u lt s love that makes the world go round. 
 There isn t much else worth living for, I guess." 
 She pursed her lips after this enigmatical answer, 
 then suddenly relaxed them in an impetuous out 
 burst. "One thing s sure, Constance Stuart, you 
 don t know what love is or you d never have sent 
 away Gordon Perry, Esq., Counsellor-at-Law." 
 
 "Don t, Loretta," said Constance, imploringly. 
 
 "It s true." 
 
 "I love him with all my heart. You don t 
 understand." 
 
 "Pish! If you d loved him as a woman loves 
 a man when she does love him, you d have been 
 married before this. Why, there s times when I 
 feel like going right back to my man, and I m 
 not what you d call more than moderately fond 
 of him. If it hadn t been that I didn t want to 
 disappoint her and you I d have done it before 
 this. Now the next time he comes back, I 
 shouldn t wonder if I did." She leaned back again 
 on the sofa with her hands behind her head nod 
 ding doggedly, and nursing her intention. 
 
 Constance, appalled, went over and sat down 
 beside her. "Oh, but you mustn t, you mustn t! 
 Go to-morrow to see Mrs. Wilson and talk with 
 her. She will give you strength and convince you 
 that unless you marry him such a course would be 
 suicide, a cruel wrong to yourself, dear you who 
 have done so well." 
 
 "I ve kept straight chiefly to suit her; but I 
 don t like what she has done to you." 
 
 "Please leave me and my affairs out of the ques 
 tion, Loretta. They have nothing to do with your 
 preserving your own self-respect." 
 
 405 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "I don t know about that. If she s just like 
 the rest; if that s a sample of the religion and the 
 beauty she prides herself on, I ve been fooled, 
 you ve been fooled. What s the use of being re 
 spectable if, when true love does come, a poor, 
 deserted woman is robbed of it for such a reason 
 as that?" 
 
 It surprised Constance that Loretta should take 
 sides so strongly, and she perceived that the girl 
 must have a tenderer feeling for her than she had 
 supposed. This made her all the more anxious to 
 protect her. 
 
 "I value your sympathy very much, dear, but 
 it won t help me it ll only make me dreadfully 
 unhappy if you do wrong." 
 
 Loretta looked at her keenly. Then she took 
 out a small phial, similar to that which Constance 
 had observed on another occasion, and swallowed 
 a pellet ostentatiously. 
 
 "If you are troubled with the blues these are 
 the things to take. They brace one splendid." 
 
 "What are they, Loretta?" 
 
 "If you promise to take some right along, I ll 
 tell you." But she evidently was not eager to dis 
 close her secret, for she promptly replaced the 
 phial in her pocket and said, "I ll make a bargain 
 with you, Constance. If you ll marry Gordon 
 Perry, Esq., Counsellor-at-Law, I ll keep straight." 
 
 Constance flushed. "But I can t, dear. It s all 
 settled." 
 
 "He will come back if you only whistle. You 
 know that." 
 
 Constance let her eyes fall. She feared that it 
 was too true. But she could not afford to be pen- 
 
 406 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 sive. She must be both resolute and resourceful, 
 for the future of this erring sister seemed to be 
 hanging in the balance. 
 
 "I can never marry Mr. Perry, Loretta. 
 But " 
 
 "I thought better things of you, Constance. 
 Oh ! well then I ll go back to my man." 
 
 "If you should do such a thing it would break 
 Mrs. Wilson s heart." 
 
 This seemed to Constance in her perplexity the 
 most hopeful appeal, and she was right, for Loret 
 ta was obviously impressed by the remark. 
 
 "Would it?" she asked. She looked down at 
 her large hands and let them rise and fall in her 
 lap like one nervously touched by sentiment. 
 
 "I do not know of anything which would dis 
 tress her more," continued Constance. 
 
 After a moment Loretta said, "He s away now. 
 He won t be on this route again for another four 
 months. So there isn t any danger just yet." 
 She shrugged her shoulders. Then she rose, add 
 ing, "I guess I ll go to bed," which was plainly 
 an intimation that this was to be the limit of her 
 present concession. 
 
 Constance was relieved, not only that immediate 
 danger was averted, but that the tie which bound 
 Loretta to Mrs. Wilson, however temporarily 
 strained, v/as still strong and compelling. She 
 rejoiced to think that they were warned, so that 
 they could now keep a closer watch and leave 
 nothing undone to save her from further degen 
 eration. She dismissed the subject by making 
 some inquiries in regard to Loretta s last case. 
 The girl s responses were to the point and brisk, 
 
 407 
 
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 but she did not resume her seat, and evidently had 
 no intention of remaining. Presently she got as 
 far as the door, where she stood discussing for a 
 few moments with her hand on the knob. When 
 at last she opened it and was in the act of depart 
 ing, she turned her head and uttered this parting 
 shot, which indicated what was still uppermost in 
 her thoughts : 
 
 "I guess that you never really loved Gordon 
 Perry, Esq., Counsellor-at-Law, or you couldn t 
 have done it." 
 
 This taunt lingered in Constance s mind, though 
 she denied the impeachment to herself. Was it not 
 indeed true, as Loretta said, that it is love which 
 makes the world go round? Only for the sake 
 of righteousness was she justified as a healthy, 
 breathing woman in stifling this instinct. If Loret 
 ta in the future were to marry some one other than 
 the father of her child both the Church and Mrs. 
 Wilson would rejoice because the mere ceremony 
 of marriage had been lacking in the first relation; 
 yet she herself was forbidden to marry the man 
 she loved because she was tied to a faithless hus 
 band by the mere husk of marriage. 
 
 She saw Loretta but two or three times before 
 her convalescence was complete and she had as 
 sumed her duties as Mrs. Wilson s secretary, for 
 Loretta was sent for again shortly, and was only 
 at home in the interval between her engagements. 
 But Constance gave Mrs. Wilson forthwith an 
 inkling of Loretta s state of mind, though she 
 tried to believe that the girl s wanton threat was 
 a mere passing ebullition due to resentment of her 
 reason for refusing Gordon. Nevertheless she did 
 
 408 
 
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 not altogether like the expression of her eyes; it 
 suggested excitement, and predominance of that 
 boldness which, though typical, had been much in 
 abeyance during the period of her regeneration. 
 She remembered, too, the bottle of pellets, which 
 indicated that she was taking some drug. So, 
 though she could not believe that she was seriously 
 considering such an abhorrent proceeding, she felt 
 it her duty to put Mrs. Wilson on her guard. 
 They both agreed, however, that the culprit must 
 be handled gingerly and not too much made 
 of the occurrence. Accordingly Mrs. Wilson 
 straightway wrote to Loretta, but her letter was a 
 missive of interest and encouragement, not of re 
 proach or alarm. She deplored in it that she had 
 lately seen but little of her ward, owing to the 
 latter s popularity as a nurse, and urged her to 
 call on her at the first opportunity. She sent her 
 also one or two pretty toilet articles for herself 
 and some new frocks for her baby. Constance 
 said nothing, however, to Mrs. Wilson as to 
 Loretta s attitude toward the church regarding 
 remarriage after divorce, for she could not bear 
 to renew the subject with her patroness. It was 
 settled forever, and her spirit craved peace. 
 
 409 
 
XXIV 
 
 IT was a great relief to Constance when at last 
 she was once more self-supporting. Her 
 eyes appeared to be as strong as ever, and she 
 found her new work congenial and absorbing. 
 She was not merely Mrs. Wilson s stenographer, 
 but her factotum, expected to exercise a general 
 superintendence over her employer s philanthropic 
 and social concerns, to attend to details, and, 
 through tactful personal interviews, to act as a 
 domestic buffer. The change from the practical 
 severity of a law office, with its dusty shelves of 
 volumes uniformly bound in sheep, its plain furni 
 ture and heterogeneous clientage, to her present 
 surroundings was both stimulating and startling. 
 Stimulating because it catered to her yearning for 
 contact with aesthetic influences to have the run of 
 this superb house and to be brought into daily 
 familiar association with all sorts of lavish ex 
 penditure in aid of beautiful effects and beneficent 
 purposes. Startling because the true quality of the 
 luxury aimed at was unknown to her until she be 
 came a constant eye-witness. In both Mrs. Wil 
 son s and her brother Carleton Howard s establish 
 ments a major-domo presided over the purely do 
 mestic relations, engaging the numerous servants, 
 and endeavoring to maintain such a competent 
 staff below stairs as to ensure delicious, supera 
 bundant food and neat, noiseless service which 
 
 410 
 
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 should emulate as far as possible the automatic 
 impersonality of male and female graven images. 
 All the appointments of the house were capti 
 vating; the pantry closets bristled with beautiful 
 cut glass and delicate, superbly decorated china; 
 flowers in great profusion and variety were 
 brought three times a week from Carleton How 
 ard s private nurseries to be tastefully arranged by 
 a maid whose special duty it was to attend to this 
 and to see that those not needed for the decora 
 tion of the house should be sent to the destinations 
 indicated by Mrs. Wilson through her secretary 
 hospitals, friends in affliction or with birthdays, 
 and the like. The spacious bathrooms were lined 
 with artistic tiles; electric lights had been adjusted 
 in the chambers so as to provide perfect facilities 
 for reading in bed; once a week an attendant called 
 to wind all the clocks in the house. Mrs. Wilson s 
 personal appetite was not keen, yet exacting. Her 
 breakfast was served in her own room, and, unless 
 she had company, her other meals were apt to be 
 slight in substance, but were invariably of a deli 
 cate, distinguished character as regards appear 
 ance if not ingredients. Her steward had instruc 
 tions that the dinner table should be garnished 
 with flowers and the most luscious specimens of 
 the fruits of the season, though she were alone. 
 When she had guests these effects were amplified, 
 and her mind was constantly on the alert to provide 
 novelty for her entertainments. During the first 
 season of Constance s employment, music between 
 the courses a harpist, a quartette of violinists, 
 an orchestra happened to be the favorite special 
 feature of her dinner parties. 
 
 411 
 
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 That first winter Mrs. Wilson had the influenza 
 and went to Florida for a month for recupera 
 tion, carrying her secretary with her. The journey 
 was made in Mr. Howard s private car, and the 
 suite which they occupied at the elaborate modern 
 hotel where they stopped was the most select to 
 be obtained. The spectacle at this winter resort 
 for restless multi-millionaires was another be 
 wildering experience for Constance. The display 
 of toilets and diamonds at night in the vast ornate 
 dining-room was dazzling and almost grotesque 
 in its competitive features. Mrs. Wilson pre 
 served her distinction by a rich simplicity of cos 
 tume. She had left her most striking gowns at 
 home, and she let Constance perceive that her 
 sensibilities took umbrage at this public cockatoo 
 emulation of wealth. She was even conspicuously 
 simple in regard to her food, as though she wished 
 to shun unmistakably being confounded with the 
 conglomeration of socially aspiring patrons, whose 
 antics jarred on her conceptions of beauty. But 
 Constance could not avoid the reflection that pro 
 fuse, if not prodigal, expenditure was typical of 
 her companion no less than of them, and that the 
 distinction was simply one of taste. What im 
 pressed her was that so many people in the land 
 had merely to sign a check to command what they 
 desired, and that the mania for novel and special 
 comforts, and unique or gorgeous possessions was 
 in the air. On their way home Mrs. Wilson spent 
 a few days in New York shopping, having directed 
 Constance to communicate in advance with several 
 dealers whose business it was to dispose of artistic 
 masterpieces. She bought two pictures at a cost 
 
 412 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 of twenty-five thousand dollars apiece, an antique 
 collar of pearls, and several minor treasures. At 
 the same time she took advantage of the occasion 
 to grant an interview to two persons, a man and 
 a woman, who had solicited her aid in behalf of 
 separate educational charities. To each of these 
 enterprises, after proper consideration, she sent her 
 subscription for five thousand dollars. 
 
 Undoubtedly the chief purpose of Mrs. Wil 
 son s stay in New York was to see her daughter. 
 After a three months residence in South Dakota, 
 Lucille had obtained a divorce on the ground of 
 cruelty, and had promptly married her admirer, 
 Bradbury Nicholson, son of the president of the 
 Chemical Trust. Mrs. Wilson had declined to 
 attend the wedding, which took place in Sioux City 
 three days after the final decree had been entered 
 a very quiet affair. Lucille had notified her mother 
 that it was to occur, but was not surprised that 
 she did not take the journey. She and her hus 
 band had spent four months in Europe to let peo 
 ple get accustomed to the idea that she was no 
 longer Mrs. Clarence Waldo, and recently they 
 had taken up their residence in New York. Her 
 new husband had three millions of his own, and, 
 as Lucille complacently expressed the situation to 
 her mother, society had received them exactly as 
 if nothing had happened. 
 
 "I told you how it would be, Mamma," she 
 said. "Everybody understands that Clarence and 
 I were mismated. I am radiantly happy, and, as 
 for your granddaughter, she could not be fonder 
 of Bradbury if he were her own father. He has 
 bought a thousand dollar pony for her. All the 
 
 413 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Nicholson connection and my old friends have 
 been giving us dinners, which shows that we can t 
 be disapproved of very strongly." 
 
