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 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK.
 
 THE REVOLT OF A 
 DAUGHTER 
 
 BY 
 
 ELLEN OLNEY KIRK 
 
 
 BOSTO^ AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 (Cfte fitoersi&e ffiess, Camferibge 
 
 1897
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY ELLEN OLNEY KIBE 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
 
 To J. R. H.
 
 ps 
 
 ll 
 R3U 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. 
 
 THE MARCHESA RETURNS .... 
 
 . 1 
 
 II. 
 
 A QUAKER UNCLE 
 
 . 18 
 
 HI. 
 
 A NEST OP COUSINS 
 
 . 28 
 
 IV. 
 
 KITTY AND THE MARCHESA 
 
 . 37 
 
 V. 
 
 " LOVE UNFULFILLED " 
 
 . 54 
 
 VI. 
 
 LIVE PEOPLE AND GHOSTS .... 
 
 . 63 
 
 VII. 
 
 SPIRITS IN THE AIR 
 
 . 81 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A GAME OF THREE 
 
 . 92 
 
 IX. 
 
 GLEN'S STRANGE EXPERIENCE . 
 
 . 106 
 
 X. 
 
 PLACE AUX DAMES 
 
 . 129 
 
 XI. 
 
 IN THE GARDEN BY MOONLIGHT 
 
 . 144 
 
 XII. 
 
 KITTY FINDS HER WINGS .... 
 
 . 156 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE NEW-FOUND WINGS ARE CLIPPED 
 
 . 167 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE SECRET OF THE WATERFALL 
 
 . 187 
 
 XV. 
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE .... 
 
 . 204 
 
 XVI. 
 
 "YOUTH SHOWS BUT HALF" 
 
 . 223 
 
 XVII. 
 
 INS AND OUTS .... . 
 
 . 242 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 GLEN SAYS GOOD-BY 
 
 . 250 
 
 XIX. 
 
 A BIRD IN THE SOLITUDE SINGING . 
 
 . 258 
 
 XX. 
 
 TIME'S REVENGES ..... 
 
 266 
 
 XXI. 
 
 THE ESTRANGEMENT 
 
 . 280 
 
 XXII. 
 
 HALIBURTON FINDS HIS OPPORTUNITY 
 
 . 288 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 THE RED FLAG 
 
 . 302 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 YOUTH AND ART 
 
 . 314 
 
 XXV. 
 
 THE WAY OF A MAID .... 
 
 . 320 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 LOVE FULFILLED . 
 
 . 330
 
 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE MARCHESA RETURNS. 
 
 THE Marchesa Bertini, in her plain, black silk 
 gown and lace fichu, and on her dark brown hair 
 the square of lace which suggested a widow's cap, 
 was receiving visitors at her old home, " "Wald- 
 stein," after twenty-two years of absence in Eu 
 rope. The marchesa had her own delightful way 
 of doing everything, and in making tea her man 
 ner was to sit before the samovar, holding a cup 
 in her left hand while her right was extended in 
 greeting to the last comer to whom she listened, 
 asking all sorts of questions, regaling him or her 
 in turn with an account o'f herself. If she found 
 a moment to pour out the tea, she was certain to 
 make such long pauses between the samovar and 
 the teapot, the lemon and the sugar, that any one 
 athirst would have fainted in sight of the promised 
 land, and, even in gaining it, would have been likely 
 to find the cheering cup rather cold. Caterina Ber 
 tini, a girl of eighteen, stood beside her mother, 
 and it was she who effectively provided refresh 
 ment for the callers, while with mischievous strata-
 
 2 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 gem she permitted the inarchesa to believe that she 
 herself was promptly dispensing hospitality in the 
 melee, where talk was warm and greetings were 
 many. 
 
 For it was a gathering of the clan. All the 
 Amorys, Darrows, and Amburys for miles about 
 had come to greet Constance Bertini, for even to 
 those who had not known her in her youth she was 
 a family tradition. She had married her second 
 cousin, Philip Amory, at the age of nineteen. He 
 had died in Rome while they were on their wedding 
 journey, and at the same time Constance's father 
 at home had died. She had been motherless from 
 her early childhood, and this absence of close ties 
 was perhaps sufficient to account for the young 
 widow's staying on in Europe, instead of returning 
 to her own country. That she should prefer to do 
 so instead of coming back to her relatives had been 
 the subject of long and animated discussion and in 
 exhaustible conjecture among the two families of 
 Amorys. When, however, eighteen months after 
 Philip's death, Constance suddenly announced the 
 fact that she was to be quietly married to the 
 Marchese Francesco Bertini, the family comments 
 on the young girl's crude self-confidence were 
 changed into admiring appreciation. Her bro 
 thers, her sister, half a dozen brothers- and sisters- 
 in-law, to say nothing of scores of aunts, uncles, 
 and cousins, confessed to each other that they expe 
 rienced a relief. Instead of being a puzzling and 
 unaccountable creature, Constance had reinstated
 
 THE MARCHESA RETURNS. 6 
 
 herself in everybody's eyes as a charming, sensible 
 woman who knew how to use her advantages. 
 
 Little had been known about this second mar 
 riage, except that Bertini was a man of double her 
 age with no estate to back his title, but holding a 
 position under government, which enabled him at 
 once to earn a certain income and pursue con 
 genial archaBological researches. When Constance 
 had been his wife five years, Bertini too died, leav 
 ing her a widow for the second time with a little 
 girl of three. Even now she was but twenty-six or 
 seven years of age, but still she stayed on in Eu 
 rope. After this second widowhood, however, no 
 one thought of suggesting what course she ought 
 to pursue. There was hardly a limit to the deli 
 cacy with which the private personal wishes of a 
 marchesa should be regarded. But after her 
 strange fluctuating experience Constance had 
 bought a small villa not far from Florence, and 
 had lived there quietly until now when her eldest 
 brother, the inheritor of the family place, had en 
 treated her to come back and see her home and 
 friends once more. 
 
 Constance as a girl had been very beautiful, and 
 although she was now a little past forty, she seemed 
 to those who had known her in her youth to have 
 lost little or nothing of her early beauty, and even 
 to have gained charm. Her hair and eyes were 
 brown ; her forehead was low, very wide and full. 
 Her features were well moulded ; her mouth beau 
 tiful for twenty different reasons. If she had less
 
 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 than her old, vivid color, her tints seemed all the 
 better to suit the black and white of her dress. 
 But it had always been in her manner where lay 
 her supreme effectiveness. If she had gained dis 
 tinction, there was still the same absolute simplicity, 
 the same sincerity and sweetness, all expressing that 
 rare and perfect mental poise which at its final test 
 proves generally to be the absolute good sense 
 which ought to enable its possessor to make the 
 most of life. Had Constance made the most of 
 hers? 
 
 More than half the visitors to-day were entitled 
 to call her Constance, but she said to some one who 
 tripped in addressing her, "Pray, call me Mrs. 
 Bertini. I care so little about the title. My hus 
 band quite rejected it for himself, and was simply 
 ' doctor.' IL marchese meant nothing ; nothing at 
 all in this generation. And now when I have come 
 back, it seems so un-American I prefer to drop 
 it altogether." 
 
 " Don't drop it for the world, aunt Constance," 
 said Mrs. Darrow Amory. " It was so charming 
 to-day to tell people we were driving out to call 
 on the marchesa." 
 
 " Most of us call you Conny Amory still," said 
 Ambury Darrow. 
 
 Constance laughed, and told of going after her 
 second marriage to pay a visit to some English 
 friends living in Rome, who had brought their own 
 butler, a solid, severe-looking man, who had seen 
 her once or twice as a widow. The portinaro had
 
 THE MAECHESA RETURNS. 5 
 
 called her name up the staircase "La Sigiiora 
 Marchesa Bertini." The butler had gazed at her 
 for an instant as if stupefied, then had announced 
 " The late Mrs. Philip Amory." 
 
 The marchesa (for so we ought, perhaps, to call 
 her for a page or two until we are more intimately 
 acquainted) constantly introduced her daughter to 
 all her friends and relatives, saying, 
 
 " This is my little girl, Kitty, short for Caterina. 
 ' She was named for my husband's mother." 
 
 Then Kitty, who watched her mother's every 
 movement, and listened to her every word with 
 radiant satisfaction, would exclaim eagerly, 
 
 " Did you know mamma ? Ah, I am so jealous 
 of all the people here who knew mamma before I 
 was born ! Was she lovely then ? I am sure she 
 could not have been so lovely as she is now." 
 
 Mother and daughter set each other off, and 
 played the part of foils. Kitty looked sixteen rather 
 than eighteen. She was tall, with an undeveloped 
 figure, and a slight tendency to stoop when she stood 
 and sat. Her long thin arms hung straight down by 
 her sides when not in play ; her hands were thin, 
 brown, and, apt as they were to be a little scratched 
 and the nails clipped, were not beautiful. But 
 Kitty in repose and Kitty in motion were two dif 
 ferent persons. She was nimble as a monkey, and 
 the moment she moved, her figure, slender to mea- 
 greuess although it was, took on attitudes full of a 
 weird foreign grace. She startled, surprised, and 
 charmed. If her complexion was dark, her features
 
 6 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 were strikingly good, and it needed but one flash 
 from her eyes to show that they at least were not 
 only beautiful, but so amazingly keen that they 
 altered the whole expression of her personality. 
 More than one of the family friends to-day who took 
 the little hand in his, and began to utter some con 
 ventional greeting, was robbed of self-possession 
 when Kitty turned the illumination of her glance 
 and smile upon him. She was dressed in a frock of 
 white mull with a fall of very fine embroidery from 
 the high throat. Her magnificent braids reached 
 below her waist, and were fastened together by a 
 silver arrow studded with small brilliants. 
 
 " This is my little girl, Kitty," the marchesa said 
 to Ambury Darrow's tall, handsome, blonde daugh 
 ters. " Kitty, dear, these are your cousins, the 
 Misses Darrow. I hope they will take a fancy to 
 you, and be good to you." 
 
 " I am Gatty," said the youngest and prettiest 
 Miss Darrow. 
 
 " I am Milly," said the second. 
 
 " I am Sue," said the eldest. 
 
 Kitty stood a little alien, a little aloof, gazing at 
 first one, and then the other of the three young 
 women. They looked to her so consummately 
 adult, so superabundantly large, so radiantly fair 
 as to be overwhelming. 
 
 " Let me remember," she said in her clear, delib 
 erate speech. " This is Gat-ti." 
 
 " Short for Agatha, you know." 
 
 "Ah, yes, Gat-ti, short for Agatha. This is 
 Mil-li."
 
 THE MARCHES A RETURNS. 1 
 
 " Milly, short for Millicent." 
 
 "And this is "- 
 
 " S-u-e, Sue. Short for Susan. I detest the 
 name." 
 
 " Sue." Kitty smiled. " And you are all my 
 cousins ? " 
 
 " Second cousins removed. Poppa is first cou 
 sin to the marchesa. We are actually only third 
 cousins. You need not feel oppressed by the rela 
 tionship. I do not consider that anything except 
 first cousins count," Gatty explained. 
 
 " I was brought up to love all my American 
 cousins," said Kitty. 
 
 " Ah, one may love people three thousand miles 
 away." 
 
 " I shall love you," said Kitty, with a little nod. 
 " I admire you all immensely." 
 
 " That 's frank at least. I only hope it 's 
 honest." 
 
 " So beautiful, so blonde, so different, so Amer 
 ican." 
 
 " You don't like anything American, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I adore it. I want to be American to my 
 finger tips." 
 
 " You had better give it up then as a bad job," 
 said Gatty, laughing, " for you are Italian from 
 head to foot." 
 
 Kitty laughed gleefully, and made a gesture 
 with both hands. 
 
 " I am not an Italian at all. In Italy they say 
 that I am a veritable American."
 
 8 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 Kitty was deeply interested in this assemblage 
 of her mother's old friends, even, as she had 
 said, a little jealous. The marchesa had guarded 
 her strangeness ; in Italy they had lived on terms of 
 high ceremony even with Kitty's connections on her 
 father's side. Here there was such easy intimacy, 
 such a habit of absolute candor, so many allusions 
 to the past, such imperative questions, such unfal 
 tering answers, the young girl was all alert. Gatty 
 was the first relative she had met about whom she 
 was curious for her own sake. Most girls see in 
 each new figure the possible friend they have 
 dreamed of. Kitty had so far in her life been 
 wholly absorbed in her mother. But Gatty was 
 beautiful to her ; she was lovely in tint and con 
 tour ; her eyes were large, blue, rather languishing ; 
 her fluffy hair bright gold. Her gown was blue ; 
 the bodice moulded like a glove to the figure ; the 
 skirt of great amplitude, all worn with a royal sort 
 of ease. She filled Kitty with a joyful sense of 
 life, light, and color. In return Gatty, who did not 
 appreciate her own healthy freshness of aspect, 
 found something in the other's dark, eager face, 
 novel, stimulating, full of spirit and zest. 
 
 While the two girls stood each in her own way 
 measuring the vital and mobile individuality of 
 the other, the marchesa's hand was laid once more 
 upon her daughter's arm and her voice broke in 
 again, 
 
 " This is my little girl, Caterina. Kitty, let me 
 introduce you to Mr. Haliburton and Mr. Rennie.
 
 THE MAECHESA RETURNS. 
 
 Can you make them some tea ? I am afraid the 
 water is cold." 
 
 Kitty, bestowing a single stare and a little nod 
 on the two men, flew at the samovar. Haliburton, 
 a man of middle age, with a clear, sensible face and 
 a half -shy manner, offered his services, which Kitty 
 declined. Stepping back he found himself by 
 Agatha Darrow, and the two stood watching the 
 young girl at the samovar, and the marchesa talk 
 ing to Glendenning Rennie. 
 
 " I am interested in seeing Glen meet the mar 
 chesa," Agatha observed presently. 
 
 " They are second cousins ; they have known 
 each other from childhood." 
 
 " It goes for granted that they are cousins," 
 said Gatty. " I suppose everybody in this room is 
 related to everybody else." 
 
 " Not I," said Haliburton. " I happen to be 
 your father's cousin, but I am not related to the 
 Amorys." 
 
 " Not to Constance Bertini ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " I suppose you have always known her ? " 
 
 " No, indeed." 
 
 " You knew her before her marriage ? " 
 
 " I first saw her in Italy twelve years ago. Never 
 since until now." 
 
 " That was when Glen Rennie fell in love with 
 her." 
 
 " I suppose all the world knows that unlucky 
 circumstance."
 
 10 THE BEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " That Glen fell in love with her? It is just the 
 one thing that everybody in the family does know 
 about Glen." 
 
 If this actually expressed the state of affairs, the 
 marchesa's little talk with Rennie may be interest 
 ing. 
 
 "I asked Eichard if he knew anything about 
 you," she was saying. 
 
 " I suppose he told you that he knew no good." 
 
 " He said that he went nowhere, saw nobody, and 
 knew nobody." 
 
 " I am always the same old sixpence," said Glen. 
 " I am here stuck in the mud as usual.; John takes 
 pity on me, gives me a home. I came yesterday 
 to stay with him." 
 
 " I heard he was to open the house himself 
 instead of renting it." 
 
 " He has opened it. I like it prodigiously, a 
 charming old-fashioned place. I have never in all 
 my life enjoyed anything as I enjoyed to-day. 
 John gave me all the keys, and then went off to 
 town. Not a woman came near me to hinder me. 
 I ransacked the garret, and Dilsey helped me bring 
 down all the bits of furniture I liked, to furnish 
 my two rooms. I always felt that I had a talent 
 for the domestic." 
 
 While Rennie was talking, Kitty brought him a 
 cup of tea, but he did not even glance at her. He 
 was looking at Constance. 
 
 " I also go about rummaging," said the niar- 
 chesa. "I have tried to restore the old look of
 
 THE MARCHES A RETURNS. 11 
 
 things. I want Kitty to sit in the very places and 
 do the same things I did as a child." 
 
 " Ah, Kitty ! " said Rennie, with tragical empha 
 sis. " What you do is all for Kitty ! I do every 
 thing for myself. I hate the younger generation 
 pushing us to the wall. I am ready to say to them, 
 ' You are taking my share of sunshine and life.' " 
 
 Kitty, meanwhile, unconscious that she was stand 
 ing in any one's sunshine, was inquiring of John 
 Haliburton, on whom she now had leisure to spend 
 a word and look, whether he too was a cousin. 
 
 " I regret to say I have not that honor," he re 
 plied. 
 
 "I am so glad," she returned, with the air of im 
 parting a confidence ; " my cup of cousins is full. 
 Another, and it would overflow." She drew a deep 
 breath. " How do you take your tea ? " she then 
 proceeded to inquire ; and when Haliburton an 
 swered that he had no choice, she said she would 
 give him Russian tea that everything Russian 
 was the fashion. 
 
 " Or so the Americans used to tell us when they 
 came to see us at the villa," she added. 
 
 " Did you permit the Americans to come to 
 Fiesole and dictate fashions to you? " he asked. 
 
 Kitty explained that after Easter, each spring, 
 when all the Americans were stopping in Florence 
 on their way back from Rome, the marchesa had re 
 ceived on Wednesdays. Days longed for, dreaded, 
 enjoyed, then dropped into comfortable oblivion 
 until Easter came round again. The marchesa
 
 12 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 liked to see her compatriots, and to keep herself in 
 touch with what was going on in America. Never 
 theless, she used to say each year she should never 
 dare go back. 
 
 " Why not? " Haliburton inquired. 
 
 " We were so delightfully shabby. The Amer 
 icans were so fine, so fastidious, so clever, mamma 
 said they had developed far beyond her possibili 
 ties of living up to. They knew everything, 
 all the history, all the art, architecture, schools. 
 Our ignorance of what we knew best was so vast, 
 their conversation dropped into it like pebbles into 
 the sea it was swallowed up. Then I was in 
 such awe of their toilettes ! Mamma has tried be 
 yond everything to make me American ; but those 
 toilettes cost so much ! You see, at the villa we 
 could wear our old things comfortably, as the pea 
 sants do, feeling that a good thing lasts forever. 
 When the Americans came to see us, I had to fall 
 back on being an Italian. I am an exile without 
 a country ; I am an Italian among Americans, and 
 an American among Italians." 
 
 Haliburton smiled at Kitty as at a child one 
 wishes to encourage. 
 
 " Is the gentleman who came with you a cousin ? " 
 she now inquired. 
 
 "He is a cousin, the last drop which makes 
 your cup brim over. He is a second cousin of 
 your mother's. He is also my half-nephew; the 
 son, that is, of the eldest child of my mother's first 
 marriage, my half-sister."
 
 THE MARCHESA RETURNS. 13 
 
 " He is very handsome, I think," Kitty observed, 
 with the air of a connoisseur. " Quite the best 
 looking man in the room. What is his name ? " 
 
 " Glendenning Rennie. We call him Glen." 
 
 " Cousin Glen, cousin Glen," Kitty repeated, 
 her face taking on a look of eager mental activity. 
 "Why, I remember a cousin Glen." 
 
 Rennie hearing his name uttered at the top of 
 the young girl's lungs, turned and bowed with an 
 air of high ceremony, opening his long dark eyes 
 with questioning surprise. 
 
 " You don't mean to tell me you have had the 
 impertinence to grow up," he said. " Why, I used 
 to hold you in my arms." 
 
 " I used to kick you to make you put me down," 
 Kitty rejoined, with nonchalance. " I remember 
 you very well." 
 
 " I never supposed you would take it into your 
 head to grow up," Rennie murmured. " It is the 
 most tiresome habit." -And he transferred his 
 attention to the marchesa. 
 
 " Do you by any chance remember me ? " Hali- 
 burton inquired of Kitty. 
 
 "Did I ever see you before?" she returned, 
 looking at him as if for the first time. 
 
 " The marchesa even did not remember me," 
 said Haliburton. " But I, too, was in Italy that 
 summer with Glen." 
 
 " I think that is not quite fair," the marchesa 
 now observed, having overheard Haliburton's words. 
 " For one moment I forgot it was twelve years 
 ago."
 
 14 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTEE. 
 
 " And I was only one of a dozen," suggested 
 Haliburton. 
 
 " One of a dozen of mamma's admirers ? " 
 Kitty asked, laughing. 
 
 " Well, yes," said Haliburton, changing counte 
 nance slightly. 
 
 "Do you mean that you were in love with 
 mamma?" 
 
 " Being in love has never been a habit of mine," 
 Haliburton answered evasively, under the fire of 
 the young girl's glance. 
 
 " Being in love is a very great thing, Caterina 
 mia," said the marchesa in a tone of amiable tol 
 erance. " We rarely speak of it. It conies but 
 once in a life." 
 
 " But you have been married twice, mamma 
 mia" retorted the logical Caterina. " With 
 which of your husbands were you in love ? " 
 
 The marchesa laughed frankly, and both Hali 
 burton and Glen Rennie joined her. 
 
 " You see how I have brought my little girl up," 
 she said, with a half-deprecating gesture. " If she is 
 an enfant terrible, it is because I love our American 
 frankness, our lack of subtlety, our atmosphere of 
 daylight and the open air." 
 
 " I think," said Kitty in Haliburton's ear, with 
 a look and tone of naive content, " it was poor papa 
 she loved, for she has talked to me about him, and 
 she has shown me his picture. Did you ever see 
 either of them ? " 
 
 Haliburton replied gravely that he had never
 
 THE MARCHESA RETURNS. 15 
 
 seen either Kitty's father or his predecessor. 
 Kitty then, as if anxious to establish Haliburton's 
 identity in her mind, Went on to ask the most 
 puzzling questions. Had he ever been married, 
 and why not ? Too old ? Why, how old was he ? 
 Over forty? Surely there was yet time. Had he 
 given up all idea of marriage ? Great heavens no, 
 he thought of nothing else. Thought of no 
 thing else and yet near forty-five ! Did people 
 have to get married by the time they were fifty or 
 not at all? Mamma said that nothing, not even 
 an offer from a reigning prince, would induce her 
 to marry again, but she, Kitty, frankly consid 
 ered it would be a pity not to be married as many 
 times as one might. Mamma had been married 
 only twice, once to an American, and once to 
 an Italian. This Kitty granted to have been a 
 fair use of opportunities as far as it went. But 
 she herself was in favor of the greatest possible 
 variety. She should like to marry an Englishman, 
 a Frenchman, a German, a Spaniard, a Russian. 
 Not an Italian ? No, scarcely an Italian. In one 
 short life one could not do everything, and she was 
 herself partly Italian and preferred novelties. An 
 American ? Oh yes, it went without saying that 
 at least one husband should be an American. She 
 liked nothing so well as Americans. 
 
 " I am a veritable American, am I not, mamma 
 mia ? That is, in everything except splendid 
 clothes and looking and speaking as if the whole 
 world belonged to me ! " Kitty added, finding the
 
 16 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 opportunity she was always seeking of intercept 
 ing her mother's eyes and ears. 
 
 " What does Mr. Haliburton think ? Does he 
 consider you a typical American girl ? " inquired 
 the marchesa. 
 
 " She speaks English exquisitely," said Hali 
 burton. 
 
 " I want her to be American all through," said 
 the marchesa. " I have tried to bring her up an 
 American girl, just as I was brought up an Ameri 
 can girl. Had her father lived, other influences 
 might have asserted their force. As it is, she and 
 I have been bound up in each other. We are 
 exactly alike. All I think and feel and know and 
 hope and believe, she thinks, feels, knows, hopes, 
 and believes." 
 
 It was getting late. The low sun cast beautiful 
 gleams of crimson and golden light into the wide, 
 pleasant drawing-room. Gatty Darrow came up 
 to Kitty. 
 
 "I hope we shall be no end of friends," she 
 said. 
 
 Kitty's smile disclosed her small, even teeth. 
 " I shall adore you ! " she exclaimed. " You will 
 not care for me." 
 
 " See if I don't." 
 
 The smile was still on the young girl's face 
 when Haliburton and Glen Rennie said good-by. 
 
 " The little thing is n't more than half ugly," 
 Glen observed to his companion as they walked 
 across the grounds towards home. " My first
 
 THE MAECHESA BETUBNS. 17 
 
 thought was to wonder how a beautiful woman 
 like Conny could have such a little monkey for a 
 daughter." 
 
 " Her eyes are fine," said Haliburton. He was 
 not used to bring his corn to market in the green, 
 ear, so said no more about Kitty, not yet having 
 made up his mind concerning her.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A QUAKER UNCLE. 
 
 RICHARD AMORY had stood near his sister and 
 his niece all through the reception, but so far we 
 have not introduced him to the reader. He was 
 the eldest of the family, while Constance was the 
 youngest, and there was almost twenty years dif 
 ference in their ages. He was a man of striking 
 appearance : his hair was gray, his shaggy eye 
 brows deep black ; his features were well moulded, 
 and his smile was pleasant to meet, but he 
 smiled rarely. He was 'in the habit of saying that 
 he himself had had little amusement in his life, 
 and that nothing surprised him so much as the 
 amount of amusement other people seemed to get 
 out of things. He had two sons well towards 
 forty years of age, married and living within 
 visiting distance. His wife (now dead about nine 
 months) had been an invalid, living in the rarefied 
 atmosphere of a sick-room, and seeking one form 
 of cure after another, the last one being always of 
 miraculous efficacy. Richard Amory had loved 
 his wife tenderly, had had infinite pity for and 
 patience with her. Her death made him a lonely 
 man, and he had asked Constance and her daugh-
 
 A QUAKER UNCLE. 19 
 
 ter to make their home with him as long as he 
 should live. 
 
 " I want thee and thy little girl to come and 
 get the good of the old place while it lasts," he 
 had said to her. " The boys will cut it up and 
 sell it for building lots the moment I am dead." 
 
 Constance in her girlhood had loved the place 
 with a sort of passion. It was called " Wald- 
 stein," and lay about eight miles from the city, 
 on what had once been a country road, but was 
 now become a bustling thoroughfare. John Wald- 
 stein had come out from Germany more than two 
 hundred years before, and had bought two hundred 
 acres "in a fine and fertile district with plenty 
 of springs of fresh water, being well supplied 
 with oak, walnut, and chestnut trees," to quote a 
 chronicle of the period. His grandson, the third 
 John Waldstein, had left one child, heiress to this 
 family estate. She had married an Amory, and 
 was the grandmother of Richard and his sister 
 Constance. She, like all the Waldsteins, had been 
 a plain Friend. Her husband became a Friend 
 so far as occasionally attending meeting and thee 
 and thou-ing his wife and family. Of their de 
 scendants a few had been worldly, but most of 
 them Quakers. Richard Amory was one of the 
 latter. Constance, on the other hand, had at an 
 early age rebelled and thrown off the yoke ; yet she 
 sometimes in intimate conversation confessed that 
 she was still more a Quakeress than a churchwo- 
 man, and that she loved the speech. The night she
 
 20 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 and Kitty had arrived at Waldstein, Constance, 
 exhausted by the voyage, oppressed by recollec 
 tions, homesick for the dear old villa at Fiesole, 
 had gone to her room feeling strangely lost and 
 desolate, when a tap came at the door. 
 
 " I just came to ask," said her brother's voice, 
 " if thee was comfortable. I want to do every 
 thing for thee that will make thee comfortable." 
 
 Constance flung wide the door, put her arms 
 about Richard, and said, 
 
 " It makes me comfortable to have thee say 
 'thee' tome." 
 
 " Of course," said Kichard. " If outwardly thee 
 laughs at it, in the bottom of thy heart, thee be 
 lieves. Because with thy mother's milk thee drew 
 it in, with thy ears, with thy eyes, and with thy 
 understanding, thee absorbed it in thy infancy." 
 
 The old colonial house was of stone, facing the 
 south, with two wide galleries, one above the other. 
 The main structure was square, but was flanked by 
 a long wing which at its end became part of a 
 quadrangle of farm buildings. In front of the 
 house was a long level lawn, dominated by a group 
 of three tulip-trees and two oaks which were the 
 joy of Richard Amory's heart. The gardens and 
 orchards lay to the east ; the drive was a straight 
 avenue, bordered by maples, leading to the busy 
 thoroughfare on the west. Beyond the gardens be 
 gan what was left of the old forest, and on the 
 other side of this belt of woodland was a group of 
 pleasant retired country seats, with one or two of
 
 A QUAKER UNCLE. 21 
 
 which we may become familiar. Had Waldstein 
 by a happier destiny lain here, it would not have 
 been, as it now was, doomed to come to a speedy 
 end. Speculators had been clamoring for the 
 place for five years. 
 
 " Never while I live," Richard Amory invariably 
 answered. Yet to have sold the estate would have 
 been to make him rich, whereas now he was actu 
 ally too poor to keep it up suitably. His two sons 
 were impatient, incredulous, when they heard of 
 the offers their father had refused. 
 
 " Sooner or later the property will have to go, 
 sir," one said. " Why not now, when the flowing 
 tide is towards you ? " 
 
 "Never while I live." That was as good a 
 phrase as need be ; Richard Amory adhered to it. 
 He would almost as soon have sold his children. 
 
 Probably it was the trees he loved most, and no 
 where in that whole region of fine trees were his 
 surpassed. The day after Constance and Kitty 
 Bertini reached Waldstein, they went with him all 
 over the place to see the trees, many of which 
 were just pushing their buds. Richard Amory 
 had never been abroad, rarely being able to com 
 mand the requisite ready money. 
 
 " Twice," he said to Constance, " while thee has 
 been living in Italy, I have said to myself that I 
 would go over and see thee and a few other things 
 in Europe, principally the forests. But the 
 money I expected either did not come or was 
 needed for repairs, so I stayed at home, and read
 
 22 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 about Fontaiuebleau, the Black Forest, and the 
 rest of them. But thee has been there, and thee 
 knows whether any of those trees are finer than 
 mine." 
 
 There were a dozen trees on the place whose 
 trunks could not be spanned by the three linking 
 their hands and extending their arms to their 
 widest. 
 
 Kitty had at first experienced an emptiness, a 
 dreariness in the change. " Nothing but trees and 
 a little brook, grass and hedges, mamma mia," 
 she had said ; " one might as well live in a wood." 
 
 It had been different at the old white villa at 
 Fiesole, which Constance had bought for a song, 
 and had lived in all those happy years that Kitty 
 had been growing up. Let us describe the way 
 Kitty had spent those early days living with her 
 mother and Lucia and Beppo. She slept in a sort 
 of turret into which her mother's room opened. 
 She would rise early, dress stealthily, that she 
 might make no sound to disturb the marchesa's 
 morning nap, and in summer by six o'clock would 
 be sitting on top of the terrace wall, eating bread 
 and honey, her eyes fixed, meanwhile, on the wide 
 reaches of the valley and the dim mountain ranges. 
 She liked the early morning view of Florence : the 
 river with its mists growing pearly in the sunlight, 
 the roofs and domes and campaniles one by one 
 emerging out of the sea of vapor, which, clearing 
 little by little, finally retired towards the far with 
 drawn horizon, where it changed from turquoise to
 
 A QUAKER UNCLE. 23 
 
 amethyst, from sapphire to emerald, to chocolate. 
 It took so long for the valley to wake up. Even 
 when the poplars and the olive-trees stirred in the 
 morning breeze, the cypresses stood still and black, 
 holding the secret of the night ; when all the other 
 shadows had chased each other to the ramparts of 
 the hills, they were still as dark and mysterious as 
 ever. 
 
 Her fast broken, Kitty would go to feed her 
 birds in the aviary, already calling her impatiently. 
 Then she shared with Beppo the care of the white 
 donkeys, the black goats and their kids. Besides 
 these, there were a dozen odd and harmless pets, 
 guinea-pigs, two squirrels, and a marmoset. If it 
 had not rained in the night, the little channel from 
 the basin of the fountain on the terrace must be 
 opened to irrigate the oleanders, pomegranates, 
 oranges, and figs, besides the beds of clove-pinks, 
 roses, and lilies. And when Lucia was busy, she 
 was apt to beg the signorina to go to the back 
 gate and watch for the peasant woman who brought 
 the milk and, each morning, a roll of fresh butter 
 wrapped in green leaves. This latter it was Kitty's 
 delight to work over and over in cool water into 
 frothy pats in the shape of shells or flowers. By 
 this time the marchesa would be ready for her cof 
 fee, which Lucia had made black and thick, and 
 Kitty would take it to her mother, with hot foamy 
 milk, crusty rolls, and her fresh butter, and arrange 
 them on the table in the upper loggia. 
 
 Then again, on a market or festival day, when
 
 24 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 Kitty found Beppo and Lucia ready to set out for 
 the city in the cart, the white donkeys standing 
 sulkily, their heads bent down as if never to be 
 raised again, their feet set stubbornly, Kitty 
 would take it into her head to go with them. In she 
 would clamber, instantly falling upon the apricots 
 and cherries, and off they would clatter down the 
 drive, Beppo, melancholy, inert, always chided 
 by his wife Lucia, who, dressed in her best, was 
 sure to be in the highest spirits, with her head set 
 off by a flowered handkerchief and her bright 
 silver pins. This pair was in the foreground, 
 while behind was Kitty in a blue gingham frock, 
 her dark, laughing face half hidden by a wide, 
 flopping hat, her long braids, tied with red ribbon, 
 over her left shoulder. 
 
 Arrived in Florence, devotions must be attended 
 to, and while Lucia plumped down on the stones to 
 say her prayers, Kitty had time to wander dream 
 ily round the duomo, exchanging greetings, as it 
 were, with the virgins, madonnas, bambinos, angels, 
 and choristers which she knew and loved in the 
 mosaics, frescoes, paintings, and bas-reliefs. Some 
 times she stood peering up into the dome, wonder 
 ing ; again she peeped into the sacristy, and perhaps 
 asked questions of the old priests busy with their 
 cope-folding, chalice-rinsing, and candle-scraping. 
 Sometimes she herself knelt and said her prayers 
 in one of the chapels, but the moment Lucia's final 
 genuflections were over Kitty was at her side, eager 
 for the market, where they relieved Beppo, and dis-
 
 A QUAKER UNCLE. 25 
 
 patched him to snatch his own portion of grace. 
 Little that went on between her portion of earth 
 and sky escaped Kitty. She knew all the rela 
 tions, all the cronies, all the secrets of Beppo and 
 Lucia's milieu. Entirely at her ease, delighted to 
 be looked up to and called " la signorina," she could 
 in turn pass opinion, instruct, compliment, and 
 chide with an air of complete ascendency. When 
 she was tired of the chaffering and the cheapening, 
 she would call Lucia, and ask her of what she could 
 be thinking to waste her whole morning in idleness. 
 Then Lucia would summon Beppo, accusing him 
 of robbing the marchesa by his loitering and lin 
 gering. Beppo, in turn, would spend his pangs of 
 conscience in punishing the donkeys, telling them 
 they had eaten their heads off. Then, all rega- 
 thered, off the party would proceed back to Fiesole, 
 up the steep ascent between white villas with clois 
 tered courts and rows of box and laurel and 
 oranges and limes ; campaniles guarded by two 
 cypresses ; high walls out of which poppies blos 
 somed in every cranny and chink. Along the road 
 they would exchange greetings with some old wo 
 man bearing home clippings from a vineyard, her 
 burden making her look like a moving pergola, or 
 a peasant girl driving a donkey-cart full of the 
 carnations, larkspurs, and roses she was carrying 
 to the city to deck a wedding festa, her wide straw 
 hat wreathed with poppies, while in shrill, long- 
 drawn cadence she crooned a monotonous chant 
 about a sweetheart and her constancy. At home
 
 26 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 again, Beppo would be dispatched to the mulberry- 
 trees to pick leaves for the silkworms almost ready 
 to wake up, and Beppo always complaining that 
 the sun was too hot, or the elevation too wind-swept 
 for comfort, Kitty herself would clamber up and 
 fill her own bag and rush off to feed the ravenous 
 creatures. 
 
 Kitty had had no thought of the picturesque- 
 ness, the aesthetic opportunity of what it had been 
 her daily habit to see and do and think and feel. 
 But life in the Tuscan villa had been pleasant, 
 with its homely, every-day sights and sounds, and 
 the feeling that she was necessary, that she had 
 her finger on the mainspring of the whole mechan 
 ism, had been not only a call to. action, but a source 
 of pleasure. 
 
 But she soon found new interests at Wald stein. 
 It was late April. The weather was surpass 
 ingly beautiful "real American weather," as 
 Constance said ; she had been homesick for it 
 for twenty-two years. Crocuses, hyacinths, tulips, 
 violets, and daisies were springing up in the bor 
 der ; the woods were starred with liverwort, wind- 
 flowers, and bloodroot. Pear and cherry trees were 
 beginning to blossom. It was not Italy, but it was 
 beautiful, nevertheless. Then all through the woods 
 appeared the snowy bracts of the dogwood, clouds 
 of stars making a wonderful milky way. Kitty 
 was about ready to believe that after all nothing in 
 the world was quite so lovely as Waldstein. The 
 first glimmer of pale green on the treetops, the
 
 A QUAKER UNCLE. 27 
 
 tasseling and blooming of the shrubs, the twitter 
 and trill of the returning birds went to her head. 
 She and Richard Amory used to go over the whole 
 place every day. In a week she knew every 
 tree in the wood as well as he, every flower in 
 copse and garden, all the vegetables, and might 
 almost be said to have counted the blades of wheat 
 and rye in the hill-lot which Richard Amory 
 planted with grain each year, that he might see it 
 wave as the summer winds played over it. 
 
 Richard Amory was in general a silent man ; a 
 man used to silence too ; expression, expansion, 
 was not a necessity of life to him, hardly a pos 
 sibility. His mind was always revolving the same 
 problem, the law of mutability, the inevitable 
 decree that all is change, that nothing can endure. 
 As soon as he was dead a new street would be 
 opened through his place ; the house would go, 
 more than that, the clump of tulip and oak trees 
 on the lawn. Tears rose scalding his eyes at the 
 recurrent thought. He knew that a man must ac 
 cept the inevitable ; he had borne much, and with 
 out shrinking, but this was the crowning sorrow. 
 Yet what difference did it make ? The human race 
 goes on, the human race of which he was merely 
 one constituent atom, burning itself out, and soon 
 to be extinguished. Kitty with her prattle, her 
 questions, her quick impressions was another atom, 
 just that and nothing more. 
 