 Lucille certainly looked in the best spirits when 
 she came to see her mother. She was exquisitely 
 dressed, and her equipage, which stood at the 
 door during her visit, was in the height of fastidi 
 ous fashion. So far as externals were concerned, 
 it was manifest that she was making good her 
 promise to be more conservative and decorous. 
 Mrs. Wilson saw fit to mark her abhorrence of 
 her daughter s course by going to a hotel instead 
 of to Lucille s large house on Fifth Avenue. She 
 was not willing to stay under her new son-in-law s 
 roof, but how could she avoid making his ac 
 quaintance and dining with him? A definite 
 breach with her only child was out of the question, 
 as she had previously realized; besides her grand 
 daughter demanded now more than ever her over 
 sight and affection. Consequently on the second 
 day she dined at the new establishment, and con 
 sented later to attend a dinner party which was 
 given in her honor, though Lucille kept that com 
 pliment from her mother s knowledge until the 
 evening arrived. She had taken pains to secure the 
 most socially distinguished and interesting people 
 of her acquaintance, and the affair was alluded to 
 in the newspapers as one of the most brilliant 
 festivities of the winter. A leopard cannot alto 
 gether change its spots, and Lucille s ruling pas 
 sion was still horses, but she desired to show her 
 mother that she had genuinely improved; so it 
 happened that after the guests had returned to the 
 drawing-room an organ-grinder accompanied by a 
 
 414 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 pleasing black-eyed young woman, both in fresh, 
 picturesque Italian attire, were ushered in. They 
 proved to be no less than two high-priced artists 
 from the grand opera, who, after a few prelimi 
 nary capers to keep up the illusion, sang thrilling 
 duets and solos. When they had finished came an 
 additional surprise in that the organ was shown 
 to be partially hollow and to contain a collection 
 of enamelled bonbonieres which were passed on 
 trays by the servants among the delighted guests. 
 After the company had gone mother and daughter 
 had an intimate talk, in the course of which Lu 
 cille, though making no apologies, volunteered the 
 statement that she in common with half a dozen 
 other women of her acquaintance had decided to 
 go into retirement in one of the church sisterhoods 
 during the period of Lent. She explained that 
 the sisters of her new husband, who had high 
 church sympathies, were preparing to do the same 
 and that the project appealed to her. Mrs. Wil 
 son was electrified. It was on her lips to ask Lu 
 cille how she could reconcile this new departure 
 with her hasty second marriage, but she shrank 
 from seeming to discourage what might be an 
 awakening of faith or even of aesthetic vitality in 
 her daughter s heart. Still, though she rejoiced 
 in Lucille s apparent happiness and prosperity, she 
 felt stunned at the failure of Providence to vindi 
 cate its own just workings. Much as she desired 
 in the abstract that her daughter should be blessed, 
 how was it that so flagrant a violation of the 
 eternal proprieties could result not merely in 
 worldly advancement, but an attractive home? 
 For there was no denying that Bradbury Nichol- 
 
 415 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 son was a far more engaging man than his prede 
 cessor, and that he and Lucille were at present 
 highly sympathetic in their relations. Would the 
 harmony last? It ought not to, according to spir 
 itual reasoning. And yet on the surface the dire 
 experiment had proved a success and there were 
 indications that permanent domestic joys and 
 stability were likely to be the outcome of what she 
 considered disgrace. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson did not condescend to refer to her 
 daughter s immediate past, but when she found 
 that Lucille was brimming over with fresh tidings 
 concerning the other offenders, Clarence Waldo and 
 Paul s wife, she suffered her to unbosom herself. 
 This news was consoling to her from the stand 
 point of ethical justice. As she already was aware, 
 Mrs. Paul Howard, obdurate in her impatience 
 of delay, had obtained a divorce on the ground of 
 cruelty in Nebraska after six months, the statutory 
 period necessary to acquire residence, and had then 
 married Clarence Waldo. Now rumor reported 
 that the newly wedded couple, who had been 
 spending the present winter in Southern California 
 for the benefit of the second Mrs. Waldo s bron 
 chial tubes, had not hit it off well together, to 
 quote Lucille, and were likely to try again. For 
 according to the stories of people just from Los 
 Angeles she was permitting a Congressman from 
 California, the owner of large silver mines, to 
 dance constant attendance on her, and her hus 
 band, quite out of conceit of her to all appear 
 ances, was solacing himself with a pretty widow 
 from Connecticut. 
 
 "Of course," added Lucille, contemplatively, 
 
 416 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "if they really intend to obtain a divorce in order 
 to marry again, it will be convenient for them that 
 they happen to be in California, as that is another 
 of the states where one can acquire a legal resi 
 dence in six months." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson s disgust was tempered by a fierce 
 sense of triumph. She was glad to know the facts, 
 but she did not wish to talk about them, especially 
 as she was far from clear in her mind that there 
 was any logical distinction to be drawn between 
 the conduct of these voluptuaries and that of her 
 own child. She tossed her head as much as to 
 say that she desired to drop the unsavory topic. 
 But Lucille was so far blind to any similarity be 
 tween the cases, or else so far content with the 
 contrast in results between the two remarriages, 
 that she continued in the same vein, which was 
 pensive rather than critical. 
 
 "I am thankful that Paul insisted on keeping 
 Helen as a condition of not opposing his wife s 
 Nebraska libel, for it would have been rather try 
 ing for the poor child to get used to three fathers 
 in less than three years." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson felt like choking. The unpleas 
 ant picture intensified her repulsion; yet she knew 
 that speech would be no relief for she would not 
 find Lucille properly sympathetic. Just at that 
 moment her granddaughter came prancing into 
 the room, and ran to her. Mrs. Wilson clasped 
 her to her breast as a mute outlet for her emotions, 
 for she could not help remembering that this child 
 also had two fathers, and what was the difference 
 but one of degree? Yet here was its mother 
 smiling in her face, seemingly without qualms and 
 
 417 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 perfectly happy. How was this peace of mind 
 to be reconciled with the eternal fitness of things? 
 
 Meanwhile Lucille was saying, u Tell me about 
 Paul, Mamma. How does he take it? What is 
 he doing?" 
 
 Mrs. Wilson sighed. "He was terribly cut up, 
 of course," she answered, gravely. "He feels 
 keenly the family disgrace." She paused inten 
 tionally to let the words sink in. "Fortunately 
 for him, he has been invited to run for Congress 
 that is, if he can get the nomination. It seems 
 there are several candidates, but your uncle tells 
 me Paul has the party organization behind him. 
 The caucuses for delegates do not meet until the 
 early autumn, and in the meantime he hopes to 
 make sufficient friends in the district, which in 
 cludes some of the small outlying country towns 
 as well as certain wards in Benham." 
 
 "It would be nice to have Paul at Washington, 
 for he might be able to get the duties taken off so 
 that our trunks wouldn t be examined when we 
 come from Europe. I suppose it will cost him a 
 lot of money to be elected." 
 
 "I have not heard so," said her mother, stiffly. 
 Though Mrs. Wilson s statement was true, cer 
 tain allusions in her presence by Paul and his 
 father had aroused the suspicion in her mind that 
 elaborate plans to secure the necessary number of 
 delegates were already being laid. The use of 
 money to carry elections was a public evil which 
 she heartily deplored, and which she was loth to 
 believe would be tolerated in her own family. 
 
 "He can afford it anyway," continued Lucille, 
 disregarding the disclaimer. 
 
 418 
 

 THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Mrs. Wilson changed the subject. "He was also 
 much absorbed when I left in his new automobile." 
 
 Lucille clapped her hands. "A red devil?" 
 
 "That name describes its appearance admirably. 
 It is the first one of the kind in Benham, and nat 
 urally has excited much attention." 
 
 "Bradbury has promised me one for a birthday 
 present." 
 
 "I have not ridden with Paul yet," said Mrs. 
 Wilson a little wearily, for the enthusiasm elicited 
 appeared to her disproportionate to the theme. 
 "He has invited me once or twice, but somehow 
 the spirit has failed me." 
 
 Lucille gasped. "It s the greatest fun on earth, 
 Mamma. They annihilate time and distance, and 
 you feel with the rush and the wind in your face 
 as though you were queen of the earth. If mine 
 runs well we intend to tour through the continent 
 this summer. Fancy speeding from one capital of 
 Europe to another in a few hours!" She paused, 
 then after a moment s reverie continued, as though 
 stating a really interesting sociological conclusion, 
 "I think it possible, Mamma, that if automobiles 
 had been invented earlier, Clarence and I might 
 not have bored each other. Which wouldn t have 
 suited me at all," she added, "for Bradbury is a 
 thousand times nicer." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson was painfully conscious that Brad 
 bury was infinitely nicer, which increased the diffi 
 culties in the way of replying to this incongruous 
 observation. She decided to ignore it as essentially 
 flippant, and she rose to go. It was the nearest 
 approach to a review of the past which either had 
 made during her stay in New York. 
 
 419 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 She hoped that Constance would not appreciate 
 how completely Lucille had rehabilitated herself 
 in a worldly sense, and she tried to counteract the 
 effect of the evidence by letting fall a remark now 
 and again to show that the memory of her daugh 
 ter s conduct was still a thorn in her side. As a 
 mother she could not but be thankful that her 
 daughter was far happier as Mrs. Bradbury 
 Nicholson than she had been as Mrs. Clarence 
 Waldo. At the same time her being so was a 
 blow to the theory that the exchange of one hus 
 band for another ought to end and ordinarily does 
 end in misery; or, in other words, that divorced 
 people who marry again should be and are 
 apt to be unhappy. To be sure, it was early to 
 judge, and the happiness might not last; and at 
 best it should be regarded as a sporadic case of 
 contradiction, a merciful exception to the general 
 rule; but she was glad when the day arrived for 
 removing Constance from the sphere of this in 
 fluence, fearing perhaps some pointed question 
 from her secretary which would invite her to ex 
 plain how it was that a person who had deserved 
 so little to be happy as Lucille should have found 
 divorce and remarriage a blessing, if the whole 
 proceeding in deserving cases was fundamentally 
 opposed to the social well-being of civilization. 
 As an antidote, Mrs. Wilson took pains to en 
 lighten her as to the rumored depravity of Clar 
 ence Waldo and the late Mrs. Howard. 
 
 But Constance asked aloud no such question. 
 Yet necessarily she perceived that Lucille was in 
 the best of spirits, and apparently had suffered no 
 
 420 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 loss of position by her conduct. Constance did 
 not need, however, any reminder from Mrs. Wil 
 son that the late Mrs. Waldo was not a person 
 of the finest sensibilities; moreover she considered 
 the point as definitely settled for herself. Never 
 theless as a spectator, if no more, she noted the 
 circumstance that Lucille was already a different 
 woman in consequence of her second marriage, 
 and she detected her reason challenging her con 
 science with the inquiry which Mrs. Wilson had 
 dreaded, how it appeared that the world would 
 have been better off if Lucille had simply left the 
 husband who had been faithless to her, and re 
 mained single instead of marrying. Constance 
 was merely collecting evidence, as it were. All 
 was over between her and Gordon, but as an intel 
 ligent, sentient human being she had no intention 
 of playing the ostrich, but insisted on maintaining 
 an open mind. 
 
 It was now nearly a year since she had conversed 
 with Gordon. Her sentence had been perpetual 
 banishment from his presence since the fateful 
 Sunday when they had parted. He had written 
 to her that he could not bear to resume the old 
 relation, for now that they knew they had been 
 lovers in disguise, it could not be the old rela 
 tion. He had declared that the best thing for 
 them both was never to meet, and she had been 
 forced to accept his decision, for he had not been 
 to see her since. Yet he had mitigated the rigor 
 of her punishment, for she chose to regard it as 
 such, by occasional letters, written at irregular in 
 tervals, letters which let her know beyond the 
 shadow of a doubt that the love he cherished for 
 
 421 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 her was strong and deep as ever. He sent her 
 beautiful flowers on Christmas and her birthday, 
 and in writing to her he told her briefly whatever 
 of special interest he had been doing. Precious 
 as these communications were to Constance, she 
 was of several minds as to whether to answer them. 
 Her impulse always was to reply at once, if only 
 that she might draw forth another letter; but 
 sometimes her scruples forced her not to let him 
 see how much she cared and to feign indifference 
 by silence. She knew, as Loretta said, that she had 
 only to whistle and he would come to her, and she 
 felt that it would be cruel to give him the smallest 
 encouragement to believe that she could ever alter 
 her decision. This being so, she argued that he 
 ought to marry; he must forget her and chose 
 someone else. She tried to believe that she would 
 rejoice to hear that he was engaged to another 
 woman, but when her thoughts got running in this 
 channel she was apt to break down and realize 
 that she had been trying to deceive herself. In such 
 moments of revulsion she now and then would 
 throw her scruples to the winds and write him 
 about herself and her doings. On two occasions 
 she had suddenly decided that it was necessary for 
 her to see him again; see him without his seeing 
 her. Consequently she had frequented a spot 
 down-town where she knew he would pass, and 
 each time had been rewarded by a close and unob 
 served glimpse of his dear features. These 
 glimpses, the letters, and the flowers were the 
 bright shining milestones along the itinerary of her 
 much occupied life. Busy and interested as she 
 was in her employment, it sometimes seemed to 
 
 422 
 
The flowers were the bright, shining milestone. 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 her that she walked in a trance in the intervals 
 between some word or sign from him. 
 
 Delighted as she had been to travel, to see such 
 a diverse panorama of national life as her trip to 
 Florida and New York afforded, she was glad to 
 find herself again at home. She had not heard 
 from Gordon during her absence, and she was 
 eager to see the Benham newspapers again in order 
 to ascertain what he had been doing in his new 
 capacity as a legislator. He had written to her 
 the preceding autumn that he had decided to allow 
 the use of his name as a candidate for the State 
 Assembly, and subsequently he had been elected. 
 Before her departure in the early days of the 
 session, she had kept her eyes and ears on the alert 
 for public mention of him, but had been informed 
 that this was the period for committee conferences 
 and that the opportunity for debate would come 
 after the bills had been framed and were before 
 the house. Constance knew that Gordon had the 
 strong support of the Citizens Club in his canvass, 
 that Hall Collins, Ernest Bent and others affiliated 
 with that organization had conducted rallies in his 
 behalf, and that he was expected to favor progres 
 sive legislation. There were certain philanthropic 
 measures in which Mrs. Wilson was interested also 
 before the Assembly, and Constance had twice al 
 ready prepared letters from her employer to Gor 
 don in reference to these, which was another slight 
 opportunity for keeping in touch with him. 
 