 But Kitty pleased him, nevertheless.
 
 . CHAPTER III. 
 
 A NEST OF COUSINS. 
 
 Two families of Darrows lived on the west side 
 of the old Waldstein woods, Mrs. Edward Dar- 
 row, a widow with one son, familiarly called Teddy, 
 and the Ambury Darrows, whose three daughters 
 we have already met. Not far away was John 
 Haliburton's place, which his mother had inherited 
 from her grandmother, who had been an Ambury, 
 and who, indeed, was also the grandmother of Am 
 bury Darrow, who was accordingly John Halibur 
 ton's second cousin. The two were law partners. 
 The senior was a little man with a face full of energy 
 and force, with bright eyes, a gray mustache, and 
 a lean, pointed jaw. He walked with a limp, talked 
 incessantly, cleverly, but with constant parentheses 
 and zigzags, making frequent gestures. His wife 
 was large, blonde, handsome, and stately. Before 
 her husband she was habitually silent. It was not 
 that she was afraid of him, but the two lived in 
 different mental worlds. He admitted nothing as a 
 fact, even as a legitimate conclusion, that he could 
 not pin down, analyze, and inevitably prove. Mrs. 
 Darrow liked theories, and had so wide a generaliz 
 ing sweep of mind that she did not trouble herself
 
 A NEST OF COUSINS. 29 
 
 about mere facts. She took a very serious view of 
 life, and unless she could make her least pursuit a 
 duty and responsibility she could have no pleasure 
 out of it. She even made up her menus with a 
 view to the different articles of food furnishing 
 just the right constituents for human nutrition. 
 
 She had accepted her three daughters as heaven 
 sent responsibilities, and by reading all the books 
 she could find with a bearing on the subject, and 
 listening to all the lectures for mothers and teach 
 ers, Mrs. Darrow had soon evolved a theory about 
 the best method of bringing up children. The ob 
 ject of her life was to fulfill every one of their pos 
 sible claims upon her. She had watched and stud 
 ied them from their earliest infancy. She had 
 filled a volume with the notes she had made on the 
 personal characteristics of each of the three. Thus 
 understanding them thoroughly, her object had 
 been to make life as easy to them as possible. Not 
 that she would have permitted this definition of 
 her system. On the contrary, she had a momen 
 tous theory on the subject which was this : 
 
 Progress and improvement are a matter of spon 
 taneous development in the natural order of things. 
 Any effort to aid the bourgeoning of a flower is 
 more likely to disturb than assist the result. All 
 that can be done is to furnish heat, light, suste 
 nance. Nature gives the irresistible push. An 
 equally scientific method is required in the bring 
 ing up of children. Surround them with good 
 influences. Let them have all they need to fur-
 
 30 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 ther every enterprise and effort; let them adapt 
 themselves to their environment and work out their 
 salvation in it. 
 
 At every stage of their careers, Mrs. D arrow 
 had demanded of her daughters that they should 
 study their requirements and feel sure that they 
 were expanding in the right direction. Mrs. Dar- 
 row could not analyze even what she wanted her 
 self ; she was too optimistic. She liked the rounded, 
 the complete, the symmetrical, the beautiful. She 
 felt that her daughters were quite clever enough to 
 do the greatest things. Her vague wish was that 
 each should appoint herself a great and glorious 
 destiny, and walk forward with an illumined mind 
 and heart to meet it. 
 
 Nevertheless, in spite of their unlimited preroga 
 tives to be absurd, the Darrow girls had grown up 
 rather particularly nice, and were very far from 
 being as individual, as eccentric, or even as highly 
 endowed with original genius as their mother had 
 expected them to be. Each had from her child 
 hood done whatever seemed to her best. Each had 
 chosen her own studies, instructors, place of educa 
 tion. Each had even been offered her own reli 
 gion. But, after all, what they had asked for had 
 been much the same as other healthy-minded young 
 beings of their age and sex crave. And instead of 
 being carried by irresistible centrifugal force into an 
 erratic orbit, the strongest influence they had so far 
 felt was the purely centripetal attraction of home. 
 Each one had, it is true, made choice of an oc-
 
 A NEST OF COUSINS. 31 
 
 cupation, a profession. Sue had taken part of a 
 course in hospital nursing. Millicent wrote, no 
 body was quite sure what it was, but Mrs. Darrow 
 said she was struck by Millicent's literary ability. 
 Agatha was to be a painter. They were, as their 
 mother said, fitted for the competition, the struggle 
 of existence. Meantime, without any competition, 
 any struggle, they remained happy at home, busy, 
 absorbed, more or less useful to the state and world. 
 It was necessary, Mrs. Darrow now said, to expand 
 before concentrating themselves. Although for 
 success it is necessary to have a specialty, a spe 
 cialty narrows. 
 
 Their father adored them all. He frankly con 
 sidered his wife's ideas fantastic. " Oh, she is 
 always fooling with some nonsense I can't under 
 stand," he was in the habit of saying, yet he con 
 sidered that, upon the whole, her bringing up of 
 his daughters had not been amiss. (They were 
 capital company for him, clear - headed, lucid, 
 fluent, prompt in taking up any idea by its right 
 handle. 
 
 " By Jove ! " Ambury Darrow had more than 
 once remarked to his partner, " I do believe that 
 Sue would have made as good a lawyer as either of 
 us if she had half our training." 
 
 Sue was by this time thirty - one, Millicent 
 twenty-nine, while Agatha was in her twenty- 
 fourth year. 
 
 " I have always thought it improbable that my 
 girls would marry," Mrs. Darrow had more than
 
 32 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 once observed, and in this respect they had so far 
 fulfilled prediction. Otherwise they had, in spite 
 of expectation, failed to astonish, even to shock, 
 their large circle of relatives. They had their 
 place in the social world, a place of some pre 
 dominance, possessing the advantages which belong 
 to family prestige, combined with a large income 
 to spend. But they were frankly interested in 
 everything that went on inside and outside of so 
 ciety. They had a finger in every enterprise : 
 could dance at balls, preside on committees, run 
 bazaars, lead clubs, talk philosophy, poetry, or 
 politics, all with the keenest enjoyment. 
 
 Not one of the three but dreamed of something 
 more ideal. Each was passionately alive to the 
 tenderer side of life with its happiness, weal, and 
 woe. Each had pictured for herself a beatific 
 existence as a married woman, with some possible 
 or impossible husband coming from the every-day 
 fairyland of a girl's fancy. Two, at least, of the 
 three had at times seen in the flesh the ideal man 
 who might, if he put forth his full strength, win 
 her and realize the happiness she could bestow. 
 But neither expected or counted upon such results ; 
 indeed, it was a question how their individual views 
 of life would harmonize with the married state. 
 They had thought about everything, talked about 
 everything, until they knew, or thought they knew, 
 the taste of the kernel of every nut offered to hu 
 man beings to crack. They were too radiantly 
 feminine not to have the strongest desire in their
 
 A NEST OF COUSINS. 33 
 
 natures to be beloved inadly and overwhelmingly 
 by some man stronger and nobler than themselves, 
 but almost as strong was the desire to help on 
 the world in their own way. 
 
 The older Darrow girls had seen Constance 
 Bertini in their childhood, and it gratified their 
 every instinct of affection and curiosity that she 
 had returned with her daughter to settle among 
 them. It was also a subject of thought, if not of 
 remark, that almost at the same moment John 
 Haliburton had for the first time since his mother's 
 death come back to the neighborhood, bringing 
 Glen Rennie with him. 
 
 That Haliburton had returned was a clear cause 
 for congratulation. In spite of his being their 
 cousin and their father's partner, the Darrow girls 
 had never seen as much of him as seemed logical, 
 even inevitable, under the circumstances. 
 
 Sue, in particular, had always had a feeling of 
 his being an elusive quantity. Haliburton was 
 shy, ill at ease in her company. And yet she was 
 ready and willing to have done a great deal for 
 him. His loneliness since his mother's death in 
 spired her sympathy. He was used to a woman 
 in his life, and a man who has ever been used to a 
 woman cannot get along without a woman. Start 
 ing from a sentimental point of view a man needs 
 affection, the tenderness which only a loving 
 woman can feel. A woman may pet herself, alle 
 viate her desolation by the luxuries and amenities 
 of life, but a man is so helpless ! Then from a
 
 34 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 practical point of view Haliburton needed just the 
 right wife, somebody to look after his social and 
 domestic interests. Without her he was simply 
 wasting his existence. Thus it appeared the most 
 rational act of Haliburton's career that he should 
 have come to live among his cousins and look 
 about him. 
 
 The coincidence of his bringing Glendenning 
 Rennie to live with him amused all the neighbor 
 hood, for it was well known that Glen had been 
 in love with Constance Amory ever since he was 
 seventeen. As a boy, his being in love had not 
 counted ; but when at the age of twenty-six he had 
 filled out the term of a vacant consulship in Italy, 
 he had seen Constance after her second widowhood, 
 and the passion had gone deep, as deep, that is, 
 as anything ever went with Glen. Eveiy one 
 exonerated Constance. She was a woman abso 
 lutely without coquetry. She had been adored all 
 her life, and to have Glen in love was nothing very 
 particular. Nobody could very well expect her 
 to marry for the third time, above all, that she 
 should marry a delicate young fellow not only 
 without an income, but without a career. 
 
 If at the age of twenty-six Glen had been with 
 out an income or a career, what was he at thirty- 
 eight but a dead failure when he still had neither 
 income nor career ? Without any chronic ailment, 
 he had been unlucky enough to have one long ill 
 ness after another which had robbed him of his 
 chance. He had done clever things. Editors oc-
 
 A NEST OF COUSINS. 35 
 
 casionally accepted his poetry ; he had published 
 a book of poems entitled " Love Unfulfilled," 
 which certain good critics had praised. Nothing 
 could have been more taken for granted than that 
 he would have some success in literature, but 
 he still remained just where he had started, an 
 occasional musical, dramatic, and art critic. Fas 
 tidious by instinct and habit, he was a born 
 connoisseur, loving art in all its forms, and finding 
 in it the charm of a continual surprise and in 
 spiration. In person he was singularly attractive : 
 his face was unusual and striking, long and narrow 
 in shape, lighted by a pair of intensely brilliant, 
 deep-set eyes which were of no particular color, 
 but in different moods took on different hues. His 
 smile, too, was charming. He was, as we have 
 seen, related both to the Amorys and Darrows, his 
 father having been first cousin to Ambury Darrow 
 and to the father of Richard Amory, and the worth 
 of the connection had been deepened by long habit 
 of affectionate intimacy and association. 
 
 Haliburton was quiet, sedate, and from his 
 youth had an air of discretion and wisdom as of 
 one who is never caught unaware. It had been 
 the opinion of all the neighborhood ever since his 
 mother's death, five years before, that he and Sue 
 Darrow must inevitably come together. She was 
 bright, fluent, amusing. Anybody with a sense 
 of proportion could see that John needed just 
 such a wife to balance him. 
 
 We have spoken of Mrs. Edward Darrow, the
 
 36 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 widow of Ambury Darrow's brother, but we must 
 describe more particularly her son Teddy, a youth 
 of twenty, who was an admirable fellow, handsome, 
 always dressed to perfection, whether for cricket, 
 dinner, his wheel, or to pay visits. He gave the 
 impression of conceit, but he was not conceited, 
 in fact rather humble. But it was his way to take 
 himself seriously, to weigh every word if he gave 
 his opinion about the weather, even to eat his soup 
 as if he were an image of a god assisting at a func 
 tion. He was penetrated by the idea of the im 
 portant place he had to fill in life, and he rarely 
 laughed. 
 
 These were the friends and neighbors the mar- 
 chesa and Kitty were to meet often and know 
 intimately.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 KITTY AND THE MAKCHESA. 
 
 " SIMPLY the most adorably sensible woman I 
 ever saw in my life," was what Ambury Darrow 
 said to his daughters about Constance Bertini. 
 
 Kitty told her uncle that the way the marchesa's 
 old friends greeted her, Kitty, was, " I cannot see 
 that you resemble your mother in the least. Ah, 
 she was the most beautiful girl." 
 
 Constance, oddly enough, cared little or nothing 
 about these allusions to her good looks, but she 
 did pique herself upon the possession of good com 
 mon sense, knowledge of the world, and power of 
 adapting herself to her environment. To what 
 is called society, " all festivity and a round of 
 dinners," she was utterly indifferent, but she had 
 the faculty of putting zest and charm into the com 
 monest matters of every-day life. Without any 
 effort she became, wherever she was, the central 
 figure. No woman was ever so easy to live with, 
 so cheerful, so good-humored, so indulgent to the 
 faults of others. But then it seemed as if nobody 
 displayed any faults to her. Her satellites revolved 
 round her, coerced, like the moon by the earth, to 
 show only their shining side.
 
 38 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 She had not been at the head of Richard 
 Amory's house a week before it seemed to him he 
 was living on a new scale of elegance and luxury ; 
 and yet, on analyzing the matter, he perceived it 
 was only that the servants were suddenly inspired 
 to carry order and method into certain details, 
 and that Constance herself possessed the magical 
 trick of turning everything to account. By the 
 arrangement of a spray of flowers, a dish of fruit 
 and leaves, a quickly tossed up salad, the whole 
 aspect of a table and a meal was changed. Then, 
 too, accustomed to the European fashion of sitting 
 out of doors in pleasant weather, Constance would 
 have afternoon tea and after-dinner coffee served 
 on the veranda, in the summer-house, or under the 
 tulip-trees. 
 
 " It is the knack not of a rich but of a poor 
 woman," Constance would say when her methods 
 were commented on. " Nothing need be hideous 
 or dull or monotonous unless we make it so." 
 
 Kitty had an intense relish for carrying out the 
 least of her mother's ideas. Almost from the time 
 her little daughter was born Constance had expe 
 rienced a vibrating responsive quality in her. 
 Kitty was a part of herself and she was a part of 
 Kitty's self. To each the look, speech, touch of 
 the other was the answer to a need, the satisfaction 
 of a hunger. In rearing her child, Constance had 
 treated her simply as another Constance Bertini, 
 pouring into the opening heart and mind her own 
 knowledge, beliefs, logic, instincts, like a strength-
 
 KITTY AND THE MAECHESA. 39 
 
 ening cordial. Whatever her mother had felt or 
 done Kitty expected in her time to feel and do. 
 To Kitty her mother's wit, skill, resource, were 
 inexhaustible. Her manner, her conversation, her 
 dress, although it was always the same, was some 
 thing to study and find poetry in. To do things 
 as her mother did was an impossible dream of 
 perfection. Yet through some efficacy of her 
 mother's, not through any grace of her own, 
 Kitty expected ultimately to attain it. Constance 
 had such a world of pretty ways the young girl 
 would have liked to appropriate to herself : her 
 easy mastery of her toilette, for example. Con 
 stance gathered up the masses of her bright brown 
 hair, gave them first a toss, then two twists and 
 a coil, ran three pins through the knot, and the 
 coiffure was complete, ready for the little cap. 
 The thing was done and done beautifully. She 
 slid into her gown in an instant. Nothing caught, 
 nothing tore, nothing was in the way or out of the 
 way. Grace, finish, symmetry, perfection of detail 
 without effort, all these were a part of the mar- 
 chesa's personality ; also promptness without haste. 
 Kitty herself alternated between long dawdling 
 and tearing hurry, was always ready so early that 
 her soul died within her while she waited for the 
 time to come, or so late that she lost the cream of 
 things. Then, too, her own frocks were always an 
 embarrassment, either so short she was not pre 
 sentable before visitors, or so long that she tore 
 and soiled them in climbing trees or running races
 
 40 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 with the dogs. To Kitty clothes seemed invented 
 simply to hinder her from play. Her mother's 
 simple elegance, her aerial freedom from thought 
 or consciousness about herself, her readiness to 
 throw herself into any occupation of the moment, 
 were at once Kitty's delight and her despair. 
 
 " Mamma mia, shall I ever, can I ever, be like 
 you ? " she would cry out. 
 
 "Better than I am I hope," Constance would 
 reply. " I had no mother to tell me things." 
 
 Constance not only said this to Kitty but she 
 said to herself, " I made mistakes ; I had no 
 mother to show me how to avoid making mistakes, 
 but Kitty shall make none." 
 
 " Did hooks and buttons ever get in your way ? 
 Did your hair ever get into snarls and knots ? " 
 Kitty would ask. 
 
 " Everything got in my way. It used to seem 
 to me as if all I needed to be perfectly happy was 
 to have my hair clipped close to my head, I hated 
 it so. Now, Kitty, I really think you are getting 
 to do your braids beautifully." 
 
 Kitty drew a long breath. She was not often 
 praised, indeed she was not often criticised. Con 
 stance fancied it destroyed simplicity of character 
 to analyze, to dwell on traits, to make allusions to 
 habits, tastes, individual inclinations. Instead, she 
 meant at every turn to direct Kitty, to mould her, 
 to prepare and brace her for the greater ordeals of 
 life. 
 
 " When may I put my braids up on my head ? " 
 Kitty asked.
 
 KITTY AND THE MARCHES A. 41 
 
 " Oh, I would wait a little, would you not ? Of 
 course it is nice for me to keep you a little girl, 
 but that is not the main thing. It seems to me it 
 is nice for you to be kept a little girl. So long 
 as you are a mere child you can come into the 
 drawing-room, or stay away, just as you please. 
 You may be a little careless about your dress, and 
 nothing matters very, particularly. But if you 
 put up your hair and become a young woman, 
 think of the high standard you will have to live 
 up to." 
 
 Kitty tried to decide the knotty problem of 
 whether this freedom from criticism was one of the 
 chief compensations of existence, or whether it 
 might not be too dearly bought. For instance, 
 she had taken a fancy to her cousin, Glen Rennie, 
 partly because he was a resurrection of the old 
 Italian days, partly on account of his good looks, 
 his amusing talk, combined with his apathetic, 
 high-handed manner and tone to her. For he 
 seemed to consider her the merest child. He criti 
 cised her, found fault with her. He had already 
 told her more than once that it seemed strange 
 a fairly good-looking woman like the marchesa 
 should have such an ugly daughter. With appall 
 ing frankness he had remarked that she was thin 
 as a rail ; pointing at her arm he had once ex 
 claimed, " What do you call that thing, anyhow ? " 
 Then her complexion he declared was too dark, and 
 when she was sulky, as she alas too often was, her 
 eyebrows fairly beetled ; and he went on to say
 
 42 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 that although that swift swallow-like motion might 
 do very well supposing she were a bird and lived 
 up in the air, in the house one sighed for repose. 
 Finally, about her behavior, her odd speeches, her 
 strange questions, he inquired sadly whether she 
 had ever heard of the man who, on going to visit 
 his relations, was obliged to sit down and weep 
 because they had no manners. 
 
 " Have I no manners, cousin Glen ? " Kitty had 
 asked imploringly, fearful lest he might be on the 
 point of shedding tears. 
 
 " Not one," he had answered sadly. " Not a 
 single one." 
 
 No wonder, Kitty said to herself, that she bored 
 her cousin Glen, that he always turned to the 
 marchesa with an air of relief ; for her mother had 
 such beautiful manners. 
 
 There were, it is true, certain distinct advantages 
 about having no manners. If Kitty happened to 
 be curious about a person's age, she could put the 
 question bluntly. She had also inquired whether 
 the curly crop of hair which surmounted Mrs. 
 Willoughby's head was her own ; if not, how she 
 fastened it on. She liked to understand things, 
 pluck the heart out of the mystery ; and when her 
 mother explained, " Oh, my little girl is such a 
 barbarian," the matter seemed not to signify. The 
 marchesa had desired that her daughter should put 
 all her heart, soul, and strength into whatever she 
 undertook, and Kitty had not yet learned where to 
 tread lightly and where to bear her full weight.
 
 KITTY AND THE MARCHES A. 43 
 
 She was expected always to be doing something, 
 always learning something, and did not dis 
 criminate between the intricacies of the English 
 language and Mrs. Willoughby's hair. Good taste 
 was simply the result of sure knowledge and quick 
 perception. Kitty was nevertheless insensibly be 
 coming influenced by conventions. It had been 
 delightful to her to take her violin on which she 
 could play well enough to give herself raptures of 
 feeling into one of the tulip-trees and discourse 
 music to the air. One afternoon, as she clambered 
 to a higher branch, coming upon a nest of little 
 beaks wide open waiting to be fed, she assumed the 
 role of mother-bird and searched about for insects 
 and grubs to fill them. When she finally de 
 scended from the leafy covert, dirty, torn, dishev 
 eled, she had emerged directly upon Mrs. Edward 
 Darrow and her son, the latter elaborately gotten up 
 in a silk hat, a cutaway coat, and a pair of delicate 
 gloves which he had put on to pay his respects to 
 the marchesa. Alas, when he condescended to 
 offer his beautiful lavender finger to her, Kitty's 
 little brown paw left dreadful marks on the im 
 maculate kid. 
 
 The mortification of that moment was a power 
 ful impulse towards conventional behavior. Kitty 
 then and there determined that just as soon as she 
 should have climbed every tree on her uncle's place 
 she would give up these monkey -like tricks. 
 
 Her acquaintance with Agatha Darrow pro 
 gressed. The large, ample ways of the Darrow
 
 44 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 menage interested her. Kitty, who had never in 
 her life had more than a corner of her mother's 
 quarters, looked in wonder at the independent be 
 longings of the Darrow girls. Each had her own 
 charming little suite, bed-room, dressing-room, 
 with a study, sitting-room, or atelier, as she might 
 choose to term it, attached. Gatty called hers her 
 studio. Each had her own piano, her own library, 
 her own open fireplace and easy-chair ; each had 
 her own tea-table and chafing-dish. She could 
 shut her door upon intruders and grapple with the 
 infinite problem, with a Welsh rabbit or a cup 
 of tea to sustain her. 
 
 Gatty's grapple had not so far been remarkably 
 impressive. Kitty, who possessed that instinctive 
 connoisseurship which belongs to many Europeans, 
 hardly knew what to say when she saw the radiant 
 and extraordinary work of the young artist. There 
 was a wonderful " Diana and Endymion " which 
 had been laid aside. It made one tremble for the 
 sleeping Endymion to see so many pounds weight 
 avoirdupois poised above him. The work at pre 
 sent on the easel was a " marine : " the turquoise 
 blue was the sea; the orange and vermilion the 
 sands and rocks ; the dash of scarlet a buoy ; while 
 the surpassing flesh-tints belonged to two boys who 
 had stripped and were swimming after a boat that 
 had slipped its cable. This study belonged to 
 the new school, and Kitty really knew nothing 
 about the new school ; accordingly she declared it 
 was magnificent, that it took her breath away.
 
 KITTY AND THE MARCHES A. 45 
 
 "Glen came up to see it," Gatty observed, 
 surveying lier work from an acute angle of vision, 
 " and he says it needs ' cooking together.' " 
 
 " ' Cooking together,' " Kitty repeated in admi 
 ration. " I suppose that is what it does need." 
 
 " I hoped he would say it was n't half bad," 
 Gatty added. 
 
 " Not half bad would not be very high praise." 
 
 " Oh yes, it would be high praise from Glen. 
 He knows what is good. He does not spend him 
 self in cheap praise." 
 
 " He gives me no cheap praise. I am sure of 
 that." 
 
 " He admires nothing less than the marchesa," 
 Gatty said, with a little nod. 
 
 " Oh yes, he admires mamma ; he listens to 
 her ; he hears nobody else when she speaks. If he 
 wishes to say anything he looks to secure her at 
 tention, and begins, ' Conny, I was just about to 
 remark.' He knows, without turning, when she 
 comes into the room. He always rises when he 
 hears her step on the stairs." 
 
 " What a bore it must be to have such an adorer," 
 said Gatty. 
 
 " I do not think mamma is bored. We all adore 
 her." 
 
 Gatty laughed lazily. She did not enlighten the 
 child on the subject of Glen's infatuation. She 
 went back instead to her own career as an artist. 
 
 " I must do something fine," she said. " If I 
 really believed that I had no genius for art I should
 
 46 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 give it up and attempt something else. Mamma 
 says that we must not narrow ourselves down to 
 one choice until we are sure that it is our specialty. 
 For a time we should test and develop all our 
 capacities." 
 
 " It must be very interesting," said Kitty ad 
 miringly. 
 
 "What do you mean to make of yourself, 
 Kitty?" 
 
 "I? Me? Make of myself?" said Kitty, 
 changing color. " I do not know." 
 
 " You have originality, I fancy," said Gatty, 
 knitting her brows and studying the young girl. 
 " Whatever you do seems to be spontaneous, to 
 come out of yourself." 
 
 " It does not," Kitty cried triumphantly. " It 
 is all mamma." 
 
 "Of course she is clever; she is very clever. 
 She understands you ; but you are not a puppet. 
 You will gather up your forces presently. You 
 will find out your own powers. Now, where I fail 
 is in originality. I am tantalized by the idea that 
 what I am trying to do has been done over and 
 over again. Do you ever feel that way ? " 
 
 " But I never do anything." 
 
 " You play the violin very well," insisted Gatty ; 
 " that is, for a young girl who has never had any 
 particular instruction. You bring out the tone I 
 love. Then your drawings are striking even 
 those figurines you moulded are fairly good." 
 
 " Mamma says I may thank heaven I have no
 
 KITTY AND THE MARCHES A. 47 
 
 special talent in any direction, that I shall not 
 be laying up disappointments for myself. But she 
 wants me to learn to do as many things as I can, 
 and do them as well as I can, for there is always 
 some use for them, and 1 shall be less at a loss for 
 amusement." 
 
 " Oh, amusement ! I do not want amusement. 
 I want to do something different from every-day 
 women. Don't you ? " 
 
 " I should like to be exactly like mamma." 
 
 " You cannot be exactly like your mother. You 
 are yourself ; just as you have your own heart, lungs, 
 nerve-centres, so you have your own intellect and 
 soul. You have to live your own life, find your 
 own salvation. I am always thinking of some 
 possible great thing to do. If I had real genius as 
 a painter that would be enough. Only I want to 
 begin with a great achievement. I should like to 
 startle the world." 
 
 Kitty looked at Agatha in frank admiration. 
 
 " I feel so anxious not to miss anything," Gatty 
 proceeded radiantly. " I have sometimes thought 
 I could be an actress, but poppa would n't like it. 
 And I should n't like the making-up, or to act 
 in the sort of rubbish they call plays nowadays. 
 Still, an actress can sway her generation as no one 
 else can, and one is not limited to one little feeble 
 personality." 
 
 Kitty drew a deeper breath. " Oh, to be Juliet, 
 Imogen, Rosalind, Portia ! " she murmured. 
 
 " Then, again, I feel as if I should like to go
 
 48 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 and live among the poor; give up luxury alto 
 gether; eat as the poorest people do, dress like 
 them, be one of them ; then begin along with them 
 and show them how to be better, cleaner." 
 
 "Yes, that is it," said Kitty, with conviction. 
 " Cleaner. But I have always liked the peasants, 
 I love them." 
 
 " Oh, peasants that is a different thing," said 
 Gatty. " It is all a chimerical dream, I fear. 
 Poor people like their own ways, their own dirt, 
 and get comfort out of what they are used to, just 
 as we do. Then, too, that is Sue's line. She simply 
 walks into poor people's houses and scrubs them 
 and their clothes, and their beds and tables and 
 floors. She likes nothing better. She says to 
 make some little part of God's creation cleaner is 
 enough to have lived for. She ought to be adver 
 tised along with Pears' soap. I confess I should 
 prefer something a little more ideal. If I could be 
 carried off my feet by some great distinguishing 
 passion ! " 
 
 Kitty repeated the words with profound awe, 
 
 " Some great distinguishing passion." 
 
 " Something that lifts one above the soft pillows 
 one sleeps on, the table one eats from. I want a 
 feeling that takes possession of one's heart and 
 soul, fills one's mind and heart, so that one can 
 think of nothing else, care for nothing else. It 
 might be for a man " 
 
 " A man ? " exclaimed Kitty. 
 
 " Not necessarily so. ' Yet I should never be
 
 KITTY AND THE MABCHESA. 49 
 
 willing to marry without feeling it, should 
 
 you?" 
 
 " I never thought about it," Kitty murmured 
 aghast. " Do you mean being in love ? " 
 
 " Of course. There are so few men who can 
 really inspire a great passion. Think of feeling it 
 for Teddy ! " 
 
 " Oh no, oh no, that could n't be." 
 
 " Or for cousin John Haliburton ! " 
 
 "Hardly." 
 
 " One could easily enough fall in love with Glen," 
 proceeded Gatty, with a little soft sigh, " but it 
 would be hardly worth one's while." 
 
 " Why not? " Kitty inquired, eager for illumi 
 nation. 
 
 Gatty laughed. What she meant was that he 
 was already in love with somebody else, but she 
 said, 
 
 " Oh, Glen is too poor, he is not strong. He 
 has been near dying more than once." 
 
 Tears rushed to Kitty's eyes and brimmed over. 
 
 " That would be a reason for loving him," she 
 faltered. " But mamma thinks he is stronger now. 
 She and uncle Richard were saying that in the 
 Rennie family if they pass the age of thirty-five, 
 they sometimes live to be old, quite old." 
 
 Gatty hurried away from the subject of Glen, 
 which seemed to torment Kitty, back to dreams of 
 a life of endeavor, of duty, of sacrifice. This ease, 
 this luxury, this sitting in comfortable chairs, mak 
 ing tea and eating sandwiches and bonbons, was
 
 50 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 corrupting, unsatisfactory, nugatory; she needed 
 to be braced by the tonic of some great and 
 heroic ideal. The largeness, the vividness of the 
 thought of what was possible in the nobler world 
 of aspiration and idea stirred and excited Kitty. 
 She had to go home through the woods where the 
 singing of the thrushes thrilled her, and made her 
 feel a part of the happy world, and when she burst 
 in upon the group sitting under the tulip-trees, 
 they all paused and looked at her. 
 
 " Why, Kitty," said Constance, "what is it?" 
 
 " Thee has brought home two very red cheeks," 
 said Richard Amory. 
 
 " And two very bright eyes," said Glen Rennie. 
 " Did you meet Prince Charming in the wood? " 
 
 It was almost dinner-time, and Glen and Hali- 
 burton were just about to take leave. Richard 
 Amory walked across the grounds with them, and 
 Constance stretched out her arms to Kitty. 
 
 " Where were you ? " she asked. 
 
 " At Gatty's ; she and I were talking," said the 
 young girl. She knelt beside her mother, and laid 
 her hands in her lap. 
 
 " What were you talking about that was so in 
 teresting ? " 
 
 "Everything. She showed me her pictures. 
 She told me about herself. She is so good, so 
 brave ! She told me all the things she longed to 
 do." 
 
 " What does she long to do ? " 
 
 " Something great if she can."
 
 KITTY AND THE MAECHESA. 51 
 
 " Oh yes, they all delight in the large, the 
 magnificent." 
 
 " And she asked me what I I I expected 
 to do in the world," said Kitty, with a peal of 
 laughter. 
 
 " What did you answer ? " 
 
 " At first I said I did not know. Then I told 
 her I wished in every way to be just like you, 
 mamma mia." 
 
 " You dear child ! Did that satisfy her ? " 
 
 " She said I had to live my own life. What do 
 you think, she declares that I am clever." 
 
 " Clever enough to understand, to be a help, 
 a comfort, not clever enough to do anything 
 very wonderful. What else ? " 
 
 " Then we talked about having some great dis 
 tinguishing passion." 
 
 " Some great distinguishing passion. For what, 
 pray ? " 
 
 " Something that takes one off one's feet, as it 
 were. One might feel it for a man if he were very, 
 very superior. She said it could n't be for Teddy 
 Darrow, for example, or for Mr. Haliburton." 
 
 " It is just as well to discriminate a little. Was 
 there anybody who did come up to your fastidious 
 requisitions ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, cousin Glen." 
 
 " Cousin Glen ! " 
 
 " Only " - 
 
 "Only what?" 
 
 " Gatty says it would be of no use to fall in love
 
 52 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 with him, because he is poor and not strong. I 
 said I thought that was the very reason for it." 
 
 " I don't quite understand what a distinguishing 
 passion is," said Constance. " Does it distinguish 
 one's self or the other person ? " 
 
 " It is just a sort of phrase. One knows what 
 it means." 
 
 " Or thinks one knows," said Constance, laugh 
 ing with irrepressible amusement. " I have heard 
 women say they had a passion for strawberries and 
 cream. Heine says somewhere that in his early 
 days his passion was for apple-tarts, but when he 
 grew old, his passion was for love, liberty, reli 
 gion, and so forth." 
 
 Kitty listened with her head on one side. 
 
 " We finally decided," she now explained, " that 
 after all if one could only have some occasion for 
 sacrifice, for duty, that would be best. She wishes 
 to be a great artist ; failing that, to live among the 
 poor, and teach them how to appreciate art." 
 
 Constance had listened patiently, trying to sepa 
 rate the single grain of wheat from the chaff. 
 
 " Gatty is sure to do something fine," she now 
 said. " She may be a little confused and bewil 
 dered about what is best to do, but finally her ideas 
 will take shape. When one is a little at a loss as 
 to the direction in which one's duty lies, the best 
 way is to accept the task which lies nearest." 
 
 Kitty nodded. " I see." 
 
 " What is absolutely real, what we can see, 
 hear, touch, feel, we can be certain about. What
 
 KITTY AND THE MARCHES A. 53 
 
 is vague, shadowy, problematical may as well be 
 postponed until we have accomplished what is 
 under our hands." 
 
 " For example, I had better go and change my 
 frock, and get ready for dinner," said Kitty. Con 
 stance laughed, but she was not yet through. 
 
 " And you remember the prayer of St. Catherine 
 of Siena," said Constance. "It is loving that is 
 the first duty of all." 
 
 " That is the easiest," Kitty returned. As she 
 went upstairs, she was repeating St. Catherine's 
 prayer to herself, praying that she might be 
 able to love the least well endowed of God's crea 
 tures, the ugly, even the repulsive, in order that 
 in the light of that love she might discover what 
 without that light is hidden, the sweet, reason 
 able soul of which each child of God contains a 
 particle. 
 
 " Still," Kitty argued to herself, " that is char 
 ity, it is not a great distinguishing passion."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "LOVE UNFULFILLED." 
 
 " OH, why was I not brought up to some honest 
 trade so that I might cheat people and make a 
 fortune comfortably ? " Glen Rennie would say. 
 It disturbed John Haliburton nowadays to have 
 him say it. Haliburton knew, or thought he knew, 
 that Glen was trying to decide whether he could 
 justify himself for making Constance Bertini a 
 second proposal of marriage. Glen had offered 
 himself to her once without any particular income, 
 but a man of twenty-six can afford to throw pru 
 dence to the winds. Haliburton suffered under 
 the conviction that when a man is nearing forty 
 years of age he has no right to ask a woman to 
 become his wife unless he can give her all the 
 comforts she has been accustomed to. Constance 
 Bertini was, perhaps, as superior to dressmakers 
 and milliners as one of her sex may be, yet in 
 Haliburton's opinion, if there was a woman in the 
 world who ought to have the emancipation which 
 comes from a large income, Constance was that 
 woman. A beautiful house, carriages, fruit, flow 
 ers, everything that can lend a charm to existence, 
 that was what Haliburton would like her pos-
 
 LOVE UNFULFILLED. 55 
 
 sible husband to offer to begin with. But then 
 Haliburton was rather a rich man. " John having 
 amassed wealth now seeks virtue," Glen often ex 
 plained, after the Horatian example. Haliburton 
 had more than once found himself computing how 
 he could manage to give Glen a reasonable income 
 in case Constance Bertini should reward his long 
 devotion. For it was an impossible thing to enter 
 into the state of mind in which Glen might be 
 planning to have the marchesa share his somewhat 
 Bohemian existence, although to shift his personal 
 point of view in order to understand and sym 
 pathize with Glen was Haliburton' s way. 
 
 " I could give them enough to live on comforta 
 bly," he would say to himself. Actually the very 
 fact that Glen was poor, that he had none of that 
 sort of practical push in him which enables a man 
 to make a competence by industry or calculation, 
 that he was in some degree a failure, showed his 
 need of just the right companionship. But was 
 Constance Bertini likely to give it ? 
 
 " John is so modest he humiliates one," was 
 another saying of Glen's. " I loathe modest 
 people." 
 
 Haliburton knew himself to be anything but 
 modest. He knew that he was selfish, impatient, 
 and rebellious. His history was this : He was 
 the only child of his mother's second marriage, 
 and his father dying early the relation between 
 the mother and son became the closest possible. 
 During her lifetime he had hardly thought of
 
 56 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 marrying ; he had rarely left her. Twelve years 
 before, however, when Glendenning Rennie had 
 
 been consul at , John had gone over to spend 
 
 a few weeks with him. He there met Constance 
 Bertini. He saw her only a few times for she 
 lived in great seclusion. For him to have said 
 that he had fallen in love with her he would have 
 considered presumption, almost impertinence. Be 
 sides, Glen was in love with her, was on the 
 point of offering himself to her. Nevertheless, 
 Haliburton's mind, heart, soul, and physical sense 
 had ever since been dominated by the thought of 
 this one woman. In remembering her all these 
 years he had experienced a certain pang, but a 
 pang he would not have missed, for the pain of 
 loving her was better than any other happiness 
 he possessed. His feeling was very much as if she 
 had been married to another man. Glen not only 
 was in love, but, with the unhesitating audacity 
 which was the attribute above all others that John 
 did not possess, had appropriated to himself the 
 perennial position of Constance's adorer. When 
 he heard the news that Richard Amory had asked 
 the marchesa and her daughter to come and live 
 at Waldstein, Haliburton at once felt that he must 
 give Glen every possible chance in his love affair. 
 For twelve years Glen had talked about Constance. 
 She had been the inspiration of his poems ; the 
 idea of her had been the touchstone of his taste, 
 of his laboriously indolent efforts to achieve some 
 thing better than every-day commonplace work.
 
 LOVE UNFULFILLED. 57 
 
 Glen had a position on an evening paper, and 
 was also engaged in the rehanging of a private 
 art gallery. 
 
 He must be in town or not far away all summer. 
 So Haliburton had said, " Suppose you and I go 
 out and keep house in the old place ? " 
 
 The thing was settled in a moment. For other 
 
 O 
 
 people and their interests Haliburton had swift 
 insight and instant decision. 
 
 " What bliss for me to have Conny and for you 
 to have Sue ! " Glen had said, with mischief. In 
 all the world there was nothing and no one Hali 
 burton dreaded as he dreaded Miss Darrow. Yet 
 he had not swerved from this resolution. He had 
 sent at once for two of his mother's old servants ; 
 he had set up his bachelor establishment. He and 
 Glen were near neighbors to Waldstein, and that 
 they were still nearer neighbors to the Ambury 
 Darrows must be borne. No day passed with 
 out meetings with Richard Amory, his sister and 
 niece. Their talks were endless. Glen was radi 
 ant, Constance apparently undisturbed in heart 
 and mind. The two would talk an entire after 
 noon or evening about people, scenery, pictures, or 
 books ; the others sitting by and throwing in an 
 occasional word. Glen could be the most agree 
 able of talkers, and Constance led him on, humor 
 ing him with suggestions. He had lived in many 
 places, had known many people, and a question or 
 hint from her would open up a chapter of reminis 
 cences, and bring forth a whole gallery of portraits,
 
 58 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 about each of which there would be some charac 
 teristic anecdote. 
 
 In all his life Haliburton had never so fully 
 realized the possible charm of existence, but every 
 day he began to feel more and more the torment 
 of the situation. 
 
 For a few weeks the pressure of expectation was 
 tolerable. He wanted Glen to be happy. He 
 nerved himself to see Glen made happy. Then 
 the suspense began to try him. The irksomeness 
 of a doubt insinuated itself. He began to believe 
 not only that Glen had no chance, but that it was 
 wrong to encourage a state of affairs which was 
 hopeless. Constance was not in love with Glen. 
 Her friendship for him, although it was tinged 
 with a thousand pretty, changeable lights of sym 
 pathy, could never become love. 
 
 It was Haliburton's nature, when anything 
 touched his own feelings, to suspect himself, to 
 doubt the truth of his own impressions, to be con 
 scious of possibilities beyond his own insight and 
 divination. Thus he hardly dared impose upon 
 Glen his belief that his suit was hopeless. 
 
 The fact was that lovers did not seem to be in 
 Constance's mind at all ; not a necessity of life 
 to her certainly, not even a distinction she courted. 
 It actually seemed sometimes to Haliburton that 
 she was as glad to see him as to see Glen. She 
 listened when Glen poured out floods of talk about 
 John, fairly hugging himself with delight when 
 he could make her laugh.
 
 LOVE UNFULFILLED. 59 
 
 " Now you would n't call John a man of the 
 world, would you, cousin Conny ? " Glen said once. 
 
 " I have never quite understood what a man of 
 the world is." 
 
 " Oh, I 'm a man of the world," said Glen. " I 
 mean the sort of fellow who gets on, has the best 
 places, eats a good dinner that another man pays 
 for. Put him in a room full of strangers, and in a 
 quarter of an hour he is not only perfectly at home, 
 but the head of the company." 
 
 " No," said Haliburton, " the marchesa knows 
 very well that I am not that sort of individual at 
 all." 
 
 " That is what I was saying," Glen proceeded. 
 " I see the lack of it in John. I try to do my 
 best. Now as for myself, man of the world al 
 though I may be, I take a back seat, - not through 
 modesty, but a fellow has his reasons. If I have 
 to go 011 a journey by myself, I do it inexpensively. 
 Why not be a little Bohemian ? I wear my old 
 clothes, surely it 's no great sin to be out at el 
 bows, a slouched hat. No porter expects to get 
 fees out of me. Suppose I grow hungry, I bolt a 
 hasty sandwich, a thing inexpensive in itself, which 
 also possesses the merit of lying like a lump of 
 lead on my chest for the next twenty-four hours, 
 giving me a distaste for other food. I snatch 
 perhaps a frugal glass of beer. Thus I shirk the 
 obligations, the distinctions which cost money. 
 But when I ask John to go anywhere, our light 
 shines before men. ' Take a pocketful of money,
 
 60 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 John,' I say ; ' we must do the thing handsomely. 
 The world accepts us at our own valuation.' We 
 engage seats, berths, bedrooms in advance. We 
 telegraph, we telephone, we are men who insist 
 upon having the best, can pay for it, and everybody 
 bows down before us. No hasty meals, no vulgar 
 makeshifts. No, we avoid indigestion, nervous 
 ness, sleepless nights, by sitting down comfortably 
 to wholesome courses. ' Give me all your spare 
 cash, John,' I say ; ' we must be liberal ! ' We go 
 to theatres, operas, the best seats of course. The 
 house stares at us in admiration. Oh, there is no 
 end to the pains I 've taken with John." 
 
 He described Haliburton as a youth : his solemn 
 airs, the dramatic effect of his first suit of dress- 
 clothes, his first chimney-pot hat. 
 
 " I always believed in John powerfully," Glen 
 went on. " Did I ever tell you, Conny, how once 
 when my mother was crossing the street on a muddy 
 day, taking her own time, as her way was, she was 
 about to be run over by an aristocratic equipage, 
 when John seized the horses by their bridles, and 
 at the risk of his life, while the animals plunged 
 and reared, backed them against the curbstone, 
 frightening the occupants of the carriage almost 
 out of their senses. ' Were you going to run over 
 my sister ? ' he thundered at the man on the box, 
 who was white with fear. ' Is it not safe for a lady 
 to cross Fifth Avenue in sight of her own house ? ' 
 That 's John," Glen proceeded. " Not quite what 
 you would call a man of the world. He rarely
 
 LOVE UNFULFILLED. 61 
 
 talks, but once or twice in his life he has done that 
 sort of thing, and one takes it for granted there 's a 
 depth of power and meaning in him somewhere." 
 
 Glen went on illustrating Haliburton, telling 
 stories of the old days when he used to wheedle 
 quarters out of John for treats at the confection 
 er's, when John taught him to skate, initiated him 
 into tobogganing, gave him his first real start in 
 the Greek alphabet and in geometry. 
 
 " I have stuck by John all through his career," 
 Glen said sadly. " I can't desert him now that he 
 is in love." 
 
 " Mr. Haliburton in love ? " said Constance. 
 She turned to him in frank surprise. The two 
 men had been dining at Waldstein, and they were 
 all sitting on the veranda. It was long past sunset, 
 but in the northwest there was still a glow which 
 made the whole air luminous. As Constance's eyes 
 met his, Haliburton experienced a powerful shock 
 of feeling. Perhaps the color which came on both 
 faces was a reflection, but Haliburton puzzled over 
 the look he saw in hers for many a day to come. 
 
 " In love ? " repeated Glen, full of whim and 
 mischief. " Head over ears." 
 
 " And she ? " said Constance no longer in eager 
 surprise, but with the usual equipoise of mind and 
 manner which characterized her. 
 
 " John knows," Glen whispered. 
 
 Haliburton was modest ; he postponed his own 
 wishes; he would not have robbed Glen of any 
 chance ; but he did not forget the look with which
 
 62 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 Constance had turned to him. It ran the keenest 
 meaning into him, cut him to the quick. All his 
 conscience was on edge. Yet yet He some 
 times in these days stamped his foot in his per 
 plexity. To touch the subject in cold blood, to 
 say to Glen, " Tell me what chance you have with 
 her," was impossible. Glen's cause was sacred to 
 him ; he was ready to give him money to speed 
 him in it, if money were the only thing he 
 lacked. But Haliburton could not feel it his duty 
 to inspire the lover with ardor.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LIVE PEOPLE AND GHOSTS. 
 
 ONE evening in June, Richard Ainory, his sister 
 and niece dined with Haliburton. 
 
 " This is merely a sort of dress rehearsal to dis 
 cover whether we really could give a dinner credit 
 ably," Glen explained when he and Haliburton 
 went over to proffer the invitation. " Before John 
 really launches out and invites Sue, he wants to get 
 hold of a kink or two." 
 
 " Ought we to have a sixth to balance the table, 
 and to entertain Kitty ? that is the real question," 
 said Haliburtou. 
 
 " No," Glen answered. " If we ask anybody else 
 we should have to ask the Darrows, and John 
 would be absent-minded, and the thing wouldn't 
 go off well." 
 
 "Oh, please ask nobody but ourselves. Kitty 
 does not want to be entertained," said the mar- 
 chesa. 
 
 " I should think not," murmured Kitty. 
 
 " And then," Glen went on lashing himself into 
 despair, " those clever women know so much 
 they spoil conversation. I never can get a word 
 in edgewise. They want to keep all the talk to 
 themselves."
 
 64 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " You prefer ignoramuses like Kitty and me, 
 who look up to you," suggested Constance. 
 
 " I do, indeed." 
 
 " The thing is," said Haliburton, " we are not 
 used to giving dinners. We want to learn how it 
 is done." 
 
 " What is thee going to have ? " inquired Rich 
 ard Amory. " Now when I go out, I myself like 
 a good dinner." 
 
 " We were discussing the menu," said Glen. 
 " It 's not the time of year for raw oysters." 
 
 Clearly not." 
 
 " We have also decided not to have soup. It 's 
 too hot weather for soup ; besides, the marchesa 
 has such beautiful soup, we felt as if " 
 
 " It is too hot weather for soup." 
 
 " Then, too, fresh fish is hard to get. It seemed 
 as well to drop fish." 
 
 " I asked thee what thee was going to have. 
 We can go without things at home." 
 
 " We almost made up our minds to have lob 
 ster." 
 
 " Thee asks a man of my age out to eat lobster ! " 
 
 " Well, what do you want ? " demanded Glen. 
 " We are ready to go to almost any expense in 
 order to entertain our friends." 
 
 The dinner, nevertheless, turned out to be good 
 and plentiful. Haliburton and Glen sat opposite 
 each other in the middle, and Constance and her 
 brother had the ends of the table. Kitty, being 
 a fifth wheel, changed her place between each
 
 LIVE PEOPLE AND GHOSTS. 65 
 
 course, in order to decide which corner she pre 
 ferred. It was all so unceremonious it would 
 hardly have been worth while for her to be upon 
 her good behavior. 
 
 Haliburton had seated Constance in the place 
 where he had seen his mother so many years. The 
 talk at dinner turned chiefly upon the house, and 
 the Amburys, its former owners. Mrs. Ambury, 
 Haliburton's grandmother, had died two weeks 
 after Constance's first marriage, and a few months 
 later he and his mother had come here from New 
 York to live. This inheritance had decided the 
 question of his career, had made him Ambury 
 Darrow's partner. They spoke of how our lives 
 get made up independently of our tastes, inclina 
 tions, and determinations. Haliburton would 
 greatly have preferred to live on in New York, but 
 his mother said she had always been homesick for 
 the dear old place. He disliked a suburb, consid 
 ering that life is not long enough for such a dissi 
 pation of energy ; if a man has anything to do in 
 the world, he must concentrate his powers. Yet 
 he had lived here for almost nineteen years, until 
 after his mother's death, not quite three years be 
 fore the time of our story. Glen for once said 
 little or nothing, and was content to listen. He 
 experienced the pleasantness of having women in 
 the room where he and John usually ate and drank 
 and talked and smoked or kept silent prosaically. 
 Constance wore something thin and airy in black ; 
 her little white lace fichu was open at the throat, and
 
 66 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 she seemed to him wonderfully beautiful. Kitty 
 was in white, clear and diaphanous, and the setting 
 sun, as it threw wonderful shafts of light and lu 
 minous reflections into the room, making prisms 
 in the crystal, and burnishing up the mahogany 
 wherever it could find a surface, lighted fires as 
 well in the young girl's eyes, and gave her lips and 
 the spot of red on each cheek the richness of a 
 crimson flower. When the dusk began to gather, 
 Dilsey, the old mulatto butler, brought lighted can 
 dles in great silver candlesticks, thrice coming in 
 with one in each hand. It was like a religious 
 function. 
 
 " John is fond of his six candlesticks," said Glen. 
 
 Richard Amory knew all about the six silver 
 candlesticks, when, where, and how they were 
 made out of an antique dinner-service which had 
 been in the Ambury family when it emigrated. 
 The endless chain of reminiscence went on as be 
 fore, leaving Glen free to look and gaze and com 
 pare and remember. It is not safe always to renew 
 even a friendship ; it is sometimes impossible to 
 find virtue in the passion which has swayed our 
 lives when we try to take it up again. But Con 
 stance, to Glen's perceptions, had lost nothing in 
 the long interval. She was not one of the women 
 who make any attempt to attract, to charm. No, in 
 her blithe, steady poise there was an element of 
 serenity, of strength, of duration. How confidently 
 and serenely she took life ! 
 
 He turned occasionally from Constance to steep
 
 LIVE PEOPLE AND GHOSTS. 67 
 
 himself in Kitty's vivid glow and color. Still, he 
 said to himself that what he loved was Constance's 
 pure, white light. He was proud of the very lim 
 itations of his feeling for her. . She did not chafe, 
 perplex, over-stimulate him ; instead, she soothed 
 his restlessness. Whether or not he had been ab 
 solutely true to his ideal of love all these twelve 
 years, it had been constantly renewed in its nai've 
 adoring recognition of her superiority to any other 
 woman he had ever known. Now, seeing mother 
 and daughter together, it suited his mood to study 
 their likeness and unlikeness. Delicate little rip 
 ples of suggestion brought up the picture of Con 
 stance as a young girl. Kitty was eating cream 
 ices and strawberries, accepting one plate after 
 another, and Glen found, along with his amuse 
 ment at her childish gluttony, an extreme charm 
 in her absence of vanity or striving for effect. 
 
 " May I have another, mamma mia ? " she would 
 ask when Dilsey offered them, as if she were six 
 years old. 
 
 " If there are enough," Constance would reply. 
 " One is so hungry when one is young." 
 
 This easy acquiescence, this habitual acceptance 
 of the prose and logic of life, was characteristic 
 of Constance. But had she ever felt that youthful 
 hunger and thirst? Or, feeling it, had she had a 
 perception of a hunger unsatisfied; a thirst un- 
 quenched and unquenchable ? Had she ever loved 
 any man ? Could she ever love any man ? Was 
 not her passion for Kitty the first, the only passion
 
 68 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 of her life ? Again Glen looked at Constance with 
 this surmise in his mind ; at the pure, faultless oval 
 of the proud, perfectly cut face ; the soft tints, not 
 pale, but luminous like the hues of a pearl ; the 
 sweet look of the tranquil eyes ; the charm of the 
 lips. He could not help loving her ; he blessed fate 
 that he had had the chance of loving her ; yet he 
 knew he suddenly felt, with a sharp, importunate 
 quickening of understanding, that he had always 
 known if he asked her for bread she would give 
 him a stone. Was it because he came too late, 
 because, if a man wants something of his own, he 
 must begin with the first dawn of feeling ? He 
 looked again at Kitty eating the last half dozen 
 strawberries on her plate, huge in size, which she 
 had saved as a bonne bouche. Greedy little girl, 
 luckily far removed from any of the problems of 
 existence. But she was distinctly pretty to-night ; 
 the white frock with its open throat gave her head 
 a new flower-like lilt. 
 
 They went into the garden pavilion to take their 
 coffee. Outside the house it was still as bright as 
 day. The roses and honeysuckle, clambering every 
 where, seemed to have drunk in the fire of the sun. 
 The stone pavilion was very old with fluted pillars, 
 and in the centre was an hour-glass on a pedestal. 
 On one side was a fountain which had not run for 
 years, but which Glen had cleaned out and set 
 playing again. On the other side was the elabo 
 rate old-fashioned garden, with a mound in the cen 
 tre from which diverged a maze of walks between
 
 LIVE PEOPLE AND GHOSTS. 69 
 
 beds of mignonette, pinks, heliotrope, and other 
 sweet flowers. 
 
 Constance sat down in an armchair, and arranged 
 the cups and saucers which were laid out on the little 
 table. The others stood about, looking up at the 
 rich light on the old-fashioned gables and oriels of 
 the house, all framed in a sparrow-haunted foliage 
 of vines and creepers. Richard Amory asked some 
 questions about the date of the main building, and 
 he and John Haliburton, followed by Kitty, walked 
 off to look at it over the door. 
 
 Glen had turned the hour-glass, and Constance 
 was watching the sands run down. 
 
 "I don't quite like an hour-glass," she said pre 
 sently ; " it is too much like one's life." 
 
 " Not yours." 
 
 His tone made her look up at him. The fire and 
 beauty of his face amazed her. It was the effect 
 partly of the trick of light. 
 
 " Why, Glen ! " she exclaimed, " you look ex 
 actly as you used to look when you were in Italy 
 that summer." 
 
 " I have wondered sometimes if you ever thought 
 of me nowadays as I was in Italy that summer," 
 he answered, coming a step nearer. 
 
 " I never forget anything." 
 
 " Nor I where you are concerned. Is it worth 
 while telling you over again what I told you then ? 
 Do you remember that night on the shore just after 
 sunset?" 
 
 " Yes, dear Glen, I remember." She smiled 
 serenely.
 
 70 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " May I tell you now what I told you then ? " 
 
 " No ; what would be the use ? We were both 
 young then, you very much younger than I. I 
 told you then that it was all folly, that I should 
 never marry again, and if I said so at the age of 
 twenty-eight, what should I say now ? " 
 
 In her decision, in her easy air of superior know 
 ledge, she showed an equanimity which amused, 
 while it crushed him. They looked at each other 
 for a moment, in silence. 
 
 " Oh, you are happy," he then said. " You have 
 Kitty." 
 
 "Why have you not made some happiness for 
 yourself ? " she asked. " I have so hoped to hear 
 that you were married to some pretty girl who 
 would have loved you as you deserve, some rich 
 girl who could have helped you on." 
 
 He stretched out his arms with a gesture as if 
 cramped and longing to get free, retreated a few 
 steps, and sank down on the bench, still looking at 
 Constance with a silent stare, then burst into a fit 
 of laughter. She met his gaze, her eyes widening 
 with expectation and interest, as if she believed he 
 had something amusing to impart to her. But 
 at this moment Haliburton and Richard Amory 
 came down the path, the latter telling a long story 
 about a vision which had appeared to the late Mrs. 
 Ambury. She was only two-and-forty when it 
 happened, and she lived to be eighty-one, yet she 
 had carried to her grave an intense conviction of 
 its reality.
 
 LIVE PEOPLE AND GHOSTS. 71 
 
 Kitty was profoundly impressed by the story. 
 
 " Do you understand, mamma ? " she said. " Mrs. 
 Ambury's son Tom, Mr. Haliburton's uncle, was 
 eighteen years old. They were afraid he was in 
 danger of going into a decline, and he was sent to 
 the West Indies, to Jamaica. The night he died 
 he appeared to his mother as she sat here just 
 here where you are now." 
 
 As Haliburton approached the pavilion he had 
 caught the look of excessive discomfiture with 
 which Glen turned away from the marchesa, and 
 now, glancing at her, he felt sure that she was a 
 little troubled and perplexed, although her face 
 was reassuring in its bright sweetness. With her 
 easy way of bridging over an awkward interval, 
 Constance at once said, 
 
 " One does not actually believe that such a thing 
 happened, yet there are hundreds of just such 
 stories fully vouched for and authenticated." 
 
 Kitty, looking at Glen, observed something in 
 his look and posture which suggested that he had 
 been thrown off his balance by her account of the 
 apparition. 
 
 "Do you believe it?" she inquired. 
 
 " Believe it ? Believe in the ghost ? Yes," said 
 Glen. "I myself have been haunted for years. 
 Why should n't other people be ? " 
 
 " Oh, what is your ghost, cousin Glen ? " de 
 manded Kitty, with dilated eyes. 
 
 "Kitty," said Glen, "there is positively some 
 thing uncanny about you at times. At this mo-
 
 72 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 ment you seem to be looking at me with the insight 
 of a thousand years." 
 
 " But I want to hear about the ghost," Kitty 
 explained. 
 
 "It is the ghost of Glendenning Rennie," he 
 returned. " It is the most tiresome ghost in the 
 world. I 'd change him willingly for the ghost of 
 a pretty woman." 
 
 " Do you mean," Kitty demanded, altogether puz 
 zled, "that you are haunted by your own ghost?" 
 
 " That is precisely what I mean." 
 
 " How does it come ? " 
 
 " The moment I go into my own room there he 
 is. He looks out of the glass at me. Sometimes, 
 when I am tying my cravat, I say to myself, ' Some 
 day I shall have to shoot that fellow.' He is lying 
 on my pillow when I go to bed, and pours out his 
 hopes and his fears, his sins and his passions and 
 his remorses. He has haunted me through endless 
 feverish nights. Oh yes, I am afraid to be alone 
 in the dark," he added, with a shiver. He kept his 
 eyes on Constance. 
 
 " Every person has his or her own ghost story to 
 tell," she said in her easy way. " Does anybody 
 wish to hear mine ? " 
 
 " I never should have expected you to have a 
 ghost, Conny," Glen observed in a tone of some 
 irony. 
 
 "No, I am too matter of fact," she returned 
 promptly. " It is somebody else's ghost story with 
 which I was to a certain degree mixed up."
 
 LIVE PEOPLE AND GHOSTS. 73 
 
 " Tell it," said Richard Amory, " and then I will 
 tell thee an experience that has haunted me 
 through my life." 
 
 " Tell it," said Haliburton. 
 
 They had finished drinking their coffee. Dilsey 
 took away the empty cups. It had grown darker, 
 but the west was still alight, and the moon, almost 
 at its first quarter, made its faint light felt. 
 
 "A good many years ago," Constance began, "I 
 made a friend in Rome, a Mrs. Ponsonby, an Eng 
 lishwoman. She was a widow, and a friend of 
 my husband's, an Italian gentleman of good fam 
 ily, became interested in her, and wished to marry 
 her. She was in some doubt whether or not to 
 accept his offer. She was uncertain how a second 
 marriage would affect the terms of her settlements. 
 At any rate, she wished to know exactly how she 
 stood, and, in order to consult certain solicitors, she 
 was obliged to go to England. She had in her 
 possession valuable jewels which had belonged to 
 her husband's mother. She spoke of them to me, 
 and said she was not sure whether Mr. Ponsonby 
 had actually given them to her, or whether as heir 
 looms they belonged to the Ponsonby family. She 
 had expected to take them with her, but at the last 
 moment decided to leave them behind. As it was 
 too late to deposit the jewels with a banker, she 
 asked me to keep them until her return, or, in case 
 she made up her mind to surrender them, I was to 
 forward them to London. Well, she left Rome, 
 and, in crossing France, was killed in a terrible rail-
 
 74 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 way accident. The van took fire, and the luggage 
 was consumed." 
 
 " And you had her jewels," said Glen. " I see 
 the point of the story. They would have been 
 supposed to have been burned up in her trunks." 
 
 " Precisely. The first information I had of her 
 death was an item in the London ' Times ' which 
 went on to say that valuable family heirlooms had 
 been lost at the time of Mrs. Ponsonby's death. 
 They were described at length, and much regret 
 was expressed that such unique jewels should have 
 been lost. Not a soul on earth, not even my 
 husband, knew that they were in my possession. 
 Now was not that rather an interesting situation ? " 
 
 " I should have thought so if I had been in your 
 shoes," said Glen. " Why do I never have a 
 chance ? " 
 
 " Were they actually fine jewels ? " Haliburton 
 asked. 
 
 " Some really beautiful rubies, and a necklace 
 of emeralds and diamonds ; four bracelets, a string 
 of pearls, and rings and brooches of all sorts. 
 Really quite a possession." 
 
 " What did thee do, Constance ? " asked Richard 
 Amory. 
 
 " I simply wrote to Mrs. Ponsonby's solicitors 
 in England, whose address she had given me, and 
 told them the jewels were in my hands. The droll 
 part of my story is that Mrs. Ponsonby's sister, 
 Mrs. Darcy, was quite incensed with me for acting 
 without having first communicated with her. She
 
 LIVE PEOPLE AND GHOSTS. 75 
 
 said, as the jewels were supposed to have been lost, 
 it was quite unnecessary to inform the Ponsonby 
 family of their existence and whereabouts, for as 
 there was no direct heir, they went to a remote 
 cousin who was already too rich to live, and thus 
 benefited nobody whereas " 
 
 " If you had kept them yourself " 
 
 " No, this Mrs. Darcy felt that they belonged to 
 her, and to substantiate this presumption she told 
 me that on the morning this railway accident hap 
 pened she awoke in the gray dawn and saw her 
 sister, Mrs. Ponsonby, standing by her bedside 
 with these jewels in her hands, saying, ' Jane, these 
 are for you. I always intended them for you.' ' 
 
 " If this be madness there 's method in it," ob 
 served Glen. 
 
 " The dead woman should have appeared to 
 thee, sister," said Richard Amory, " and given 
 thee her instructions." 
 
 " If she had appeared," answered Constance, 
 " and told me not to send the jewels to her solicitors 
 but to give them to her sister, I wonder what I 
 should have decided it was my duty to do ? " 
 
 " She did not come," said Haliburton. " And 
 if she had, I hardly think it would have altered the 
 point of law." 
 
 " I suspect that I am not one of the people who 
 see ghosts," said Constance. " If I did see one " 
 
 " You would dismiss him thus," said Glen, 
 with a little wave of the hand. 
 
 " I will tell thee my own ghost story, sister," said
 
 76 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 Richard Amory. " Thee may or may not believe 
 it, but it came to pass when I was twenty-three 
 years old. I had been working rather hard, so 
 they said ; I had been reading law in Judge 
 Parker's office, and at the same time copying and 
 serving an apprenticeship to his business. I went 
 off on a holiday. It was a very hot summer, and 
 I wanted a cool climate and some fishing, besides 
 a chance for pleasant excursions on horseback and 
 on foot. "Well, I had heard of such a place in 
 Vermont. I went there and engaged a room, 
 a room, by the way, on the ground floor, although 
 that is of no sort of importance. I expected to 
 find other boarders, I did not expect to like 
 them. I felt awkward and unfriendly, escaped 
 them and their overtures as much as I could, and 
 must soon have established a reputation in the 
 house for unsociability, since I barely returned 
 greetings and rarely or never spoke at table. Op 
 posite me there sat a young woman, who, from her 
 being directly under my eyes, became particularly 
 obnoxious. She had reddish golden hair which 
 shone round her head like an aureole. She was far 
 from handsome, her nose was large and wide, her 
 mouth was large and too smiling, her eyes were full 
 of brightness and mischief. All this might have 
 been borne " 
 
 " Easily, I should think," Glen put in. 
 
 " But what jarred on my nerves more and more 
 each day was her laugh, a very strange laugh, 
 not unmusical, but yet unnatural. It seemed to
 
 LIVE PEOPLE AND GHOSTS. 11 
 
 show no innocent mirth, but sounded as if she had 
 some secret reason for finding amusement in what 
 she saw and heard. I never exchanged a word 
 with this girl. I never looked at her except as 
 she came directly under my eyes as she sat oppo 
 site me at meals. I will confess that it seemed 
 to me that she regarded me somewhat too pertina 
 ciously. I felt it with discomfort, with an em 
 barrassment which often hindered my free play 
 with my knife and fork. A meal was an ordeal 
 for which I had to brace myself. I sometimes 
 thought of asking the landlady to change my seat 
 at table. Yet even if I grew more unpleasantly 
 conscious of dislike of this girl's proximity, still it 
 seemed to me that, as I should still hear her laugh 
 wherever I sat, I preferred, perhaps, to face her." 
 
 " Now was n't there a subtle attraction ? " de 
 manded Glen. 
 
 " Attraction or repulsion or both. Thee will 
 see. I had been in the house almost two weeks. 
 One afternoon I set out on a long tramp with my 
 rod and line. I caught no fish, and as it came on to 
 rain when I was nine miles away, I got drenched 
 to the skin long before I reached the boarding- 
 house, and besides lost my way and was consider 
 ably belated. I entered unseen; no one came 
 forward to offer me a meal, and I decided that I 
 preferred to go to bed supperless rather than ring 
 and ask for it. I undressed and went to bed 
 expecting instantly to drop asleep from fatigue. 
 On the contrary I felt restless, uncomfortable ; I
 
 78 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 turned from side to side finding it impossible to 
 relax and gain ease. I bitterly regretted not hav 
 ing found some one and insisted on having a meal. 
 I was not only awake, but so wide awake I was 
 certain I could not close my eyes in slumber all 
 night. I lighted a candle, looked at my watch. It 
 was ten minutes past eleven. The various sounds 
 in the house had died away, and I knew that every 
 body else was at rest. Perhaps now repose would 
 come to me. I put out my light and lay down 
 quietly on my pillow. All at once a noise outside 
 struck my ear. I seemed to hear the latch of my 
 door lifted ; then came a sound which I could not 
 mistake, the sound of that girl's laugh, as if 
 she had leaned down and laughed through the 
 keyhole. I started as if at a shock from an elec 
 tric battery. I gazed towards the door, and what 
 corroborated my belief that she was standing out 
 side was that I distinctly saw a ray of light appear 
 through the chink. As I looked the light in 
 creased, the door opened ; the whole room was 
 illuminated. The girl entered, holding a lighted 
 candle in one hand, partly shading it with the fin 
 gers of the other. She walked slowly towards 
 me, she approached the bed ; she fixed her eyes 
 on mine ; she was smiling broadly ; as she drew 
 near she leaned down and laughed in my ear. I 
 not only heard her laugh, I saw her face, I 
 saw the red-gold aureole of her hair, I saw the 
 pink light through the parting of her fingers. 
 Angry, horror-stricken, I started up in bed. The
 
 LIVE PEOPLE AND GHOSTS. 79 
 
 light vanished ; she vanished. I lighted my own 
 candle. I examined the room. I was alone. The 
 door was as I had left it, locked and bolted." 
 
 Richard Amory paused, and looked from one to 
 the other of his audience as if for a guarantee that 
 his story was making an impression. Each face, 
 white in the dusk, was turned eagerly towards him. 
 He went on : 
 
 " I said to myself it had been an ugly dream, 
 I had had a nightmare. I went once more to bed. 
 I turned on my right side. I closed my eyes. No 
 sooner had I done so than I heard the click at the 
 latch, the laugh at the door. I looked and saw 
 the ray of light through the chink of the keyhole. 
 Again the door opened, the figure appeared, shad 
 ing the candle with her hand. She leaned down ; 
 I could feel her breath ; she laughed in my ear. 
 Again I started up, again the figure vanished. 
 I rose, relighted my candle, examined the door and 
 found it fast. I took a blanket, rolled myself in 
 it, sat down in the old-fashioned bedside chair, 
 and went to sleep. When I awoke it was broad 
 daylight, the candle was burned to the socket." 
 
 " Had the girl died in the night ? " 
 
 " Far from it. She was at the breakfast-table." 
 
 "The effect of going to bed supperless and 
 feverish from cold and exposure," Haliburton sug 
 gested. 
 
 " That is the logical explanation," said Richard 
 Amory. " And I can assure thee, John, I com 
 forted myself by it all that day. But on the
 
 80 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 following night I went to bed after a substantial 
 meal and the same experience was renewed." 
 
 " What did you do about it ? " 
 
 " Packed my effects and left the house soon after 
 sunrise," said Kichard Amory. " It seemed to 
 me that it was time." 
 
 " I should certainly have stayed on," said Glen. 
 " Oh, I wish thee had stayed on, cousin Richard. 
 Never did I hear before of a good Quaker so be 
 witched." 
 
 " But, uncle Richard, what was it ? " demanded 
 Kitty. " It could n't be a ghost if she was still 
 alive."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SPIKITS IN THE AIR. 
 
 THEY had gone into the house after Richard 
 Amory finished his story. Haliburton opened 
 the piano, and asked Constance for some music. 
 When she rose from the instrument, after playing 
 for half an hour, Glen, who was sitting in the 
 French window, called to them to look at the light 
 ning flashes in the west. 
 
 " It will show beautifully from the top of the 
 hill," he added. " Kitty, come out with me and 
 see it." 
 
 " May I go with cousin Glen, mamma ? " the 
 young girl asked. 
 
 " Why, certainly go," Constance replied. " But 
 do not stay too long." 
 
 Constance turned back to her brother and John 
 Haliburton, and they went on discussing ghosts, 
 and the state of mind and nerves which led to see 
 ing them. 
 
 " I 'm so glad to get out under the sky," Glen 
 was saying to Kitty. " These hot summer nights 
 were not made to spend beneath roofs. Feel that 
 breath of hot wind ! In Italy you would say the 
 sirocco was blowing. There is electricity in the
 
 82 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 air. There is an agitation in one's nervous centres ; 
 quick currents of irritation run up and down one's 
 spine." 
 
 " I know," said Kitty. " Imps seem to be 
 pinching one." 
 
 " In other words, I feel cross." 
 
 " With me ? " 
 
 " Oh dear, no, not you, Kitty. It 's myself 
 I hate." 
 
 She looked at him with concern. 
 
 A walk bordered with rows of box led to the 
 brook ; and after they had crossed the bridge, they 
 followed a narrower footpath till they reached the 
 top of a sort of bluff, where was a hedge and a 
 stile. They mounted the steps and sat down on 
 the upper one, which commanded quite an exten 
 sive view, for the woods dropped away to the west ; 
 out towards the north they could see the wide 
 reaches of the valley. 
 
 Over the farther hills a tract of sky still kept a 
 reminder of the sunset glow, and the moon, declin 
 ing, continually swathed and unswathed itself in 
 shining vapors. Opposite, a great bank of cloud 
 was played over by sheet lightning. 
 
 " Do you care about music, Kitty ? " Glen asked, 
 after they had sat for a few minutes in silence. 
 
 " / care about music ? " 
 
 " I hoped you did not. Does your mother take 
 what she plays to heart, do you think ? " 
 
 Kitty turned and stared at him. 
 
 " Yes," she said succinctly ; then, after a mo-
 
 SPIRITS IN THE AIR. 83 
 
 ment, added, " She says sometimes that she is too 
 old to play Chopin, that certain composers are 
 for youth." 
 
 " I am old enough, I suppose, to be a dried-up 
 mummy," said Glen. " Still, that George Sand 
 waltz always makes a harpstring of me." 
 
 " Chopin wrote it when he was in love with 
 George Sand ? " 
 
 " Ye-es." 
 
 "And he died?" 
 
 " Yes, he died." 
 
 " I wonder," said Kitty, " if she could ever 
 endure to hear it played afterwards ? " 
 
 "You see," returned Glen, "George Sand's 
 harp had so many strings, and they had all been 
 twanged so many times." 
 
 " If," said Kitty, with a note of acute feeling in 
 her voice, " if anybody had ever loved me, and 
 had written anything so sweet, if I had heard it 
 after he was dead I should simply " 
 
 " Well, simply what ? " asked Glen, as she broke 
 off. 
 
 " I was going to say die. But, after all, one does 
 not die from pure emotion unless one has a heart 
 disease, I suppose. Mamma tells me to say always 
 precisely what I mean, but that is not so easy." 
 
 "A little hyperbole does help one amazingly." 
 
 "For example, mamma says it is not worth 
 while to call anything eternal that only lasts two 
 days." 
 
 " Good for Conny ! I adore her sublime com-
 
 84 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 mon sense. Nevertheless, some things are eternal. 
 And although one may not die at the opportune 
 moment, death comes finally. Pile on phrases as 
 one may, one does n't begin to express the possible 
 pain of life. Nothing but music can. Chopin 
 loved George Sand dearly, and he had to give her 
 up and other things. When he was dying he 
 said, ' Put some violets in my room ! ' It was fool 
 ish, of course, but I, too, am made that way." 
 Glen spoke with a curious fervor, as if justifying 
 himself against reproach. Then, when he saw the 
 reflection of his intensity on Kitty's face, he added 
 in a different voice : " I was strolling through Pere 
 Lachaise last year, and came upon Chopin's grave ; 
 on the flat stone lay a perfectly fresh bunch of 
 heliotrope, still sprayed over with moisture. Had 
 I been ten minutes earlier I must have seen who 
 ever it was put it there. Was it some young girl 
 passionately enamored of his music, or some old 
 woman who had loved Chopin in her youth ? " 
 
 " It was a young girl," cried Kitty. " I am. 
 sure it was a young girl." 
 
 " I wish I had seen her. I have been curious 
 about it ever since," said Glen. He pointed to the 
 northwest. " See that cloud, it is coming up 
 swiftly. I fancy there is rain in it." 
 
 " I love to lie in bed and hear it rain," said 
 Kitty. " Before it comes, when the clouds are fly 
 ing and the wind roars and the trees crash together, 
 I like to be out of doors. But rain quiets me." 
 
 " Your mother plays the Raindrop Prelude ? "
 
 SPIRITS IN THE AIR. 85 
 
 " Oh yes ; so do I." Glen shivered. 
 
 " I 'm so tired of this brain, of these nerves," he 
 said. " I should like to be born over again and con 
 sulted beforehand ; I assure you, Kitty, I would 
 have quite a different body from this." 
 
 Kitty gazed at him startled. 
 
 " Sometimes," he went on, " I am quite con 
 tented with myself, view my limitations indul 
 gently ; but to-night it is as if something had 
 exploded within me, and all my vanity, all my self- 
 belief, is blown to the four winds." 
 
 " Oh, I cannot bear to have you utter such 
 speeches," she faltered. 
 
 " Kitty, you don't know what it is to be almost 
 forty years old, to feel that you have wasted 
 your youth, your strength, that you can look for 
 ward to no harvest, because you have not planted 
 and watered. I never grasped the realities of life. 
 Indeed, they have never existed where I am con 
 cerned. I don't know the real from the ideal." 
 
 She continued to listen with an intense sympathy 
 expressed in her whole face. He accepted the 
 sensibility of her eyes, her parted lips. 
 
 " You pity me, don't you, dear little Kitty?" he 
 said. " You don't tell me when I make my yawp 
 at the universe that it 's all my own fault. Ah ! " 
 
 " It thunders ! " Kitty exclaimed. 
 
 " Come," said Glen. " Your mother will be 
 sending for you." 
 