 Shortly after Mrs. Wilson s return from her 
 vacation it happened that Paul invited her again 
 to ride in his automobile. Recalling Lucille s en 
 thusiasm, and having been partial all her life to 
 
 423 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 new aesthetic sensations, she concluded to test 
 the exhilaration described by those who doted 
 on these machines. The afternoon chosen was 
 one of those days in the early spring when sky 
 and wind combine to simulate the balminess of 
 summer. It was a satisfaction for Paul to 
 have his aunt beside him both because he ad 
 mired her and because, seeing that he regarded 
 her as what he called a true sport at bottom, he 
 felt confident that she had only to experience the 
 sensation of speed to become an enthusiast like 
 himself. Therefore, he let his red devil show 
 what it could do, in the hope of carrying her by 
 storm. Equipped with suitable wraps and a pair 
 of goggles, Mrs. Wilson found the process of 
 whirling through the country at a breakneck pace, 
 by the mere compression of a lever, a weird and 
 rather magnetic ordeal. These were the adjec 
 tives which she employed to express her gratifica 
 tion to her nephew. She was glad to have tried 
 it, but in her secret soul she had grave doubts if 
 it were the sort of thing she liked. Nevertheless 
 she did her best to appear delighted, for she had 
 in mind to drop a few words of warning in Paul s 
 ear to the effect that it was incumbent on men of 
 his class in the community to preserve their self- 
 respect in the matter of electioneering as an ex 
 ample to the country at large. In the intervals 
 when Paul moderated the speed she endeavored 
 to convey to him clearly but not too concretely the 
 substance of her solicitude. She let him realize 
 that she had him and his campaign in mind, but 
 that she did not intend to meddle beyond the limit 
 of emphasizing a principle unless he were to ask 
 
 424 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 her advice. Paul listened to what she had to say 
 with evident interest, and without interruption. 
 He even let his machine crawl along so as to get 
 the complete benefit of her exposition. When she 
 had set forth her views she turned toward him 
 and said in conclusion, by way of showing that she 
 made no charges but simply desired to put him on 
 his guard: 
 
 "Very likely you have thought this all out for 
 yourself and intend to see that every dollar you 
 may use is expended legitimately." 
 
 Paul let the automobile come to a halt, and 
 removing his goggles proceeded to wipe off the 
 dust and moisture. 
 
 "Aunt Miriam, every word which you ve said is 
 gospel truth; but and it is a large but if I were 
 to follow your advice to the letter there would 
 not be the slightest possibility of my securing the 
 nomination. I ve thought it all out, as you say, 
 and I d give gladly to charity twice the sum I shall 
 be compelled to spend, if I could only confine my 
 outlay to legitimate expenses, stationery, printing 
 and the hiring of a few halls. I ve no objection 
 to explaining to you why I can t, provided I wish 
 to keep in the running. There are three men in 
 cluding myself in this district," he continued, 
 starting the lever, "who are bidding for the nomi 
 nation. Each of us has a machine, a machine the 
 function of which is to create enthusiasm. Ninety 
 per cent, of the candidates for public office do not 
 inspire enthusiasm; they have to manufacture it. 
 And there are all sorts of ways of doing so; by 
 paying club assessments and equipping torch-light 
 paraders with uniforms; by invading the homes of 
 
 425 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 horny-handed proletarians and sending tennis or 
 ping-pong sets to their progeny; or by the solider, 
 subtler method of large direct cash payments, 
 which can never be detected, to a certain number 
 of local vampires as expenses for influence, and 
 whose quid pro quo is the delivery of the goods 
 at the polls. I have engaged a smooth and highly 
 recommended patriot at a hi^h salary to conduct 
 my canvass. He has told me there will be large 
 expenses. When he asks for money I draw a check 
 and ask no questions a rank coward s way I ad 
 mit. I know nothing as to what he does with the 
 money, and so I salve my conscience after a fash 
 ion." Paul shrugged his shoulders and applied a 
 little more power to the automobile, while he 
 chanted : 
 
 " Some naturalists observe the flea 
 Has smaller fleas on him to prey, 
 And these have smaller still to bite em, 
 And so proceed ad infinitum. 
 
 "Which means, my dear aunt," he continued, 
 "that when a rich man runs for office a certain 
 proportion of the free-born consider that they are 
 entitled to direct or indirect pickings in return for 
 a vote." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson sighed. "But is not the price too 
 high for a free-born citizen to pay? Why ex 
 change private life and the herbs of personal re 
 spect for publicity and a stalled ox which is 
 tainted?" 
 
 "I ve thought occasionally of getting out, but 
 father would be disappointed. I wish to go to 
 Congress myself and the party wishes me to go. 
 
 426 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 And what would be the result if I retired? One 
 of the other two would win, and I don t throw any 
 large bouquet at myself in stating that I shall 
 make a much more useful and disinterested Con 
 gressman than either of them." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson shook her head, but at the same 
 time she appreciated the difficulties of the situa 
 tion. For she herself desired to see her nephew 
 go to Washington. It was one thing to tell him 
 to take a brave stand and refuse to swerve from 
 the path of highest political probity, another to 
 advise him in the midst of the canvass to dismiss 
 his manager and thus invite certain defeat. It 
 sometimes seemed to her that the ways of the 
 world of men were past understanding. She won 
 dered whether, if human affairs were in the hands 
 of women, the rivalry of politics and the competi 
 tion of commercialism would tolerate the same 
 army of highwaymen who held up would-be decent 
 citizens as successfully and appallingly as Dick 
 Turpin and Claude Duval. She liked to believe 
 that complete purity would reign, and yet the mem 
 ory of what some women to her knowledge were 
 capable of in the bitterness of club politics served 
 as a caveat to that deduction. Discouraging as 
 Paul s observations were, as bearing on the ethical 
 progress of human nature, and deeply as she de 
 plored the fact that he appeared to be winking at 
 bribery, she recognized that she had shot her bolt, 
 for she was not sufficiently conversant with the 
 different grades of electioneering impropriety to 
 be willing to take on herself the responsibility of 
 imploring him to retire, even if he would consent 
 to do so. But the confession had robbed the day 
 
 427 
 
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 of much of its beauty for her. She glanced at the 
 little clock in the dashboard, and remembering that 
 she desired to leave a message for her secretary, 
 to whom she had given an afternoon off, she asked 
 Paul if he would return home by way of Lincoln 
 Chambers. 
 
 It happened that in turning something went 
 wrong, so that the automobile came to a stop. 
 Paul was obliged to potter over the mechanism 
 a quarter of an hour before he was able to get 
 the better of the infirmity. Somewhat nettled, 
 and eager to make up for lost time and to demon 
 strate to his companion that in spite of this mis 
 hap a red devil was the peer of all vehicles, he 
 forced the pace toward Benham. By the time he 
 was within the city limits his blood was coursing 
 in his veins as the result of the impetus, and he 
 felt on his mettle to amaze the onlookers as he 
 sped swiftly and dexterously through the streets. 
 Gliding from avenue to avenue without misad 
 venture, he applied a little extra power as they flew 
 down that street around one corner of which stood 
 Lincoln Chambers, in order to make an impressive 
 finish. In turning he described an accurate but 
 short circle, so that the automobile careened slight 
 ly, causing Mrs. Wilson to utter an involuntary 
 murmur. Paul, amused at her nervousness, suf 
 fered his attention to be diverted for an instant; 
 the next he realized that a young child, darting 
 from the sidewalk, was in the direct path of the 
 rapidly moving machine. He strained every nerve 
 to prevent a collision, shutting off the power and 
 endeavoring to deflect the vehicle s course so that 
 it might strike the curbstone to their own peril 
 
 428 
 
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 rather than the child s; but the catastrophe was 
 complete almost before he realized that it was 
 inevitable. There was a sickening bump, accom 
 panied by the screams of women; the red devil had 
 overwhelmed and crushed the little victim, and 
 stood panting and shaking like a rudely curbed 
 dragon. 
 
 Paul jumped from his seat and lifted the child 
 from the gutter into which it had been hurled and 
 where it lay ominously still with its head against 
 the curbstone. He found himself face to face with 
 two women, in one of whom he recognized his 
 aunt s secretary. The other with an assertive 
 agony which made plain her right to interfere, 
 sought to take the child from him a flaxen- 
 haired girl of about four exclaiming: 
 
 "Oh, what have you done? You ve killed her. 
 You ve killed her." 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Wilson, utterly shocked, 
 sought to keep her head as the only possible 
 amelioration of the horror. She whispered in 
 Paul s ear: "There s a drug store opposite. We ll 
 take her there first and send for a doctor." At 
 the same time she put her arm around the mother s 
 shoulder, and said, "Let him carry her, Loretta, 
 dear. It is best so." 
 
 Loretta Davis desisted, though she stared wild 
 ly in her patron s face. 
 
 "The blood the blood," she cried, pointing to 
 the tell-tale streaks on the child s head. "I m sure 
 she s dead." 
 
 Acting on his aunt s suggestion, Paul bounded 
 across the way with the limp form clasped in his 
 arms. While those immediately concerned en- 
 
 429 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 deavored with the aid of the apothecary to ascer 
 tain that the injuries were not grave, a curious 
 crowd began to gather in the store. By the time 
 that the trial of the ordinary restoratives had 
 made clear that the child was already beyond the 
 aid of medicine, though Mrs. Wilson and Con 
 stance wrung their hands and counted the seconds 
 in hope that the physician telephoned for would 
 arrive, a reporter, a policeman, and a doctor ap 
 peared on the scene. The physician, who hap 
 pened to be passing, was Dr. Dale, the oculist with 
 the closely cut beard and incisive manner who had 
 attended Constance. A moment s inspection suf 
 ficed him for a verdict. 
 
 "There is nothing to be done," he said. 
 
 At the fell words a wave of anguish passed 
 through the group. Paul allowed Mrs. Wilson 
 to take the baby from him; and, overwhelmed be 
 yond the point of control, he bowed his head in 
 his hands, and burst into tears. His aunt rever 
 ently clasped the stiffening form to her bosom 
 regardless of the oozing blood which mottled her 
 cloak. 
 
 "We must get Loretta home as quickly as possi 
 ble," she whispered to Constance, and she started 
 to lead the way so as to save the situation from 
 further publicity. 
 
 But now that the doctor s usefulness was at an 
 end, the two other representatives of social author 
 ity advanced their claims for recognition. The 
 police officer, having relegated the gaping specta 
 tors to a respectful distance, began to inquire into 
 the circumstances of the accident, in which he was 
 ably surpassed by the agent of the press, who, 
 
 430 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 note-book in hand, had already been collecting 
 material from the bystanders and composing a 
 sketch of the surroundings before interviewing the 
 principals. Paul gave his name and address, and 
 made no attempt to disguise his responsibility for 
 the tragedy. Mrs. Wilson, finding her way barred 
 by the two functionaries, grudgingly gave similar 
 information in the hope that they would be al 
 lowed to escape. As she bore the victim in her 
 arms, this would have been the result had not Lor- 
 etta, who was following close behind under the su 
 pervision of Constance, and who up to this point 
 had seemed dazed by the proceedings, suddenly 
 realized what was taking place. She clutched Con 
 stance s arm. 
 
 "Will it be in the newspapers?" she inquired 
 with feverish interest. 
 
 The reporter overheard her inquiry. "You are 
 the mother of the little girl, madam?" he asked, 
 addressing her, pencil in hand. 
 
 "Yes. She is my only child." 
 
 "Your name is?" 
 
 "Loretta Davis." 
 
 "And the child s?" 
 
 "Tottie. She would have been five in a few 
 weeks." 
 
 The reporter perceived that he had found a re 
 sponsive subject. "I lost a little girl of just that 
 age two years ago," he volunteered sympatheti 
 cally. "Is there a photograph of Tottie which 
 you could let me have for the press? The public 
 would like to see what she looked like." 
 
 Loretta s eyes sparkled. She thrust her hand 
 in her pocket and drew forth a photographer s 
 
 431 
 
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 envelope. "Isn t it lucky," she cried, "I got these 
 proofs only yesterday, and they re the living image 
 of my baby." 
 
 As she hastily removed the package from her 
 pocket, together with her handkerchief, Loretta 
 let a small bottle slip to the floor. Constance, who 
 was spellbound with dismay at the turn of affairs, 
 stooped mechanically to pick it up. She recog 
 nized the pellets lauded by Loretta. In doing so 
 her head nearly bumped against that of Dr. Dale, 
 who was intent on a similar purpose. He got 
 possession of the bottle, and instinctively he 
 glanced at the label before transferring it to Con 
 stance. She observed that he shrugged his shoul 
 ders. As she put out her hand to take it from him, 
 she said in a low, resolute tone : 
 
 "Will you tell me what those are?" Then as 
 the physician regarded her searchingly, she added, 
 "I have a special reason for asking. I wish to 
 befriend her." 
 
 "Cocaine tablets," answered Dr. Dale. "The 
 woman has the appearance of a drug habitue." 
 
 432 
 
XXV 
 
 IN parting with the Rev. Mr. Prentiss without 
 personal rancor and yet with an open avowal 
 of his conviction that Constance would marry him 
 in the end, Gordon Perry both made an admission 
 and issued a challenge. His admission on the sur 
 face was simply that he recognized the rector s 
 sincerity. In his own consciousness it went further; 
 he recognized the validity of the conflict between 
 them to an extent which he had up to this time 
 failed to perceive, or at least to acknowledge. 
 