 He held out his hand, Kitty clasped it, and off 
 they started at a scamper down the hill. Looking
 
 86 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 up as they reached the little bridge, they could see 
 that the canopy of cloud was approaching the 
 zenith ; that it had quite swallowed up some of the 
 stars, while others vanished and reappeared, van 
 ished and then shone out again, as the heralding 
 scuds of vapor hurried past them. 
 
 " Hear the wind roar in the trees," said Glen. 
 " It is like a hungry wild beast, is it not ? " 
 
 "Let us run, let us run," said Kitty, and on 
 they went. Constance was waiting for them on the 
 terrace. Richard Amory, casting an experienced 
 glance up at the heavens, said it would not rain 
 for half an hour yet. Haliburton waited to see if 
 Glen was going ; then, when he heard him bid Con 
 stance good-night, he himself walked on at her side. 
 
 "Will thee take my arm, Kitty?" Richard 
 Amory asked his niece. 
 
 She put her hand on his coat-sleeve, then drew 
 it away. 
 
 " It is so very hot, uncle." 
 
 " Very well, monkey. Thee shall walk as thee 
 pleases, and I will walk as I please." 
 
 As they entered the woods Kitty rushed forward 
 as if she had wings. The wind seemed to sweep 
 her along. She wished it would bear her aloft. 
 She longed to be part of the force which made the 
 branches and leaves all struggle and rustle to 
 gether. The woods were dark, but from time to 
 time the lightning flashed through the openings in 
 the leafy dome above ; once it flooded the whole 
 solitude with almost midday splendor.
 
 SPIEITS IN THE AIR. 87 
 
 " Kitty ! " called Richard Amory. " Where is 
 thee, Kitty?" 
 
 She darted towards him out of the silent shades. 
 
 " Does thee think to thyself," he asked, " that 
 in this darkness, in this approaching tempest, thee 
 is still something ? That even though to-morrow 
 thee shalt die, still at this moment thee feels the 
 grandeur of nature of the universe ? " 
 
 Meanwhile Haliburton walked beside Constance 
 watching for the flashes of lightning that he might 
 see her face framed in the lace mantilla. The very 
 charm of the moment troubled him ; he had been 
 conscious to-night of something unusual in Glen's 
 look, tone, and manner. It was not like Glen to 
 have resigned so easily the chance of this walk 
 home ; and his mind began to be engrossed in a 
 slow wrestle with the idea that this was the time 
 and opportunity for him to make a sort of appeal 
 for Glen. 
 
 For Haliburton to see any possible duty was to 
 feel tormented until he had done all he might to 
 acquit himself of it. That he should bring him 
 self to earth with his own arrow was no matter. 
 
 Constance had made some remark, to which he 
 replied, 
 
 " Yes, marchesa," when she exclaimed, 
 
 " Why should you address me by that title?" 
 
 " What shall I call you, then ? " 
 
 " Call me Constance. Everybody calls me Con 
 stance here. We are all in some sort cousins, 
 not to say Quakers."
 
 88 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I shall be glad to call you Constance," Hali- 
 burton said. " I may as well confess that I call 
 you Constance to myself, sometimes even aloud to 
 Glen." 
 
 "Fate throws us all together again," she ob 
 served. " It has given me a feeling of destiny, of 
 the immutable and inevitable. in coming back 
 where my childhood began, as if this, and this 
 only, were my real home." 
 
 " I should like to feel that you regard even me as 
 an old friend, for there is something I wish to say 
 which lies very near my heart," said Haliburton. 
 
 She looked up at him with a startled curiosity. 
 
 Irrationally he suddenly experienced a dread of 
 what he had to say. All the more he felt that it 
 must be uttered. 
 
 " I want to speak to you about Glen," he said. 
 
 " About Glen ? " she repeated. 
 
 " Perhaps you think I have not the right," Hali 
 burton went on almost impetuously. " But re 
 member that Glen is very near to me, very dear ; 
 he is my nephew, but the actual tie is more as if he 
 were a brother, a son. Nothing in the world would 
 make me so happy as to see him happy." 
 
 " Is he not happy ? " she asked, with something 
 of nonchalance in her tone. "He seems to me 
 blithe and light-hearted." 
 
 " You know he is not happy. You know that 
 for twelve years he has needed you to make him 
 happy," said Haliburton. " Why not reward his 
 constancy ? "
 
 SPIRITS IN THE AIR. 89 
 
 She was silent for the long moment that Hali- 
 burton waited, expecting some response. Then, as 
 if he had not yet delivered his full message, he 
 went on : 
 
 " Of course you cannot feel for him as I do. 
 He was always with us at Christmas when he was 
 a child. I have filled his stocking many a time. 
 Once in the country, when he was learning to 
 skate, he fell through a hole in the ice, and I car 
 ried him back to the house in my arms, a good 
 two miles, at first in doubt whether, after all, I 
 had not been too late to save him. One does not 
 get over the pull at the heart such experiences give 
 one." 
 
 " No," said Constance sweetly and thoughtfully. 
 " I can readily understand that Glen is peculiarly 
 dear to you. In fact, we all love him." 
 
 " He was a little spoiled by his own mother ; 
 my mother did her best to spoil him utterly," Hali- 
 burton went on, as if compelled to speak. " Some 
 people say he is an egoist ; if so, he is the most 
 lovable of egoists. And in spite of his egoism, he 
 has got so little out of the world, nothing, in 
 fact, except his long, hopeless feeling for you." 
 
 He paused. They were crossing the lawn. Rich 
 ard Amory and Kitty had far outstripped them, 
 and they stood quite alone. The wind, which had 
 roared through the trees while they were in the 
 wood, now came in fitful gusts ; above, the heavy 
 massing clouds were torn apart by it, and here and 
 there a star shone for a moment, then was blotted
 
 90 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 out. She had stopped, faced about in the path, 
 and now said, 
 
 " Do I understand, Mr. Haliburton, that you are 
 urging me to marry Glen ? " 
 
 He, too, had stopped short ; she had extended her 
 bare, warm hand with a little gesture, and he, per 
 haps a little confused, took it ; then, clasping it, he 
 stood still, staring at her. 
 
 " Are you in earnest in wishing me to marry 
 him ? " she said again. 
 
 He pressed her hand to his breast. Something 
 seemed to paralyze him. To see her standing there 
 close, looking up at him, while he felt the joy of 
 that touch, almost overcame him ; he could not 
 keep down the throbs of his heart. To say " No " 
 was false ; to say "Yes " was falser still. Neverthe 
 less, her simple, practical question had to be recog 
 nized and met. 
 
 " It is an awkward thing to say," he faltered, 
 " but although Glen is not a rich man, he will 
 always have a sufficient income as long as he lives. 
 That he is poor is not because he is incapable of 
 earning money like other men, but because he has 
 had little use or need of it." 
 
 She laughed softly. " You are very generous," 
 she said. " I do consider you the most faithful and 
 most generous of men. I understand, then, that you 
 insist on my marrying him ? " 
 
 " If you will marry him, Constance, I shall be 
 very glad. He has loved you long and faithfully ; 
 if any man were to stand in his way, thwart, or
 
 SPIEITS IN THE AIR. 91 
 
 hinder him in his suit to you, that man must be no 
 better than a miserable traitor." 
 
 She drew her hand away from his, turned, and 
 walked on. 
 
 " You are no traitor," she said in a calm, reason 
 able tone. " You have done your best for Glen in 
 all ways. I have no intention of marrying. How 
 can any woman make a third marriage ? A second 
 is bad enough. Kitty and I are happy together. 
 I can say no more now. Perhaps, some time, I 
 may feel like telling you more candidly how I have 
 always felt towards Glen, how I still feel. He 
 is like a dear younger brother to me. Ah, the 
 thunder is getting nearer. Good-night." 
 
 They shook hands on the terrace. She went in 
 at once, and Haliburton turned on the instant and 
 strode towards home.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A GAME OF THREE. 
 
 IT was a race, but Haliburton beat the advan 
 cing rain by a yard. Running up the steps, he felt 
 the patter of the first drop. Entering the house, 
 he looked through the rooms ; then, not finding 
 Glen, came out again, and discovered him huddled 
 up in the corner of the bench in the porch. Hali 
 burton waited, thinking he might be asleep. 
 
 " How long you were gone ! " Glen said, suddenly 
 opening his eyes. 
 
 " We did not walk fast, but I simply took the 
 marchesa to Waldstein. Why did you not go with 
 her ? I waited, expecting you would do so." 
 
 "I had already made a fool of myself once," 
 said Glen. He jumped up. " When have I not 
 made a fool of myself ? " He strode about, beat 
 ing his temples with his fists. " Let 's play cards," 
 he said, with a note of savage feeling in his voice. 
 "One can't go to bed with this infernal hubbub 
 going on." 
 
 As he spoke a flash of lightning showed his face, 
 it was pale to ghastliness. 
 
 " Are you ill, Glen ? " Haliburton inquired anx 
 iously.
 
 A GAME OF THREE. 93 
 
 " I have felt horribly nervous all the evening. 
 However, it is hard to tell what is soul and what 
 body, and Conny would say that something at din 
 ner probably disagreed with me. She is so sensi 
 ble." 
 
 He laughed ironically. John put his hand on 
 Glen's arm. 
 
 " I 'm afraid something went wrong between you," 
 he said. 
 
 "Did she allude to it?" 
 
 " We spoke of you, but she made no allusion to 
 anything you had said to her." 
 
 " Did she say that she wished I had married?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " She said it to me, wished I had married some 
 rich, pretty girl who would have helped me on in 
 the world." 
 
 " She meant that instead of wasting your life in 
 a dream you had made ties, had a family, and felt 
 the need of concentrating your powers." 
 
 " Of course she is most wise and sensible. Why 
 have I not made ties ? She knows perfectly well 
 that I have not been able to get her out of my 
 head." 
 
 " You offered yourself to her, and she declined 
 the proposal." 
 
 " She knows that did not end it." 
 
 " It must end it for a man when a woman says 
 she prefers not to marry him. Constance, at any 
 rate, is no coquette." 
 
 "No, I acquit her of coquetry. I also acquit 
 her of knowing anything about love."
 
 94 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " She has the whitest soul of any woman alive," 
 Haliburton insisted, with some heat. 
 
 " Hike that phrase," said Glen, pausing after he 
 had strode about for five minutes to get rid of his 
 uncontrollable restlessness. " A white soul. Yes, 
 she has a white soul ; she has a good conscience ; 
 she has even a warm heart. She is beautiful ; you 
 can't say merely that she is pretty, clever, or fas 
 cinating. Somehow she is in herself so complete, 
 her cleverness, prettiness, and charm are simply an 
 inevitable part of her, like her pretty hands and 
 feet. But this lovely white creature is cold." 
 
 "How dare a man say that a woman is cold 
 until " - 
 
 " Compare her with Kitty," said Glen. 
 
 " Compare her with Kitty ! " Haliburton re 
 peated, with disdain. 
 
 " Of course Kitty is a child, but she has a heart ; 
 Conny has none. I had suspected it before ; to 
 night I know it. I felt ready to cry out, imploring, 
 like Dives, that this white creature should stoop out 
 of heaven and touch me with her cool finger. In 
 fact, I did cry out " 
 
 "What did she do?" 
 
 " Brought a whole bucket of ice-water," said 
 Glen. 
 
 John, in his own mood of passionate exaltation, 
 could not tell whether Glen actually suffered or 
 simply spent emotion in words. He did not speak. 
 
 " She knows nothing of the feeling she inspires," 
 Glen went on. " She looks at me, speaks to me,
 
 A GAME OF THREE. 95 
 
 just as she speaks to you and looks at you. Did 
 you observe her to-night as she brought us each the 
 cup of coffee she had poured out ? When she offers 
 anything she seems to be giving part of herself, 
 her eyes, her smiles, the very way her little hands 
 are held out, all is generous bounty. And yet 
 she gives nothing nothing nothing. That is, 
 it is just simply a part of herself to have that 
 exquisite sweetness, that gracious largess. She 
 cares not who receives, you, I, or old Dick 
 Amory." 
 
 The outburst was so impetuous, the torrent of 
 words so violent, Haliburton could only smile at 
 the climax. 
 
 " That is why she is so admirable," he returned. 
 
 " Oh, if you feel like that " Glen began, then 
 gazing into the darkness, he saw a figure emerge 
 out of the shrubberies. 
 
 " Who is there ? " demanded Haliburton. 
 
 "Only I Edward Darrow," said a youthful 
 voice. " It is beginning to rain. I saw you on 
 the porch, and stopped to borrow an umbrella." 
 
 " Come in, Teddy," said Glen, with animation. 
 " I was just asking John to play cards, and a party 
 of three will be jollier. We will have a midnight 
 orgy. We will waste John's substance in riotous 
 living. Are there any cards in the house, I won 
 der?" 
 
 Teddy demurred slightly, then came a torrent of 
 rain along with a crash of thunder, and he yielded. 
 The three went in, turned up the lights, and began
 
 96 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 rummaging in the cabinet. It was Glen who found 
 the cards, and he and Teddy pushed out a card- 
 table, while Haliburton and Dilsey busied them 
 selves in the pantry. 
 
 " Something cold, cold, cold," said Glen, as Dil 
 sey brought a bowl of cracked ice and some bottles 
 of seltzer. " What is it you have got, John ? 
 Champagne? Why, you good old fellow! Big 
 glasses, Dilsey. Fill them to the brim with ice, 
 then pour in the seltzer, and just dash it with the 
 champagne. This is one of the sweet, fiery cups 
 of Circe. No matter if it does make us go on all 
 fours. I only wish it might transform me. I 'm 
 sick of trying to walk upright on two legs, and be 
 a man. Did it ever occur to you how all the old 
 mythology and all the old folk-lore legends turn on 
 a metamorphosis ? Yet the ancients did not need 
 transformation. They could fight hard, no mat 
 ter in what shape ; fight with teeth and claws if 
 need be, and eat and drink and sleep and wallow 
 and drag their gods down to their level. They 
 never knew what it was to be the prey of a feeling 
 they dared not put into action. We moderns are 
 never quite sure whether what knocks at the gate 
 of soul and sense is a devouring dragon or an 
 angel with a message. Well, no matter ; shuffle the 
 cards. What shall we play ? What can three people 
 play? Poker? Euchre? Monte? What is your 
 game, John ? Nothing but whist ? I might have 
 expected it. What you do is certain to be respect 
 able, safe, no putting all you hold precious at
 
 A GAME OF THREE. 97 
 
 the hazard of a die. But, after all, ther.e 's no game 
 like whist. I '11 play with a dummy. Teddy, 
 draw up a chair for my invisible partner. We will 
 be polite and not name him. He and I against 
 you both. What are points?" Glen drew out 
 a handful of silver, and laid it on the table oppo 
 site. " Dummy has the first deal," he said. " Cut, 
 Teddy." 
 
 He dealt the cards, glanced hastily through his 
 own hand, chuckled, then, with his long lithe fin 
 gers, languidly laid out the suits opposite. 
 
 Haliburton replenished the glass which Glen had 
 thirstily drained. 
 
 " Here 's to our hand," Glen said, drinking to 
 the empty chair. " We have it all between us. 
 Who was it said Death was a sure partner ? " 
 
 " A man with a new cemetery," suggested 
 Teddy. 
 
 " You fellows will have two tricks, no more," 
 said Glen. He set down his glass. "You play, 
 John. Two of hearts," he called to Dummy. 
 " Here comes the ace ; put your king on, Teddy. 
 Now for your trumps, partner. Here go the next 
 five tricks. Ah, you missed it then ! You might 
 have saved that club. I gave you two tricks, but 
 you have a single beggarly one. Dummy, my 
 friend, yo t u and I against the world. Shall we 
 double the stakes ? " 
 
 "We might as well hand over. It's a regular 
 case of ' stand and deliver,' " said Teddy. " You 
 have it all your own way. We must follow where
 
 98 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 you lead. The laurels are all yours, Glen, to say 
 nothing of our spare cash. Well, lucky at cards, 
 unlucky at love." 
 
 " You mean that I am unlucky at love ? " said 
 Glen, as if stung. " That you and John are " 
 
 " I meant nothing nothing nothing in the 
 world except that you have your hand in our pock 
 ets, and it hurts," said Teddy, with perfect calm 
 and patience. " Don't try to flatter me into the 
 belief that I am lucky in love." 
 
 " Don't fling it in my face that I am unlucky," 
 said Glen. " Of course I know it ; but don't 
 hammer it down too hard. Don't turn the knife 
 in the gaping wound." 
 
 " I had n't the faintest idea you were in love," 
 Teddy ventured, with an air of making apology. 
 
 " Confound it, I am not," Glen declared. " That 
 is, not with any woman. What I 'm in love with 
 are the good things of life out of my reach." 
 
 " I should say you had most good things within 
 your reach." 
 
 " What, in heaven's name ? " 
 
 "You are the handsomest and most delightful 
 fellow I know," said Teddy, with a little gesture 
 of deprecation, lest he should be saying too 
 much. 
 
 "Besides good looks," said Haliburton, "you 
 have your share of talent." 
 
 " Genius," insisted Teddy. 
 
 " I have always considered you the luckiest of 
 men, Glen," Haliburton proceeded, " that is, in
 
 A GAME OF THREE. 99 
 
 your natural endowments. If you have played 
 with your chances a little " 
 
 Glen burst into a fit of laughter. 
 
 " I 've been posing to myself as a played-out in 
 dividual," he said. " Suppose I were to waylay 
 Destiny and bid her stand and deliver, take a 
 turn, and go in for fortune ? " 
 
 " I 'd throw up my hat. I 'd eat it for pure 
 
 joy." 
 
 "That's a generous old John." 
 
 " It 's your turn," said Teddy. 
 
 Glen played through the hand mechanically. 
 He and Dummy took every trick. 
 
 " Oh, hang cards ! " said the winner. " This 
 simulacrum of luck bores me. I would rather 
 talk. What have you been doing, Teddy?" 
 
 " I went to cousin Richard Amory's." 
 
 " Did you find them ? " 
 
 " They were out, but I waited. Gatty had sent 
 a message. They finally came in." 
 
 " A pity you did not know they were all dining 
 here," suggested Haliburton. " I almost sent you 
 an invitation, Teddy, wanting a partner for 
 Kitty, but we decided to begin in a small 
 way." 
 
 " Oh, I wish you had," said Teddy, with such a 
 heightening of color and kindling of glance that 
 Haliburton and Glen exchanged a look of under 
 standing. 
 
 Glen had left his chair, and now threw himself 
 on a divan, piling a dozen bright-colored cushions
 
 100 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 behind him. His whole mood, from being queru 
 lous, had changed, and was touched with audacity 
 and mischief. 
 
 " That girl is going to be pretty, Ted. Don't 
 you think so ? " he asked. 
 
 " She is pretty now, I think," Teddy murmured, 
 " and so talented." 
 
 " Talented ? Is she talented ? I had n't thought 
 of her being anything except a splendid Greek 
 head set on top of a beanpole." 
 
 " She is thin," Teddy conceded, " but she is 
 simply the most graceful creature I ever saw." 
 
 " She has got a pair of eyes," Glen pursued. 
 " One of these days they will make the dry fuel in 
 somebody blaze up into a conflagration." 
 
 Teddy flushed angrily. " She is so well edu 
 cated," he observed primly. " She speaks four 
 languages, and plays on three instruments." 
 
 "Very badly." 
 
 " It does n't so much matter. I like her taking 
 a violin up to the top of a tree, and playing it." 
 
 " I should rather she did not frighten the birds 
 away," suggested Glen. "Or does she pose as 
 Orpheus?" 
 
 " She could n't pose," said Teddy. 
 
 " She is a tricksy sprite," Haliburton remarked, 
 as Glen did not answer, but fell to thumping the 
 cushions, clearly bored with the young fellow's 
 enthusiasm. To think, Glen mused, extending 
 himself at full length and staring at the ceiling, 
 to think of Kitty's having a lover ! He sud-
 
 A GAME OF THREE. 101 
 
 denly recalled the cool, satin touch of Kitty's slim 
 fingers, as they slid into his hand, and every inci 
 dent of his talk with the young girl while they 
 watched the lightning and the moon covering and 
 uncovering her face came back clear-cut, fresh, 
 interesting. In spite of his ill luck he had dis 
 tanced Teddy ; this solemn youngster would have 
 had to look and stare for six months before Kitty 
 would have trusted him as she trusted Glen. 
 
 " Let 's suppose a case," he burst out as if con 
 tinuing the subject. " Suppose each one of us 
 knew he had but a year to live, what should we 
 each desire most ? " 
 
 " Only a year to live ? " repeated Teddy, aghast. 
 
 " I don't suppose you young fellows read Balzac 
 or Goethe. But there have been stories told in 
 which the devil offered an unhappy young fellow 
 a year's fulfillment of his heart's desire." 
 
 " Is Satan at your elbow with such a proposi 
 tion ? " Haliburton asked. 
 
 " Granted that he was, and that he offered you, 
 without limit, love, wealth, literary ambition " 
 
 " For only a year ? A year is so short," said 
 Haliburton. 
 
 " You spoiled child of good luck ! Three hun 
 dred and sixty-five days of happiness ! Did you 
 ever in your life know what it was to be happy for 
 sixty consecutive minutes ? " 
 
 " If I could only be happy for a year," said 
 Teddy, " I should see a ghost the whole time, and 
 it would make me profoundly miserable."
 
 102 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by happiness," 
 said Haliburton. 
 
 " I don't mean being passively well off, well fed, 
 comfortable, but happy. As if you were a god ; 
 as if this world, with all its possible delights, 
 were made for you, not for other men, but for 
 you" 
 
 Without actual change of feature Haliburton's 
 face still showed a certain difference in expression. 
 
 " Of course," Glen went on, pressing the point 
 roguishly, " when a man thinks of happiness he 
 is sure of a friendly hand within reach with 
 permission to take it in his own, and that hand 
 must belong to a woman to the woman he loves, 
 and whose heart is unalterably his." 
 
 Teddy blushed again furiously, jumped up, and 
 strode to the window. 
 
 " It is pouring," he said. 
 
 " If that is your definition of happiness," ob 
 served Haliburton, with the glimmer of a smile 
 in his eyes and on his lips, " I see no ghost of a 
 chance -for myself." 
 
 " No ghost of a chance ? " said Glen. " Twenty 
 women would jump at you." 
 
 " I don't flatter myself to that degree." 
 
 " Modest John. But confess that you would 
 like it " 
 
 " Twenty women jumping at me ! I should 
 rather think not." 
 
 " No ; I mean having the one who did n't jump." 
 
 Haliburton shook his head.
 
 A GAME OF THREE. 103 
 
 " He won't confess it," shouted Glen in high 
 glee ; " it is like calling the statue of the com- 
 mendatore off the pedestal." 
 
 " Try Teddy ; he is of the age to understand 
 such things." 
 
 "Well, Teddy "- 
 
 " I told you I should n't like happiness for one 
 single year," Teddy said, with conviction. 
 
 " Not a pretty little wife " 
 
 " I 'm not old enough to be married," Teddy 
 returned, with a half shrug. " I 've got to finish 
 my course at college, go through the law school, 
 and make some money first." 
 
 " How sensible he is, how sane ! " cried Glen, 
 his brows puckering. " He won't sell his soul, as 
 most of us do, fifty times over, and get beaten at 
 the bargain." 
 
 " Before a boat-race or a cricket-match," Teddy 
 now conceded, " I might be tempted." 
 
 " Teddy," said Glen, " I wish that I were you." 
 
 " Young and strong ? " 
 
 " I see you don't return the compliment." 
 
 " Teddy is like me," said Haliburton ; " not 
 used to mental gymnastics, turning spiritual somer 
 saults, spinning spiders' webs out of one's own 
 vitals. You are the man of imagination, Glen. 
 Tell us what you would sell your soul for." 
 
 " I feel at this moment as if it were not worth 
 sixpence. Sometimes it is so infernally hard to 
 make believe that anything is worth the candle." 
 Glen closed his eyes and mused. " Love ! " he
 
 104 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 went on presently. " What is love ? A meal 
 where you eat or where you are eaten ! A tiger- 
 hunt, you hunt the tiger or the tiger hunts you. 
 I know one thing, no woman ever cared a button 
 about me, and never will. That sort of happiness 
 is quite out of my reach. I might say I wanted 
 my poems to run into twenty editions, that my 
 hard words might become shibboleths, my photo 
 graphs sell by thousands, my admirers form a 
 Glen Rennie society, but if I were as successful 
 as that I should know I was a fraud. Wealth and 
 perdition afterwards, what is wealth good for 
 any way ? A fellow can't eat two breakfasts and 
 two dinners. The fact is, one requires a dogmatic 
 belief in the power of the devil in order to feel the 
 requisite belief in the temptation. But those 
 fables show what lies in the heart of man." 
 
 Teddy, still standing at the window, pointed 
 outside, uttering an exclamation. One flash of 
 lightning followed another, and the whole place 
 was as bright as day. They could see the walks 
 in the garden like foaming brooks, and long spouts 
 of water descending from the roofs and gables. 
 Then came loud thunder crashing from cloud to 
 cloud, and the wind, as if answering the challenge, 
 roared among the trees. All three had gathered 
 at the window, looking into inky blackness and 
 listening to the swirls of gusty rain mingling with 
 the sobs of the alternately lulling and reviving 
 wind. Then the lightnings blazed forth again, 
 illuminating the lawn and shrubberies, the flower-
 
 A GAME OF THREE. 105 
 
 beds, and the summer-house where they had sat 
 and told stories. 
 
 Glen seemed to see Kitty's sleek, black head 
 restlessly turning on the pillow while she heard 
 the rain and the wind and thunder and longed to 
 be out in the wild uproar. 
 
 He put his hand on Teddy's shoulder. 
 
 " So you 've got all your life planned out," he 
 said. 
 
 "Of course a fellow has to have it all in his 
 mind." 
 
 " You are going to study law? " 
 
 " He 's coming in with us," said Haliburton ; 
 " that is, as soon as he is through the law school." 
 
 " Everything is ready-made for you." 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " Little wife and all." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean that," said Teddy, blush 
 ing to his eyes. 
 
 There had come a sudden lull in the storm. 
 He decided to set forth. Haliburton offered him 
 a bed, but he said his mother would be anxious. 
 They watched him plunge into the black gulf out 
 side. The shower had passed on: the lightning 
 played in the east ; the thunder still muttered, but 
 was retreating farther and farther away.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 GLEN'S STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 
 
 GLEN was ill for several days after the dinner 
 party, and Sue Darrow came over and nursed him. 
 He had taken cold, and it resulted in one of the 
 sharp feverish attacks to which, from childhood, he 
 had been subject, and which put him for a few 
 hours, at least, in a critical condition, serving to 
 show on how fine a needle's point his chances of 
 life were balanced. 
 
 This particular attack roused a terrible sense 
 of fatality in Haliburton. It was impossible not 
 to ascribe it to the evening's experience, and it 
 seemed as if the high pulse, the intense fever and 
 struggle for breath, were the result of the tragic 
 pang of Glen's heartbreak over Constance. Some 
 instinct had made Haliburton go into Glen's room 
 at dawn to see if his windows were shut, for the 
 weather had grown cool, and the signs of dis 
 order a book turned down on its face, a hand 
 kerchief drenched in cologne, all the pillows and 
 cushions piled as high as it was possible to make 
 them gave John a horrible feeling. It was hard 
 for him to realize that Glen was not in danger. 
 Life and consciousness seemed ebbing to their last
 
 GLEN'S STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 107 
 
 remnant. It was 110 difficult matter to believe 
 that the almost spent forces fluttered helpless ; 
 that they would soon be past seeing, past hearing, 
 past sense of touch and recognition, without power 
 of recuperation ; that Glen's life would be a breath 
 spending itself in vain, a flame just at the point 
 of extinguishment, a feather going forth into the 
 wind, whither ? 
 
 With all his love for Glen excited to an ideal 
 intensity, a passionate exaltation, Haliburton hung 
 over him for three hours, and then, at eight 
 o'clock, to have Sue Darrow appear in cap and 
 apron, arrange the pillows comfortably, drop and 
 administer the restoratives which the hastily sum 
 moned doctor had by this time sent, was as ex 
 quisite a relief as he had ever experienced. 
 
 Glen, meanwhile, after his sharp tussle with suf 
 fering, found himself rather comfortable, and by the 
 second afternoon lay quiet, smiling, wondering, 
 accepting ministrations without opening his eyes, 
 halting on the threshold of thought without trying 
 to cross it, feeling that his ease of mind and body 
 was not on his own conscience, but on everybody's 
 conscience. Gradually he decided that the deft, 
 capable hand that made all things so easy, so effica 
 cious, must be the hand of Constance Bertini. Im 
 possible that any one else could do everything so 
 perfectly. A vague sentiment of beatitude hovered 
 over him like a perfume. He seemed to inhale it, 
 live on it, live by it. It had something to do with 
 the novel ease with which he drew breath, with the
 
 108 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 refreshment he found in sinking into sleep. Who 
 else could it be but Constance ? 
 
 " One gets spoiled here ; but God owed me this ; 
 in my youth I suffered too much," Winckelmann 
 wrote when he had arrived at his heart's desire. 
 So felt Glen also, as if what he craved and needed 
 were being made up to him. 
 
 It was on the fourth day that he heard a voice 
 say, 
 
 " Poor Glen ! " 
 
 " But he is vastly better," John corrected 
 quickly. 
 
 " Oh yes, better. He will soon be well. What 
 I was thinking of is that he needs such constant care. 
 I feel as if I should like to watch over him always." 
 
 "You are so good," John murmured. 
 
 " However, it is the last thing he would want." 
 
 " No, indeed. He was always used to a woman's 
 ministrations until my mother's death." 
 
 " Why does n't he marry ? " 
 
 " Why do not all men marry ? " John inquired. 
 
 " You know very well, I presume, why you your 
 self do not marry." 
 
 " I ! " John exclaimed. " Pray tell me if you 
 know the reason. It has always puzzled me." 
 
 " I used to give you credit for sincerity." 
 
 John said hesitatingly that he was sorry to have 
 forfeited the other's good opinion. 
 
 "Don't pay me false and meaningless compli 
 ments." 
 
 " Do I, now ? "
 
 GLEN'S STEANGE EXPERIENCE. 109 
 
 "You pretend to care about my good opin 
 ion." 
 
 " I do very much." 
 
 " Yet your whole mode of action contradicts 
 your words. You have paid me the compliment of 
 running away from me ever since I was twenty 
 years old." 
 
 John exclaimed, with startled apprehension, 
 " What was that sound ? " He darted towards the 
 bed, and gazed into the pale, placid face of the 
 sick man. 
 
 " He is awake," the nurse said. " I wished him 
 to wake up. It is time for his beef tea." 
 
 What Haliburton had heard had been an irresist 
 ible chuckle of amusement. Curiosity had finally 
 overmastered Glen's attitude of serene receptivity, 
 and he had opened his eyes. He had been so certain 
 that Constance Bertini was his nurse ; in the most 
 trifling ministration to his comfort there had been 
 a suavity, a charm ; in each sip of broth or milk 
 there had been a singular potency. Only Constance 
 could do things in that divine way. There had 
 been a quiet bliss in lying there, irresponsible, 
 blind, deaf, accepting renovation from her good 
 ness and bounty. However, the words and voice of 
 the unknown had been far from suggesting Con 
 stance. His illusions were now dispelled. It was 
 not Constance, it was not even the zealous Kitty 
 who was adjusting his pillows and offering nourish 
 ment. It was just Sue Darrow. Nevertheless, the 
 sight of John taken to task by Miss Darrow for
 
 110 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 his long series of omissions towards her and the 
 rest of the sex he pretended to honor was a won 
 derful fillip. Glen found life worth living on the 
 instant. 
 
 He did not, however, rub the bloom off his con 
 valescence by confessing to be restored on the 
 instant. He had a horror of sensation, of being 
 obliged to converse, of having to be grateful and 
 appreciative. Cousin Sue as a nurse was ador 
 able. He rested in her care as in his mother's 
 arms, but the moment he was ready to open his 
 eyes and see and his ears and hear, he knew with a 
 shiver of dread she would be in earnest about some 
 thing. She would n't let him drift ; she could n't, 
 to save her life, let anybody drift. He could hear 
 her in the far reaches of the house instructing Dil- 
 sey and the cook, explaining the whys and where 
 fores, why coffee and tea should not be boiled ; 
 the effect of tannin on the system ; the absolute 
 necessity of freeing the broth from fat ; the dangers 
 attending fresh bread. John had given up all his 
 freedom, as it were, made it up into a parcel and 
 handed it over to Miss Darrow. She said she 
 thought coffee disagreed with him. He renounced 
 coffee. She did not approve of tobacco. He 
 smoked no more. He obediently ate, drank, sat, 
 walked, slept, and waked exactly as she directed. 
 
 One evening after Miss Darrow had gone to her 
 own house to sleep, Glen felt like talking. 
 
 " Oh, John," he said, " Sue has been so good to 
 me."
 
 GLEN'S STRANGE EXPERIENCE. Ill 
 
 Haliburton nodded. 
 
 " I was never taken such good care of in all my 
 life," Glen pursued. 
 
 " I know," Haliburton returned rather ruefully. 
 
 " She is the most perfect nurse, John," Glen 
 went on. 
 
 " She has had the training," Haliburton an 
 swered dryly. " I suppose it 's simply a matter of 
 scientific training." 
 
 "Possibly. One has the notion that all nice 
 women are good nurses, but I really suppose that 
 Conny would be a bungler compared to Sue." 
 
 Haliburton almost snorted in his indignation. 
 
 " But you don't know the difference, John," 
 Glen insisted. " Sue has the most delicious touch, 
 
 not only has a touch that goes right to the spot 
 and seems to cure, but also takes away your trou 
 ble of mind and soul." 
 
 " I can see that she understands it all." John's 
 concession was of the driest description. 
 
 " I wish you would pretend to have a headache, 
 John," Glen said, " just to find out what good care 
 she will take of you." 
 
 " No, thanks." 
 
 " I hope," Glen murmured, his eyelids just 
 parted so that he could get a glimpse of John's face, 
 
 "I can't help thinking that I do hope you will 
 marry Sue." 
 
 " Good God ! " ejaculated Haliburton, not im 
 piously, but with all the solemnity of an invocation. 
 " She would make you the most perfect wife."
 
 112 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Look here, Glen, I don't wish to go against 
 your wishes in any way to retard your recovery, 
 but you may as well understand once for all that I 
 shall never marry Miss Darrow." 
 
 " But after after all this after I mean I 
 don't exactly see how you can help it now." 
 
 " Not help it now ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Here she has been coming day after day." 
 
 " Not to see me. Why don't you marry her 
 yourself out of gratitude and appreciation ? " 
 
 " Oh, she cares nothing for me. It is you she 
 values, John. She was telling me to-day that she 
 considered you for a man almost perfect." 
 
 " Nonsense, absurd ! " 
 
 " You '11 have to come to it, John. Everybody 
 picked her out for you years ago, you know. These 
 things settle themselves for us without our own 
 will. I really do consider that my illness was 
 providential in bringing you together. Just ac 
 cept the fact as inevitable, and when you have 
 bolted it you will confess that it did you good. 
 This house needs a mistress." 
 
 Haliburton abstained from speech, but in the 
 power of expressing dissent while he remained 
 silent no man could at this moment have excelled 
 him. 
 
 " If you would like me to break the ice between 
 you," Glen was about to suggest, when he saw a 
 gleam of something in John's eye answering the 
 twinkle in his own. 
 
 " If you dare ! " said Haliburton.
 
 GLEN'S STRANGE EXPEEIENCE. 113 
 
 Glen, having lain quiescent for a few days, was 
 suddenly well. Miss Darrow came in one morning 
 and found him up and dressed. 
 
 "I suppose this means that I am dismissed," 
 she observed, with a sigh. 
 
 " You have been awfully good to me, dear cousin 
 Sue." 
 
 " I have enjoyed coming over. I like something 
 to do. There is such a stimulus in the thought that 
 one has some real grip of life and effort." 
 
 " I don't know what I should have done without 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, John would have got a hospital nurse," 
 said Miss Darrow. "That is the trouble with 
 being an amateur, I have robbed some profes 
 sional of three dollars a day." 
 
 " You would n't take it ? " 
 
 " If you and John are pleased that is all I ask 
 for." 
 
 " I 'm always an ungrateful wretch, but John is 
 grateful from the bottom of his heart. You know 
 his way ; he may not say as much as others, but 
 he feels it, Sue." 
 
 " I like John so much," Miss Darrow rejoined, 
 with fine candor. " I would do almost anything 
 for him. I always realize that he is a shy man. 
 He does not appreciate himself ; he seems to have 
 no idea what a fine, presentable, really clever and 
 attractive man he is." 
 
 " I think he requires some woman to bring him 
 out."
 
 114 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Yes, that is it. He needs sympathy, encour 
 agement. I know of no one who better deserves 
 it. When one considers the sort of men who make 
 more show in society" 
 
 " Me, for example ? " 
 
 " I was n't alluding to you, Glen. I was think 
 ing how well he looks sitting at the head of his 
 own table." 
 
 " The fact about it is, I have always stood in the 
 way of John's marrying. I dare say were I to go 
 about my business, as a man should, he would find 
 somebody willing to take him." 
 
 " You need be no hindrance to his marrying." 
 
 " I 'm always around under foot. She might not 
 like me." 
 
 " I '11 answer for it, she would. Everybody likes 
 you, Glen, whether or not they approve of you. 
 But, speaking of John, it really goes to my heart 
 that so little should be done for his comfort." 
 Miss Darrow's voice dropped to a whisper. " Now 
 those servants ! I can't begin to tell you what an 
 undertaking it has been to get well-made, nourish 
 ing dishes for you. I have gone into the kitchen day 
 by day and given an object-lesson in cooking, as it 
 were, but it was clear that both Dilsey and his wife 
 considered that I was exceeding my privileges. I 
 tried to explain the processes of digestion. The 
 soup had been greasy, the fillet of beef had twice 
 been over-larded. I did actually hope they had com 
 prehended, but they listened incredulous. ' Gentle 
 folks' stomachs seems to be very queer,' the cook
 
 GLEN'S STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 115 
 
 remarked with an offended air, as if I had been 
 talking about something improper. I confess I 
 hate to think of John's being at the mercy of that 
 woman with her half-skimmed soup." 
 
 It was a very warm day, and Miss Darrow, still 
 breathing solicitudes for Haliburton, took Glen 
 into the garden, and established him in the sum 
 mer-house, sending Dilsey forward and back with 
 cushions, rugs, and cups of broth. 
 
 " I do sometimes get a little chance to be really 
 useful," Miss Darrow then said complacently, when 
 Glen lay back declaring that he was sublimely 
 comfortable, "even if I do not accept a mission 
 and go out on a crusade. You say I have done 
 you good, Glen, but you and John have also done 
 me good. There is not room in my own life for 
 my full energies to take shape and develop. But, 
 just because I love poppa and momma and the 
 girls, I stay at home, a striking example of the pow- 
 erlessness of a woman to escape from her grooves 
 without sufficient motive. The craving of the mod 
 ern man seems to be to get rid of the curse of la- 
 bor. The modern woman cries for more and more 
 to do, a freer outlet for her energies. I can only 
 believe that the logical outcome of the present 
 transition lies in the marriage of the contraries. 
 Man is to lay down the initiative, woman is to as 
 sume the initiative. It will be just a little curious 
 if, a hundred years from now " 
 
 Miss Darrow paused, not that her speculations 
 were exhausted, for such speculations are practi-
 
 116 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 cally inexhaustible. But it was clear that Glen, per 
 haps overbraced by such strong tonics, had fallen 
 asleep, and to go on discoursing to a convalescent 
 whom she had wooed to slumber would have con 
 tradicted her hygienic methods and theories. She 
 disposed of her unused cushions in a way to pro 
 mote his comfort if he moved. She fenced off a 
 possible draught with the screen. She drew the 
 little table, with its wine jelly and biscuits, nearer 
 to his hand, then, with an appreciative glance at 
 his fine Vandyck contours and saying to herself, 
 " Glen is just too absurdly good-looking," she walked 
 through the garden, with its beds of mignonette, 
 heliotropes, roses, and carnations, deciding that 
 there were too many fragrant flowers to be whole 
 some, turned into the house, gave a few final capable 
 directions, and went on her useful way. 
 
 Whether or no Glen had really fallen asleep 
 while she talked, no sooner had she left him than 
 he was wide awake. The interval of repose when he 
 had shrunk from the idea of effort, struggle, even 
 thought, was over. Life was beginning again for 
 him. He lay looking into the garden flooded with 
 light, where all the flowers were wide open, drinking 
 in the sunshine, harboring bees that crept in and 
 out rustling and droning ; offering their sweets as 
 well to the humming-birds that poised themselves 
 and seemed to vibrate before the open chalices. 
 He listened to the drip of the little fountain. He 
 reached out his hand for the hour-glass and turned 
 it. He wanted the full realization of this sweet,
 
 GLEN'S STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 117 
 
 idle hour. Again and again he turned and gazed 
 at the wall, above which a spray of the pink flowers 
 of the oleander was tossed up against the blue of 
 the sky. 
 
 He felt exquisitely happy. After all, let a man 
 be what sort of failure he may, still these shows of 
 things penetrating his imagination make him feel 
 that he is fed even when he has neither meat nor 
 wine nor bread. His eyes rested on the cool color 
 of the gray stone gables ; the tops of the trees 
 swaying against the azure tranquilized him. What 
 was the wonder of an arabesque of flowers and 
 foliage, the arch of a turret, the sudden trick of 
 light that transfigured the leaves of a white birch 
 as they turned in the breeze ? Once upon a time 
 Glen would have felt that it was the duty of an 
 artist to fix these fleeting effects in words ; he had 
 loved to seize upon such impressions, refining upon 
 them endlessly, touching and retouching, to be used 
 at need as a bit of background or vivid color. His 
 ideal had been not only to enjoy but to translate 
 every kindling experience into something that 
 could move others. But all* that world of aspira 
 tion, of effort, seemed afar off. He had long since 
 given it up as useless. The divine spark allotted 
 to Glen had burned only himself. 
 
 A flock of pigeons flew across the open space of 
 sky, their snow-white throats and wings glistening 
 in the sunlight. It was so beautiful that something 
 clutched at his heart. He closed his eyes. 
 
 What he was thinking of was Teddy D arrow's
 
 118 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 talk. Oh, if he, Glen, could but begin over again 
 like Teddy, with a healthy mind in a sound body ; 
 choose his career ; arrange the conditions which 
 should make it prosperous ; spend his powers in 
 success ; be a part of the great social movement, 
 instead of suffering this freezing isolation this 
 dismal sense of failure ! 
 
 It was singular how the thought of Teddy stung 
 him. The young fellow's effrontery in being in love 
 with Kitty, and, with magnificent leisure of proced 
 ure, planning to marry her when the right time 
 came, made him conscious of an inarticulate smoul 
 dering resentment. He could not define whether 
 it was a dog-in-the-manger feeling against Teddy, 
 or against all the world of strong, lucky people. 
 
 His eyes still fast shut, he became conscious that 
 somebody was approaching him. It was perhaps 
 Miss Darrow returning ; or Dilsey, with a cup of 
 bouillon, of which Glen's very soul was sick. He 
 did not take the trouble to open his eyes. He per 
 ceived that the presence lingered. He simulated 
 deep slumber. The intruder drew closer. He 
 could hear its quick breathing. Soft as thistle 
 down, a touch alighted on his hair ; something fra 
 grant and warm grazed his ear. Surely that was 
 not Sue Darrow kissing him ! He lay still for an 
 apparently endless moment, then coughed, sighed, 
 changed his position and opened his eyes upon the 
 lovely, flushed face of the girl who was kneeling 
 beside him. 
 
 " Why, Kitty ! " he murmured.
 
 GLEN'S STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 119 
 
 "I am afraid I waked you up," she said re 
 morsefully. 
 
 "Was I asleep?" 
 
 " Oh yes, I am sure you were sleeping soundly. 
 You were not merely pretending to be asleep, cousin 
 Glen ? " This with an anxious note in her voice. 
 
 " Why should I pretend to be asleep ? Here I 
 have been stretched out waiting for visitors to come 
 and congratulate me upon my recovery. Not even 
 a cat has been near me." 
 
 " What a shame ! Here I am. I have been 
 over two or three times a day to inquire." 
 
 " Actually ? " 
 
 " Did they not tell you ? Mamma came also." 
 
 " She is very kind. You are very kind. Every 
 body has been so kind that I should be sick to 
 death of kindness if I had a grain of spirit. But 
 I have not." 
 
 " Are you glad to see me ? " 
 
 " I prefer you to a cat, certainly. Don't move. 
 Stay just where you are, Kitty. I like to look at 
 you. That wide-brimmed hat makes a good back 
 ground for your face." 
 
 " I have brought you some cherries." 
 
 She lifted the leaves from the basket on her 
 arm and showed him the luscious fruit. 
 
 " Presently," he returned. 
 
 He hated to have her change her position. He 
 seemed suddenly to have discovered that she was 
 marvelously pretty. Her skin, although dark, was 
 soft, and smooth as ivory ; her lips were blooming,
 
 120 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 her teeth small, even, white. And, good heavens ! 
 he actually believed that she had kissed him of her 
 own free will. At this conviction there now came 
 a quick leap of his blood which the caress itself 
 had not stirred. He had half a mind to kiss her 
 back. Was it a childish freak or some experi 
 mental coquettish jugglery ? 
 
 " You are really better, cousin Glen ? " she said 
 tremulously. 
 
 " Really better. Did you actually pity a poor, 
 sick fellow?" 
 
 " Pity ! It was dreadful to me." She looked 
 at him with eyes running over with tears ; her lips 
 quivered. " The very stones seemed to cry out 
 that you were suffering. If I could have come and 
 nursed you instead of cousin Sue ! But mamma 
 said that she and I would only be in the way." 
 
 " Did Conny care that I was ill? " 
 
 " Mamma was very sorry. Still, she was not as 
 much alarmed as I was. She said you had prob 
 ably taken cold ; that very likely after all you 
 did not suffer ; that these attacks belonged to your 
 temperament." 
 
 " Hang my temperament ! hang my sufferings ! " 
 said Glen. " Why do you come and say these 
 things to me ? Half an hour ago I was perfectly 
 happy. I cared nothing for anything or anybody." 
 
 "Shall I go away?" 
 
 "No; stay." 
 
 " If you care for nothing and nobody, you will 
 not mind me."
 
 GLEN'S STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 121 
 
 " No." They smiled at each other. " Let me 
 see," he said : " how old are you, Kitty ? " 
 
 " I was eighteen the 24th of May." 
 
 " So old ? Why, some of these days you will be 
 grown up." 
 
 " I am taller than mamma now." 
 
 " That is not being grown up. The grapes fill 
 out by July or August, but it is long after that 
 they are sweet." 
 
 Kitty gave a little shrug. " I would rather be 
 a sour grape than a sweet ripe one, which some 
 body picks and eats, and soon makes an end of." 
 
 " Exactly. A sour grape is safe. It may hang 
 as long and as high as it chooses. Nobody wants it. 
 How about those cherries ? I like ripe cherries." 
 
 She piled the richest of the fruit on an empty 
 plate which lay on the little table, and set them 
 within his reach. Kitty's vanity, however, was not 
 entirely satisfied by the characterization of herself 
 as a sour, green grape. 
 
 "Before we came away from Florence," she 
 now remarked in a clear, deliberate voice, " some 
 months before we came away, Lucia Lucia was 
 our cook said to mamma that the signorina was 
 quite grown up now ; soon there would be a hus 
 band coming for her." 
 
 " Who might the signorina be ?" 
 
 " I am the signorina." 
 
 " Good gracious ! You the signorina ! What 
 did the signora marchesa say to that ? " 
 
 "That husbands are like a good year for the
 
 122 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 figs and olives, it comes or it does not come. 
 One need never think twice about it." 
 
 Glen burst into a fit of laughter. "Good for 
 Conny ! I should like to box Lucia's ears. A 
 child like you ought never to have heard the word 
 husband." 
 
 "My friend Bianca Floriani was married last 
 Easter to a Sicilian count." 
 
 " So you think it would be a fine thing to be 
 married to a Sicilian count ? " 
 
 " Oh, not in the least. I saw his picture. He 
 was excessively ugly, with a large nose and no 
 chin." 
 
 Glen began to show that he was bored. A 
 frown appeared between his brows. 
 
 " Don't talk about such subjects," he said with- 
 eringly. " For a few minutes you charmed me." 
 
 She looked at him with an air of nai've delight. 
 " I really charmed you? " 
 
 " I am sick of marrying and giving in marriage," 
 Glen said petulantly. " They say there is nothing 
 of the sort in heaven, and I am homesick for such 
 a resting-place." 
 
 " I thought what made heaven was loving and 
 being loved again." 
 
 "There is no such thing in the universe. At 
 any rate, nobody ever loved me back again. If I 
 were to begin my life anew, I would love no one. 
 
 ' To lose good nights that might be better spent, 
 To waste long days in pensive discontent, 
 To speed to-day, to be pnt back to-morrow, 
 To feed on hope, and pine with fear and sorrow '
 
 GLEN'S STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 123 
 
 I have had enough of it all. Kitty, tell me you 
 too will forswear it all." 
 
 " Forswear loving people ! " Kitty repeated, 
 aghast. " I could not help it. It seems to me 
 there is nothing else worth doing in the world." 
 
 " There is everything else to do. Love, senti 
 ment, passion, they are simply the substitutes for 
 action, energy, healthy, unspoiled feeling. I wash 
 my hands of it all henceforth. I am going to ex 
 cavate a buried city, dig up a Greek warrior or a 
 marble Venus, study art in Japan, or become an 
 Armenian and throw off the Turkish yoke. At 
 any rate, I will not speak to one of your sweet, tan 
 talizing sex until I am sixty years old." 
 
 " Not to mamma ? " 
 
 " She would like nothing better." 
 
 " Not to me ? " 
 
 " Particularly not to you." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because you are young ; because you have a 
 destiny to accomplish ; because you can't be what 
 I dream you to be." 
 
 " What do you dream me to be, cousin Glen ? " 
 
 " It 's no use telling you." 
 
 " I would do anything to be what you dream me 
 to be." 
 
 "No use, you can't. Just now, for example, I 
 liked you, I quite liked you. You were pretty 
 to look at, rather charming to listen to. Then all 
 at once, like the green fruit you are, you put my 
 teeth on edge."
 
 124 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 "Oh, cousin Glen ! Tell me how." 
 
 "I was idealizing a sweet little girl with the 
 bloom on her ideas, when suddenly she assumed 
 the tone of a woman." 
 
 " The tone of a woman ? " 
 
 " Talked about a husband. I tell you, Kitty, it 
 bored me inexpressibly." 
 
 Kitty did not try to parry his derisive glance. 
 She could not meet it. Her eyelids shut down. 
 She flushed crimson, sprang up, darted across the 
 garden, and flung herself at full length on the turf, 
 pulling up handfuls of grass like an angry child. 
 
 Glen's eyes followed her. He, too, rose, rolled a 
 cigarette, lighted it, walked towards the fountain, 
 and sat down on the edge of the basin. He was 
 amused, yet a little disturbed at the effect of his 
 petulant words. The thought of her caress still 
 gave him a warm, heady feeling. For a moment 
 his instinct had sounded her through, and he had 
 said to himself, " She is downright fond of me. I 
 could cut Teddy Darrow out if I were to raise my 
 finger." His whole being had been vitalized by 
 a grateful impulse, and he had turned rough and 
 churlish to find that the commonplace idea of a 
 husband was running in her head. He could only 
 think of Teddy. 
 
 " Kitty ! " he caUed, " Kitty ! " 
 
 There was no answer. Again, in a wheedling 
 tone, 
 
 " Kitty ! " After a pause, " This sort of agita 
 tion is not good for a sick man."
 
 GLEN'S STRANGE EXPERIENCE. 125 
 
 She rose to her feet, stood and met his glance, 
 her splendid eyes and her haughty brows fixed 
 upon him with a new expression. 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked in a dull, suffering 
 voice. 
 
 " Come back, come back, and be a delightful 
 little cousin." 
 
 " You said I bored you." 
 
 " I was generalizing broadly. What I meant 
 was, that when a girl begins to talk about falling 
 in love with somebody besides himself it bores a 
 man inexpressibly." 
 
 Kitty listened critically to this explanation, with 
 her head a little on one side as if testing its plausi 
 bility. 
 
 " You see, Caterina mia" Glen pursued blandly, 
 " every man is at heart a Turk. He would prefer 
 to put every woman he admires under a veil and 
 behind a grating." 
 
 She listened, evidently flattered. 
 
 " And only see her himself? " she inquired. 
 
 " He could use his discretion. He would say to 
 her, ' Be happy, tend thy flowers, be tended by 
 my blessing.' Never let your fancy dwell upon any 
 other man, except, of course " 
 
 She was following his words so eagerly, with such 
 evident belief in his seriousness, that he broke off 
 and laughed. 
 
 " It is all of no use, however," he now observed 
 in a different tone. " Girls like you have been 
 shut up in tall towers, hidden in caverns, offered to
 
 126 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 monsters, but the irrepressible lover has always ap 
 peared at the wrong moment, scaled fortresses, 
 penetrated bolts and bars, opened castle-keeps, slain 
 devouring dragons." 
 
 She had been walking slowly towards him, along 
 the paths between the beds of mignonette and 
 pinks, as he spoke. Her lowered eyelids let the 
 glimmer of a smile shine through ; her flexible 
 scarlet lips showed a glimpse of her white, even 
 teeth. She now seated herself on the other side of 
 the marble basin from Glen. 
 
 " So you would like to marry a Sicilian count, 
 all nose and no chin ? " he said roguishly. 
 
 " Never ! " she returned, with intense disdain. 
 
 " How do you happen to know your own mind 
 so well? Has the irrepressible lover arrived? " he 
 inquired blandly. 
 
 She nodded, then, as if dreading misconception, 
 added, 
 
 "That is, I I"- 
 
 " You have him in your mind's eye, I suppose. 
 Capital place for a lover. Keep him there by all 
 means. He is sure not to be half good enough for 
 
 you." 
 
 " All I ask is that he might consider me good 
 enough to tread on," she murmured in a trem 
 bling voice ; her face was suffused with color, her 
 eyes brimming with tears. " He does tread on 
 me ; he does not care about me ; he despises me." 
 
 Glen's face showed a quickening of apprehen 
 sion.
 
 GLEN'S STEANGE EXPERIENCE. 127 
 
 " Good gracious, what are you talking about ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " You asked me," she replied deprecatingly. 
 
 " You are as good as a novel," Glen said indif 
 ferently. " I wondered how I was to get through 
 the morning." He looked at his watch. " Here 
 we are, it 's one o'clock." 
 
 " Oh," cried Kitty, springing up, " I forgot, 
 I quite forgot." 
 
 " Forgot what ? " 
 
 " Mainma sent me over to ask you to come to 
 luncheon. The pony-carriage was to follow at one 
 o'clock. Mr. Haliburton stopped on his way to 
 the train, and said that he really thought you were 
 well enough to have a little society." 
 
 " I 'm perfectly well ; you have cured me, Kitty." 
 
 " And you will come ? " 
 
 " I 'm charmed to come." 
 
 When she was driving him over to Waldstein 
 Glen said mischievously, 
 
 " By the way, Kitty, you did n't tell me what 
 sort of a fellow he was." 
 
 " Eather nice," she returned drolly. 
 
 " Does he reciprocate your affection ? " 
 
 "Not one bit." 
 
 " That is abominable." 
 
 " No, it is not. If he liked me as well as I like 
 him, I should simply die. I could n't live through 
 it. The very thought of it makes me cold." 
 
 She alternately flushed and paled. 
 
 " Don't care for anybody like that ! " he ex-
 
 128 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 claimed. "Nobody is worth it. It means suffer 
 ing days and nights, agonies of loneliness, of 
 jealousy." 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 " It draws away good, nourishing blood that sus 
 tains life, and puts poison in its place." 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 He was startled by the melancholy fire of her 
 eyes. 
 
 " And besides," he said, " the good-for-nothing, 
 ungrateful wretch will presently be so conceited he 
 will believe he was born so and can't help it."
 
 JerushaCHubbard, 
 Union st, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PLACE AUX DAMES. 
 
 ARRIVED at Waldstein, Glen was in quite an 
 other atmosphere. He was not the only visitor. 
 Mrs. Darrow and Agatha had dropped in, and had 
 been asked to stay to luncheon. Mrs. Darrow was 
 glad to see Glen, regarding him as the outward 
 and visible sign of her daughter's achievement. 
 Sue had snatched him, if not from the grave, from 
 a dangerous condition. What was more, Sue had 
 put John Haliburton's household to rights. Any 
 thing so old-fashioned, so wrong-headed as the 
 ways of that household, had not before met the 
 up-to-date observation of the Darrows. The igno 
 rance, the prejudice, the lack of accurate, scientific 
 knowledge on the part of Dilsey and the cook, had 
 furnished a fund of anecdote. Glen wished with 
 all his heart he had stayed in the dear, old-fashioned 
 garden talking to Kitty. Mrs. Darrow made his 
 cup run over. He could amuse himself a good 
 deal with Gatty in the absence of the rest of the 
 family, but at this moment he frankly hated them 
 all. 
 
 Constance was Constance, however. She gave 
 him a comfortable armchair by her side. She had
 
 130 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 prepared two or three delightful dishes for him, 
 just the dishes he craved, and now set Kitty to 
 spreading brown bread with butter fresh from the 
 churn. Kitty, putting all her heart and soul into 
 the task, looked about fourteen years old, and 
 Glen's belief in her ardent preference for him 
 self or anything save the bread and butter waned. 
 
 " Sue says," Mrs. Darrow proceeded, " that in 
 John Haliburton we recognize the defect of his 
 qualities. He has walked all his life in the narrow 
 lighted circle which his mother appointed for her 
 and for himself, and he does not even venture to be 
 lieve in the possibility of a world outside. Dilsey 
 walked behind, drinking in every word they uttered. 
 Anything Mrs. Haliburton ever said or did still 
 remains the law of the household." 
 
 " That is what I like," said Richard Amory. 
 
 " But, dear cousin Richard, in the matter of 
 beef tea, for example " 
 
 In the matter of beef tea, in particular, Richard 
 Amory fully believed Lucy Haliburton's way was 
 certain to have been the right way. Why not, 
 when Lucy Haliburton must have learned it from 
 Sarah Ambury ? It was an admitted fact for miles 
 around that Sarah Ambury had always done every 
 thing better than her neighbors. 
 
 " Very likely," Mrs. Darrow conceded. " Be 
 cause in those old days, when everybody was more 
 or less ignorant, superior natural faculty, supple 
 mented by tradition, gave certain women in each 
 community a wonderful effectiveness which was
 
 PLACE AUX DAMES. 131 
 
 widely recognized. They did the best they could, 
 so much better than their neighbors that it was 
 then believed they did the best that could be done. 
 I do not wish to underrate the superior women of a 
 past generation. They did their best, but our own 
 best is so far beyond their highest possible, that 
 there can be no comparison." 
 
 " Oh, the comfort of knowing exactly how to do 
 everything in the very best way," said Gatty. 
 
 Glen, who had kept his eyes fixed on a wonder 
 ful arrangement of the flowers of the catalpa in the 
 centre of the table, glanced at Agatha as if he had 
 almost made up his mind to speak, but he changed 
 his intention and kept silent. 
 
 " Every Friday morning at a quarter past nine," 
 said Mrs. Darrow, "I sit down at my desk and 
 compose my bills of fare for the coming week. 
 Sunday's dinner makes two breakfasts and one 
 luncheon. The evolution of cold turkey into cro 
 quettes and patties may be as scientifically inter 
 esting as the differentiations in chrysanthemums 
 and geraniums under treatment." 
 
 " What excessive premeditation," said Con 
 stance. "'Sufficient unto the day is the evil 
 thereof,' is the motto of bad housekeepers like 
 me." 
 
 "I account for every egg," Mrs. Darrow pro 
 ceeded triumphantly. "Not only for every egg, 
 but for each half of an egg, for the white that 
 makes a meringue has given its yolk to one of the 
 entrees."
 
 132 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " If," Kitty, as usual athirst for information, now 
 suggested, " Gatty were to ask for an egg beaten 
 up in sherry between meals, would it upset all the 
 whole week's calculations ? " 
 
 "Oh, I allow a margin," Mrs. Darrow cheer 
 fully rejoined. " Even in the most careful house 
 keeping there are exigencies and emergencies." 
 
 " Accidents happen in the best educated fam 
 ilies," Glen, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, 
 murmured under his breath, " for they have hap 
 pened in mine." 
 
 Mrs. Darrow, in the joy of her subject, went on 
 describing her management of her soup-kettle. 
 
 " A regular witch's caldron," mused Glen. " I 
 shall never dare eat soup in your house again." 
 
 The scoffing critic was not listened to. Mrs. 
 Darrow had more in her mind than merely adorning 
 the luncheon with casual conversation. She was 
 enlightening Constance, who, poor thing, had been 
 out of the world's grand sweep of movement so 
 long, she needed to be given the requisite push. 
 The D arrows were all exercised on the subject of 
 Kitty, only half -educated, left to run wild, simply 
 to do what she chose to do, instead of taking hold 
 of life with a grip, and getting out of it what she 
 ought to have. 
 
 " Of course," Mrs. Darrow went on, fluent, un 
 hesitating, " there are people who refuse to see in 
 the remarkable process of evolution going on before 
 their eyes anything natural, regular, inevitable. 
 They may prefer to believe that the phenomenon
 
 PLACE AUX DAMES. 133 
 
 presented in modern society of woman's taking a 
 foremost place, infusing new spirit into old ideas 
 of reform, and initiating new ones, is merely acci 
 dental, the result of some hand-to-mouth exigency 
 met by spasmodic effort. But I am not one of 
 those who are blind. I have not permitted my 
 daughters to grow up blindly. They have to meet 
 the emergency, and I have tried to prepare them 
 to grapple with its problems and solve them." 
 
 " You take my breath away ! " Constance ex 
 claimed. " Is there a crisis ? " 
 
 " Thee knows, Constance, there is always a crisis 
 in the newspapers," said Richard Amory. 
 
 "It is of your daughter I am thinking. The 
 conditions for unlimited expansion of her duties, 
 rights, privileges, exist already. Do not retard her 
 progress." 
 
 " Give her a soup-kettle," said Glen implor 
 ingly. 
 
 Constance, as if to reassure herself, reached out 
 her hand to Kitty. They both smiled, although 
 the young girl looked slightly puzzled. 
 
 " What are you going to do with her ? " Mrs. 
 Darrow demanded, pressing the matter home like 
 the voice of conscience. 
 
 " Conny's superiority to the rest of mankind 
 consists in her not doing," said Glen. 
 
 " I am doing all I know how to do with her," 
 answered Constance. " She is my child, I am 
 her mother. We have unlimited comfort in each 
 other."
 
 134 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 "I denied myself all that," said Mrs. Darrow. 
 " I said to each of my three girls : ' You have 
 your own life to live. I want you to study your 
 own needs. Somehow you have to breathe, eat, 
 digest, enjoy, and suffer for yourself. I am here 
 simply to help your development.' ' 
 
 "I should hate to have Kitty sit down and 
 study herself. I understand her, that is quite 
 enough." 
 
 " You cannot understand her." 
 
 " I understand her sufficiently to keep my finger 
 on the pulse of the machine. I want her to be 
 loving, unselfish, helpful." 
 
 " Ah, that is it, a good woman's unselfishness 
 fosters the selfishness of the men and women she 
 lives with." 
 
 "Thee would have her foster her own selfish 
 ness ? " suggested Richard Amory. 
 
 " I mean that she is herself and nobody else. I 
 consider that she should not be allowed to sink 
 into a downy sleep, to accept a passive content. 
 You may say she is still a child, but presently she 
 will be grown up. The question is whether you are 
 fitting her to choose her career in life by cultiva 
 ting any particular talent." 
 
 " I do not think Kitty has any particular talent," 
 Constance replied. 
 
 " Oh dear, what a decision ! Like a decree of 
 fate." 
 
 " She is like me," said Constance. " I have no 
 particular talent."
 
 PLACE AUX DAMES. 135 
 
 " Now, dear cousin Conny," Agatha exclaimed, 
 " I consider you quite the cleverest woman I 
 know ! " 
 
 " That is because I do not write books, or make 
 speeches, or put myself into any competition with 
 clever women. If I did, you would soon have me 
 at a disadvantage." 
 
 " Every well-reared girl nowadays ought to be 
 able to support herself if necessary," Mrs. Darrow 
 said, looking at Kitty, who had been following the 
 discussion with an intent, rather puzzled look, as if 
 trying to separate the wheat from the chaff ; but 
 who now, feeling herself called upon to answer, 
 stammered out quite aghast, 
 
 "I I I do not think I should know how 
 to support myself." 
 
 " You know Italian, of course, French and 
 English ? " 
 
 " She draws beautifully," said Gatty. 
 
 "I can make lace," Kitty murmured depreca- 
 tingly. 
 
 " And embroider ; oh, she is quite wonderful 
 with the needle." 
 
 " Why, you have no end of talents, Kitty," Glen 
 said, sitting back in his chair and gazing at her. 
 " Take my napkin." 
 
 " Heaven help her if she ever has to earn her liv 
 ing by any one of them," observed Constance. " I 
 hear people talk of the astonishing abilities of this 
 woman or that. Mrs. Edward Darrow was saying 
 yesterday, ' So much good work ; there are really
 
 136 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 no amateurs nowadays.' I refrained only by an 
 effort from saying that there were nothing but 
 amateurs." 
 
 " Ah, cousin Conny, that is cruel," said Gatty. 
 "Momma talks about our having chosen our 
 careers, about the importance of girls being able 
 to make their own living. If she were consistent 
 she would push her young birds out of the nest 
 and let them try their wings." 
 
 " Sue could make a good income as a nurse." 
 
 " Whether Millicent and I could would be the 
 question." 
 
 " I do not wish to earn my own living," said 
 Kitty, still perplexed. 
 
 " Exactly. Why should you ? Why should we 
 while poppa makes nobody knows how many thou 
 sands a year for us ? " 
 
 " The reason girls who feel the sacredness and 
 privilege of their individual rights as women de 
 sire to support themselves," said Mrs. Darrow, " is 
 not to be independent of their fathers, but to have 
 a career if only in order not to have to look out 
 for a husband to support them." 
 
 " It is because the world is so awfully dull for 
 us women," said Gatty. " We are so tired of hav 
 ing to be invited to go out to dinner, to dance, to 
 marry. It is so tedious. A girl wants the chance 
 of a quiet, simple life all of a piece, not to be at 
 the mercy of mere chance, to have her regular 
 work to do ; not to be torn this way and that by 
 fluctuating hopes, feelings, aspirations."
 
 PLACE AUX DAMES. 137 
 
 " You have reached that vantage-point ? " Glen 
 inquired politely. 
 
 " Not quite yet," said Gatty. " As soon as 
 people buy my pictures I shall begin." 
 
 " No husband ? Not a single husband ? " 
 
 " Not until I am thirty-five, at least. Surely you 
 do not suppose I would give up all my youth and 
 strength and ambition to married life ! After one 
 has accomplished something " 
 
 " Or requires some compensation for having 
 accomplished nothing. That is the way I myself 
 feel." 
 
 " The ideal marriage does exist," Mrs. Darrow 
 conceded. " Logically it belongs to a successful 
 career. Yet I persist in telling my daughters that 
 there are duties which come first." 
 
 " I agree with you there," said Constance. " A 
 girl must learn in her own home how to give and 
 receive happiness, how to promote comfort, cheer, 
 the charm of life." 
 
 " In a word, foster the selfishness of her father, 
 mother, brothers, and sisters. I am thinking of the 
 city, the state, the country. Men have settled 
 down into a state of mind which means nothing 
 but social deterioration and disintegration. Hon 
 esty is a tradition to smile at. Faithful perform 
 ance of duty, disinterestedness, have flatly vanished 
 out of the existing scheme of things. Men's hearts, 
 intellects, consciences, are in the clutch of a deter 
 mination to be rich at any cost. Every service 
 has its price. Every enterprise is a job."
 
 138 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " When I think of what men are," cried Gatty, 
 her eyes lighted, her cheeks aflame, " I feel as if I 
 could not marry even by the time I am thirty-five." 
 
 " Do not, do not be so cruel," Glen murmured. 
 
 " If a man is successful," said Gatty, " it is just 
 as momma says ; he is honeycombed with corrup 
 tion. If he is a failure it is not from his having 
 loftier ideas, but because he accepts the state of 
 things passively." 
 
 " Exactly. That hits me. Oh, for one hour to 
 be a successful rogue honeycombed with corrup 
 tion ! " said Glen. 
 
 " Gatty," suggested Constance, " why not marry 
 one of these failures and bring him up to your 
 level?" 
 
 " I may be ready to do so at thirty-five. Even 
 then, suppose I lived to be seventy, there would 
 be thirty-five years of seeing him at breakfast and 
 dinner. Oh, how tired I should be of the crea 
 ture ! " 
 
 " Thee feels quite sure he would like it ? " in 
 quired Richard Amory. 
 
 " I dare say he would be as much bored with 
 smiling at me and calling me ' my wife ' as I should 
 be with smiling at him and saying ' my husband.' 
 I think I will put it off. until I am fifty." 
 
 " But, Gatty ! " Kitty cried, as if in anguish. 
 
 "Well, Kitty?" 
 
 " Suppose, just only suppose, you loved him ! " 
 
 " I could n't suppose it," returned Gatty. " That 
 is not the sort of woman I am."
 
 PLACE AUX DAMES. 139 
 
 " My dear Kitty," said Glen, " you will have to 
 discard the idea of a husband as a superfluous lux 
 ury ; you will become revolutionary about your 
 right to a personal career. You will take to smok 
 ing cigarettes " 
 
 " Mamma would not allow me to smoke cigar 
 ettes." 
 
 " I tell you, you will find out your rights, and 
 what your mamma says will refer to some previous 
 state of existence, not to your newly arrived stage 
 of enlightenment. You will understand for yourself 
 that vegetation at home is for cabbages, that woman 
 requires novelty, entertainment, fullness of expe 
 rience. I have just one atom of curiosity which 
 almost piques me into enduring the new state of so 
 ciety for a few hundred years, and that is to see 
 what woman will have become by the year 2500 ; 
 whether, with all her advanced and advancing 
 ideas, she will by that date have succeeded in ac 
 complishing anything original. She imitates man 
 with amazing cleverness ; all that man has done she 
 does, or attempts to do, commits murders and 
 suicides, writes books, rides wheels, keeps shop, 
 dances on the tight-rope, performs surgical opera 
 tions, preaches and lectures. But so far she has 
 done only one thing man cannot do." 
 
 " What is that ? " inquired Kitty, with anima 
 tion, but Constance had made the move. 
 
 Richard Amory put his hands one on each of 
 Glen's shoulders, pushed him into the book-room, 
 closed the door and locked it.
 
 140 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I am glad thee pitched into them," he said. 
 " I was ready to burst." 
 
 " Why did thee not speak ? " inquired Glen. 
 
 " Because I had nothing to say, save ' "Woman, 
 hold thy peace.' ' : 
 
 " I felt, I still feel, like the vanishing point 
 of a far perspective," said Glen. " Give me a 
 pipe." 
 
 Each chose an easy-chair, sat down, sank back 
 into the cushions, and put his feet up on the sofa. 
 
 " Is this your strongest tobacco ? " Glen mur 
 mured. "I want something that will take the 
 taste of it out of my mouth." 
 
 " Try that madeira. I have only a little of it 
 left, but I give it to thee to-day. Thee needs it. I 
 need it." 
 
 There came a pause. Then Richard Amory 
 broke silence : 
 
 " I do admire these women who decide that for 
 six thousand years the world has been going on 
 from bad to worse, and that they are now going to 
 set it all right." 
 
 " The method of making over mankind they do 
 not stop to consider. They enjoy their triumph in 
 the 'idea." 
 
 " A woman with an idea is like a dog with a 
 bone in his mouth." 
 
 " I would be willing to wager that Conny has 
 more housekeeping in her little finger than Alice 
 Darrow has in her whole body." 
 
 " I have wondered sometimes that Ambury stuck
 
 PLACE AUX DANES. 141 
 
 so hard at his work. He goes to town at 7.30 and 
 returns at 6.30." 
 
 " I should live in my office if I were he." 
 
 " Did thee not think she actually believed she 
 had arrived at the summit of ideas ? " 
 
 " At the very summit, and as if we were the 
 pebbles under her feet." 
 
 " The cleverest woman of this century was the 
 mere puppet of a man." 
 
 " Plenty of women have their share of genius, 
 but I don't pretend to be great because Shake 
 speare and Dante have existed." 
 
 " I ask thee if at this moment there is on earth 
 any woman who excels man in any occupation in 
 which she attempts to rival men ? " 
 
 " There are some first-class actresses and singers." 
 
 " No female novelist can compare with Sien- 
 kiewicz." 
 
 " Far from it." 
 
 " Is there a great woman painter ? " 
 
 " Not one." 
 
 "Sculptor?" 
 
 " Not one." 
 
 A tap at the door interrupted the colloquy. 
 
 " Who is there ? " 
 
 " It is I, uncle Richard." 
 
 A hand tried the door. 
 
 " The door is locked, uncle Richard." 
 
 " Of course it is locked." 
 
 " Mamma says we are waiting coffee on the ter 
 race."
 
 142 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Will thee tell thy mamma we are very particu 
 larly engaged." 
 
 The two men exchanged looks of satisfaction. 
 They were about to resume their classification of 
 the sex when a voice came from the window, 
 
 " Why will you not come and join us? " 
 
 " We are gnashing our teeth," said Richard. 
 
 " You have reduced us to protoplasm. We have 
 got to begin and develop over again," Glen added. 
 
 " We did not intend to be so hard on you as all 
 that," called out Gatty. 
 
 " Oh, come," cried Kitty. " It is so dull with 
 out you. Do come." 
 
 " Thee does not realize that there can be no 
 place for us in thy world. We give it up to the 
 women." 
 
 "We shall start for Japan. You can make 
 things over without loss of time, recommencer 
 la societe humaine" 
 
 " We did our best, but we confess that we have 
 made a failure of it. Accordingly we withdraw 
 from the contest. Thee can go out to the Zoo and 
 choose some other domestic animal to take the 
 place of man." 
 
 " I did not intend," said Mrs. Darrow, " to hurt 
 anybody's feelings.". 
 
 " Oh, we 're callous." 
 
 " Come out, and let us reason together." 
 
 "No woman can reason." 
 
 " Thy facts may be all right, it is thy conclu 
 sions that are all wrong."
 
 PLACE AUX DAMES. 143 
 
 " Besides, it 's no use arguing with a woman. 
 When I argue with a man and he does n't admit 
 the truth of what I tell him, I just say, ' You are 
 a notorious ass.' Chivalry forbids saying it to a 
 woman." 
 
 " Oh, chivalry was exploded long ago. Come 
 out, the afternoon is so beautiful." 
 
 " If we come out, thee would go about boasting 
 of it." 
 
 " Besides we are smoking pipes, drinking ma 
 deira, not to say brandy, whiskey, rum, gin, and 
 beer. We have got our feet up on the sofa. Some 
 how, we must assert our rights." 
 
 " We give in, we give in," said Constance. 
 " With all your faults we love you still. Come, 
 the coffee is getting cold."
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 IN THE GARDEN BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 THERE was a capacity for mischief in Glenden- 
 ning Rennie which had had its snares and tempta 
 tions for him when he was younger, and which he 
 had never put behind him as a dangerous thing, 
 but kept, as it were, to give a fillip to life. After 
 an illness in which he had measured time rather 
 heavily, he had before now yielded to an instinct 
 to take his fling, assert his right to his innings 
 against fate and circumstance, even his limitations 
 of health and strength. While Agatha Darrow 
 had talked that day at luncheon about marriage, it 
 had seemed to Glen that she not only flung down 
 a challenge, but had flung it down to him. In 
 fact, Glen and Agatha had before now had little 
 passages of intimacy, when he directed her artistic 
 attempts, talked to her about art, poetry, and, per 
 haps, men and women. Her high imaginations, 
 her ideals, her somewhat chaotic theories of life, 
 diverted him, and he liked to bring out the contra 
 dictions in her. To-night Mrs. Darrow had asked 
 Glen and Haliburton to dinner, and as Glen 
 dragged John reluctant and unwilling, he an 
 nounced his intention of flirting a little with 
 Agatha.
 