 The effect of this was to intensify the ardor of 
 his convictions, but at the same time to cause him 
 as a lawyer to respect his opponent s position, 
 though he believed it to be utterly false. The 
 interview had been absorbing to him sociologically, 
 for it had crystallized in his own mind as concrete 
 realities certain drifts or tendencies of which he 
 had been aware, but which he had hitherto never 
 formulated in words. Now that the occasion was 
 come for doing so, the indictment for it was that 
 had risen spontaneously to his lips. It was clear 
 to him, as he had informed Mr. Prentiss, that 
 there was a direct strife in American social evolu 
 tion between those who sought eternal truth 
 through the free processes of the human spirit 
 and those who accepted it distilled through an 
 hierarchy. 
 
 Just as in his sociological perplexities Gordon, 
 
 433 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 yearning to be a sane spirit, had abstained from 
 radicalism and had sought relief in concrete prac 
 tical activities, he had watched the theological 
 firmament and had felt his way. If he realized 
 that the Christian organizations which saw in the 
 human soul a dignity which rejected mediation 
 were merely holding their own as formal bodies, 
 he comforted himself with the knowledge that the 
 thousands of men and women who rarely entered 
 the churches among them many of the most 
 thoughtful and busiest workers in the land were 
 to a unit sympathizers with the creed of soul-free 
 dom and soul-development. Not merely this; he 
 knew that among orthodox worshippers the secret 
 belief of the majority of the educated already re 
 jected as superfluous or antiquated most of the 
 old dogmas. But with his reverence for religion 
 as an institution, Gordon had no ambition to out 
 strip his generation; simply to be in the van of it. 
 There was no attraction for him in iconoclasm; 
 he craved illumination, yet not at the expense of 
 rationalism. Now suddenly the practical issue of 
 the Church s interference with the State, of the 
 Church s imposition on mankind of a cruel, inflexi 
 ble ideal, labelled as superior purity, had become 
 both an immediate and a personal concern. His 
 soul felt seared as by an iron; all his instincts of 
 sympathy with common humanity, the helpless 
 victims of an arbitrary aim to preserve the fam 
 ily at the expense of the blameless individual, were 
 aroused and intensified. Viewed as a general issue, 
 Gordon felt no question as to the outcome. Was 
 it not already decided? The Church had never 
 ceased to deplore as usurpation society s constantly 
 
 434 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 louder claim the world over of the right to regu 
 late marriage, but without avail. It was only 
 abuse by the State which had produced a reaction 
 and given sacerdotalism another chance. But the 
 particular, the personal issue, was a very different 
 matter. For him it meant everything, and his 
 whole being revolted at the possibility of losing 
 the great joy of life through such a misapprehen 
 sion of spiritual duty on the part of her who, so 
 far as he was concerned, was the one woman in 
 existence. Yet during the next weeks following 
 the interview with the clergyman he experienced 
 a sense of flatness which was almost despondency, 
 for he realized that he had exhausted his resources. 
 Mr. Prentiss had refused to aid him; on the con 
 trary, had virtually defied him by expressing a 
 triumphant conviction that Constance s decision 
 was final. Could it be that she, whose lucidity of 
 mind he had been wont to admire, would refuse 
 to understand that the barrier which seemed to 
 separate them was but an illusion? Surely it was 
 not for the good of the world that true love its 
 most vital force should be starved because the 
 marriage tie was played fast and loose with by 
 others. And yet he appreciated apprehensively 
 the subtlety of this plea for the world s good; how 
 modern it was, and how attractive to woman when 
 made the motive for the exercise of renunciation. 
 Truly, the priest had argued shrewdly, yet Gordon 
 refused to admit that Constance could be deceived 
 for long. That seemed too incompatible with her 
 previous outlook and their delightful comradeship 
 which had held love in disguise. 
 
 He concluded forthwith that his best hope lay 
 
 435 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 in terminating that comradeship. To resume it 
 would make them brother and sister, a relation 
 tantalizing to him, and which might be better than 
 nothing to her, and thus strengthen her resolve. 
 Accordingly, with Spartan courage, he never vis 
 ited her. But he chose by his letters and his gifts 
 to let her know unequivocally that he was waiting 
 for her to relent would wait until the end of 
 time. He wrote to her that her dear image was 
 the constant inspiration of his thoughts, and that 
 he sighed for the sound of her voice. 
 
 While thus he chafed within, and yet endeav 
 ored to pursue his work as earnestly as though he 
 had been able to forget, he received and accepted 
 an invitation from the Citizens Club to become 
 a candidate for the State Assembly. He saw in 
 this both relief and an incentive; public service 
 would tend to divert and refresh his thoughts, and 
 opportunity would be afforded him to promote 
 legislation. It would suit him to become a mem 
 ber of the free parliament of men where, whatever 
 its abuses and shortcomings, the needs of ordi 
 nary humanity were threshed out, and where true, 
 practical reforms were piece by piece won from 
 the vested traditions of the past. 
 
 At the same time he declared to the members 
 of the committee which waited on him that in ac 
 cepting their nomination he was not to be under 
 stood as offering himself to the voters as a de 
 nunciatory radical or as advocating all the so-called 
 grievances aired at the Citizens Club. His words 
 were, "I agree to support every measure which I 
 believe would be an immediate benefit to the com 
 munity from the standpoint of justice and public 
 
 436 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 usefulness. If you are content with that guarded 
 generalization, I shall be proud to serve you; but 
 if you insist on my playing the demagogue or wear 
 ing the livery of the enemies of constituted society, 
 I must decline the nomination." 
 
 "That s all right," asserted Hall Collins, who 
 was the spokesman. "What we want this trip 
 are two or three new pieces of timber in the ship 
 of state, repairs we ll call them if you like it so, 
 and we ve chosen you as carpenter for the job. 
 Side with us when you can, and when you can t 
 we ll know you re honest." 
 
 This voiced the sentiment of the Citizens Club, 
 and it was no disparagement to the sincerity of its 
 action that those who directed the club s affairs 
 cherished hopes that the nominee, through his 
 standing, would gain support from other quarters 
 than the radical element and thus be more likely 
 to win. Their hopes were justified. Gordon had 
 a comfortable majority in his district, though it 
 was understood that he had affiliations with so- 
 called socialists and labor reformers. 
 
 During the first year of his service as a legisla 
 tor he made no effort to fix public attention on him 
 self by forensic readiness. He was studying the 
 methods of procedure and familiarizing himself 
 with the personnel of the assembly. But though 
 his name did not appear conspicuously in the press 
 notices which was a disappointment to a certain 
 lady constantly on the watch for it this did not 
 mean that he failed to attract the attention of his 
 associates. On the contrary, his thoroughness, 
 patience, and fairness were soon recognized, and 
 when he rose to speak which he did more fre- 
 
 437 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 quently in the later weeks of the session in relation 
 to bills of importance where the vote was likely to 
 be close the members paid attention as though 
 they were glad to know his reasons. It was per 
 ceived that he inclined to the party of progress 
 rather than to the conservatives, but that he did 
 not hesitate to turn a cold shoulder towards or to 
 rebuke mere blatherskite or visionary measures. 
 
 A modern legislature has to deal with questions 
 which vitally affect the development of the body 
 politic; the relations of powerful corporations to 
 the public and it to them; the demands of toiling 
 bread-winners for shorter hours of labor and 
 hygienic safeguards, and the newly fermented 
 strife between the right to hold and the obligation 
 to share the fruits of the earth and the profits of 
 superior ability and industry. These were prob 
 lems which particularly interested Gordon, and, as 
 one by one they arose for action, he sought to solve 
 each on its merits without prejudice and with an 
 eye to justice. It was understood that he would 
 be a candidate for the next assembly, and in mak 
 ing their forecast the sophisticated referred to him 
 as a coming leader, one of the men who would 
 control the balance of power by force of his intelli 
 gence and independence. The Citizens Club was 
 content with the part which he had played. Several 
 measures in which it was interested had become 
 law through his advocacy; others, though defeat 
 ed, had gained ground; two notable bills confer 
 ring valuable franchises for next to nothing upon 
 plausible capitalists had been exposed and given 
 their quietus in spite of a persistent lobby ; and the 
 candidate had promised during the next session to 
 
 438 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 press the bill for a progressive legacy tax, an 
 amendment to the existing legacy tax law, which 
 would increase the sum levied in progressive ratio 
 with the size of every estate transferred by death. 
 This was a reform which Hall Collins and his inti 
 mates had at heart, and they had won Gordon to 
 their side as an enthusiastic supporter of its essen 
 tial reasonableness. The bill had been killed in 
 committee for the past two years; yet the present 
 year the adverse report had been challenged in the 
 house and had been sustained by a comparatively 
 small majority after strenuous and excited appeals 
 to what was termed the sober, conservative sense 
 of the American people. Gordon s speech in be 
 half of the measure was listened to with a silence 
 which suggested a desire for enlightenment. After 
 the debate was over there had been prophecies that 
 another year it would stand a good chance of 
 passing. 
 
 It was toward the close of Gordon s first session 
 in the assembly that the harrowing death of Loret- 
 ta s child occurred, and, owing to the prominence 
 of the parties concerned in the homicide, which 
 was the first automobile accident in Benham, be 
 came town talk. The newspaper artists illustrated 
 the tragedy with drawings of the red devil in the 
 act of striking the victim, portraits of everybody 
 concerned, from Tottie to the apothecary into 
 whose shop she had been carried, and camera cuts 
 of the obsequies. There were appropriate edi 
 torials on the iniquity of allowing furious engines 
 to be propelled at a rapid rate through the streets; 
 and sensational conflicting rumors were rife in the 
 news columns as to the amount by which the re- 
 
 439 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 pentant multi-millionaire had sought to idemnify 
 the mother for his carelessness. Conjecture fixed it 
 at various sums from one thousand to fifty thou 
 sand dollars, and one imaginative scribe conjured 
 up the information that Tottie was to be replaced 
 as far as possible by the most beautiful baby which 
 the Howard family could procure by search or 
 advertisement. 
 
 In his genuine distress for the irreparable evil 
 he had wrought Paul Howard had gone straight 
 way to Loretta to pour out his contrition and to 
 express a willingness to make such amends as were 
 possible for the catastrophe. He saw her twice; 
 the first time on the day following the accident, 
 when she appeared excited but dazed; the second 
 on the morning after the funeral. Then her condi 
 tion of mind bordered closely on exaltation as the 
 result of being the temporary focus of public at 
 tention. She was surrounded by newspapers, and 
 she insisted on calling Paul s notice to all the 
 reportorial features. With special pride she made 
 him note a cut which showed that the coffin had 
 been piled high with the most exquisite flowers a 
 joint contribution from Mrs. Wilson and himself. 
 Loretta s own apartment was also a bower of roses 
 from the same sympathizing source, and the young 
 woman was in her best dress festal mourning 
 as though she were expecting visitors. Paul found 
 some difficulty in broaching the question of indem 
 nity. He was in the mood to draw his check for 
 any sum in reason which the bereaved mother 
 should declare to be satisfactory compensation for 
 her loss, even though it were excessive, so that he 
 might adjust the matter then and there. He had 
 
 440 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 every intention of being generous; moreover he 
 knew that all this publicity concerning the accident 
 was injuring his canvass for the Congressional 
 nomination, and he hoped to create a reaction in 
 his favor by behaving handsomely. But Loretta, 
 though she obviously understood what he was 
 driving at, evaded the topic, and when, in order 
 to clinch matters, he told her in plain terms that 
 he wished to make her a present and asked her to 
 name the sum, she looked knowing and suspicious, 
 as much as to say that she knew her rights and had 
 no intention of committing herself. 
 
 Paul, who mistook her contrariness for diffi 
 dence, was on the point of naming an amount 
 which would have made her open her eyes when 
 she suddenly said with a leer intended to convey 
 the impression of shrewdness: 
 
 "I m going to talk with my lawyer first. Peo 
 ple say it was all your fault, and that I ought to 
 get a fortune. I ve witnesses for my side." 
 
 Paul was taken aback. "It was all my fault. 
 I ve told you already that I was entirely to blame. 
 And I m anxious for you to tell me how much I 
 ought to pay as damages. So there won t be any 
 need of a lawyer on either side." 
 
 Loretta argued to herself that she was not to 
 be caught by any such smooth words. She tossed 
 her head. 
 
 "I don t know about that. I m going to get 
 one of the smartest attorneys in Benham to attend 
 to my case." She waited a moment, then added 
 triumphantly, believing that her announcement 
 would carry dismay to her crafty visitor, "It s 
 Gordon Perry, Esq., Counsellor-at-Law." 
 
 441 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "Gordon Perry?" 
 
 Loretta construed his inflection of astonishment 
 as consternation. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "I m going to consult him this 
 afternoon." 
 
 It was on Paul s lips to inform her that Gor 
 don was his lawyer too, but her uncompromising 
 attitude had produced its natural effect, and he felt 
 at liberty to practise a little craft in his turn. If 
 he were to disclose the truth, she would be likely 
 to consult someone else; whereas Gordon and he 
 could come to terms speedily. So he merely re 
 sponded that he knew Mr. Perry to be an excellent 
 attorney, and that he would be content to abide by 
 his decision. 
 