 IN THE GARDEN BY MOONLIGHT. 145 
 
 " Just as a pioneer, you know, John, to point 
 out the way. You can look at me and take a hint 
 how to make love to Sue." 
 
 " Glen, if you don't cease making those absurd, 
 abominable allusions, I will turn about and go 
 back. I did not want to come ; I hated to come. 
 I can't understand how you had the presumption 
 to accept for me." 
 
 " You ought to be glad to come if only out of 
 common decent gratitude to Sue for nursing me," 
 said Glen, making just the high humane plea which 
 would grasp Haliburton's conscience. 
 
 In the whole wide world there was no more 
 modest man than John Haliburton. The dimmest, 
 vaguest recesses of his mind could not have har 
 bored the fancy that any woman could feel a pre 
 ference for him. Yet his instinct towards the eldest 
 Miss Darrow was one of lively dread. Ever since 
 he had become her father's partner the possibility 
 of a different, but still a family, partnership seemed 
 to be in everybody's mind. Even Mrs. Halibur 
 ton had once told her son that perhaps Sue was 
 just the wife he needed. This speech had not 
 merely hurt him, as only the lack of comprehension 
 in those who ought to understand us best can hurt, 
 but it had helped to give him a nightmare sensa 
 tion that, through some vacuity of purpose, some 
 paralysis of will, he might give up the struggle and 
 ultimately find himself at the altar pledging him 
 self to love and cherish Sue. 
 
 Nevertheless, John always performed the task
 
 146 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 allotted to him, and on this warm evening he and 
 Glen, in their white waistcoats and dinner jackets, 
 were walking towards the Ambury Darrows' just 
 as the sun was setting. Not a leaf stirred. The 
 great trees stood motionless, their tops holding the 
 light and glow, while at their base their outlines 
 began already to melt into the gloom of the forest 
 behind them. 
 
 " Yes," Glen went on, " Sue almost saved my 
 life. I am grateful to her. She is a superior 
 woman. I wonder if a fellow has any right to 
 wonder about such a thing whether she has ever 
 had an offer of marriage ? " 
 
 " I have not the faintest idea," John murmured, 
 with a visible effort to detach himself from any 
 show of interest in the subject. 
 
 " I do really feel," Glen pursued. " that a man 
 has a duty in such matters. When we see a valu 
 able, excellent creature, full of resource, energy, 
 and will, we ought to feel that it is wrong that she 
 should be excluded from the highest possibilities 
 of a woman's life." 
 
 " Oh, come, Glen, you are talking for the sake 
 of talking." 
 
 " We have it in our power to regulate and har 
 monize things, to give a certain roundness and 
 symmetry to to Hang it, where is my flow 
 of ideas ? " said Glen. " I wonder, now, if Gatty 
 has ever had a love affair ? " 
 
 " It has surprised me that nobody seems to run 
 after Gatty, for she is young, good-looking, rather
 
 IN THE GARDEN BY MOONLIGHT. 147 
 
 pleasing at times, and Ambury Darrow has money 
 enough to give each of the girls a handsome dot." 
 
 " Now I wonder how many offers Conny has 
 had ? " mused Glen. 
 
 " Constance Bertini ? " 
 
 " Constance Bertini." 
 
 " Well, we seem to know of three," said Hali- 
 burton, smiling. 
 
 " Count out mine. I dare say she has had 
 twenty, at least. How unfair it is. I declare it 's 
 a crying shame." 
 
 They were already at the house, where they were 
 received like the dew from heaven. Ambury 
 Darrow sat adoring his womenkind, who grouped 
 about him in their white evening gowns, super 
 abundant in flesh, color, spirits, talk, and gestures. 
 It has been remarked that Mrs. Darrow rarely said 
 much in her husband's presence, having her own 
 times and seasons. He considered her a delightful 
 creature, clever in her way, silly, possibly, in 
 other people's ; but, however lacking in sense, she 
 had given him these three splendid daughters, and 
 he worshiped her accordingly. 
 
 " Take Mrs. Darrow out, John," he said to Hali- 
 burton. " Sue shall come along with me, but she 
 shall sit next to you. Milly dear, here is my other 
 arm ; and Gatty, as you are young and foolish, 
 you shall have Glen all to yourself." 
 
 Thus Haliburton and Sue Darrow were on one 
 side of the table; on the other Glen sat between 
 Millicent and Agatha. Ambury Darrow was the
 
 148 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 talking partner of the firm. He had all know 
 ledge for his province. Around each new case 
 which offered were clustered a new set of facts and 
 ideas of which he must be master. He and Hali- 
 burton had now a suit before the courts in which 
 they were protecting the rights of an electrician, 
 and Ambury took this opportunity of handling 
 a great mass of newly acquired facts. He knew 
 everything about electricity from the beginning to 
 its latest up-to-date discovery, and he even grasped 
 its potentialities for the future. He sat talking, 
 illustrating the subject by all the tumblers, wine 
 glasses, decanters, and bits of silver within reach. 
 Practically there was no limit to what electricity 
 was to do for our comfort, our convenience, in the 
 way of heat, light, transportation, service. But 
 that was merely the beginning. Science was con 
 fronted with a new set of proofs, demonstrations, 
 and facts, which science would presently know how 
 to meet and make use of, enlarging human life to 
 the vastest capacities and even throwing new light 
 on the occult, the shadowy realms of the unseen 
 but dimly felt. 
 
 Where Ambury Darrow could go his daughters 
 could follow, with even more dash and dare, plun 
 ging into depths not before sounded. The conver 
 sation went on all through the meal : what electric 
 waves had done, what electric waves could do ; 
 what their discovery explained about phenomena 
 mysterious and often weird in the past, what pro 
 mises of fresh miracles they offered for the future.
 
 7^ THE GARDEN BY MOONLIGHT. 149 
 
 The background of dimly descried and feebly 
 comprehended forces, from which had beckoned 
 the miracles of Buddhism, spiritualism, faith-cures, 
 and Christian Science, all was made readily com 
 patible with every-day existence. They all seemed 
 to feel a vaster promise in life, a more assured 
 future. 
 
 Glen listened, saying little. Haliburton accepted 
 here and there a fact, then rested. It was interest 
 ing to them both to see how Ambury Darrow's 
 daughters flung themselves into the subject, and 
 were carried to its top wave ; how clearly they 
 grasped the idea, and how lucidly they illustrated, 
 not only its prose, but its sublimity, its emotion. 
 
 " It 's something to have three girls like mine," 
 Ambury Darrow said when the ladies had left the 
 table. "I can talk on any subject with them. 
 They are never at a loss." 
 
 " Certainly," Glen observed, " Dick Steele could 
 easily have said, that to love one of them was a 
 liberal education." He glanced at John as he 
 spoke. " As Rip Van Winkle said of a different 
 sort of women, ' What wives they would make ! ' ' 
 
 " Now there is Sue," the proud father continued ; 
 " if we could only take her in as partner, John, she 
 would surprise us by her swift insight. There's 
 a deal of wisdom in her." 
 
 " What a wife she would make for John," Glen 
 murmured under his breath. " That is what I am 
 thinking of." 
 
 " Precious few men would come up to my stand-
 
 150 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 ard," said Ambury Darrow. " I know men, and 
 I know my girls are too clever, not to say too good, 
 for the most of them." 
 
 " How about John ? " Glen asked. 
 
 " Present company always excepted," said Am 
 bury Darrow. 
 
 They went in to join the ladies, but Glen, in 
 stead of sitting down, stepped out of the open 
 French window, and called " Agatha." 
 
 She came to his side. 
 
 " Would it be too old-fashioned and unadvanced 
 if I asked you to go down the lawn with me ? 
 I 'm an old fellow, but when I was young we used 
 to do such things." 
 
 " No," said Agatha. 
 
 " Don't you want to go, John?" Sue inquired. 
 " I feel anxious about Glen." 
 
 Haliburton put himself at Miss Darrow's service 
 on the instant. 
 
 " Go on, you two," said Glen. " We will fol 
 low." He took Agatha's hand and put it under 
 his arm. " Do you suppose," he said to her as 
 they sauntered down the path, " that Sue has any 
 electrical apparatus in her pocket which will enable 
 her to hear what I say ? For when I walk in the 
 moonlight with a charming young woman I wish 
 to keep my conversation for the exclusive ear of 
 the charming young woman." 
 
 " Dear me ! Do you call me a charming young 
 woman ? " 
 
 " I did think so," said Glen. " When I first
 
 IN THE GARDEN BY MOONLIGHT. 151 
 
 clapped my eyes on you to-night I said to myself, 
 ' How pretty Gatty looks. I am going to indulge 
 myself by flirting with her a little.' ' 
 
 " Why have n't you ? " 
 
 " I had no chance," said Glen. " We have 
 been talking such dismal things. I hate your 
 electricity and all your science. How could a man 
 venture to whisper flatteries to a girl who knows 
 all about induced currents and electric waves ? " 
 
 " You would whisper flatteries to a girl who 
 knew about the moon." 
 
 " The moon still passes muster as a romantic 
 subject, although so much is known to its discredit 
 nowadays that I do not so much object to its being 
 put out by electric light. But oh, to live at a 
 period when women men, too, for that matter 
 knew nothing ! When even the origin of the sweet, 
 silver light of the moon was a mere clever conceit, 
 a poetic fancy, a shrewd guess ! Then you and I 
 might have had a thrill of emotion walking along 
 here together. That is, I might." They had 
 come into the full blaze of the low summer moon. 
 "How well you look, Gatty," he said, stopping 
 short in the path and letting his eyes rest on her. 
 
 " My white frock, you mean ? " 
 
 " Do you call it a frock ? " 
 
 " One has so many wash dresses, one cannot take 
 them seriously enough to call them gowns." 
 
 "I like this," said Glen pensively. "I don't 
 think I could ever make love to a girl in a tailor- 
 made gown."
 
 152 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " That is why I like to wear them." 
 
 " You do not want men to make love to you ? " 
 
 " You know that I do not." 
 
 " Then you should n't put on these alluring white 
 frocks. I could make love to you very easily." 
 
 " Oh, well, make love a little if you like," said 
 Gatty. " I don't mind you." 
 
 " No, you don't mind me. I am an old fellow 
 and I am safe. But I have been thinking, ever 
 since I heard you say you would not marry until 
 you were thirty-five, that it was a shame you should 
 postpone somebody's felicity until then. How do 
 you manage ? Do you shut up your heart ? " 
 
 "Lock it up and throw the key away." 
 
 " Do you ever read poetry? " 
 , " Oh yes." 
 
 " Novels ? " 
 
 " Plenty of them." 
 
 "Do they thrill you?" 
 
 "Perhaps so, a little. Then I say to my 
 self, ' This love they talk about is a fable agreed 
 upon.' " 
 
 " You mean it does n't exist ? " 
 
 "Even a fable has a sort of existence. It is 
 useful in literature and art." 
 
 " Well, yes. Take love out of literature and art 
 and there would be rather a blank." 
 
 " Art would survive better than literature," said 
 Agatha, alert and interested at once ; " for ma 
 ternal love would be left, and the best pictures of 
 the world have that for their motive."
 
 IN THE GARDEN BY MOONLIGHT. 153 
 
 " Does n't maternal love presuppose a woman's 
 love for a man ? " demanded Glen. 
 
 " Maternal love is the one reality of a woman's 
 life," said Agatha ; " I might say it is the one 
 reality of all human life, not only of human life, 
 but of all life." 
 
 " Oh, don't go off into scientific theory again," 
 said Glen ; " you make life horribly hideous among 
 you. You women do not stick at a trifle. Let us 
 go back to your first premise ' This love they 
 talk about is a fable agreed upon.' You mean it 
 can't be seen, heard, felt, touched, or tasted." 
 
 " Well, at a venture, no," said Agatha. 
 
 " Life is perfectly satisfactory to you, then," said 
 Glen. " You get up in the morning ; you look out 
 on a day such as this : nothing animates and stirs 
 your heart which you do not quite define; no 
 promise of something almost within reach. There 
 is no sense of hollowness, of incompleteness in the 
 every-day task." 
 
 " Do you call that love ? " demanded Agatha. 
 " Of course there is in life a baffling sense of not 
 being able quite to get what one wants out of fine 
 weather, there is a sort of melancholy in the way 
 the shadows creep up the lawn in the afternoon." 
 
 " Now just define that melancholy," said Glen. 
 " Nature gives us that sensation of longing ; it is 
 not quite enough to us that the world is beautiful. 
 Perhaps the trouble is that she has been beautiful 
 to so many ; that she is so old ; that she knows all 
 the secrets of life and death, not only the life and
 
 154 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 death of generations, but that she means presently 
 to absorb us, that after a little interval we shall 
 be a part of her, 
 
 ' Rolled round in earth's diurnal course 
 With rocks and stones and trees.' 
 
 No, Nature draws us, she holds us, but she also 
 threatens. You don't feel a shudder at this mo 
 ment, Gatty ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " That is because we are together. We are con 
 scious of each other. We give each other solace 
 and hope. You are leaning on my arm ; you are 
 listening to me, and I am looking into your face ; 
 we are thinking and feeling." He broke off and 
 laughed. "What is it? Why do you wish to 
 take your hand away?" 
 
 " Because you " 
 
 "Because I am talking about the palpableness 
 of love?" 
 
 " I should say that you were proving the impal- 
 pableness of love." 
 
 " Quite the contrary. You have admitted that 
 Nature stirs, troubles, perplexes ; that we long to 
 clasp her, but cannot clasp what is so big, so vast, 
 so little responsive ; that what contents us is the 
 being together, the feeling that we can clasp hands ; 
 that we are not infinite, but finite ; that " 
 
 At this moment a voice called, 
 
 " Glen, I think you have been out long enough. 
 It is distinctly cooler." 
 
 " Yes, yes, dear Sue," Glen answered soothingly.
 
 IN THE GARDEN BY MOONLIGHT. 155 
 
 " We are coining directly." Nevertheless, he and 
 Agatha took the loop at the end of the path and 
 vanished into the shimmering half light among 
 the shrubberies. Fifteen minutes later, when they 
 neared the house, they were walking apart and were 
 both silent. Glen, however, seemed in high spirits, 
 while Agatha looked rather excited. 
 
 Other visitors had come in, and everybody was 
 eating frozen peaches. Haliburton and Glen ex 
 changed a glance, and then prepared to take 
 leave. Glen told everybody he had had a charm 
 ing evening, and in bidding Agatha, in particular, 
 good-night, thanked her for a really delightful 
 old-fashioned time. 
 
 " What were you and Agatha talking about ? " 
 Haliburton inquired on their way home. 
 
 " Love," said Glen. " Were you and Sue also ? " 
 
 " We were not," Haliburton replied succinctly ; 
 then, after a moment, he added, " We were talking 
 of subjects we both understand, the children's 
 hospital, and so forth." 
 
 "You would have found," said Glen, "that 
 her intuitions about love were more entertaining 
 than " - 
 
 " I don't go about flirting with every woman I 
 meet," Haliburton said, with some energy. 
 
 " I do," said Glen. " Then, don't you see, they 
 know what to expect."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 KITTY FINDS HER WINGS. 
 
 FOR once in her regular life Constance was late 
 to breakfast. 
 
 When she opened her eyes that morning, she 
 saw Kitty sitting cross-legged at the foot of her 
 bed, clasping a white dove against her breast. 
 
 Constance, startled, reached out her arms. 
 " Why, dearest child, is it so late ? " she asked. 
 
 " No, not late. I am up and dressed early," 
 Kitty replied. 
 
 Constance still flushed with sleep, in a rumple of 
 cambric and lace, lay back on her pillows, smiling, 
 yet with a stirring of the maternal instinct that 
 Kitty wished to tell her something, and had availed 
 herself of this sure opportunity. What could it 
 be ? Conjectures flashed through her mind. 
 
 "Well, dear little girl?" she said softly. 
 
 " But, really, mamma mia, I am no longer such 
 a very little girl." Kitty, as she said this, blushed 
 furiously. Constance had never before seen just 
 that sort of blush on Kitty's face. She knew the 
 shy blush, the blush of embarrassment, the blush 
 of sudden feeling. This was different. 
 
 "Oh, that was what I noticed unusual about
 
 KITTY FINDS HEE WINGS. 157 
 
 you. You have put your braids on your head. 
 But, however grown up you may be, I expect to 
 go on calling you my dear little girl all my life. 
 You cannot begin to know how precious the words 
 are to me." 
 
 " But I feel old, quite old." 
 
 " That is because you are so very young. The 
 really older you grow you will discover that being 
 grown up is only a fashion of speaking. Life re 
 mains always for most people a little experimental. 
 The supreme comfort is to feel that there is some 
 one close, near, strong, and sure, capable of judging 
 for us and, if need be, of protecting us." 
 
 Kitty gave a deep sigh. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose that is the reason why women 
 marry," she observed in a tone of peculiar satisfac 
 tion which roused expectation. Constance pon 
 dered the remark for a moment, speculating upon 
 the idea behind it, then said, 
 
 " I married your papa particularly for that rea 
 son. I knew that he was strong and wise, and I 
 had a horrible feeling of littleness in the big 
 world." 
 
 A little childish laugh fluttered from Kitty. 
 
 " Mamma, I should like to marry cousin Glen." 
 
 " Marry cousin Glen ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The words had struck Constance with a sharp 
 surprise, yet she at first believed that they were 
 the mere effervescence of childish mischief. 
 
 " What has put such an idea into your head ? "
 
 158 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 she asked. But as their eyes met, she saw that 
 Kitty's were shining ; that her cheeks were of shell- 
 pink brightness ; that there was a soft tremulous- 
 ness about her lips. 
 
 " I love him so dearly, mamma." 
 
 Constance looked at Kitty with a face that was 
 frightened rather than angry, bewildered, perhaps, 
 rather than frightened. Kitty was trembling from 
 head to foot, trembling so that the dove escaped 
 from her clasp, flew and alighted on the top of the 
 toilet-glass. 
 
 After remaining for a moment in doubt how to 
 answer, Constance said in a quiet way, 
 
 " Of course we all love Glen. He has the trick 
 of making everybody love him. He has not done 
 half or a quarter of what he ought to have done 
 with his rather unusual powers, but we forgive 
 him because he is just what he is, getting his 
 own sort of pleasure and satisfaction out of life, 
 but frankly confessing that he is a failure. I don't 
 suppose, dear, he ever said anything about marry 
 ing anybody." 
 
 " No, not exactly." 
 
 " How very droll of you to suggest such a thing ! " 
 
 " He says he is so lonely," Kitty burst out. 
 " He likes to have me with him. He knows I love 
 him dearly ; that I feel so sorry for him." 
 
 " I should have said Glen was the least lonely 
 man I know. He has a whimsical way of talking ; 
 makes much out of nothing simply in order to be 
 amusing. He is an endless reader, or give him a
 
 KITTY FINDS HER WINGS. 159 
 
 good photograph, etching, or engraving, and he is 
 happy for days. Just to lie on his back, and look 
 at the sky satisfies him. Then he has Mr. Hali- 
 burton, who is simply the kindest brother in the 
 world. And, although I have no right to say that 
 any one is happy or miserable against his or her 
 own statement of the case, I still consider Glen 
 very well suited with his life. So I advise you to 
 bestow your pity on somebody who needs it." Con 
 stance paused a moment, just long enough to give 
 weight to what she was about to add. " Above all, 
 do not fancy that he wishes to marry any one. A 
 wife would be very much in his way, or rather 
 quite out of his way." 
 
 There was a curious pain and perplexity in 
 Kitty's face, a questioning of her words that 
 hurt Constance. 
 
 " Mamma, I do not think you know him as well 
 as I know him," the young girl said, with decision ; 
 then, having said it, she cast down her eyes, but 
 her whole face retained an expression of quiet re 
 solution. 
 
 "Tell me all about it, dear," said Constance. 
 She was trying her wits at the puzzle. There 
 seemed to be some jugglery, some magic she did 
 not understand. She would have said that Kitty 
 had hardly ever been alone with Glen except on 
 the night of Haliburton's little dinner and two or 
 three similar occasions. By a few adroit questions 
 she elicited a full confidence. Glen had begun by 
 finding fault with Kitty ; he had laughed at her,
 
 160 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 criticised her ; he had a way of looking at her with 
 his eyes half closed, and seeming to deride her. 
 She had been shy, almost ashamed in his presence. 
 Finally, however, she had found that he always 
 watched for her, and seemed to wait ; and presently 
 she began to believe that, after all, he was rather 
 well pleased with her. Even when he had been 
 harsh, his tone and glance would drop into blissful 
 gentleness. And once he had even gone so far as 
 to say she was pretty, that she charmed him, at 
 least for a moment. He had asked her questions 
 about her reading ; they had once read a few pages 
 of the " Vita Nuova " together, just to brush up 
 his Italian, he said. He had made her play to him 
 both on the piano and the violin. Then, finally, a 
 little more had come out, and Kitty told of the 
 scene in Haliburton's garden, now ten days old. 
 
 " You say you kissed him ? " Constance ex 
 claimed. 
 
 Kitty, with a shy candor which still had some 
 thing of mischief in it, explained that it was just 
 an impulse ; that her touch was so gentle she did 
 not awake him. By degrees she told everything 
 that had passed between them at that interview. 
 
 No stroke of misfortune seemed at the moment 
 so inconceivable to Constance as that Kitty had 
 not been guarded from such an indiscretion. It 
 was horrible to picture the act of the kiss bestowed. 
 Still it was laughably absurd, and nothing could 
 have been more innocent. Constance was abso 
 lutely rational ; she meant to be a woman of the
 
 KITTY FINDS HER WINGS. 161 
 
 world, yet this confession gave her a feeling like a 
 physical chill. 
 
 " Was he asleep or awake when you kissed 
 him ? " she inquired. She quivered as she spoke 
 the word. 
 
 " I am sure he was asleep," faltered Kitty. 
 
 " Had he been awake he would have known that 
 it was a childish way of showing your sympathy, 
 your pity. It would be embarrassing to a man to be 
 kissed out of pity by anybody but the merest child." 
 
 " Oh, he thinks I am a child," Kitty murmured. 
 She smiled at the recollection. " I think he wants 
 me to be a child. He says he hates to think of my 
 growing up." 
 
 The dove began to circle restlessly round and 
 round the room, beating its wings and head against 
 the ceiling. Kitty flung the shutters of both win 
 dows wide open that it might fly forth. The long 
 shafts of sunlight, the call of birds, the morning 
 breeze that entered fluttering and set the curtains 
 and the toilet hangings swaying, seemed to be a 
 message from the outside world, a message that 
 was healthy and reviving. 
 
 " If he was not asleep he pretended to be asleep, 
 and said nothing about it," Kitty now confessed, a 
 little shamefacedly. 
 
 " I would not have my Kitty anything less than 
 warm-hearted. Only one stops before committing 
 absurdities, one holds one's self in check," Con 
 stance said quietly. 
 
 " But, mamma, I felt so sorry for him, I "
 
 162 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " These little matters have been arranged for us. 
 Ever since society began men and women have been 
 accumulating experience. It saves a great deal of 
 trouble. For a girl or a woman to make any sort of 
 an advance to a man robs her of charm. Do you 
 wish to eat the grapes that fall of their own ac 
 cord, or do you reach instead to get the highest 
 bunch with the untouched bloom upon it?" 
 
 Constance felt herself to be a poor duenna. 
 Even while she imposed her views with the as 
 sumption that they must necessarily be accepted as 
 the law, she was yet fully conscious that she was 
 addressing an alert mind, already half intoxicated 
 by a sense that it could feel for itself, judge for 
 itself. How not to destroy that half infancy of the 
 heart she had tried to guard ; how to make the case 
 clear without either magnifying a childish impulse 
 or seeming not to attach sufficient importance to it ? 
 
 The dove, after exhausting its strength in beat 
 ing against the cornice, dropped to rest upon the 
 back of a chair, espied the open window, and darted 
 forth ; Kitty, standing by the window, laughed with 
 pleasure at the swift-winged flight into the blue. 
 
 Constance, looking at the girl, was startled by a 
 sudden conviction that she was almost beautiful. 
 The poise of her figure as she stood leaning out was 
 so graceful, so elastic ; her complexion was so deli 
 cate ; her eyes and smile had gained somehow at once 
 so much softness besides their old dazzling charm. 
 Even her hands and wrists had rounded and be 
 come pretty. Had Glen actually amused himself
 
 KITTY FINDS HER WINGS. 163 
 
 by making love to Kitty ? No man sees beauty 
 unmoved, certainly not a poet like Glen, who 
 was always too sensitive, too emotional. Constance, 
 after having said to herself ever since Kitty was a 
 child that she really believed Kitty would be ac 
 tually pretty when she was grown up, realized that 
 the time had come when the bud of beauty was 
 ready to burst forth. Seen at this moment the 
 young girl was too sweet to be looked at coldly ; 
 an advance from her could not be less than seduc 
 tive to the head and heart of any man alive. 
 
 " Kitty ! " she called. Kitty turned and saw 
 her mother's arms wide open. She gave a little 
 gasp of feeling ; her whole expression was suddenly 
 transfigured into childish gratitude. 
 
 " Oh, mamma," she cried, " you do love me ? 
 You are not really shocked at me ? " She nestled 
 into the open arms. 
 
 " It was just because I have kept you a little girl 
 too long," Constance murmured presently. " I have 
 not said, ' You are a woman, and must hold your 
 self precious.' Of course when womanhood comes 
 it is something far better than childhood. But it 
 robs us of as much as it gives us. So I waited. I 
 have so loved to feel that I was all in all to you, 
 just as you are all in all to me." They clung to 
 each other, one wet cheek against the other wet 
 cheek. " I have said to myself," Constance went 
 on, " that by and by, years hence, some other fate 
 would come, something sweeter, something per 
 haps dearer ; but oh, something so much more dif-
 
 164 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 ficult. I wanted to put off the thought of it as 
 long as we might, never taking one step towards 
 that other destiny, letting it come all the way 
 towards you. ' Twenty-five is young enough for 
 my Kitty to think of marriage,' I said, I who 
 knew what it was to be hurried into marriage when 
 I was a mere child. I had no mother. My father 
 was ill ; he was glad to have me settled. He wanted 
 your uncle Richard to come back to the house 
 here and live. It was almost as if everybody longed 
 to be rid of me." 
 
 She paused and waited for a word from Kitty. 
 When no response came, not even a closer pres 
 sure, Constance drew back and looked into Kitty's 
 face. The eyes met hers unfalteringly. 
 
 " Speak, Kitty," she said, yearning for a full 
 surrender of every thought and struggling fancy in 
 the young girl's mind. 
 
 " But I have nothing to say." 
 
 " What are you thinking? " 
 
 " I do not seem to be thinking any one clear 
 thought." 
 
 " But you love me ? " 
 
 " Oh, I love you dearly." 
 
 " You accept what I say ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, mamma mia." 
 
 Constance, sounding the answer through, had an 
 instinct that there was some slight reservation. 
 
 " Promise me one thing, Kitty." 
 
 " I promise, I promise almost everything, 
 mamma."
 
 KITTY FINDS HER WINGS. 165 
 
 " Promise me that you will never, but oh, my 
 child I To have to tell my sweet, proud, high-bred 
 Kitty to lock up all her sweetness, to begrudge 
 a touch of her hand, to keep her lips sacred ! " 
 
 " I promise everything except not to love Glen, 
 mamma. I would rather die than not love him." 
 
 As she spoke her dark eyelashes lifted full on 
 Constance, then dropped. 
 
 " But you promise what I ask ? " 
 
 " I promise." 
 
 "And feel this, dear, that finally when you 
 are chosen and have the right to choose, you must 
 take some one to whom you look up, to whom 
 your soul strives upward, as a seed in the earth to 
 wards light and warmth." 
 
 " That is the way I feel towards cousin Glen." 
 
 " Cousin Glen is charming. Of course as he is 
 twenty years and more older than you are he be 
 longs to a different generation. I never came 
 across a man who is pleasanter as a friend than 
 Glen, as a cousin, as a dropper-in, an habitue, 
 he is perfect. He is clever, far cleverer than he 
 gives himself out to be. He is also a complete 
 man of the world, fastidious, critical, a man with 
 all his wits about him. His heart and lungs may 
 not be of the strongest, but his head is all there. 
 Nobody is so ready in conversation ; if he chooses 
 to be silent it is because something jars, offends 
 his taste. If he sometimes seems to give himself 
 away, it is because he enjoys ease, abandon, laisser- 
 aller. He commits himself to verbal absurdity,
 
 166 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 just as a different man likes to stretch himself out 
 and put his feet on the table. He has not only an 
 artistic but a scientific appreciation of the good 
 things of life. He likes everything of the best, 
 from a dinner to a woman's gown, manners, voice. 
 You cannot begin to think, dear, how nice his taste 
 is about women." 
 
 A sob startled her. Kitty's hand, clasped in 
 hers, had suddenly grown icy cold. 
 
 " Now I must dress," said Constance, first draw 
 ing her child closer, kissing her on her lips and 
 eyes, and then releasing her. 
 
 It was the signal of dismissal to Kitty, but, left 
 alone, Constance was besieged by doubts and fears. 
 Had she not said too much ? Had she not possibly 
 vitalized what had before had only the most 
 shadowy and problematical existence ? Her habit 
 of counteracting a tendency by a word, of hedg 
 ing off one danger by opening up some attractive 
 and safer vista, had led her to act with promptness ; 
 but had she not obeyed the quick dread of her 
 prophetic mind instead of proceeding on a cool, 
 rational plan ? 
 
 It humiliated her that all through this interview 
 with Kitty the thought of Mrs. Darrow had in 
 truded itself. Yesterday she had been ready to 
 smile at Mrs. Darrow's questioning whether Con 
 stance was bracing her daughter for life by a clear 
 fore-knowledge of her own needs, her own possibili 
 ties. This experience mocked Constance, as if it 
 were Mrs. Darrow's triumphant repartee.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE NEW-FOUND WINGS ARE CLIPPED. 
 
 SHE found Kitty at the table presently, making 
 coffee for her uncle, who had to go to town. Five 
 minutes later John Haliburton, followed by Glen- 
 denning Rennie, walked in through the open French 
 window. To see Glen entering in a Norfolk 
 jacket and knickerbockers of brown velveteen was 
 to Constance like coming out of a painful night 
 mare to find the object of the bad dream smiling at 
 her bedside. The two men had come to invite the 
 marchesa, Kitty, and Richard Amory, to go on a 
 picnic excursion to Governor's Seat. John was to 
 drive Ambury Darrow's four-in-hand, while Teddy 
 was to conduct his mother and her three guests in 
 their high drag. 
 
 Richard Amory pleaded business, and set off for 
 the station in the pony-carriage which was waiting. 
 Constance accepted Haliburton's invitation for her 
 self and Kitty. 
 
 " If I had asked you to go with me, should you 
 have accepted, Conny ? " Glen inquired, with child 
 like naivete. 
 
 " Do you mean if you held the reins ? " 
 
 " Of course."
 
 168 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I do not, perhaps, love my life more tha,n other 
 people love theirs, but I confess I should n't like to 
 put it, much less Kitty's, at the mercy of your 
 possibly not knowing your right hand from your 
 left." " 
 
 " Now that is just the difference between me and 
 John," said Glen, as if highly flattered. " He 
 looks responsible ; I don't look responsible. The 
 fact is, I cultivate a sort of devil-may-care irre 
 sponsibility simply because I don't wish to be bored. 
 But it does amuse me to see how everybody is' im 
 posed upon by John except me, that is : I know 
 him. A man is no hero to his chum, to the 
 fellow who has to steal down in the mellow mid 
 night and bring him up pies and bottles of beer. 
 I help him out all I can, inflate his balloon, act as if 
 I, too, believed in him. He has a way of looking 
 at times as if he were going to say something 
 uncommonly shrewd ; but I put it to you, Conny, 
 does he ever say it, unless, that is, I am by to give 
 him a hint ? " 
 
 " Oh, we know how clever you are, Glen, just 
 like one of those dogs who are too clever to learn 
 tricks." 
 
 " It needs a stupid, well-meaning dog like John 
 to sit on his tail and give his fore paw," said Glen. 
 "Everybody thinks what a husband and father 
 of a family he will make. I suppose he has 
 announced his approaching marriage to you ? " 
 
 " Come, Glen," said Haliburton. 
 
 " See him blush ! He need n't pretend he and
 
 THE NEW-FOUND WINGS ARE CLIPPED. 169 
 
 she did n't make it up together last night in the 
 garden. I saw her give him a flower. I saw it 
 with my own eyes. I give you my word, Conny, 
 that Gatty and I have been perfectly worn out, of 
 late, playing propriety, following John and Sue 
 about until I am ready to drop, and have to plead 
 invalidism, and tell them it is time for me to be in 
 my bed. Just keep an eye on them to-day. In 
 fact, I arranged this drive and picnic in order to 
 give them a chance. Sue says John is shy, needs 
 to be encouraged, brought forward." 
 
 " You see, marchesa," Haliburton put in, " Glen 
 owes Miss Darrow such a debt of gratitude for 
 nursing him that week he was ill, it disturbs his 
 conscience. He wants me to pay it." 
 
 "Nobody wants to marry me," said Glen, 
 " whereas every sensible woman wants to marry 
 John. He ought to be permitted to have twenty 
 wives." 
 
 " One will suffice, I thank you." 
 
 " All I am insisting on is that you shall begin, 
 at any rate, by marrying Sue. In fact, I consider 
 that matter settled. I will tell Ambury to fix the 
 day, and John shall be ready." Glen had an 
 nounced, on entering, that he had got well at a 
 gallop. He was apparently not only in fine health, 
 but in the highest possible 'spirits ; and, after 
 Haliburton had gone back to his own house to con 
 clude his preparations, Glen sat with Constance 
 and Kitty, drinking an extra cup of coffee to keep 
 them company as they ate their breakfast, all the
 
 170 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 time discussing what he called " John's marriage," 
 and speculating what Dilsey and his wife would 
 say and do, with a whim and audacity which made 
 Kitty's rather pale face light up into color, smiles, 
 and laughter. 
 
 So far as Constance had observed, and all her 
 faculties were alert, the only time Glen had 
 addressed Kitty particularly had been on his en 
 trance, when he had said, " Well, monkey, why 
 have you put your braids on top of your head ? " 
 
 Constance was nervously on guard, and yet 
 anxious to show no watchfulness. She tingled 
 still, as from a blow ; but little by little her fear 
 that there was something real to be dreaded died 
 away. If Kitty had at first dropped her eyelids 
 and looked pale and weary, by this time either she 
 had turned her thrill of mortification into a spur 
 or she had forgotten. At any rate Constance 
 rejoiced that she showed no wounded egoism, no 
 soreness of feeling, was evidently bent on not 
 behaving foolishly. The two set about packing a 
 hamper for the picnic, Glen calling for unheard- 
 of delicacies, pate de foie gras, potted shrimps, 
 stuffed anchovies, caviare, and the like. But when 
 they went upstairs finally to dress for the drive, 
 Kitty put her hands on her mother's shoulder, and 
 said, 
 
 " Should you rather have me stay at home, 
 mamma?" 
 
 " Stay at home ? All my pleasure in going is 
 that you will go."
 
 THE NEW-FOUND WINGS ABE CLIPPED. 171 
 
 " I thought perhaps " 
 
 "Do not think; that is, do not think anything 
 except that we have always done everything to 
 gether ; that we have no comfort except in doing 
 everything together. I care for nothing without 
 my Kitty ; I want my Kitty to care for nothing 
 without me." 
 
 They laughed as they clung to each other, with 
 eyes brimming over. But the hands Constance 
 pressed still quivered, and she felt that although 
 Kitty was in her arms, somehow she did not wholly 
 hold her, that what she said did not reach her. 
 
 She postponed all analysis of the situation, how 
 ever, saying to herself that she had had no time 
 really to think it over. This state of mind was 
 altogether new. Kitty's being in love with Glen 
 was not so much what troubled her as that the 
 young girl was thinking of love at all. She had 
 known that Kitty was ardent, inflammable in her 
 likes, spending passion on her love of books, of 
 music, of everything out of. doors. That she had 
 apprehended any needs or wishes beyond these lim 
 itations was a rebuke to Constance, since she be 
 lieved that a girl's unsolicited intensity of feeling 
 for a man could only be the result of not knowing 
 what else to do with her faculties and powers. 
 
 Then, again, she caught herself up as her mind 
 turned these thoughts over and over, and said that 
 she must wait, must watch, must consider. She told 
 Kitty to put on her white serge suit, and observed 
 with satisfaction that the young girl dressed at
 
 172 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 her usual scamper, without any of the delibera 
 tion of a woman who is conscious that she is pre 
 sently to meet a man before whom she is anxious to 
 appear at her best. She looked charming, never 
 theless. The white serge jacket, just touched with 
 black velvet at neck, belt, and wrist, became her ; 
 also the white sailor hat wound about with a scarf 
 of fleecy white. Constance said to herself there 
 was no commonplace vanity in her daughter as she 
 came up, asking : 
 
 " Shall I do, mamma ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, you will do," Constance returned, 
 looking her over. 
 
 Kitty's eyes dropped before hers. 
 
 "I am afraid, my child, you are tormenting 
 yourself a little." 
 
 " A little, mamma." 
 
 " Try to rise above it. Say to yourself, ' It is 
 so good to live in this world.' Life is too short 
 even to begin to feel how lovely and interesting it 
 all is. Especially life is too short for us to love and 
 do for those who are close and near to us. And 
 remember that there is one certain misery, that 
 is to think first of ourselves ; and that there is one 
 certain happiness, that is to live for others." 
 
 Kitty kept her eyes fixed on her mother as she 
 spoke, as if a conviction of the truth of her words 
 was penetrating her. Constance told her to go 
 down, and she would follow presently. When she 
 descended, she saw that Mrs. Edward Darrow's 
 equipage was on the drive below the terrace.
 