 The final settlement required some diplomacy 
 on Gordon s part on account of the difference in 
 point of view between the contracting parties. 
 Loretta had definitely fixed on ten thousand dol 
 lars as the Mecca of her hopes, than which, as she 
 declared to Gordon at their first interview, she 
 would not accept a cent less; whereas Paul was 
 disposed to make her comfortable for life by a 
 donation of twenty-five thousand. He naturally 
 had discussed the subject with his aunt, and this 
 was the sum which had been agreed on between 
 them as fitting. Mrs. Wilson was overwhelmed 
 by the disaster; it haunted her thoughts; and, 
 though she remembered Loretta s original indif 
 ference regarding the child, it seemed to her that 
 the only possible expiation would be a princely 
 benefaction, such as would thrill the bereaved re 
 cipient. But when she in her turn mentioned the 
 matter to Constance, the latter, who had been 
 
 442 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 mulling over the insinuation uttered by Dr. Dale, 
 informed her what he had said. The effect of 
 this intelligence was to strengthen the purpose 
 which Mrs. Wilson and Paul had already formed 
 to have the gift tied up so that Loretta could use 
 only the income, and thus be protected indefinitely 
 against designing companions and herself. But 
 when Gordon, who had abstained from revealing 
 the extent of Paul s intended liberality, suggested 
 this arrangement, he encountered sour opposition 
 from his client. It was manifest that Loretta had 
 set her heart on being complete mistress of the ten 
 thousand dollars, and that any curtailment of her 
 power to exhibit it and spend it as she saw fit 
 would be a bitter disappointment. Either she did 
 not understand, or declined to understand what 
 was meant by a trust, and plainly she regarded 
 the proposition as a subterfuge on the part of the 
 donor to keep his clutch on the money. Gordon 
 endeavored to reason with her and to show her the 
 disinterested wisdom of the plan, but she shook 
 her head no less resolutely after he had finished. 
 When her repugnance was stated to Paul, he bade 
 Gordon pay her the ten thousand dollars in cash 
 and say nothing about the remainder. He added 
 good-naturedly : 
 
 "I suppose it s natural enough that she should 
 like to finger the money. Let her blow it in as she 
 chooses, and when it s gone I ll settle an annuity 
 on her." 
 
 Loretta came to Constance on the following 
 day with glittering eyes and exhibited her treasure- 
 trove a bank book and a roll of bills. 
 
 "It s all there," she said. "My lawyer went 
 
 443 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 with me and he saw me hand it all over except this 
 hundred dollars to the man in the cage. My law 
 yer made me count it first. He s smart Gordon 
 Perry, Esq., Counsellor-at-Law. I m rich now." 
 
 "But you will go on nursing just the same, won t 
 you, Loretta? It s your profession, you know." 
 
 Loretta looked non-committal. "Perhaps. But 
 I m going to take a rest first and and buy a few 
 things." She spread out proudly the new crisp 
 bank bills like a pack of cards. "I ve never been 
 able to buy anything before." 
 
 Solicitous as she felt regarding the future, Con 
 stance had not the heart to repress sympathy with 
 this radiant mood. Blood money as it was, it 
 would, nevertheless, mean many pleasures and 
 comforts to the pensioner. It was no time for ad 
 vice or for extracting promises of good behavior. 
 So in a few words she showed the approach to 
 envy which was expected of her. 
 
 By way of recompense, or because she had been 
 waiting for congratulations to be paid first, Lor 
 etta presently paused, looked knowing, and giving 
 Constance a nudge whispered oracularly, as one 
 whose views were now entitled to respectful con 
 sideration, "I sounded him about you, Constance, 
 and it s all right. I could see it is, though I guess he 
 didn t like much my speaking. And what do you 
 suppose I told him? That he mustn t get dis 
 couraged, for one had only to look at you to know 
 that you were perfectly miserable without him." 
 
 "How dare you tell him such a thing? What 
 right had you to meddle?" cried Constance, be 
 side herself with anger and humiliation. She 
 clenched her hands; she wished that she might 
 
 444 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 throw herself upon this arch, complacent busybody 
 and box her ears. u This is too much! Besides, 
 it is not true it is not true." 
 
 "True? Of course it s true. And why should 
 you mind its being true if you love him? I was 
 trying to help you, Constance, so there s no use in 
 getting mad." 
 
 Obviously Loretta on her side was surprised 
 at the reception accorded her good offices, and at 
 a loss to explain such an abnormal outburst on the 
 part of her habitually gentle comrade. Percep 
 tion of this swiftly checked the current of Con 
 stance s wrath, but, as her equanimity returned, the 
 eyes of her mind became pitilessly fixed on her 
 self. Perfectly miserable ! Was not that indeed 
 the real truth? And true not only of her but of 
 him? Of him, who had told her that she was 
 sacrificing the joy of both their lives to a fetich. 
 Loretta s rude probing had made one thing clear 
 that it was futile to try longer to persuade her 
 self that she was happy. 
 
 Yet her reply was, "I take you at your word, 
 Loretta, that you meant no harm. Please remem 
 ber, however, hereafter that my relations with 
 Mr. Perry are a subject not to be spoken of to 
 either of us, if you do not wish to be unkind." 
 
 Loretta stared, and laughed as though she sus 
 pected that this appeal was designed to put her 
 off the scent. But she was too much absorbed in 
 her own altered status to care to bandy words on 
 the matter. Two days later she disappeared from 
 Lincoln Chambers. But the fact of her absence 
 awakened no concern in the mind of Constance 
 for several weeks inasmuch as she had gathered 
 
 445 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 from Mrs. Harrity that Loretta had gone to an 
 other patient. But presently it transpired that she 
 had taken all her belongings with her, and had 
 made the charwoman promise to make no mention 
 of that mysterious fact for the time being. Mrs. 
 Harrity could throw no further light on the 
 lodger s exodus, but admitted that under the spell 
 of one of the crisp new bills she had asked no 
 questions and subsequently held her tongue. 
 
 Constance immediately imparted her fears to 
 Mrs. Wilson, who instituted promptly a search 
 through the police authorities. Investigation dis 
 closed that a woman answering to the description 
 of Loretta had been seen at some of the restau 
 rants and entertainment resorts of flashy charac 
 ter in the company of a man with whom there was 
 reason to believe she had left town. It was found 
 also on inquiry at the bank where here funds had 
 been placed that the entire deposit had been with 
 drawn some three weeks subsequent to the date 
 when the account was opened. 
 
 Confronted with this disagreeable intelligence 
 Mrs. Wilson felt aghast. It occasioned her 
 grievous personal distress that her ward should 
 have fallen so signally from grace at the very mo 
 ment when the spirit of righteousness should have 
 triumphed, and she was displeased to think that 
 her philanthropic acumen had been at fault. But 
 the elasticity of her spirit presently prevailed, and 
 it was with an exculpating sense of recovery and 
 of illumination which was almost breathless that 
 she said to Constance: 
 
 "I fear that we must face the fact that she is a 
 degenerate ; one of those unhappy beings whom the 
 
 446 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 helping hands of society are powerless to uplift 
 because of their inherent preference for evil." 
 
 Upon her lips the word "degenerate" had the 
 sound of the ring of fate and of modern scientific 
 sophistication withal. 
 
 447 
 
XXVI 
 
 A YEAR later, in the early days of spring and 
 the closing weeks of the next State As 
 sembly, Carlton Howard and his son Paul sat 
 conversing in Mrs. Wilson s study. They had 
 been dining with her, and on rising from the table 
 she had invited them to keep her company in her 
 private apartment while she busied herself with 
 matters incident to the entertainment she was to 
 give in a little more than a week to the members 
 of the American Society for the Discussion of So 
 cial Problems, as the crowning festivity to its four 
 days meeting in Benham. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson was elated over the opportunity to 
 mingle the thoughtful people of the country 
 some of whom, as seen at annual meetings of the 
 society elsewhere, appeared to her to have culti 
 vated intellectual aptness at the expense of the 
 graces of life and Benham s fashionable coterie. 
 She reasoned that the experience would be stimu 
 lating for both, and with her secretary at her 
 elbow she was absorbed in planning various feat 
 ures to give distinction to the event. Her hos 
 pitality, from one point of view, would not be the 
 first of its kind in the annals of the society, for at 
 each of the last two meetings the one in Chicago, 
 the other in St. Louis there had been an attempt 
 to entertain the members more lavishly than 
 hitherto. So in a sense she felt herself on her 
 
 448 
 
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 mettle to set before her visitors the best which 
 Benham afforded, and so effectively as to eclipse 
 the past and at the same time bring a little nearer 
 that appropriate blending between beauty and wis 
 dom to which she looked forward as an ultimate 
 social aim. 
 
 She had been of many minds as to what form 
 her entertainment should take, and had finally set 
 tled on this programme : Dinner was to be served 
 at her house to the seventy-five visiting and resi 
 dent members and a sprinkling of Benham s most 
 socially gifted spirits, at little tables holding six 
 or eight. A reception was to follow, to which the 
 rest of her acquaintance was invited to meet the 
 investigators of social problems. At this there 
 was to be a vaudeville performance by artists from 
 New York, after which, before supper, six of Ben- 
 ham s prettiest and most fashionable girls were to 
 pass around, as keepsakes for the visitors, silver 
 ornaments reminiscent of Benham in their shape 
 or design. Mrs. Wilson was not wholly satisfied 
 with this programme; she was conscious that it 
 lacked complete novelty and was not aesthetically 
 so convincing as some of her previous efforts; but 
 considering the numbers to be fed and she was 
 determined that these thoughtful pilgrims should 
 taste delicious food faultlessly served for once in 
 their lives she could think of no more subtle 
 form of hospitality which would give them the 
 opportunity to realize the artistic significance of 
 her establishment. 
 
 There were so many things to be attended to, 
 a portion of which occurred to her on the spur of 
 the moment, that Mrs. Wilson had requested her 
 
 449 
 
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 secretary to make long working hours, and occa 
 sionally, as on this day, to protract them through 
 the evening. Constance was at her desk in the 
 room appropriated to her use, which led out of 
 Mrs. Wilson s study. The door was open, % and 
 where she sat it was easy to distinguish the con 
 versation which went on there. When Mrs. Wil 
 son needed her she touched a silver bell far more 
 melodious in its tone that the squeak of electric 
 communication. Constance had already exchanged 
 greetings with her employer s brother and nephew, 
 whose random dialogue, broken by the digestive 
 pauses which are apt to occur after a good dinner, 
 provided a cosey stimulus to Mrs. Wilson s 
 musings. Mrs. Wilson enjoyed the feeling that 
 she was in the bosom of her family, and that, at 
 the same time, absorbed in her cogitations, she 
 need give no more than a careless ear to the talk 
 of railroad earnings and other purely masculine 
 concerns. She was pleased too by the knowledge 
 that Lucille was coming in a few days to pay her 
 a visit, bringing her granddaughter and the new 
 Nicholson baby, a boy. Her new son-in-law also 
 was coming, and she could not help feeling elated 
 at the prospect of letting Benham see that the 
 marriage which ought to have been a failure had 
 turned out surprisingly well, and that her daugh 
 ter was a reputable and somewhat elegant figure 
 in society not exactly the woman she had meant 
 her to be, but immeasurably superior to what she 
 had at one time feared. She was aware in her 
 heart that logically, according to her standards, 
 Lucille was not a person to be made much of so 
 cially, and yet she intended her and her husband 
 
 45 
 
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 to be a feature of her entertainment, and she felt 
 sure that her acquaintance would regard them as 
 such. Though the inconsistency troubled her, in 
 ducing, if she stopped to think, spiritual qualms, 
 maternal instinct jealously stifled reflection, and, 
 furthermore, pursuing its natural bent, was re 
 joicing in the opportunity. Once, when interro 
 gated sharply by conscience, in the watches of the 
 night, she had satisfied her intelligence by answer 
 ing back that her behavior was ostrich-like but 
 human. Since the rest of her world failed to turn 
 a cold shoulder on Lucille, was it for her to with 
 hold the welcome befitting an only child? 
 
 Paul Howard was now a Congressman-elect. 
 His canvass for the nomination the previous au 
 tumn had been successful, and the rumors in cir 
 culation as to the sum which he had paid over to 
 his manager to accomplish this result by methods 
 more or less savoring of bribery, were still rife. 
 These had reached Paul s ears, and he was unable 
 to deny that the most sensational figures were far 
 in excess of the actual truth. Concerning the rest 
 of the indictment, he could say literally that he 
 knew nothing definite. He had drawn checks and 
 asked no questions. But in his secret soul he had 
 no doubts as to its substantial accuracy, and after 
 the first flush of victory was over the edge of his 
 self-satisfaction had been dulled by regret at the 
 moral price which he had been obliged to pay in 
 order to become a Congressman. Yet he had com 
 forted himself with the thought that otherwise he 
 could not have won the nomination, and that he 
 intended to become an exemplary and useful 
 member. So by this time he had ceased to dwell 
 
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 on the irretrievable and was enjoying the con 
 sciousness that he was to go to Washington, where 
 he hoped to make his mark. Who could tell? 
 With his means and popularity he might event 
 ually become a United States Senator, or secure 
 some desirable diplomatic appointment. 
 
 Paul had been spending a few days in New 
 York, and personal business matters formed at 
 first the topic of conversation between the two 
 men. When presently the younger inquired if 
 anything of general interest had happened in Ben- 
 ham during his absence, his father frowned and 
 said: 
 
 "That man Perry is pressing his socialistic 
 legacy tax bill." 
 
 Paul looked interested. He understood the 
 allusion, for shortly previous to his departure for 
 New York, in consequence of his father s animad 
 versions, he had taken occasion to see Gordon and 
 to discuss the question with him. 
 
 "I object to the principle; it s an entering 
 wedge," continued Mr. Howard. "When you say 
 that because I leave a larger estate than you, my 
 estate shall pay a larger proportionate tax than 
 yours, you confiscate property. It is only another 
 step to make the ratio of increase such that after 
 a certain sum all will be appropriated by the 
 state. It would be a blow at individual enter 
 prise, and so at the stability of the family. If you 
 deprive men of the right to accumulate and to 
 leave to their children the full fruits of their in 
 dustry and brains, you take away the great in 
 centive to surmount obstacles and to excel." 
 