 THE NEW-FOUND WINGS ABE CLIPPED. 173 
 
 Teddy was talking with Kitty. He ran eagerly 
 towards Constance as she emerged from the house. 
 
 " Marchesa," he said, *"my mother begs the 
 favor that you will let Miss Kitty go with us. 
 The coach is rather full." 
 
 Constance looked at Kitty. 
 
 "May I not go with Mrs. Edward Darfow?" 
 the girl asked, with an animation almost equal to 
 Teddy's. 
 
 Constance was conscious not only of a fresh sur 
 prise, but of a sharp sense of disappointment ; still 
 there was nothing else to do except to acquiesce 
 in this arrangement. She stood watching Kitty 
 as, just touching Teddy's hand, she sprang to the 
 seat in front, meeting Mrs. Edward Darrow's greet 
 ings with a pleased, graceful glance of recognition. 
 Teddy followed ; the man at the head of the spir 
 ited horses jumped Tip behind, and they were off. 
 Again Constance suffered the return of the sen 
 sation that something interposed between her and 
 Kitty ; she missed the cheerful warmth of the 
 companionship that made her life. Still, she ex 
 ulted that Kitty looked so well, and confessed to 
 herself that there was a certain fittingness in the 
 way she contrasted with the strong, active young 
 man. Until to-day Constance had eagerly watched 
 for the woman in her child ; now she even more 
 longingly watched for the child looking out of the 
 woman. She was so taken possession of by these 
 new ideas, fancies, alarms, that she stood almost 
 forgetting where she was or what was happening.
 
 174 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 Somebody addressed her, and she turned. It was 
 Glen. 
 
 " So Kitty has gone 'off with that young don 
 key," he exclaimed, with intense dissatisfaction. 
 " Do you trust his driving ? " 
 
 " I trust nothing and nobody," Constance re 
 plied, with a half laugh. " I did not like it at all. 
 I dare say he knows how to drive ; he has driven 
 all his life. But I do not approve of Kitty's doing 
 anything without me. I feel like the hen with a 
 chick that turns out a duck and takes to water." 
 
 " So do I," said Glen. " I got up the picnic 
 because I felt like behaving as if I were ten years 
 old. I was inclined to climb trees and wade in 
 the brook. Everybody save Kitty is so old, or, 
 if not old, so wise. Oh, how I hate that floppy 
 tadpole of a boy." 
 
 Constance laughed and turned to Glen as he 
 spoke, and he was startled by the dewy brilliance 
 of her eyes and the bright spot of color burning on 
 each cheek. It now occurred to him that she real 
 ized something momentous in Kitty's going with 
 Teddy, perhaps detecting in him an aspirant for 
 Kitty's favor ; that she was startled, if not dis 
 pleased. He himself was conscious of missing all 
 that was to have given the expedition zest and 
 flavor. Here was Kitty, who had of late seemed 
 to have eyes and ears only for himself, changing 
 the whole order of things, upsetting all his wishes 
 and calculations. No wonder Glen was flatly dis 
 gusted, and although at this moment he was look-
 
 THE NEW-FOUND WINGS ARE CLIPPED. 175 
 
 ing at the marchesa, quite conscious of her beauty, 
 he was not thinking at all of the woman who had 
 been his first love, his enchantress, but only of 
 his own little Kitty who had deserted him for that 
 stolid athlete. 
 
 But Haliburton, with the three Misses Darrow 
 and their party, was waiting ; the four horses were 
 prancing, curveting, feeling the wind in their faces 
 and longing to be free. Constance was lifted to 
 the box. Glen clambered in beside Agatha, up 
 sprang the two grooms, and off they went. 
 
 " Are you quite well, marchesa ? " Haliburton 
 said, bending towards Constance. 
 
 " Oh, quite well, perhaps not talkative." 
 
 " You shall have silence, then." 
 
 " Oh, you shall talk." 
 
 " I never do talk, you know, and certainly 
 not to-day, when I see that something is troubling 
 you." 
 
 There had been a thunder-shower the afternoon 
 before, everything had been freshened by the rain, 
 and to-day the air seemed pure and clear, as if it 
 blew from a mountain top. Masses of the whitest, 
 fleeciest vapor passed from shape to shape, the 
 vagrant impulses of the wind keeping them in full 
 motion. On both sides of the road were pleasant 
 country places, with soft, level lawns, shrubberies, 
 and flower-beds in which were massed blossoms that 
 made a blaze of color. Alternating with these coun 
 try-seats were spaces of real sylvan woodland and 
 sunny pasture lands. They were gaining higher
 
 176 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 and higher views as they went on, and could see far 
 ther and farther reaches of the great billowy land 
 scape rolling away to the horizon, crested here and 
 there with forest or make-believe castellated and 
 battlemented tower. The post of honor had been 
 yielded to the marchesa, but Miss Darrow, sitting 
 just behind her, was not unobservant of the very in 
 different acknowledgment made by the chief guest 
 of the civility paid her. Constance sat with the 
 fine graciousness which always characterized her ; 
 she looked well, if not at her best, in her walking- 
 hat with plumes and silk dust-cloak ; but she 
 made not the slightest effort to entertain Halibur- 
 ton, although from time to time he glanced towards 
 her, then, seeing only her profile, looked away. 
 
 Sue's instincts were all awake : John was driving 
 her father's horses ; he was doing his best ; that 
 he should have no reward pained her. To see 
 any possible breach was for Miss Darrow to be 
 impelled to fling herself in ; accordingly she ad 
 dressed herself to the task which the marchesa 
 slighted, not to say shirked. Leaning forward she 
 began to talk, and talked, as she always talked, 
 fluently and well. She was as various as are the 
 scraps of information which are put under the 
 general head of " Things wise and otherwise " in 
 a newspaper column. Thus Haliburton, for whom 
 Constance's mood possessed the charm and mys 
 tery of a night with stars shining, found his ears 
 assailed by Miss Darrow's views on the subject of 
 whether sugar-beet raising would be likely to pay ;
 
 THE NEW-FOUND WINGS AEE CLIPPED. 177 
 
 how the rural population could best be kept con 
 tented in the country, and other modern problems. 
 Constance presently grew interested. It was in 
 fact so little her habit to feel there were no social 
 demands upon her, it had seemed like the veriest 
 self-indulgence to sit quiet, looking at the land 
 scape, not thinking, only feeling. Nothing had 
 happened to warrant this alarm, this passionate 
 surprise that fate was overtaking her. She made 
 an effort to regain her ordinary poise, and soon 
 was quite her usual self. 
 
 Twice Teddy's drag allowed the coach to pass it 
 so that the occupants could exchange greetings. 
 Glen each time devoted himself to blowing the 
 horn with a triumphant air. 
 
 "How well Kitty looks to-day," Sue Darrow 
 said, addressing Constance. " Quite the conven 
 tional young lady." 
 
 " Like a little .blue-blooded grande dame" said 
 Gatty. 
 
 "The black and white of her dress seems to 
 throw her into high relief," said Millicent. 
 
 " And all that," said Glen, with intense disgust, 
 " is being wasted on Teddy Darrow." 
 
 " She is not thrown away on Teddy," observed 
 Haliburton. 
 
 " I was thinking how well she and Teddy were 
 contrasted," said Agatha. 
 
 " You mean she is cut like an intaglio in a gem ; 
 he is unhewn rough stone ! " Glen observed. 
 
 " Teddy may be rough-hewn, but he will come 
 out all right," Agatha returned.
 
 178 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Teddy is not dull ; Teddy is rather clever in his 
 way," Sue affirmed, and her sisters followed suit. 
 
 " Teddy is so honest, so true, so single-hearted." 
 
 " Poppa says he knows nobody more likely to 
 succeed in life than Teddy." 
 
 " Oh, I grant all that," said Glen, " and also 
 that Teddy is a capital youngster, full of ability, 
 good sense, and heart. The only thing is, I hate 
 youngsters treading on our toes. I should like to 
 proclaim a massacre of the innocents." 
 
 Teddy, meanwhile, quite unwitting of Glen's 
 jealousy, was conscious of an intoxication, at 
 least something had gone to his head. He liked 
 the day which maintained its freshness ; he enjoyed 
 the breeze cooler than the general air. His horses 
 pulled at their bits, and, superadded to the satisfac 
 tion in having them perfectly under his control, 
 was the thrill of having Kitty for the first time 
 actually within reach, to be looked at, studied, 
 talked to. 
 
 Usually Kitty was so elusive she suggested a 
 winged creature, a bird, a butterfly, sometimes 
 something perilously endowed with a sting. To 
 day the puzzling, comfortless, but fascinating crea 
 ture he had so often followed up in vain was more 
 accessible. Her well-gloved little hands lay folded 
 in her lap ; her gaze was fixed on the horizon. 
 When they passed and repassed the coach, she 
 exchanged a smile with her mother, but looked at 
 no one else. Yet in spite of her quietude she was 
 exquisitely polite, replying to everybody's civil
 
 THE NEW-FOUND WINGS AEE CLIPPED. 179 
 
 speeches with her characteristic touch of foreign 
 warmth and grace. There was always just enough 
 of this suggestion of a different breeding, a differ 
 ent race in Kitty to compel the admiration of the 
 matter-of-fact, rather wooden Teddy ; a simpler 
 elegance than that of others, a trifle more of ges 
 ture, of accentuation of speech. He felt, too, rather 
 than saw, that in her nature there was more color 
 than in his mother's, for example, a promise that 
 she would ultimately develop into all that was 
 most attractive. 
 
 Nevertheless, Teddy saw to-day, with some alarm 
 mixed with his admiration, that the young lady was 
 maturing rapidly. He was not ready to have her 
 quite grown up yet. He wished to have her halt 
 just on the threshold of womanhood. His own 
 dependence and limitations were impressed not 
 only upon his own consciousness, but upon that of 
 others, by the presence of- Mrs. Edward Darrow 
 a large, serene woman, who liked subservience, 
 could not always command it, so enforced it when 
 it was possible. She adored her son, yet she gov 
 erned him and intended to govern him. She had 
 assented when Teddy had begged her to take Kitty 
 to-day. The girl's air of distinction and vivid 
 look were not lost upon Mrs. Edward Darrow. 
 She and the marchesa were exactly of the^ same 
 age. She had been Constance Amory's brides 
 maid when she married her cousin Philip twenty- 
 two years before, and ten days later she herself 
 had become the bride of Edward Darrow. Now
 
 180 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 they were both widows, and she was more than a 
 little curious about the marchesa, wondering at her 
 freshness, her versatility, her apparent lightness 
 of heart as well as brightness of mind. Experi 
 ence seemed to have braced and freshened Con 
 stance, while Mrs. Edward Darrow, despite an 
 unlimited income, two regular establishments, be 
 sides a seaside cottage, frequent trips to Europe, 
 and seasons in London, had found life rather a 
 meaningless affair, meeting everywhere the same 
 dullness and the heavy conviction that she failed in 
 impressiveness. She had been in the habit of 
 thinking that if poor Edward had only lived, all 
 would have been so different ; but here was Con 
 stance Bertini, not only a widow but a poor widow, 
 who had never in her life had more than three 
 thousand a year ; yet everybody seemed to be so 
 tremendously struck by her. Perhaps Kitty might 
 inherit some of her mother's distinction and be 
 come an imposing wife for Teddy. 
 
 However, Teddy was still a boy ; he was her 
 son ; he had nothing but what she chose to allow 
 him ; he was now driving her horses. In spite of 
 her smooth contours and large serenity, Mrs. Ed 
 ward Darrow was the victim of nervous terrors 
 and was constantly saying, 
 
 " Teddy, Teddy, slow up a little." 
 
 " Now, Teddy, do not take that turn as sharply 
 as you did the last." 
 
 " Teddy, don't forget that Wellington will not 
 take the whip. Give Bliicher the least touch."
 
 THE NEW-FOUND WINGS ARE CLIPPED. 181 
 
 The pair in front behaved with compact simpli 
 city. Teddy made an occasional remark, to which 
 Kitty responded by " Yes '* or " No." It had been 
 a relief to accept the invitation to join the Edward 
 Darrows. When Glen had come in at breakfast, 
 her heart began to beat so fast, she was so filled 
 with something half pain, half joyful emotion, that 
 she had hardly permitted herself to look up. If 
 she had met his glance and smile she was sure she 
 must have laughed or cried. As it was, nobody 
 had observed that her hands trembled, that her 
 lips fell apart, that she almost uttered a gasp. So, 
 having suffered, it was something not to renew the 
 ordeal. Her mother's seriousness had given her a 
 vague alarm. She had no thought of playing 
 a coquettish trick by coming with Teddy. She 
 was so utterly inexperienced, it was impossible for 
 her to understand clearly just in what she was at 
 fault. She had promised her mother something ; 
 she hardly knew what it was. She had not pro 
 mised not to go on loving Glen, indeed the mar- 
 chesa had granted that everybody loved cousin 
 Glen. One would need to be eighteen, to have 
 taken the outside things of life with a joyful super 
 ficiality of pleasure, to have been kept from over- 
 inquisitive questionings, from morbid introspec 
 tion, by constant association with a mind which 
 guided and strengthened ; yet suddenly to have had 
 a hint of what life is and to have entered into the 
 new idea with an enthusiasm of feeling, an ardor of 
 curiosity, in order to know what Kitty's impulse
 
 182 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTEE. 
 
 had been. She had fallen under the charm of 
 Glen's easy good looks. He had of late sought her 
 more and more when he* was in a light-hearted state 
 of mind, and would tell her such absurd adventures 
 he had passed through, such amusing made-up 
 stories, they would both laugh irresistibly. Some 
 times even when he talked seriously it had been 
 enough to watch the motion of his lips, the look 
 of his eyes ; she had smiled with delight. It was 
 in Kitty's nature always to do something ; not to 
 be content to sit still and acquiesce with folded 
 hands. When Glen had confessed to her that he 
 was unhappy, it hacl seemed to her a very natural 
 and inevitable thing that she should marry him 
 and make him happy. 
 
 However, her mother had given her an inkling 
 of how wildly out of reason her impulse was. Her 
 mood, at present, was timid and irresolute. It was 
 a cause for gratitude that Glen knew nothing 
 about her talk with her mother. The important 
 thing was so to behave that he should never know 
 anything about it. Once or twice a secret sense 
 that he liked her liked her quite as much as 
 she liked him had passed through her like an 
 electric thrill. But what she felt to-day was that 
 she wished not to see him, at least not to see 
 him and be obliged to meet his glances, his ques 
 tionings. For he would question her if he saw 
 the least change in her ; of that she was certain. 
 He noticed everything her hair, her eyes, her 
 feet, her frock ; he laughed at everything he could,
 
 THE NEW-FOUND WINGS ABE CLIPPED. 183 
 
 but behind that laugh was an interest in the 
 slightest thing that belonged to her. Once she 
 had scratched her hand, and it bled slightly ; she 
 herself had hardly noticed it, she was always 
 scratching her hand. But the moment she passed 
 through the hall where he was sitting, as if he had 
 eyes in the back of his head, he cried out, 
 
 " Kitty, how did you hurt your hand ? Come 
 here." 
 
 So now, if he were to be within reach of her 
 he would say, " Kitty, what has come over you?" 
 and it would all have to be told. His very glance 
 drew from her all he wished to know. 
 
 She had suffered acutely ; but although when 
 one is eighteen one suffers acutely, one experiences 
 promptly the reaction from suffering. Dreams, 
 thoughts, aspirations, prayers, each developed out 
 of a single sensation, and, bringing its own inter 
 pretation of her need, had lifted up her soul into 
 a sort of exaltation. Her mother's smile was 
 like an inspiration. It was only now, when she 
 had separated herself for an hour from her mother, 
 that she comprehended how she could miss her, 
 feel the need of her. Glen suddenly began to 
 seem afar off. Most probably it was as the mar- 
 chesa had said, she had shocked, even bored 
 him. What did it matter ? What did anything 
 matter? The depth and wonder of the blue of 
 the sky set off by the soft fleecy clouds driven like 
 a flock of sheep before the wind, the swift motion, 
 the rush of the delicious air, the easy and dexterous
 
 184 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 way Teddy managed his horses, all helped to give 
 her a new equilibrium of feeling. Even the recol 
 lection that she had, as it were, asserted her 
 strength and independence was a stimulus. It was 
 no longer of herself or her own wishes of which she 
 was thinking, but of the beauty of the fields of 
 corn hanging out their pennants in the sunlight ; 
 of the reaping-machine, with sickles revolving like 
 the sails of a windmill as they cut the wheat on 
 the far hillside, flashing in the sun as they tossed 
 the golden swaths, of the way the patient cattle 
 sought the shade. All these glimpses into the real 
 uses and activities of every-day life helped her to 
 forget her excitement of feeling. She grew in 
 terested. It was no longer in her power to keep 
 silence. She remembered the fields of wheat far 
 away in Tuscany, divided and subdivided, 
 and the gleam of the scarlet poppies through the 
 little forest of green blades of grain. She found 
 Teddy a most interested listener as she described 
 the lives her dear old peasants led. They accom 
 plished so much with so little that she was amazed 
 at the profusion, the amplitude, of everything here. 
 She told him about the father and mother of their 
 old servant Beppo, who lived on a rocky terrace, 
 and how they carried up earth in hottes to fill all 
 the interstices, and how they planted, in the droll 
 est little out-of-the-way places, olives, figs, mul 
 berries, and the wheat out of which, in winter, the 
 women plaited beautiful straw. 
 
 Teddy thought nothing had ever been so beau-
 
 THE NEW-FOUND WINGS ABE CLIPPED. 185 
 
 
 
 tiful and vivid as Kitty's face while she talked. 
 A young fellow's love is not of the eloquent sort ; 
 but in telling her that he should like to show her 
 some of the great fields of grain in the West and 
 Southwest, he seemed to find a way of expressing 
 some of the rapture with which she filled him. 
 
 The four-in-hand, after finally passing Teddy's 
 single pair, had beaten in the race by twenty min 
 utes. When Kitty came in sight of the old colonial 
 place where they were to picnic, Glen Rennie was 
 standing with her mother on the top of the steps, 
 waiting. Kitty looked at Glen one moment, and 
 knew that all her thoughts and feelings during the 
 drive were nothing nothing at all. The smile 
 he gave her penetrated and illumined her whole 
 consciousness ; yet, with a painful sensation, she 
 looked away and met her mother's anxious glance. 
 As Constance saw her child approach, she involun 
 tarily reached out her arm. Teddy drew up the 
 horses sharply at the same moment, and, almost 
 without touching any support, Kitty flew down from 
 her perch. She experienced such comfort in her 
 mother's smile and in her embrace, she appeared 
 to forget even that Glen stood looking at her and 
 waiting to speak to her. The little separation 
 seemed to have set everything to rights between 
 Kitty and the marchesa. The latter permitted, 
 rather than accepted, the caresses so ardently 
 lavished, laughing at the sort of fury with which 
 they were bestowed ; and when Kitty drew her 
 away, trying with all the little arts she knew to
 
 186 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 make her mother look at her and speak to her, 
 Constance's heart swelled with pride and pleasure. 
 She, too, forgot Gleii Rennie, who, with a shrug 
 at his own insignificance, offered his arm to Mrs. 
 Edward Darrow, who asked him to show her the 
 house. Millicent Darrow was marshaling the party ; 
 she had prepared a lecture on the historical aspects 
 of the old estate called Governor's Seat. The 
 dwelling was of stone, with a massive penthouse 
 in front, and the ample doorway opened into a wide 
 hall and great square rooms with wonderful fire 
 places. But the house itself was rather musty with 
 its antiquity. The garden, with its box-bordered 
 paths, and the long avenues of trees were better 
 worth enjoying on this summer's day.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE SECRET OF THE WATERFALL. 
 
 " WHEN we have licked the platters quite clean," 
 Glen said in Kitty's ear, as they were finishing 
 luncheon, " I am going to take you down to the 
 waterfall." 
 
 Kitty blushed and dropped her eyes. 
 
 " I think I promised to go with Teddy," she said 
 under her breath. 
 
 Glen making no answer, Kitty presently lifted 
 her glance. As her eyes met Glen's, her heart 
 seeme^ to bound into her throat and almost choked 
 her. 
 
 " You promised to go with Teddy ? " he said. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Glen drew back and presently had the satisfac 
 tion of seeing Kitty walk down the old garden 
 with the good-looking youngster. They were fol 
 lowed by the marchesa and John Haliburton. 
 
 " Will you join the procession ? " Glen said 
 solemnly, advancing toward Agatha Darrow. 
 
 Kitty had begged her mother to come with her, 
 and the marchesa herself had suggested to Hali 
 burton that he should join them. He was amazed 
 at the change in Constance. He had felt sure
 
 188 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 earlier in the day that something was troubling her 
 very much. At this moment, as they followed 
 Kitty and Teddy, the marchesa seemed dazzlingly 
 happy. He could not keep his gaze from her ; 
 the light of her eyes passed through him ; the idea 
 of her beauty possessed him. 
 
 " I see," she said, meeting his smile, " that you 
 perceive my barometer has gone up." 
 
 " Something was troubling you this morning. 
 I wished so much that I could help you." 
 
 "You always do help me, I think." 
 
 " I would die for you, Constance." Haliburton 
 said this bending towards her, as he stood waiting 
 for her to go through the wicket which separated 
 the garden from a sort of glen that led to the 
 ravine. His low voice just reached her ear ; no 
 thing in his manner betrayed him to the two who 
 went before or the two who followed ; not even 
 Constance was troubled by the overmastering fervor 
 of his speech. What she did experience was a 
 sure sense of his goodness and of his strength. 
 
 " This was not a real trouble. It has passed, or 
 almost passed," she answered. " I was startled. I 
 had somehow to get my view of things into a new 
 focus." 
 
 Haliburton had a sudden dreadful thought. He 
 was not an imaginative man, but at this fancy he 
 grew pale. 
 
 " You are not about to promise to marry again ? " 
 he exclaimed, with such evident perturbation that 
 she laughed.
 
 THE SECRET OF THE WATERFALL. 189 
 
 " Why, my dear friend," she rejoined playfully, 
 " were you not urging something of the sort a little 
 while ago ? " 
 
 "You do not seem to think that a man some 
 times feels it his duty " 
 
 She broke off his speech with a little gesture. 
 
 " That sort of thing is quite over for me," she 
 said, and, as their eyes met again, she saw that 
 Haliburton's pallor was changed to a crimson flush. 
 " My trouble was something quite different," she 
 went on. " You must see that I am a woman of 
 just one idea. That idea is eighteen years old." 
 
 " It is Kitty." 
 
 " Nothing else." She began talking about Kitty, 
 telling stories of her babyhood, her early child 
 hood. Once when the little girl was in her third 
 year, Constance had left her at home, and set out 
 with her husband for a week's visit. She wa,s 
 recalled at the end of the second day ; Kitty had 
 not eaten or slept since she went away ; she was 
 devoured by a fever of fretfulness and restlessness. 
 Constance had suffered almost as much as she, and 
 said then that she and Kitty must never be parted. 
 
 She went on eagerly, and it seemed to Halibur- 
 ton, as he listened, that Constance was laying bare 
 the secret of her heart ; that she was confessing she 
 had found only in her child at least in any 
 satisfying measure what she had longed for all 
 her life. In describing her happiness in Kitty, she 
 made it clear to his perceptions that after missing 
 the expected happiness of her married life, after
 
 190 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 accepting the fact that actual happiness is not a 
 state to be realized by mortals, she had found in 
 motherhood not only the old magical exhilaration of 
 her girlish dreams, but her first genuine satisfying 
 experience. Haliburton had told himself before 
 now that Constance's married life had not been all 
 it might have been, but then it was like a lover to 
 be jealous of the two men whose name she had 
 borne. Her tone, in speaking of Bertini, was al 
 ways of a calm and meditative sweetness. As to 
 Philip Amory, he was, when he died, a mere clever 
 boy, full of artistic promise. Neither had developed 
 in Constance the passion of her life. That had 
 come with Kitty. As her face lighted up while 
 making these confidences, Haliburton was reminded 
 of the many pictures which the old masters 
 endlessly idealizing and refining upon the idea of 
 maternal rapture painted of the mother bending 
 over the Holy Child, with an ecstatic sense of joy 
 in her wonder and of wonder in her joy, as she 
 adores the heavenly gift bestowed upon her a 
 mere mortal woman. The unspeakable bliss of in 
 timate possession, the worship of the flesh, the 
 thrill of the touch of those little limbs and feet and 
 hands and cheeks, the beauty of the little dear face, 
 and, along with this yearning tenderness, the sense 
 of self-dedication. 
 
 Yet Haliburton said to himself that although 
 Kitty had been to Constance a divine boon, still she 
 had been only a compensation. Constance had not 
 only not been herself really in love, but no man had
 
 THE SECRET OF THE WATERFALL. 191 
 
 loved her as he, Haliburton, could love her. Yet 
 while he said this to himself, he knew that as long 
 as Constance had Kitty she would need, or think 
 she needed, nothing else. But now, looking at 
 Kitty walking on into youth's fairyland, led by 
 Teddy, it seemed to him quite unlikely that Con 
 stance would always have Kitty. 
 
 A long avenue of trees began beyond the garden, 
 ending where a descent of stone steps led down 
 into the ravine, where the branches and foliage made 
 a mass of shade which only here and there afforded 
 an opening for a shaft of sunlight to pierce through, 
 every flash of sunlight on the moss and creepers 
 looking like a yellow butterfly. 
 
 At the end of the steps began a toilsome path 
 along the side of a brook, whose bed was strewn 
 with boulders green with moss, and offering a hold 
 for ferns and creepers to fasten themselves and de 
 velop under the green twilight into marvelous deli 
 cacy. Kitty, leading the way, flitted from stone 
 to stone with the sure-footed instinct of a wild 
 creature. The jungle grew more and more dense 
 on the right hand ; on the left the clear amber 
 brook flowed within narrowing banks with little 
 lisps and gurgles and often a little song of its 
 own. 
 
 Every other moment Kitty looked back over her 
 shoulder and laughed. The broken lights, the 
 intense shadows, the frail white flowers hanging out 
 of tender, swaying arabesques of green, the feeling 
 that she was going towards something more and more
 
 192 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 mysterious, she knew not what, kept her excited. 
 Teddy was just behind her. What he saw was, 
 not the brook, or the ferns and creepers, but the 
 vivid fire of her eyes, the vermilion of her lips. 
 
 " Kitty ! " called Constance, " don't you think 
 we have gone far enough ? " 
 
 " But we started to go to the waterfall, mamma. 
 It cannot be very far ahead. I hear it." 
 
 " The rocks are so slippery, I fear you will come 
 to grief." 
 
 " Oh, no, mamma mia, I shall not fall." 
 
 " I shall fall," said Constance. " I am not a 
 chamois. I will sit down and wait here." She 
 suited her action to the word. 
 
 Glen and Agatha, who were engaged in a lively 
 conversation, came up presently, and found the 
 marchesa and Haliburton, the former established 
 on top of a rock, around whose base the brook made 
 a sharp bend, and Haliburton leaning against the 
 side of it. Constance explained that she had given 
 out, and that she trusted to them to look after 
 Kitty. 
 
 Glen listened to her charge with apparent in 
 difference, and the two went on ; they were dis 
 cussing the difference between the impressionist 
 and the plein air schools. Constance's eyes fol 
 lowed Glen, and Haliburton noticed that she kept 
 her glance on him as long as he was in sight. 
 
 " Glen looks young and handsome in that brown 
 velveteen," he said. 
 
 " Decidedly too young and handsome," said Con-
 
 THE SECRET OF THE WATERFALL. 193 
 
 stance discontentedly. " When a man is thirty- 
 eight or thirty-nine years old he ought to show it." 
 However, as she spoke she laughed. 
 
 " It is forty-five that begins to tell on men, and 
 women, too," said Haliburton. " Until then they 
 may be young." 
 
 " I am not forty-five, but I am not young." 
 
 " You are eternally young, Constance." 
 
 As Haliburton said this, he was disconcerted to 
 see a face peering round the rock at him. 
 
 " Have n't you gone to the waterfall ? " inquired 
 Sue Darrow, emerging from a thicket of elders and 
 bracken. She was alone. She said she too had 
 wished to behold the cascade, and finding no one 
 to join her had been following in their steps. She 
 had lost her way. She had stepped knee-deep in 
 the pool. She had quite spoiled her fresh pique 
 frock, but she was bent on gaining the goal of her 
 enterprise. She was not easily beaten, she de 
 clared with a laugh. Poor Sue ! 
 
 Haliburton turned to Constance on the instant. 
 
 " Marchesa," he said, " you will not mind sitting 
 here alone a little while. I should like to go on 
 with Miss Darrow and help her to find the water 
 fall, if you do not object." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, go," said Constance. " I shall 
 be very comfortable here. I like it of all things." 
 
 Constance bestowed a glance and a thought on 
 the two as they took their course along the edge of 
 the brook before they were swallowed up in the 
 dense greenery. She liked Haliburton for having
 
 194 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 thought of going on with Sue ; there was nothing 
 about Haliburton she did not like. He was one 
 of those satisfactory people who become, almost 
 before we know it, intimate, dear, necessary, 
 above all, necessary. Her mind reverted to the 
 problem of the morning. If Haliburton had stayed 
 here quietly with her it was possible oh, no, it 
 was impossible ! She could not have given Kitty's 
 secret away to the enemy, as it were ; for in so 
 many things Haliburton and Glen were one, and 
 Glen was the enemy. 
 
 Seated here, she had the feeling, the luxurious 
 leisure, of absolute solitude. What was that bird 
 note ? A thrush ? No, the bird that glided out of 
 the thicket on noiseless wing, and dipped into the 
 stream as it flew over, had a sad-colored plumage. 
 As if by contrast, a blue-jay flashed across the 
 opening between water and sky. It was almost 
 startling to realize that there must be many living 
 creatures in this solitude. She could detect now, 
 over and beyond the rustle of the trees, the shallow 
 wash and murmur of the stream, the monotonous 
 sound of the waterfall. She wondered dreamily if 
 Kitty were enjoying her talk and walk with Teddy. 
 
 " Henceforth my role is to be that of chaperon," 
 Constance said to herself. She smiled at the 
 thought of her having shirked it at this moment. 
 She had pitied ballroom chaperons, but what a 
 formidable task to chaperon a girl who uses her 
 gazelle - like feet, not on a waxed floor, but on 
 damp, slippery stones.
 
 THE SECRET OF THE WATERFALL. 195 
 
 But who, Constance said to herself, would have 
 supposed that chaperonage would be needed in this 
 quiet coterie of cousins ? It suddenly occurred to 
 her mind that she had married one of these cousins ; 
 that Philip Amory had offered himself to her if 
 the phrase were not too formal on a picnic, when 
 they were overtaken by a thunder-storm and had 
 to seek shelter in a barn full of hay. She smiled 
 a little and lost herself in thought, as, bending for 
 ward, she looked at some wonderfully burnished 
 gold buttercups which were blossoming out of the 
 cleft of the rock. 
 
 She was roused from her reverie by the sound of 
 voices. The party was returning. She stood up, 
 eagerly awaiting the first glimpse of Kitty. It 
 was strange what a crashing of twigs and tramp 
 ling of the underbrush seemed to be necessary for 
 the progress. What Constance was looking for 
 was the white scarf on Kitty's hat when the girl 
 came flying back, as she had gone, at an Atalanta- 
 like pace. On the contrary, Glen first appeared, 
 but only as a pioneer ; he seemed to be clearing 
 away the vines which tangled about the path, as 
 if making a road for what ? Was that Teddy 
 Darrow following with something in his arms ? 
 Something ? It was Kitty's helpless figure. Kitty, 
 hatless, her hair falling about her. Oh, what had 
 happened ? 
 
 " Do not worry, marchesa," Glen shouted, the 
 moment he came in sight of Constance. " Kitty 
 tumbled into the water and got wet."
 
 196 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 Nevertheless, there seemed to be something be 
 yond what this explanation accounted for. Teddy's 
 pale face seemed full of horror ; he drew deep 
 breaths pantingly. As he approached Constance, 
 who stood suffering and dreading everything, it 
 seemed as if his strength had given way. 
 
 " Oh, marchesa," he faltered. " I 'm afraid 
 I 've killed her." 
 
 This is what had happened. Kitty had gone on 
 with flying feet, her spirits rising with a joyous 
 sense of discovery, as every moment the dash of 
 the waterfall sounded nearer and nearer. Ah, 
 there it was ! 
 
 " Do you see it ? " she cried to Teddy. " It is 
 like a white veil, it swings to and fro." 
 
 Teddy had the lungs and breath of a trained 
 athlete ; he had been able to keep up with her, 
 that is, to maintain just the right distance behind 
 her, but what she did with the poise of a bird, 
 he did solidly and stolidly. He could not admire 
 her enough ; nothing so pretty as her bent, flying 
 figure, he thought, had ever before been seen, 
 while anything so provocative as her occasional 
 challenging glance over her shoulder, and her rip 
 ple of childish laughter, he had never before felt. 
 
 The fall was nothing wonderful in itself ; no 
 thing but the leap of a small brook over the low 
 rampart of rocks, and now the heats of summer 
 had reduced it to a thread ; it fell gracefully, 
 changing to mist on its way, so that it added little
 
 THE SECRET OF THE WATERFALL. 197 
 
 to the pool below, which came from a spring be 
 neath the rocks. But the delicate feathers of the 
 ferns on every side and the occasional little waxen 
 blossoms of the pipsissewa made an exquisite set 
 ting. Kitty found free expression of her delight 
 in unstinted measure, looking up into the face of 
 the young man who had now gained her side. 
 
 " I felt like the wind as I rushed on," said Kitty. 
 " It was so exciting. I knew if I once stopped to 
 take breath, I should lose my balance, and if I had 
 looked at the stones I should not have known how 
 to pick my way." 
 
 This beautiful flushed face raised to his, the soft, 
 brilliant eyes, the parted lips, were too near, too 
 alluring. Then, besides, Teddy had already a 
 whole world of passion for the girl pent up in 
 his heart, and knew not how to utter it. Yet 
 somehow he must reach her if not by words, by 
 some swift, sure arrow of meaning that should 
 fix itself in her heart. Accordingly he bent and 
 almost touched his lips to hers. Not quite. If 
 his action was like the flash of a bird to its prey, 
 hers was the dart of the wild creature bent on self- 
 preservation. They had been standing together at 
 the foot of the cascade. With an agile bound she 
 cleared the intervening space and alighted on an 
 uneven platform of rock which made a sort of 
 island in the green pool, raised here and there 
 above the water, but slippery with some fine, wet, 
 mossy growth. 
 
 " Why, Kitty," said Teddy, " do not be afraid 
 of me."
 
 198 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I am not afraid of you," retorted Kitty, " but 
 please not to come so near me again." 
 
 "But, Kitty," Teddy expostulated, "I'm aw 
 fully in love with you. I want to tell you that." 
 Picking his way carefully on the slippery stones, 
 he was approaching her. 
 
 " Do not come near me," she called warningly. 
 
 " Oh, Kitty, do not be so cruel," said Teddy. 
 "I only want to speak to you one moment. I 
 know I 'm young, but one grows older, and by a 
 year from now I shall be through college. Why 
 could n't we be engaged ? " 
 
 " Engaged ? " repeated Kitty incredulously. 
 The word reaching her ear with such startling un 
 expectedness, she turned and gazed at the young 
 fellow blankly. " I engaged to you ! " 
 
 Teddy did not quite understand the precise de 
 gree of surprise and horror behind the words. 
 By this time he had reached her side, his arms 
 were extended to clasp her, when, with a sharp cry 
 she sprang away from him, slipped on the stones 
 and fell into the pool. 
 
 " I told you not to come near me," she said, look 
 ing up from the water at him as he reached fran 
 tically towards her. " Go away. I will not let 
 you touch me. I will drown first." She clutched 
 at the stones, tried to regain a footing ; then, with 
 a gurgling half cry, succumbed and fainted dead 
 away. She had sprained her ankle. To lift her 
 in his arms, drag her out of the water and pre 
 pare to carry her back, was a moment's work. He
 
 THE SECRET OF THE WATERFALL. 199 
 
 had not gone ten paces before he met Glendenning 
 Rennie' and Agatha Darrow. 
 
 Kitty had recovered her consciousness by the 
 time Teddy had deposited her at her mother's feet, 
 and, when she recognized her mother's familiar 
 touch rubbing her chilly hands, she opened her 
 dark eyes and smiled faintly. 
 
 " Oh, Kitty ! oh, Kitty ! " faltered Constance. 
 
 " I think I have sprained my ankle," Kitty re 
 plied. 
 
 Constance, who, until this moment had felt al 
 most paralyzed with dread as she looked at Kitty's 
 pale face, her closed eyes, her pallid, parted lips, 
 had a sudden rebound into energy. She unbut 
 toned the little shoe, turned down the stocking and 
 disclosed the ankle rapidly swelling, and in one 
 place already purple. 
 
 " Oh, where is Sue ? Sue will know what to 
 do," said Gatty. 
 
 We must go back again for one moment and 
 find Sue, for she and Haliburton had contrived to 
 lose themselves. That is, Sue, always omniscient, 
 had told him the way to the cascade was to the 
 right, which was the case, only it happened to be 
 the longer way, so that by the time they arrived at 
 the little waterfall no one was there. The pool of 
 dark green water, the rocks, the ferns, the starry 
 white-blossoms, had it all to themselves. 
 
 " Don't they seem to you to possess some 
 secret ? " Sue asked, her mood rising to poetry.
 
 200 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Don't they seem to be brooding over some beau 
 tiful, unutterable idea that they will not impart to 
 us?" 
 
 Haliburton acquiesced, and indeed, considering 
 what had been happening in the spot within the 
 last twenty minutes, Sue's surmise was not so very 
 far wrong. 
 
 " I suppose we had better go back," he now ob 
 served, looking at his watch. 
 
 " Yes, just as things are at their pleasantest they 
 always have to be over," said Sue. She looked at 
 him. " Don't you think so ? " 
 
 " I never mean to generalize from my own social 
 experience, it 's so slight," he returned. 
 
 " Let us sit down and stay five minutes here," 
 pleaded Sue, " now that we have come so far." 
 