 The banker in broaching the subject had 
 
 452 
 
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 uttered Gordon s name with denunciatory clear 
 ness, so that Constance heard it distinctly. Her 
 spirit rose in protest at the condemning tone, and 
 she paused in her occupation to listen. As Mr. 
 Howard proceeded she recognized the character 
 of his grievance. In the last letter Gordon had 
 written her, now more than a month previous, he 
 had mentioned the fact that he was interested in 
 the success of what he termed the progressive 
 legacy tax bill, and she had closely followed its 
 course in the legislature. She knew that the com 
 mittee to which it was referred had reported in 
 its favor by a majority of one; she had also gath 
 ered, from what she read in the newspapers, that 
 it 1 was regarded as the most important public 
 measure of the session, and was to be hotly de 
 bated. While she sought to smother her personal 
 feelings, so that she might give due consideration 
 to Mr. Howard s argument, he paused, and Paul s 
 voice retorted: 
 
 "I mentioned the one hundred per cent, argu 
 ment to Gordon Perry, and he smiled at it. 
 He said that so unreasonable and oppressive an 
 extreme was out of the question, and a mere 
 bogy." 
 
 "Will he guarantee it?" demanded the banker 
 sternly. "He cannot; he can answer only for the 
 legislative body of which he is a member. If the 
 present bill passes, why may not an Assembly 
 twenty-five years hence declare that the public good 
 meaning the necessary tax levy for the expenses 
 of an extravagant socialistic republic demands 
 that all which any man dies possessed of in excess 
 of half a million dollars should, by the operation 
 
 453 
 
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 of a sliding scale of percentage, be confiscated by 
 the State?" 
 
 "But on the other hand is it really unjust to 
 tax the estate of one 3 who dies possessed of a 
 fortune larger than is sufficient to satisfy every 
 craving of his heirs, considerably more in propor 
 tion than that of the citizen of moderate means 
 whose children need every dollar? That is what 
 Don Perry would answer. Moreover, this bill is 
 tolerably easy on the children of the rich, is rather 
 more severe on brothers and sisters than on lineal 
 descendants, and so on through the family tree. 
 The people who inherit millions from a cousin are 
 scarcely to be pitied if the State steps in and takes 
 a respectable slice." 
 
 "To hear you talk one would imagine you were 
 a supporter of the measure," said his father 
 haughtily, recognizing Paul s proclivity to take the 
 opposite side of an argument, but evidently re 
 garding the subject as too serious for economic 
 philandering. 
 
 Paul laughed. "I suppose I should vote against 
 it on general principles meaning that it s best to 
 hold on to what one has as long as possible. But 
 it s one of the sanest attempts to get at the surplus 
 accumulations of the prosperous for the benefit of 
 everybody else which has thus far been devised. 
 Indeed, we re not pioneers in this in fact, rather 
 behind the times as a democratic nation. It has 
 been introduced already with success, for instance, 
 in the republic of Switzerland, and in Australia 
 and New Zealand." 
 
 Mr. Howard made a gesture of impatience. 
 "Very likely. The two last-named countries are 
 
 454 
 
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 the hot-bed of socialistic experiments. Will you 
 tell me," he added, with slow emphasis, "what so 
 ciety is to gain by disintegrating large fortunes 
 acquired by energy and thrift? I myself have 
 given away three million dollars for hospitals, 
 libraries, and educational endowments in the last 
 ten years. Will the State make a better use of the 
 surplus, as you call it?" 
 
 "The trouble is, father, that some multi-million 
 aires are less generous than you. Evidently the 
 State is of the opinion that the returns would foot 
 up larger under a compulsory law than under the 
 present voluntary system." 
 
 "Up to this time personal individuality has been 
 the distinguishing trait of the American people. 
 I believe that the nation has too much sense to sac 
 rifice the rights of the individual to " 
 
 He paused, seeking the fit phrase to express his 
 meaning, and was glibly anticipated by Paul. 
 
 "To the envious demands of the mob. That is 
 one way of putting it. Gordon Perry s statement 
 would be that society has reached the point where 
 the so-called vested rights of the individual must 
 now and again be sacrificed on the altar of the 
 common good, and that a moderate bill like this 
 is the modern scientific method of rehabilitating 
 the meaning of the word justice." 
 
 Unable to see the disputants, but listening with 
 all her ears, Constance recognized the argument. 
 The common good ! Here was the same issue be 
 tween the individual on one side and the com 
 munity on the other; and this time Gordon was 
 the champion of the State against the individual. 
 Clearly he acknowledged the obligation the 
 
 455 
 
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 soundness of the principle provided that the sac 
 rifice would redound to the benefit of civilization. 
 Yet the same mind which demanded a progressive 
 legacy tax bill in the name of human justice re 
 jected an inflexible mandate against remarriage as 
 a cruel infringement on the rights of two souls as 
 against the world. There could be only one ex 
 planation of the inconsistency; namely, that he 
 believed profoundly that such a mandate was not 
 for the common good. She knew this already, yet 
 somehow its presentation in this parallel form 
 struck her imagination. While thus she mused 
 Constance heard Mr. How r ard say in response to 
 Paul s last sally : 
 
 "I request that you will not entrust to that 
 young man any more of the firm s business. I 
 prefer an attorney with less speculative ambi 
 
 tions." 
 
 Paul laughed again. "As you will, father. 
 Gordon Perry has all the practice he can attend to 
 without ours. He is hopelessly on his feet so far 
 as our disapproval or even a boycott is con 
 cerned." 
 
 "And his bill will not pass," said the banker, 
 with the concise assurance of one who knows 
 whereof he is speaking, and is conscious of reserve 
 power. "I have sent for the chairman of our 
 State Committee." 
 
 "If the party is against it, you know I am a 
 good party man, father." 
 
 "It isn t a question of party. It goes deeper 
 than that; it s fundamental. I ve arranged for a 
 conference " 
 
 At this point Mr. Howard saw fit to lower his 
 456 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 voice. It was evident to Constance that he was 
 imparting secrets, and revealing the machinations 
 by which he expected to defeat or side-track the 
 obnoxious measure. If only she could hear and 
 warn Gordon ! But what they said was no longer 
 audible. The men s talk had dropped to an in 
 articulate murmur, which continued for a few mo 
 ments, and then was interrupted by Mrs. Wilson s 
 dulcet tones. The change of key had attracted 
 her attention, which already in subconsciousness 
 had followed the thread of the dialogue, though 
 her deliberate thoughts were far away. 
 
 "I have been listening to you two people," she 
 said aloud, "and it is an interesting theme. I 
 agree with you, my dear Paul, academically; as 
 an eventual sociological development the surplus 
 should be appropriated for the public good. But 
 I wonder if we are quite ready for it yet. In 
 other words, can the community the State the 
 mass be trusted to administer the revenues thus 
 acquired so as to produce more wholesome and 
 beneficent results for the general weal than are 
 now being fostered by the wealthy and enlight 
 ened humanitarian few under the existing laws? 
 In the present stage of our civilization might not 
 the standards of efficiency be lowered by such a 
 policy, and the true development of art and beauty 
 be arrested? There is my doubt." 
 
 Her brother s response had the ring of an epi 
 gram. "To the end of time, Miriam, human 
 affairs must be managed by the capable few, or the 
 many will suffer. If you deprive able men of the 
 power of accumulation, the price of bread will 
 soon be dearer." 
 
 457 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "And what the many hope for sooner or later 
 is free champagne," remarked Paul. 
 
 Neither of his elders replied to this quizzical 
 utterance, and there was a brief silence. Then 
 Mrs. Wilson stepped to the doorway of the ante 
 room and told Constance that she did not require 
 her services further that evening. She had sud 
 denly remembered the former intimacy between 
 her secretary and the protagonist of the bill. 
 
 For the next week Constance diligently studied 
 the newspapers for information in regard to the 
 mooted measure. The entire community seemed 
 suddenly aroused to the significance of the issue, 
 and the daily press teemed with reading matter in 
 relation thereto. The debate on the occasion of 
 the second reading of the bill was the most pro 
 tracted and earnest of the session. As Mr. How 
 ard had intimated, it was not strictly a party 
 measure ; that is, it found advocates and opponents 
 among the members of each of the two great po 
 litical parties; only the so-called socialistic contin 
 gent gave it undivided support. But developments 
 soon revealed that nearly all the conservative, 
 eminently respectable members of the party to 
 which Mr. Carleton Howard belonged were lining 
 up in opposition to the bill on one plea or another. 
 It was denounced by some as dangerous, by others 
 as unconstitutional; numerous amendments were 
 offered in order to kill it by exaggerating its rad 
 ical features or to render it innocuous. Constance 
 imagined that she could discern the master hand 
 of the banker in the fluctuations of sentiment, in 
 some of the editorials, and in the solemn resolu 
 tions of certain commercial bodies. 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 It was at the third reading of the bill that Gor 
 don made his great speech great from the point 
 of view of the friends of the measure, because it 
 set forth without undue excitement and super 
 fluous oratory the essential soundness and justice 
 of their cause. A packed house listened in ab 
 sorbed silence to the forceful, concise presentation. 
 On the morrow the rival merits of the controversy 
 were still more eagerly bruited throughout the 
 State. Constance could restrain herself no longer. 
 Her lover was being stigmatized by the lips of 
 many as an enemy of established society, yet she 
 must not go to him and show her admiration and 
 her faith. But she would write just a line to 
 let him know that she understood what he was at 
 tempting, and that she was on his side in the 
 struggle for the common good against individual 
 ism and the pride of wealth. By way of answer 
 there came next day merely a bunch of forget-me- 
 nots addressed to her in his handwriting. She 
 pressed the dainty yet humble flowers to her lips, 
 then placed them in her breast. They seemed to 
 express better than the pomp of roses his steadfast 
 allegiance to her and to humanity. 
 
 The days of the debate were those just preced 
 ing the coming of the pilgrims belonging to the 
 Society for the Discussion of Social Problems. 
 Constance s most formal duties in connection 
 therewith had already been performed, but Mrs. 
 Wilson kept her constantly at hand lest new ideas 
 should occur to her or emergencies arise. Besides 
 there were numerous minor details relating to the 
 august entertainment on the final evening which 
 demanded supervision. Constance was very busy, 
 
 459 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 but in her heart the query was ever rising, Will 
 he win? She had learned that the bill had been 
 put over for three days, and that the vote on its 
 passage was to be taken on the date of Mrs. Wil 
 son s festivity, probably in the late afternoon, as 
 there was certain to be further discussion before 
 the roll was called. 
 
 The four days exercises of the Society con 
 sisted of the reading of papers on current national 
 problems, one series in the morning, another in 
 the evening, with opportunities for general com 
 ment. The afternoons were devoted to recreation 
 and the visiting of points of local interest, such 
 as the oil yards, pork factories, and other commer 
 cial plants across the Nye to which Benham owed 
 its growth and vitality; to Wetmore College, the 
 institution of learning for the higher education of 
 women; and to the new public library and Silas S. 
 Parsons free hospital. Mrs. Wilson was an ab 
 sorbed and prominent figure at all the meetings. 
 She had no paper of her own to read, but on two 
 occasions she made a few remarks on the topic 
 before the Society when the moment for discussion 
 arrived. On the third day, moreover, at the end 
 of the paper on "The Development of Art in the 
 United States," the president rose and made the 
 announcement of a gift of five hundred thousand 
 dollars from Mrs. Randolph Wilson and her 
 brother for the erection of a Free Art Museum for 
 Benham on the land already bonded by the city. 
 Constance had the satisfaction of hearing the ap 
 plause which greeted the declaration of this splen 
 did endowment. Mrs. Wilson had made it pos 
 sible for her to attend several of the meetings as 
 
 460 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 educational opportunities, but she had received no 
 inkling of this interesting secret. 
 
 Late in the afternoon of the next day, that fixed 
 for the entertainment and for the ballot on Gor 
 don s bill, Constance was informed by the butler 
 that there was a woman below who desired to see 
 her. The man s manner prompted her to make 
 some inquiry, and she learned that the visitor was 
 Loretta Davis; that she had asked first for Mrs. 
 Wilson, and on being told that she was out had 
 asked for herself. The servant volunteered the 
 further information that she appeared to be in a 
 disorderly condition, and that, but for his mis 
 tress s special interest in her, he would not have 
 admitted her to the house. 
 
 Constance went downstairs excited that the 
 wanderer had returned, yet reflecting that she had 
 chosen a most untimely date for her reappearance. 
 She said to herself that she would take a cab, 
 bundle Loretta off to Lincoln Chambers, and con 
 ceal the fact of her presence in Benham from Mrs. 
 Wilson until the following day. As she entered 
 the small reception-room, she was shocked by Lor- 
 etta s appearance. She looked as though she had 
 lived ten years in one. Her cheeks were sunken, 
 her eyes unnaturally bright, and her face wore 
 the aspect of degenerate dissipation. She was 
 more conspicuously dressed than her circumstances 
 warranted, and her clothes appeared crumpled. 
 But her air was jaunty, and she met Constance s 
 solicitous greeting with an appalling gaiety. 
 
 "Well, I m back again. I hear you ve been 
 hunting for me. I suppose you ll want to know all 
 about it, so I might as well tell you my money s 
 
 461 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 gone. Some of it I lent to my friend him I 
 went back to and the rest is spent. We ve been 
 in Chicago and New York, and and I ve had 
 the time of my life." 
 
 She evidently hoped to shock Constance by this 
 bravado; but distressed as the latter was by the 
 painful levity, she took for granted that Loretta 
 was not herself, and that though her speech was 
 fluent she was under the influence of some stimu 
 lant, presumably the drug which Dr. Dale had 
 specified. While she was wondering how to deal 
 with the situation and what could be the object of 
 Loretta s visit, the latter supplied the solution to 
 her second quandary. 
 
 "I ve seen all about the big party she s giving 
 to-night. That s why I ve come." She paused a 
 moment, then continued in a cunning whisper, as 
 though she were afraid of unfriendly ears: "I 
 want to get a chance to see it the folk, I mean, 
 and the smart dresses. Lord sake," she added, 
 noticing doubtless the consternation in her hearer s 
 face, "I do believe you thought I was asking to 
 come as one of the four hundred myself. Thanks, 
 but I ve left my new ball dress at home. They 
 can tuck me in somewhere behind a curtain; I d 
 be quiet; or I d dress as a maid. Manage it for 
 me, Constance, like a decent woman." Her voice 
 cracked a little, and her eyes filled with tears, sug 
 gesting a tipsy person. Then suddenly her man 
 ner changed; she squared her shoulders and said 
 malevolently, "I m going to see it anyway. It s 
 a small thing to ask of her who helped to kill my 
 only child." 
 
 It was a small thing to ask certainly, absurd as 
 462 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 the request seemed. Constance reflected that, in 
 opportune as the application was, the decision, as 
 Loretta had intimated, did not rest with her. 
 
 "I will ask Mrs. Wilson, Loretta," she said, to 
 gain time to think. "She will be home before 
 long." 
 
 At that moment the lady named entered the 
 room. The butler had told her who her visitor 
 was, and she had not avoided the interview. She 
 had just come from an afternoon tea given in 
 honor of the visiting pilgrims, and was attired in 
 her most elegant costume. Loretta s eyes, as they 
 took in the exquisite details of her appearance, 
 dilated with the interest of fascination, yet their 
 gleam was envious rather than friendly. Behold 
 ing the two women face to face, Constance, struck 
 by the contrast, realized that they represented the 
 two poles of the social system; that the one em 
 bodied aspiration, the graces of Christian civiliza 
 tion and glittering success, the other self-indul 
 gence, moral decay, and hideous failure. Such 
 were the prizes of deference to, and the penalties 
 of revolt against, the mandates of society! Yet 
 even as she thus reasoned her heart was wrung 
 with intense pity, and it was she who offered her 
 self as a spokesman and laid -Loretta s petition 
 before Mrs. Wilson. That lady s face was a study 
 during the brief recital. Bewilderment, horrified 
 repugnance, toleration, and finally hesitating ac 
 quiescence succeeded one another as she listened to 
 the strange request and to her secretary s willing 
 ness to take charge of her discreditable ward if 
 the permission to remain were granted. Obnoxious 
 as the idea of having such a person in the house 
 
 463 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 at this time of all others appeared to her at first 
 blush, Mrs. Wilson s philanthropic instincts speed 
 ily responded to the demand upon them in spite 
 of its obvious and vulgar sensationalism. She, 
 like Constance, found herself asking why she need 
 refuse such a small favor to this unfortunate 
 creature merely because the supplication was so 
 distasteful to her. If Constance were ready to 
 see that she did not make a spectacle of herself, 
 and would keep an eye on her, why, after all, 
 should she not remain? Might not the sight of 
 the brilliant, refined spectacle even serve to re- 
 inspire her with respect for the decencies of life? 
 Mrs. Wilson s imagination snatched at the hope. 
 Consent could not possibly do harm to anyone, and 
 it might be a means of reclaiming this erring 
 creature. 
 
 Constance perceived how her employer s mind 
 was working, and she made the course of acquies 
 cence smooth by saying : 
 
 "We will sit together, Mrs. Wilson, where we 
 can see and no one can see us. And in return for 
 your consideration," she added meaningly, "Lor- 
 etta agrees to conduct herself as a lady in such 
 a manner as not to offend anyone by her behavior 
 so long as she is in this house." 
 
 "Very well," said Mrs. Wilson. "I am very 
 glad to give my permission. You know what Con 
 stance means, Loretta?" 
 
 Loretta nodded feverishly. "I shall be all 
 right," she said. She understood that they re 
 ferred to her habits, and she was willing enough 
 to guarantee good behavior, for she knew that 
 she had the assurance of it in her own pocket a 
 
 464 
 
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 small hypodermic syringe, the use of which would 
 steady her nerves for the time being. It was with 
 in exultant intention of enjoying herself to the 
 attermost, and of fooling her hostess to the top 
 3f her bent, that after Constance had shown her 
 to a room that she might put herself to rights, 
 Loretta jabbed herself with the needle again and 
 igain in pursuit of forbidden transport. 
 
 An hour later when Loretta was asleep under 
 the eye of a maid, Constance found time to con 
 sider how she could ascertain the result of the 
 Dallot, the haunting suspense as to which had kept 
 her heart in her mouth all day. She lay in wait 
 for the evening newspaper, but she ransacked its 
 zolumns in vain, as she had feared would be the 
 :ase. Evidently the vote had been taken too late 
 for publication. While she stood in the hall try 
 ing to muster courage to call up one of the news 
 paper offices on the telephone and ask the ques 
 tion which would assuredly be a piece of im 
 pertinence on the part of an unimportant person 
 like herself she heard the ring of the front door 
 Dell. When the butler answered it the command 
 ing figure of Mr. Carleton Howard appeared in 
 the vestibule and from the shadow of the stair- 
 :ase she heard him say with jubilant distinctness, 
 You will tell Mrs. Wilson, James, that the pro 
 gressive legacy tax bill was killed this afternoon 
 by a majority of three votes. Reconsideration 
 was asked for and refused; consequently the meas 
 ure is dead for this session." 
 
 Constance experienced that sinking feeling 
 which a great and sudden disappointment is apt 
 to bring. She had taken for granted that Gor- 
 
 465 
 
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 don would win; that he would get the better of 
 his opponents in the end, despite their endeavors, 
 and gain a glorious victory for humanity and him 
 self. Instead he had been crushed by his enemies, 
 and was tasting the bitterness of defeat. He would 
 bear it bravely, she did not question that, but how 
 depressing to see the cause in behalf of which all 
 his energies had been enlisted defeated by the nar 
 rowest margin on the very verge of success. 
 
 She remained for some moments as though 
 rooted to the spot. As poor Loretta had once 
 said, it is love which makes the world go round, 
 and the world had suddenly stopped for her. She 
 ascended the stairs like one in a trance and closed 
 the door of her room. What would her sympathy 
 profit him ? How would it help him to know that 
 her heart bled for him? Such condolence would 
 be only tantalization. What he desired was her 
 self to possess and cherish in the soul and in 
 the flesh as the partner of his joys and sorrows, 
 his helpmate and his companion. From where 
 she sat she could behold herself in her mirror the 
 comely embodiment of a woman in her prime, 
 alive with energy and health. He sighed to hold 
 her in his arms, and she would fain kiss away the 
 disappointment of his defeat. Anything short of 
 this would be mockery for him yes, for her. 
 They were natural mates, for they loved each 
 other with the enthusiasm of mature sympathy. 
 Yet they must go their ways apart, because the 
 Church forbade in the name of Christ for the so- 
 called common good. How could it be for the 
 common good to resist nature, when she knew in 
 her heart that in obeying the law of her being she 
 
 466 
 
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 would feel no sense of shame or blame? On the 
 one side was the fiat of the Church, and on the 
 other the sanction of the people of human so 
 ciety struggling for light and liberty against super 
 stition and authority. That was Gordon s claim; 
 yet he was no demagogue, no irreverent material 
 ist. What would her own father have said the 
 country doctor whose sympathy with humanity 
 was so profound? She felt sure that he would 
 have swept aside the Church s argument in such a 
 case as this as untenable. What was it held her 
 back? The taunt that in obeying the law of her 
 being she would be letting go her hold on the 
 highest spiritual life, that most precious ambition 
 of her soul, and forsaking the Christ whose fol 
 lowers had comforted her and lifted her up. 
 
 As thus she mused she heard Loretta stirring. 
 She had arranged as a precaution that they should 
 occupy chambers which opened into each other, 
 and it behooved her now to pay attention to her 
 to see that she was suitably attired and to super 
 vise her movements. When they were dressed she 
 exhibited to her the large dining-room set with 
 little tables, and afforded her a peep at the guests 
 as they swept in. Later Loretta and she looked 
 down from a small balcony filled with plants on 
 the splendid company assembling in the music- 
 room. Her charge was completely absorbed by 
 the pageant, asking at first eager questions, which 
 Constance answered with mechanical scrupulous 
 ness, for to her in spite of the brilliant scene the 
 world seemed far away, and she still dwelt as in 
 a trance. As soon as Loretta recognized Lucille, 
 who in the most stunning of Parisian gowns was 
 
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 assisting her mother to receive, she became ner 
 vously agitated, and after surveying her for a few 
 moments she nudged her companion and said, 
 "What did I tell you? Hasn t her marriage 
 turned out all right, and isn t everybody at her 
 feet? You might be down there with the rest of 
 them to-night, if you d only taken my advice." 
 
 The words brought Constance back to her im 
 mediate surroundings, but as she became aware 
 that Loretta was thrusting in her face the fact of 
 Lucille s triumphant presence, she realized that it 
 had already been a significant item in her nebulous 
 consciousness. But she laid her hand gently on 
 the offender s arm and said, "Sh! No matter 
 about that now. Remember your promise." 
 Loretta grunted. She paid heed to the extent of 
 changing her tone to a whisper, but murmured by 
 way of having the last word, "It s unjust that you 
 shouldn t be there; it s unjust." Then she became 
 silent; but every little while during the evening 
 she repeated under her breath the same phrase, as 
 though it were a formula. 
 
 Constance remembered subsequently that as the 
 evening advanced Loretta ceased to ask questions 
 and grew strangely silent, seeming to follow with 
 her eyes every movement of Mrs. Wilson, who in 
 a costume of maroon-colored velvet set off by 
 superb jewels and a tiara of large diamonds, swept 
 with easy grace hither and thither in her endeavor 
 as hostess to make the blending between the pil 
 grims and Benham s social leaders an agreeable 
 experience for all. 
 
 It was in truth a notable entertainment; the 
 guests appeared pleased and appreciative; there 
 
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 were no hitches; the music evoked enthusiasm, 
 the supper was delicious, and the closing dis 
 tribution of trinkets by Benham s fairest daugh 
 ters came as a delightful surprise to the departing 
 seekers after truth. But all save the conscious 
 ness that she was facing a gay scene and was ful 
 filling her responsibilities was lost on Constance. 
 She did not know until the next day that the en 
 tertainment had been a great success, for, oblivious 
 to the music, the lights, and the brilliantly dressed 
 assembly, her soul was wrestling once more with 
 the problem which she had supposed solved for 
 ever. It was nearly one o clock when the murmur 
 of voices died away, and she conducted Loretta 
 to their mutual apartment. She was glad that her 
 charge showed no disposition to talk over the 
 events of the evening, but on the contrary un 
 dressed in silence, busy with her own reflections. 
 Having seen her safely in bed, Constance straight 
 way sat down at her desk and wrote. It was a 
 short, hasty note, for she was bent on posting it 
 that night before the lights in the house were ex 
 tinguished. Throwing a cloak about her, she 
 glided downstairs, and, with a word of warning 
 to the butler that he might not lock her out, 
 sought the letter-box which was less than a hun 
 dred yards distant. She had not chosen to trust 
 her epistle to any other hands. As she lifted the 
 iron shutter she paused for a moment, then with 
 a joyful little sigh she dropped it in and let go. 
 Fifteen minutes later, like a happy, tired child, 
 and wondering what the morrow would bring, she 
 escaped from reality into the waiting arms of 
 sleep. 
 
 469 
 
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 But Mrs. Randolph Wilson was in no haste to 
 go to bed. She was in a complacent mood. 
 Everything had gone off as she intended, and it 
 suited her to dwell in retrospect on the incidents 
 of the festivity, and to muse fancy free. Lucille 
 had kissed her good-night and had retired. She 
 had let her maid loosen her dress and had dis 
 missed her for the night. She was inclined to 
 dally; she liked the silence and the sense of calm 
 after the activities of the day. 
 
 Seated at her toilet table and looking into her 
 mirror with her cheeks resting upon her hands, 
 she gazed introspectively at herself and destiny. 
 Her tiara of diamonds still crested her forehead. 
 Somehow it pleased her to leave it undisturbed 
 until she was ready to let down her hair. She 
 was conscious that she had reached the age when 
 she preferred to see herself at her best rather than 
 in the garb of nature s disorder. It had been one 
 of the eventful evenings of her life; she felt that 
 by her efforts mind and matter had been drawn 
 closer together without detriment to either. And 
 everybody had been extremely civil to Lucille, at 
 which she could not help rejoicing. Certainly, 
 too, Lucille was acquiring more social charm and 
 was more anxious to please people of cultivation. 
 Then, too, her brother had appeared in his most 
 engaging mood as a consequence of the defeat of 
 the legacy tax bill. No reason for doubting her 
 conclusion that the passage of the measure would 
 have been premature under existing conditions 
 had occurred to her; so it seemed that society had 
 been saved from a mistake. Altogether the im 
 mediate present was marred by no unpleasant 
 
 470 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 memory but one. As to that, she felt that she had 
 acted indulgently, and that on the morrow she 
 would make a last effort to rescue the unhappy 
 degenerate. As she surveyed herself in the glass 
 she appreciated that she was well preserved and 
 that her grizzled hair was becoming, but that the 
 romance of life was over. She would never marry 
 again; she was unequivocally middle-aged. Ideas 
 were what she had left; but for this great interest 
 she had many years of strength and activity ahead 
 of her. 
 
 Ideas ! How absorbing they were, and yet how 
 little the most disinterested individual could ac 
 complish ! Truth looked so near, and yet ever 
 seemed to recede as one approached it. Men and 
 women came and went, generations lived and died, 
 but progress, like the march of the glaciers, was 
 to be measured by the centuries. The inequalities 
 of life how hideous were they still; how far from 
 rectification, in spite of priests and charity ! What 
 was the key to the riddle? Where was the open 
 sesame to the social truth which should be uni 
 versal beauty? She was seeking it with all her 
 soul, but she would never find it. Deep in the 
 womb of time it lay, a magnet, yet inscrutable. 
 Who would unearth it? Would it baffle mankind 
 forever? or would centuries hence some searcher 
 perhaps a woman like herself discern and 
 reveal it? 
 
 Pensive with her speculation, she turned her 
 eyes, wistful with their yearning to pierce the mys 
 teries of time, full upon the mirror, and started. 
 An apparition, a woman s face, cunning, resent 
 ful, demon-like, was there beside her own; a 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 woman s figure crouching, stealthy, about to 
 spring was stealing toward her. Was it a vision, 
 an uncanny creature of the brain? Instinctively 
 she turned, and as she did so a large pair of 
 hands gleamed in her face and reached for her 
 neck. Springing up with a cry of horror, she re 
 coiled from the threatening fingers, but in another 
 instant she was bent backward so that her head 
 pressed against the glass and she felt a powerful 
 clutch upon her throat which took away the power 
 to scream, and made her eyes feel as though they 
 were bursting from their sockets. A voice, ex 
 ultant, cruel, yet like a revivalist s chant, rang in 
 her ears. 
 
 "I ve come for you. We ll go together, down 
 to eternity. There you will scrub dirty marble 
 floors for ever and ever." 
 
 In the face in the mirror Mrs. Wilson had rec 
 ognized Loretta, and she divined, as the wild 
 figure threw itself upon her and the strong 
 hands gripped her windpipe, that she was contend 
 ing with a mad-woman. The import of the 
 strange, accusing words was unmistakable; it was 
 a struggle for life. Powerless to give the alarm 
 save by inarticulate gasps, she realized that only 
 her own strength could avail her, and that this 
 must fail owing to the superior hold which her 
 assailant had established. She strove with all her 
 might to wrench herself free, but in vain. The 
 long hands squeezed like a vise, and she was chok 
 ing. She felt her senses swim, and that she was 
 about to faint. Then with a rush a third figure 
 intervened; someone else s hands were battling on 
 her side, and in an instant she was free. 
 
 472 
 
I have surrenderee!." 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 Awaking suddenly, as one who is sleeping on 
 guard often will, Constance had felt an instinct 
 that something was wrong. The turning on of 
 the electric light revealed that Loretta s bed was 
 empty. Where had she gone? It seemed im 
 probable that she had sought to escape from the 
 house at that hour. Puzzled, she stepped into 
 the hall and half-way down the staircase. There 
 as she paused the light shining from under Mrs. 
 Wilson s apartment on the landing below caught 
 her eye. The next moment she heard a muffled 
 scream. 
 
 It had required all her strength and weight to 
 tear Loretta from her victim. Having succeeded 
 in separating them, Constance hastily put herself 
 on the defensive, expecting a fresh attack; but 
 Loretta, panting from her exertions, stood facing 
 them for a moment, then burst into a strident, 
 gleeful laugh. 
 
 "You ve saved her," she cried. "I m crazy 
 stark crazy, I guess. What was it I said? I 
 was going to take her where she d have to scrub 
 dirty marble floors forever and ever. I d like to 
 save her soul, she tried so hard to save mine. But 
 it was time thrown away from the start. I was 
 born bad a moral pervert, as the doctors call it. 
 Christianity was wasted on me." 
 
 She shook her head, and looked from one 
 to the other. They, horrified but spellbound, 
 waited, uncertain what course to pursue. Mrs. 
 Wilson, now that she had partially recovered her 
 poise, felt the impulse to elucidate this horrifying 
 mystery. But though she wished to speak, the 
 proper language did not suggest itself. How 
 
 473 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 could one discuss causes with a mad woman? She 
 raised her hands to put in place the tiara which 
 had been crushed down on her brow. 
 
 "Look at her," cried Loretta, commandingly, 
 addressing Constance and pointing. "Isn t she 
 beautiful? She s civilization." She made a low 
 obeisance. U I was in love with her once; I love 
 her still. You saved her." 
 
 She frowned and passed her hand across her 
 forehead as though to clear her brain. Then she 
 laughed again; she had recovered her clew. 
 
 "You were the sort she could help, Constance 
 Stuart; you were good. But how has she her 
 church paid you back? Cheated you with a 
 gold brick. Ha ! Made you believe that it was 
 your Christian duty to let Gordon Perry, Esq., 
 Counsellor-at-Law, go. That s the way the aris 
 tocrats still try to fool the common people. But 
 isn t she beautiful? My compliments to both of 
 you." 
 
 She swept a low courtesy in exaggeration of 
 those she had witnessed a few hours earlier. "It 
 is pitiful pitiful and perplexing," murmured 
 Mrs. Wilson in agonized dismay. 
 
 For a moment Loretta stood irresolute, then 
 of a sudden she began to shiver like one seized 
 with an ague. She regarded them distractedly 
 with staring eyes, and throwing up her hands, fell 
 forward on her face in convulsive delirium. Con 
 stance rushed to her side; the two women raised 
 her and laid her on the bed. Mrs. Wilson s maid 
 was aroused, and a physician communicated with 
 by telephone. He came within an hour and pre 
 scribed the necessary treatment. He said that the 
 
 * 474 
 
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 patient s system was saturated with cocaine, but 
 intimated that she would probably recover from 
 this attack. 
 
 After the doctor had gone and Loretta had 
 been removed to her own room, Mrs. Wilson and 
 Constance watched by the side of the sufferer, 
 whose low moaning was the sole disturber of the 
 stillness of the breaking dawn. Each was lost in 
 her own secret thoughts. The cruel finger-marks 
 on Mrs. Wilson s neck burned painfully, but the 
 words of her mad critic had seared her soul. For 
 the moment social truth seemed sadly remote. She 
 reflected mournfully but humbly that ever and 
 anon proud man and his systems are held up to 
 derision by the silent forces of nature. When the 
 darkness had faded so that they could discern each 
 other s faces, she arose, and sitting down beside 
 Constance on the sofa drew her toward her and 
 kissed her. Was it in acknowledgment that she 
 had saved her life, or as a symbol of a broader 
 faith? 
 
 "Kiss me too, Constance," she whispered. 
 
 The embrace was fondly returned, and at this 
 loosening of the tension of their strained spirits 
 they wept gently in each other s arms. Then Mrs. 
 Wilson added, "Come, let us go where we can 
 talk. We could do nothing at present which my 
 maid cannot do." 
 
 She led the way to her boudoir. The idea of 
 seeking sleep had never occurred to either of them. 
 Although Mrs. Wilson had felt the need of 
 speech, it was some minutes after they had estab 
 lished themselves before she broke the silence. 
 When she did so she spoke suddenly and with 
 
 475 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 emotion, like one beset by a repugnant conviction 
 yet loath to acknowledge it. 
 
 "Can I have deserved this, Constance?" The 
 vivid protest in her companion s face made clear 
 that Constance did not penetrate her subtler 
 meaning, and she hastened to answer her own 
 question. 
 
 "Not to be strangled by a violent lunatic," she 
 said, raising a hand involuntarily to her neck. 
 "But her words were a judgment a lacerating 
 judgment. How I should loathe it to scrub 
 dirty marble floors forever and ever. It is just 
 that the dirt, the disorder, the common reek, 
 which I shrink from and shun in spite of myself. 
 How did she ever find out? I love too much the 
 lusciousness of life. 
 
 It is the little rift within the lute 
 That by and by will make the music mute, 
 And ever widening slowly silence all.* 
 
 Do you not see, Constance?" 
 
 Leaning forward with clasped hands and 
 speaking with melodious pathos while the morn 
 ing light rested on her tired but interesting face, 
 her confession had the effect of a monologue save 
 for its final question. And Constance, listening 
 understood. In truth, this cry of the soul at bay 
 came as a quickener to her own surging emotions, 
 and she realized that the walls of the temple of 
 beauty had fallen like those of Jericho at the 
 trumpets of Israel. Yet though she understood 
 and saw starkly revealed the limit of the gospel 
 of the splendor of things, with all the purging of 
 
 476 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 perplexities which that meant for her, the claims 
 of gratitude and of unabated admiration no less 
 than pity caused her to shrink from immediate ac 
 quiescence in her patron s self-censure. And as 
 she hesitated for the proper antidote, Mrs. Wil 
 son pursued her confession relentlessly pursued 
 it, however, as one who recites the weakness of a 
 cause to which she is hopelessly committed. 
 
 "One is spurred to refine and refine and refine, 
 does not even religion my religion so teach 
 us? the spirit ostensibly, and, in order to reach 
 the spirit, the body; and in this age of things and 
 of great possessions one reaches greedily after the 
 quintessence of comfort until until one needs 
 some shock like this to perceive that one might 
 become perhaps is, an intellectual sybarite. Nay, 
 more; though we crave almost by instinct individ 
 ual lustre and personal safety, reaching out for 
 luxury that we may grow superfine, must not we 
 we American women with ideals mistrust the 
 social beauty of a universe which still produces 
 the masses and all the horrors of life? Can it 
 fundamentally avail that a few should be exquisite 
 and have radiant thoughts, if the rest are con 
 demned to a coarse, unlovely heritage?" 
 
 Not only did gratitude reassert itself as Con 
 stance listened to this speculative plaint, but pro 
 testing common sense as well, which recognized 
 the morbidness of the thought without ignoring its 
 cogency. 
 
 "Ah, you exaggerate; you are unjust to your 
 self," she exclaimed fervidly. "You must not 
 overlook what your influence and example have 
 been to me and many others. I owe you so much ! 
 
 477 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 more than I can ever repay. It was you who 
 opened the garden of life to me." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson started at the tense, spontaneous 
 apostrophe, and the color mounted to her cheeks. 
 Never had so grateful a tribute been laid at her 
 feet as this in the hour of tribulation. And as she 
 gazed she felt that she had a right to be proud of 
 the noble-looking, the sophisticated woman who 
 held out to her these refreshing laurels. 
 
 "And it is not that I do not comprehend that 
 I do not share your qualms," Constance continued, 
 ignoring the gracious look that she might express 
 herself completely in this crucial hour. The time 
 had come to utter her own secret, which she felt 
 to be the most eloquent of revolts against the mys 
 tic superfineness she had just heard deprecated. 
 "Within the last twelve hours the scales have 
 fallen from my eyes also, and what seemed to 
 me truth is no longer truth. There is something 
 I wish to tell you, Mrs. Wilson. Yesterday 
 afternoon I heard that the legacy tax bill had been 
 defeated; last night before I went to bed I posted 
 a letter to Gordon Perry informing him that I 
 would be his wife. I have asked him to come to 
 see me at Lincoln Chambers this morning." 
 
 Mrs. Wilson s lip trembled. Genuine as was 
 her probing of self, this flank attack from one who 
 just now had brought balm to her wounds and 
 cheer to her soul was a fresh and vivid shock. To 
 feel that this other ward, whom she had deemed 
 so safe, was about to slip from her fingers was 
 more than she could bear. Then instinctively 
 Constance went to her and put her arm around 
 her. "I am sorry to hurt you," she said tenderly, 
 
 478 
 
THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 "but this is a time to speak plainly. I love him, 
 and I feel that I have been trifling with love. I 
 am sure at last of this: that it is better for the 
 world that two people like him and me should be 
 happy than live apart out of deference to a bond 
 which is a mere husk. I prefer to be natural and 
 free rather than exquisite and artificial. As Gor 
 don said, the ban of the Church when the law gives 
 one freedom is nothing but a fetich. I cannot fol 
 low the Church in this. To do so would be to 
 starve my soul for the sake of a false ideal a false 
 beauty cultivated for the few alone, as you have in 
 timated, at the expense of the great heart of hu 
 manity. I can no longer be a party to such an 
 injustice; I must not sacrifice to it the man I 
 love." 
 
 There was a brief silence. Mrs. Wilson, as her 
 question presently showed, was trying to piece to 
 gether cause and effect. 
 
 "You wrote to him last night, Constance? 
 Then this horror had nothing to do with your 
 decision?" 
 
 "Nothing; I had been on the verge of it for 
 some time : I can see that now. And when the 
 news of his defeat came, I felt that I must go to 
 him if he would let me." 
 
 "He will let you, Constance." 
 
 "I think so," she answered with a happy thrill. 
 
 Mrs. Wilson looked up at her, and observing 
 the serenity of her countenance, knew that the 
 issue was settled beyond peradventure. Yet she 
 was in the mood to be generous as well as hum 
 ble; moreover, her inquiring mind had not failed 
 to notice the plea for humanity and to feel its 
 
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THE UNDERCURRENT 
 
 force. She sighed gently, then patted the hand 
 that held hers, and said: 
 
 "Perhaps, dear, you are right. At all events, 
 go now and get some sleep. You must look your 
 own sweet self when he comes to you." 
 
 A few hours later Constance, refreshed by 
 slumber, was on her way to Lincoln Chambers. 
 She walked as though on wings, for she knew in 
 her heart that her lover would not fail her. Ar 
 riving a little before the appointed time, she dis 
 missed the children to school, and, smiling at fate, 
 waited for what was to be. At the stroke of the 
 trysting hour she heard his knock. She bade him 
 enter, and as their eyes met he folded her in his 
 arms. 
 
 "Gordon!" 
 
 "Constance!" 
 
 "I have surrendered." She looked up into his 
 face, bewitching in her happiness. 
 
 "Thank God for that!" 
 
 "But I come to you conscience free, Gordon," 
 she said, drawing back her radiant face so that 
 he must hear her avowal before his title was com 
 plete. "I would not have you think that I have 
 compromised or juggled with myself. If I be 
 lieved that I should be a whit less pure and spir 
 itual a woman by becoming your wife, I would 
 never have sent for you, dearly as I love you." 
 
 "And I would not have had you, darling. The 
 love which is conscious of a stain is a menace to 
 the world." 
 
 THE END 
 
 480 
 

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