 " Oh, certainly," said Haliburton. " Here is a 
 rock, but there, how will that tree-trunk do ? " 
 
 Miss Darrow seated herself, generously extend 
 ing her ample skirts in order that Haliburton 
 might have some covering between his tweeds and 
 the rough bark. It needed just this touch of 
 thoughtf ulness, this superabundant goodness which 
 went to Haliburton's conscience, to give him a 
 feeling of remorse. 
 
 He sat down beside her, a desperate intention 
 coming into his mind. 
 
 " Sue," he said, " I have known you a good many 
 years, but I do not believe that I have ever uttered 
 one word of the real cordial appreciation and 
 admiration I have for you."
 
 THE SECRET OF THE WATEBFALlA 201 
 
 Sue, with a face where white chased red, and red 
 white, gasped, 
 
 " Oh, John ! " 
 
 " I feel as if I were unfriendly, disloyal, almost 
 a traitor, that I have never told you something 
 which has actually shaped my life and made me 
 just the morose old fellow I am." 
 
 " Morose you never are," said Sue, " and only 
 just old enough to be interesting." 
 
 " I have never told any one what I am going to 
 tell you, I never gave even my mother a hint 
 of it." 
 
 It was clear from her face that her personal con 
 sciousness was at the moment nothing more than 
 thrilling, palpitating expectation. He went on, 
 closing his eyes as he spoke, like a timid marks 
 man who dreads the explosion of his missile. 
 
 " I have been in love with one woman for twelve 
 years," he now said, and then waited. 
 
 Sue sighed luxuriously. She also waited. 
 
 " Of course you can guess who it is," he said in 
 a low voice. 
 
 " I should prefer that you told me." 
 
 "It was the summer I went to Italy to visit 
 Glen when he was consul there. She was already 
 a widow for the second time, her little girl was 
 six years old." 
 
 Sue gave a start. She seemed to be rubbing 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Do you mean Conny Amory?" she asked. 
 
 "Whom else?"
 
 202 ' THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 There was just one moment's silence, but sixty 
 seconds can be measured heavily. A little con 
 traction had passed over Sue's face ; like a frost it 
 had nipped the bloom. 
 
 " I have never told her," Haliburton said after 
 the pause had grown a little irksome to him. 
 
 " Why not ? " Sue's voice was just a trifle 
 roughened. 
 
 " Glen has always been in love with her. She 
 has no wish to marry anybody. Her one thought 
 is of Kitty." 
 
 " I think you ought to tell her," Sue now said. 
 " A child makes a difference, but a child is not 
 everything to a woman after all. And she would 
 have the chance to make you happy." 
 
 Haliburton gave a short laugh. 
 
 " I don't think she cares much about that 
 chance," he said. " In fact, I feel like a pre 
 sumptuous fool in having mentioned the subject at 
 all. Only"- 
 
 " Only we are friends, good friends," said Sue, 
 reaching out her large, warm, supple hand, " and 
 friends ought to understand each other. In fact, I 
 needed to know this in order to understand a great 
 deal that has often puzzled me about you." 
 
 He had taken the hand, and pressed it. He 
 thought of kissing it, but abstained, that sort of 
 demonstration not being a habit of his. 
 
 " You '11 keep my secret ? " he said. 
 
 " Oh yes, until you tell it." 
 
 " I 'm not likely to do that."
 
 THE SECRET OF THE WATERFALL. 203 
 
 " The logic of events, the logic of events," 
 said Sue, laughing. " I said just now that you 
 ought to tell her if only to give her a chance to 
 make you happy ; but there is another reason still. 
 She ought to have the chance of being made happy 
 by you." 
 
 " Oh, Sue," said Haliburton, "you are a flat 
 terer." 
 
 She sprang up, saying it was time to go back. 
 
 They came within hearing just as Agatha was 
 calling, " Where is Sue ? Where is Sue ? " 
 
 Kitty was sitting, leaning against her mother, 
 deadly pale, with a firmly set mouth and an ex 
 pression of concentrated endurance in her eyes. 
 At the sight of something to do, Sue's whole nature 
 felt a glad rebound from the idea of her own suf 
 fering, her own resentment, into her old, sweet 
 habit of loving all the world. She went up to 
 the group, said to Constance, "Oh, this will be 
 over in a couple of days," took the slim ankle be 
 tween her hands, and began to chafe it. 
 
 "Now you men tear up your handkerchiefs," 
 she said, " and I will bandage it. And, Teddy, 
 have two of the grooms bring the most comfortable 
 chair they can find in the house."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 
 
 CARLYLE says somewhere that no man knows 
 what breaking his nose will do to the general in 
 jury- 
 
 The events of the picnic made a difference in 
 the life of the neighborhood ; and as slight causes 
 often have to bear the responsibility of large 
 results, the spraining of Kitty's ankle was the con 
 venient fulcrum on which everything rested. 
 
 To Kitty, that whole day seemed like a painful, 
 dimly remembered dream. An earthquake had 
 happened in her little world of feeling, and nothing 
 could ever be pleasant to her again, so she felt, as it 
 had before ; she turned from the dull, sombre haze 
 of possibilities and probabilities, and was thankful 
 almost for the suffering that kept her a prisoner. 
 
 Of course Constance had heard the whole story of 
 what had happened at the cascade both from Kitty 
 and from Teddy. The latter's passionate impulse 
 had been like a too quickly lighted fire which had 
 blazed up and then gone out. He asked forgive 
 ness humbly. He longed to do something to atone 
 for it. But he told Constance that he should never 
 care for anybody except Kitty, and that, while he
 
 ANOTHEE WAY OF LOVE. 205 
 
 did not venture to ask to be engaged to her now, 
 he should have no other thought in his heart, and 
 no other intention in every effort of his intellect 
 and will except to become worthy of her. 
 
 Constance could only tell him that he had 
 alarmed and displeased the young girl; that the 
 only way in which he could show his regard and 
 his contrition was to be absolutely silent on the 
 subject of his feelings towards Kitty, past, present, 
 and future. He had spoken of rushing off at once. 
 She begged him to do nothing to excite remark. 
 In a little while his mother would be going to the 
 seaside, and, meanwhile, he and Kitty would prob 
 ably not be thrown together. 
 
 For more than a fortnight after the picnic Glen- 
 denning Rennie seemed wholly to have dropped out 
 of the coterie. Constance was a little puzzled by 
 his disappearance. He had not once come over to 
 inquire about Kitty. Even Teddy Darrow sent 
 flowers and fruit every day, but no sign of interest 
 was displayed by Glen. Kitty never spoke his 
 name. She was apparently reconciled to his ab 
 sence, even if she did not understand it. Con 
 stance believed that Kitty had been startled by the 
 crude fervor with which Teddy had put the idea of 
 love before her, that she now shrank away from it. 
 Never in her life had the girl been so docile and so 
 pliant as now. 
 
 Constance had asked Haliburton about Glen, 
 making some solicitude concerning his health the 
 pretext of her inquiry. Haliburton explained that
 
 206 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 Glen had suddenly set to work as if bent upon 
 making up all arrears. Besides his usual occupa 
 tions, he had lately taken two departments on the 
 paper to which he was nominally attached, while the 
 regular editors were off on a summer holiday. He 
 was also engaged in looking up the pedigree of a 
 putative Franz Hals offered for sale to a million 
 aire who wished to be sure of its authenticity. 
 Haliburton confessed to Constance that although 
 he had hitherto regretted that Glen made no at 
 tempt to spend his powers on effective work, it 
 gave him nowadays a feeling of culpability to see 
 the foolish fellow setting off early in the morning, 
 and returning gaunt and pale at sunset. Hali- 
 burton's own holidays had come, and to sit by and 
 see Glen wearing himself out really hurt him. 
 
 He did not tell Constance that he sometimes 
 suspected the artificial stimulus of some feverish 
 thought behind Glen's assiduity. After venturing 
 a few exhortations for more prudence and modera 
 tion, Haliburton decided to wait and see what was 
 behind this new development of energy. The 
 strange thing was that Glen would go nowhere. 
 Each evening he would make a suggestion : " Glen, 
 suppose we go over to Richard Amory's." 
 
 " Go yourself, John," the reply would be. " I 'm 
 comfortable for the first time to-day, and shan't 
 stir." 
 
 " Not to see about poor little Kitty's ankle ? " 
 
 " Nobody dies of a sprained ankle." 
 
 " Not even to see the marchesa ? "
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 207 
 
 " No, no, no, not even to see the signora 
 marchesa." 
 
 "To the Darrows'! You and Agatha have so 
 much to talk about." 
 
 " I tell you, John, I don't wish to see any wo 
 man." 
 
 " Never again ? " 
 
 " Never again. Not a woman, not one single 
 woman in the world." 
 
 " Has anything happened? " 
 
 " Nothing whatever has happened. I have sim 
 ply forsworn the sex. If Adam in paradise had 
 wisely done the same, and put up a board at the 
 entrance with ' No women wanted ' chalked on it, 
 man's history would have been a simpler affair. 
 Instead of that he went mooning round that Tree 
 of Knowledge till the Lord changed his original 
 intention, and said, * It is not good that man should 
 be alone. I will make a helpmeet for him.' That 
 was the beginning of all the mischief in the world. 
 Otherwise, mankind would have been propagated 
 like trees and grown up tall and symmetrical." 
 
 " That has been said before, and the man who 
 said it made it the preamble to marriage with an 
 estimable woman who gave him ten children." 
 
 " He submitted to what he considered the in 
 exorable results of Adam's foolishness. I do not 
 submit. I have no call to marry any estimable 
 woman and beget ten children. A man must have 
 some effrontery to perpetuate himself to that exag 
 gerated degree. To say nothing of foisting upon
 
 208 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 the world ten noses like his own, ten pairs of feet 
 and hands, ten mouths to eat, drink, grin, and 
 whimper, but also to have the same number of re 
 productions of his sins, vices, idiosyncrasies ! No ; 
 if I were given that chance in paradise, my motto 
 would be ' No women, no women, no wo 
 men.' " 
 
 Haliburton naturally imputed this sudden change 
 of wind to some spasm of angry consciousness 
 where Constance Bertini was concerned. He hated 
 to see Glen working too hard, yet at the same time 
 it was a pleasure to find out that there was the stuff 
 in him to make him work too hard, even if it were 
 a mere escape from his impatience with life, his 
 futile regrets. Whether Glen understood his own 
 state of mind any more clearly is an open question. 
 He was, nevertheless, doing a good deal of thinking 
 about himself in these days. He confessed that he 
 had got nothing out of life that he wanted, and he 
 was trying to set his wits to work to decide why he 
 had got nothing out of life that he wanted. But 
 then, what had he wanted ? Not money, for it 
 had always been his creed that it was beyond the 
 power of money to give any single pleasure above 
 the roof that shelters, the fire that warms, and the 
 table that feeds. He hated accumulations for him 
 self, and after he had exhausted his first curiosity 
 and pleasure in any object of art which had come 
 into his possession, he had passed it along to delight 
 some one else. Had he been rich, he might have 
 experimented with money to show his powers of ori-
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 209 
 
 ginality. His inheritance had been lost in a com 
 mercial crisis when he was sixteen. All that was 
 left was about five hundred a year, and this he 
 could easily double or treble by the exercise of one 
 or the other of his powers. John Haliburton had 
 spoiled him, loving him, offering everything, divid 
 ing everything. Glen had accepted everything, 
 and his sense of owing everything to John was 
 delightful. That debt to John was the one un 
 spoiled thing which belonged to him. 
 
 No, he had never craved wealth, but he had 
 wished to marry Constance Bertini. By what 
 ignobleness, by what blunder in his courtship, had 
 he missed winning her ? For she had liked him in 
 the old days ; she liked him even now in spite of her 
 brief moment of disdain when he had tried to 
 plant the past in the present like a palpable ghost. 
 Still, he had not made love to her this summer. 
 Nothing ever quite begins over again, and after a 
 man has accepted a refusal for twelve years he 
 can hardly come back to his wooing gracefully 
 unless he is a successful egoist. Glen decided that 
 he was an unsuccessful egoist. He had been in 
 love with Constance and had written his "Love 
 Unfulfilled," and, in spite of the tragic pathos 
 of " Love Unfulfilled," he was now ready to grant 
 that his love for Constance was not a love to be 
 fulfilled. He had not seen his little volume for 
 ten years, his poesie du didble, as the French 
 call youthful poetry. He hunted up a copy in a 
 second-hand book-shop. He read over the sonnets
 
 210 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 one by one, and was surprised to find how slight 
 they were, how little sincere. In spite of the idea 
 of the series and the general trend of its meaning, 
 the characters he described were neither his own 
 nor Constance's. Yet, in default of high veracity, 
 the early performance still possessed cleverness ; it 
 was almost too clever. For if here and there a verse 
 rose to a high level in a burst of passionate self- 
 consciousness, most of the poems felicitous 
 enough conceptions of a phase of feeling perhaps 
 pathetic, perhaps ironical, often enough profound 
 sank to an anti-climax more than once a little 
 flippant. " I had read Heine too much," Glen said, 
 recognizing the outcome of a perverse, self-scruti 
 nizing mind that recoils fastidiously from exposure 
 of its deepest feeling. 
 
 Concerning his relations to Kitty, Glen had no 
 introspection. He was actually vexed with Kitty. 
 Looking at him with such enchanting sweetness, 
 "on my soul, kissing me," listening to him, charmed 
 while he talked by the yard, then running off with 
 a dull, heavy boy. If Glen had set to work to 
 study himself, he might have discovered a sicken 
 ing throb of pain behind that stiffening into re 
 sistance and revolt against the idea of Kitty's being 
 appropriated by that ridiculous young fellow. But 
 why not? Measuring his own corn by Teddy's 
 bushel, it was the scantiest possible yield. 
 
 What this episode of Kitty if episode it could 
 be called meant to Glen, was that it supplied 
 a touchstone which dispelled illusions, banished
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 211 
 
 glamour ; in the twinkling of an eye changed the 
 indolent dreamer into the indefatigable worker. It 
 was as if he had hitherto cultivated a sense of 
 youthfulness, trying to find zest, fillip, charm, in 
 everything pleasurable. He had been half asleep, 
 and now suddenly awakening to the fact that in 
 stead of its being early morning with him it was 
 past noon, he had determined to do something, no 
 matter what, before the night came. 
 
 Still, although nowadays he put at least three 
 ordinary days' work into one, he was not wholly 
 absorbed. Even if he pretended to be dead to 
 what was going on outside, he still had a nai've 
 curiosity to gratify. 
 
 Late one afternoon Haliburton was setting out 
 for a dinner-party given some ten miles away ; 
 Glen had been invited, but had declined, as he 
 had of late declined everything. Now when he 
 saw John descending in careful array, he followed, 
 supplied a carnation for his buttonhole, and in 
 quired who else was going. 
 
 " The marchesa and Richard Amory. Ambury 
 Darrow and his wife and daughters were asked, 
 but of course they have gone away. I know of 
 nobody else in this neighborhood." 
 
 " Not Kitty ? " inquired Glen. 
 
 "Not Kitty. The marchesa was saying that 
 Kitty's time for grand dinner-parties had not come 
 yet." Haliburton put his hand on Glen's shoulder. 
 " I hate to go off without you," he added. 
 
 " I have renounced society."
 
 212 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 "It was all so pleasant early in the summer," 
 Haliburton said ; " your turning hermit has spoiled 
 everything." 
 
 " I 'm no hermit. You and I get on famously, 
 old fellow." 
 
 Glen ate his dinner alone, then smoked his cigar 
 in the garden. The fragrance of the flowers rose 
 sweet and pungent. It seemed to unlock ideas and 
 feelings he had of late denied himself. He began 
 to be stirred by the old restlessness that nowadays 
 he put down with an iron hand. He said it was 
 the heavy, sultry air. He left the garden and 
 walked to the brow of the hill. A storm was 
 threatening ; the sunset was crimson, and, above, 
 ragged, leaden clouds took veinings of the same 
 sanguinary hue. All the portents of the west were 
 dark, but in the east a large, motionless cloud took 
 on tints of pale rose, and hung there without chan 
 ging or moving. 
 
 It was evident that Glen was waiting for dark 
 ness. He glanced from time to time at the lumi 
 nous cloud in the east, as if impatient. Suddenly 
 it faded, and the moment its light went out night 
 advanced apace. Everything grew weird, phantas 
 mal, threatening, as the wind freshened. Even the 
 stars, which here and there shone out between the 
 masses of hurrying clouds, looked strange. 
 
 He seemed to have some clear intention, for 
 now, throwing away the end of his cigar, he but 
 toned his coat, plunged down the bank, and entered 
 the woods, taking an oblique direction, and making
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 213 
 
 his way, indifferent to paths, until he reached the 
 edge of Waldstein. He had taken the longest way 
 round, if Waldstein was his object. It might have 
 been suspected that he was invading the place, not as 
 a guest, rather as a spy. He skirted the woods, did 
 not cross the lawn, but crept from one thicket to 
 another of the shrubberies, finally arriving at the 
 end of the terrace. He need not have feared that 
 he was in danger of being observed. The night 
 was dark, yet eyes can pierce darkness. The point 
 was that no eyes were watching at Waldstein. 
 The man and the dog had gone with the carriage 
 which took Richard Amory and his sister to the 
 dinner-party. The cook and the parlor-maid were 
 busy in the kitchen. From the drawing-room 
 shone lights. Somebody, perhaps, was there. After 
 a pause under the laburnums, a pause which gave 
 time for a reconnaissance, he advanced a few 
 steps, jumped over the balustrade of the veranda, 
 and looked in at one of the open French windows. 
 The room had one occupant. Kitty was sitting 
 before a table, and, bending forward, seemed to be 
 giving all her attention and all her powers to 
 some pursuit. What was she doing? Transfer 
 ring little bits of paper from one pile to another ? 
 They were cards. She was telling her fortune. 
 He almost laughed outright at the absurdity of 
 the thing. What a child she was, appealing to 
 some fate over and above her, as if she were at its 
 mercy, while she not only made her own fate, but 
 settled that of half a dozen other persons.
 
 214 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 It had been no part of Glen's scheme to enter ; 
 he had no intention of again laying himself open to 
 rebuff. He had simply felt sharply inquisitive, 
 had come to spy upon Kitty, to find out what she 
 was doing. It might have been years since he saw 
 her last, so absolutely since that day of the picnic 
 had he acquiesced in the idea that she and Teddy 
 were lovers, and gone on accepting the pictures of 
 their felicity which his imagination imposed. He 
 had never forgotten the exquisite blush with which 
 Kitty had told him that day she was going to the 
 waterfall with Teddy. He had seen her go down the 
 sunny slope of the old garden with Teddy. Then 
 he had seen Teddy bearing her fainting to her 
 mother. Everybody had stood back to give way to 
 Teddy, as if Kitty belonged to him by right. 
 
 What Glen had come for to-night was to end 
 any possible uncertainty. If, while he watched, 
 Teddy had rung at the door-bell, Glen would have 
 turned his back and gone away. 
 
 There was no Teddy. There was only Kitty. 
 While Glen looked at her she yawned, glanced at 
 the clock, then settled herself again at the cards. 
 She was expecting no lover ; she was simply waiting 
 for nine o'clock to come that she might go to bed. 
 
 He found the shortest road to her, he flung 
 back the shutters and walked in through the win 
 dow. At the sound she started up, looked round, 
 took one step forward, then stood still. He could 
 not have told why he did not speak. He did not 
 understand what the message was in her whole
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 215 
 
 look. Some feeling exquisite, but tragic, laid hold 
 of him. He took her hand and stood for a mo 
 ment looking into her face trying to command 
 himself. Then, releasing his clasp upon her flut 
 tering fingers, he passed his hand over his lips. 
 It was as if he tried to speak and could not. 
 Finally achieving some self-mastery he said in an 
 easy, off-hand way, 
 
 " Telling your fortune, Kitty ? " 
 
 " No," she replied simply. " I am playing soli 
 taire." 
 
 " Go on with your game," he said. " I will 
 watch you. I used to play it by the hour when 
 I was a boy getting over my fits of illness." 
 
 She reseated herself promptly before the table 
 as if it were a relief to be told what to do. He 
 stood beside her leaning over her, with one hand 
 on the back of the chair. His nearness, the feel 
 ing she had that he had been almost incapable of 
 speech, the sight of his trembling lips awed and 
 frightened her. She tried to school herself to 
 remember all that her mother had said, all that 
 she had meant to do and to say when she should 
 meet cousin Glen again. But all the while her 
 pulses throbbed faster and faster, tears came 
 nearer and nearer her eyes. For a few minutes 
 she went on shifting cards from pack to pack, 
 making the regular sequence mechanically, then 
 growing more and more confused and bewildered. 
 At first when she seemed to trip he laughed, put 
 out his hand 'and corrected her mistake. It was
 
 216 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 this, perhaps, that helped to blur her vision. Con 
 scious of her weakness a sob rose in her throat. 
 At the sound he put his hand under her chin and 
 made her look up. Her upper lip had a lift in its 
 curve which went to his heart ; the expression of 
 her eyes puzzled and fascinated him. 
 
 " Kitty," he said in a tone of intense reproach, 
 " you deserted me." 
 
 She did not try to answer. Her dismay was too 
 great. 
 
 " You deserted me for Teddy," he said again, 
 with a note of deep feeling in his voice. 
 
 " No," she whispered. " No." 
 
 " You went off with him on the day of the pic 
 nic." 
 
 " Yes, I went with him," she murmured under 
 her breath. 
 
 He burned to interrogate her ; he wished to 
 move her ; he would not have minded if he made 
 her angry, if he made her weep. He was ready 
 to pour out hot reproaches, bitter accusations 
 of he knew not what. Somehow it seemed as if 
 he must free his heart of the burden he had been 
 carrying of late ; somehow, too, he needed to reach 
 her heart and find out its secret. But that beau 
 tiful young face touched him into remorseful ten 
 derness. Even while he felt that he must pluck 
 this flower of opportunity, end the dull torment 
 of the past weeks, he still knew that he had no 
 right to meddle with her destiny. 
 
 " I don't ask you what you feel for Teddy," he
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 217 
 
 now proceeded. " Of course he is worth fifty such 
 fellows as I am. I grant you that. Nevertheless, 
 Kitty, you and I had become real friends. At 
 least I thought so." 
 
 He paused and waited for her to speak. A little 
 sigh broke from her. 
 
 " Were we not friends ? " he demanded. 
 
 " I thought so," she said shyly. 
 
 " Why that very morning," he went on, " I had 
 waked up thinking that, after all, life was a delight 
 ful thing since Kitty was in it. Then you flung 
 me over for that boy." 
 
 Kitty, in the meshes of her own feelings, in 
 doubt what to say, gazed at him mute, helpless. 
 
 He had sat down opposite her at the little table. 
 Reaching across he took the little hand that flut 
 tered idly among the cards and pressed it between 
 his two palms. 
 
 " Of course you don't care a straw for me," he 
 said. " Why should you ? I am twice your age. 
 Teddy Darrow is just the one for you, young, 
 rich, clever, bound to succeed. He has all that I 
 have not. But, Kitty, it makes me simply furi 
 ous." He pulled himself up, and released her 
 hand. " Tell me to go away," he said brokenly. 
 " I had no intention of saying this, of seeing 
 you at all. Why is not Teddy here ? " 
 
 " He never comes," she said proudly. " I told 
 him he must never come near me again." 
 
 They looked at each other across the table for 
 a moment in silence.
 
 218 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 "You told Teddy never to come near you 
 again ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " He wanted to he asked you " He began 
 these incoherent questions, with a look inquisitive 
 and commanding, then broke off, put his elbows 
 on the table and dropped his face in his hands. 
 Something inexorable seemed to hold him in its 
 clutch. 
 
 " Tell me to go away," he said. " Tell me not 
 to come and see you. I am the one to be sent 
 about my business." There was a moment's 
 silence ; then he lifted his head, leaned back in his 
 chair, and looked at her with self-possession. 
 
 " Shall I go away ? " he asked. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Are you sure ? " 
 
 " Quite sure." 
 
 " I am not sure at all. You are young and 
 beautiful. Heaven only knows what grand destiny 
 may be coming to you. But let us talk no more 
 about it. We can only live in this one moment. 
 So let us talk no more about it." 
 
 She was looking at him like a wondering, happy 
 child. 
 
 He began to talk amusingly about his work of 
 late. He described his editorial experiences ; told 
 how he, whose habit of writing had always been 
 to touch and retouch, discard what lacked the 
 vivacity of epigram, the nicety of the pointed 
 phrase, who had fairly reveled in the mental atti-
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 219 
 
 tude of fastidious perplexity before any question of 
 selection and choice, had suddenly taken to writing 
 at railroad speed, on any subject, with the utmost 
 promptness and decision settling every problem 
 mental, moral, religious, social, scientific, or 
 diplomatic which presented itself. He said that 
 his working capacity surprised him. It showed 
 that he only needed an overseer and a whip to drive 
 him to accomplish something in the world. The 
 only effective point of view from which to regard 
 literature was the point of view of the pocket. 
 He went into particulars, told her the exact 
 amount of money his fortnight's hard toil had 
 brought him in ; he said he thought that if he 
 were to work eighteen hours a day he might make 
 twelve hundred dollars a year. " I should sup 
 pose two persons ought to be able to live on that, 
 should n't you ? " he asked. 
 
 " It seems to me a vast amount of money," said 
 Kitty. " I never had more than a hundred francs 
 of my own at once in all my life." 
 
 " Oh, that is the sort of millionaire you are," 
 Glen exclaimed, "a hundred francs ! What did 
 you do with a hundred francs ? " 
 
 She described her extravagances. She had 
 bought presents for everybody she knew when 
 she came away from Florence. As she talked, all 
 the old sparkle and animation came out in her face, 
 in her tones, in her little gestures. He listened, 
 smiling, and she smiled back at him. They both 
 felt all alive with the happiness of being together.
 
 220 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 It made no difference what they said to each 
 other ; whether it were light or serious, there was 
 a spring of irrepressible mischief, an elastic re 
 bound from whatever depressed and hampered, a 
 perpetual radiant gayety behind their words. 
 
 But all at once Glen remembered. The smile 
 and glow went out of his face. What had startled 
 him was the sound of the clock in the hall striking 
 ten. 
 
 " I must go," he said. " The marchesa will be 
 returning. I have not a good conscience in meet 
 ing her." They were still sitting opposite each 
 other at the little table. He folded his arms on it 
 and leaned forward. 
 
 " Kitty," he said, " I am thirty-eight years old. 
 You make me forget my age, my failures, my 
 faults, even my perception of what is right and 
 just. I like you altogether too well ; that is what 
 is the matter." As he spoke, he laid his hand on 
 hers. The moment their fingers touched he melted 
 into the tenderness he had forbidden. Yielding to 
 an irresistible impulse, he pushed the table aside, 
 rose to his feet, grasped both her hands in his, and 
 looked into her face for one long moment. 
 
 " Kitty," he said hoarsely, " I love you with all 
 my heart. I don't know how to tell you, I love 
 you so. If if if I were not too old for you, 
 too miserably poor and good for nothing, how 
 happy we could be." He drew her to her feet, 
 pressed her slight figure to his breast, and his lips 
 rested on her hair.
 
 ANOTHER WAY OF LOVE. 221 
 
 " Kitty," he said presently, " look up ; I want to 
 see your face." 
 
 But when she looked up he held her at arm's 
 length. 
 
 " You are too sweet too sweet too sweet," he 
 muttered ; " I want to kiss you, but I shall not kiss 
 you. Do you hear? I shall not kiss you. When 
 they count up my sins, let them balance them 
 against my not taking you in my arms this mo 
 ment and kissing you." 
 
 An irresistible little laugh burst from her. He 
 placed her in her chair, then crossed the length of 
 the room and stood by the chimney-piece. " Why 
 don't you say something?" he demanded. 
 
 " I do not know what to say." 
 
 " I swear to you that is simply my case. I love 
 you to distraction ; but on my word I don't know 
 what I ought to say. I want you to marry me. I 
 feel as if we could be happier in scrambling along 
 somehow together than the richest and luckiest 
 people in the world. You like me, don't you, 
 Kitty?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " I could make you happy, could n't I, Kitty ? " 
 
 She nodded again. 
 
 " I know that as well as I know my own soul. 
 And yet at this moment, when I long to make 
 you promise to be mine unalterably, there comes 
 that horrid doubt. I 'm an old, battered fellow. 
 All my youth has gone. Everything is before you 
 everything. I do not dare say that I will take
 
 222 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 your life into my hands. I am so afraid of spoiling 
 it, of marring it." 
 
 She flew towards him. She laid her hands on 
 his breast and looked up pleadingly. 
 
 " Glen," she said, " Glen ! " 
 
 "Kitty," he answered, "Kitty!" His face 
 twitched with emotion. Those two small, clinging 
 hands seemed a weight almost more than he could 
 bear. Then came the sound of carriage wheels. 
 
 " Oh, there is mamma ! " Kitty exclaimed, shrink 
 ing back. 
 
 " I will go," said Glen. " I could n't face her at 
 this moment. You will tell her everything, I sup 
 pose. Of course tell her everything." 
 
 The look of age and gloom had returned and 
 deepened on his face. 
 
 " She will be very angry with me,", he said. He 
 stretched out his hands to Kitty with a dreary 
 look. " Tell me once you love me," he said softly. 
 " Say * Glen, I love you dearly ! ' After she had 
 faintly echoed his words, he murmured, " I needed 
 to hear it once," pressed his lips to the palm of 
 her hand, and went straight out, without looking 
 back. 
 
 Kitty followed him to the door, and, in an excite 
 ment which was not mere hope or fear, pain or 
 pleasure, but pure, triumphant joy, stood waiting 
 for her mother.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 "YOUTH SHOWS BUT HALF." 
 
 THE carriage stopped at the curbstone, and 
 Richard Amory alighted and handed out his sister. 
 
 " Is thee still up, Kitty ? " he asked. " I sup 
 posed thee had been asleep these two hours." 
 
 " Why, Kitty," said the marchesa in her turn, 
 "you told me you were going to bed at nine 
 o'clock." 
 
 As she came up the steps, she began unwinding 
 a boa of white ostrich feathers from her head and 
 shoulders. The light from within falling on her 
 face gave a striking effect to her features. 
 
 Kitty threw her strong young arms round her 
 mother. 
 
 " Oh, you are so perfectly lovely, mamma," she 
 murmured, and devoured her with kisses. 
 
 Kitty had been, of late, so quiet and self-con 
 tained that this sudden return to her old expan- 
 siveness, her old caressing habit, even while it 
 pleased Constance, perplexed her. To leave a 
 young girl at home at seven o'clock who declares 
 she does not mind being left since she longs only to 
 go to bed, and, on returning toward eleven o'clock, 
 to find her eyes shining, her lips smiling, her face
 
 224 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 full of warm color, would suggest to even the least 
 logical of minds that something has happened in the 
 interval. Constance felt an electrical force behind 
 Kitty's exuberant embrace. They went in and 
 stood exchanging a few words with Richard Amory, 
 who was discoursing on the evening's experience. 
 
 " A little too much of everything," he said ; " too 
 many plates, too many courses, too many kinds of 
 wine, too much talk, but too little thought." 
 
 " It was pleasant, it seemed to me," Constance 
 returned. " If nobody was very wise, still every 
 body was good-natured and unpretentious." 
 
 But Richard Amory shook his head. 
 
 " If thy thoughts come and go like the bubbles 
 in the glass, be sure there is no good wine left 
 beneath. The soul that waits and listens and con 
 centrates itself finally knows." 
 
 The old Quaker sat down to meditate on the 
 follies and vanities of the evening. Constance and 
 Kitty kissed him, then went upstairs together. 
 When they were inside the bedroom, Constance 
 closed the door, and turned up the lights. 
 
 "Mamma," Kitty exclaimed excitedly, "kiss 
 me again. Oh, I am so happy ! " 
 
 Constance obeyed, but she trembled. She knew 
 that some ordeal was before her. 
 
 " What has happened? " she asked anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, mamma, he loves me. You thought it was 
 all my absurdity. But he loves me ! " 
 
 " Of whom are you speaking ? " demanded Con 
 stance.
 
 YOUTH SHOWS BUT HALF. 225 
 
 " Cousin Glen. Of course it is cousin Glen." 
 
 " What does it mean ? Has he been here ? " 
 
 " He stayed until he heard the carriage wheels in 
 the drive." 
 
 Constance sank down in the easy-chair by the side 
 of the bed. She felt fettered, cramped, chilled. 
 
 " Tell me just what has happened," she said. In 
 all Kitty's life she had never heard her mother 
 speak so coldly. 
 
 " Mamma, you seem so displeased," she faltered, 
 aghast. 
 
 "I wish to understand what has taken place," 
 Constance replied. " Then I can tell you whether 
 or not I am displeased." 
 
 Kitty stood before her at a little distance. What 
 she experienced was a delicious sensation of happi 
 ness. Everything else was a dream. Her words 
 burst from her broken, incoherent, now coming 
 in a rapid gush, then dragging one after the other, 
 as by hard effort. She could not penetrate her 
 mother's state of mind in the least. She had ex 
 pected Constance to be as happy as herself. 
 
 " I was playing solitaire ; I was half asleep ; I 
 had never once dreamed of anything happening 
 to-night. Then, all at once, there he was. He 
 did not ring ; he opened the shutter and came in 
 through the window. He told me to go on play 
 ing. But, after a little, I had to give it 
 up. What he said first was that I had deserted 
 him, deserted him for Teddy. He has been 
 thinking all the time, of late, that it was Teddy I
 
 226 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 liked. He praised Teddy, said he was all that 
 he himself was not." 
 
 She broke off, and looked wistfully at her mother, 
 as much as to say, " You understand it all now ? " 
 
 Constance made a little gesture. " Then he told 
 you " she suggested. 
 
 " Then he asked me if I wanted him to go 
 away." 
 
 " And you said ' No ' ! " 
 
 " What else could I say, mamma ? I was so 
 happy in seeing him again. I had been only half 
 alive when he did not come." 
 
 " Did you tell him that ? " Constance made this 
 inquiry in a suffering voice. 
 
 " No, no, no ! " Kitty cried. " I told him no 
 thing." She laughed exultingly. " I know what 
 you fear, mamma. But I remembered your lesson. 
 I assure you I hardly said one word. Somehow I 
 could not speak. Besides, I did not feel as if I 
 needed to speak. It was he who talked, it was 
 he who said, ' I love you ! ' He said it not only 
 once but twice three times. In one way or 
 another he told it a dozen twenty times. There 
 is no doubt of it at all. He loves me. He loves me 
 dearly." 
 
 A new sweetness, a new tenderness came out as 
 she spoke. It was evident to Constance that every 
 fibre of the young girl's being vibrated with hap 
 piness. It would have been impossible to imagine 
 a more perfect sincerity of joy than declared itself 
 in every look and tone.
 
 YOUTH SHOWS BUT HALF. 227 
 
 " Mamma," she went on, with a half laugh, " he 
 even thinks that I am beautiful ! Is it not absurd? 
 And particularly when he has so criticised me, so 
 derided me, that I have often seemed to be sitting 
 on pins and needles when he looked at me ; I used 
 to long to look nice, just in order that cousin Glen 
 should not laugh at me and pick faults in me. Yet 
 to-night he said, only just now, before you came " 
 She hesitated, crimsoned, then laughed, and, quite 
 shamefaced, threw herself on her knees and buried 
 her face in her mother's lap. " I cannot say it, it 
 is so foolish," she said, with another gurgling little 
 laugh. Constance, divining the sweet, passionate 
 fondness that lay behind this half confession, shiv 
 ered from head to foot. But she clasped her arms 
 about the girl and held her closer. 
 
 " Did cousin Glen speak of my having any voice 
 in the matter ? " she asked dully. 
 
 " Oh yes. He said more than once that you 
 would not like it. He said he was afraid to see 
 you." 
 
 " Afraid to see me ? " 
 
 " He said that you would not approve, that 
 nobody would approve, that he himself did not 
 approve of it in the least. He said he had no right 
 to say a word to me. To begin with, he was too 
 old ; to begin and end with, he was too poor ; but 
 that the actual point was he was too miserable a 
 failure. ' In all the world,' he said, ' I have just 
 one single friend who loves me and believes in me, 
 and that is John.' '
 
 228 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 Kitty, gaining courage as she spoke, had raised 
 her head. Her voice rang out clearly as she re 
 peated Glen's words with just a touch of drollery, 
 but at the end her voice broke into a sob. 
 
 " That sounds just like Glen," Constance said, 
 with a sigh. " He is irresponsible. He has been 
 all his life a man in search of sensations. I ought 
 to have realized it. I ought to have foreseen 
 this." 
 
 Kitty followed her mother's words with intense 
 interest. 
 
 " Do you mean that you " she began to ques 
 tion, but Constance raised her hand. 
 
 " I have to think a little about the matter," she 
 said quietly. " I must have a talk with Glen. 
 He has told you himself that he ought never to 
 have spoken to you, that he is too old " 
 
 " Oh, I would not have him any younger, 
 mamma." 
 
 " That he is too poor " 
 
 " I should so dislike to be rich, mamma mia" 
 
 Constance smiled in spite of her anxious, troubled 
 mind. She lifted Kitty to her feet. " Promise me 
 one thing, Kitty," she said, " that you will think 
 no more about it to-night. Go to bed and sleep." 
 
 "I wiU go to bed," said Kitty. "Perhaps I 
 may go to sleep. But I cannot help thinking about 
 it. Why, mamma, he loves me ! You don't begin 
 to know what it means that he loves me. Here I 
 have been so ashamed of myself for caring about 
 him, but all the time he loves me."
 
 YOUTH SHOWS BUT HALF. 229 
 
 " We will not say another word about it to- 
 iiight. We are both going to bed. We are both 
 so tired." 
 
 " I never can be tired again, mamma." 
 
 They were walking towards Kitty's room as they 
 spoke, a pretty little maiden's bower, hung with 
 white and rose color, and now softly lighted by a 
 lamp burning behind a pink shade. They happened 
 to pause just in front of the oval mirror, and Kitty, 
 when she caught a glimpse of herself, gave a cry 
 of delight. 
 
 " Why, mamma, I am beautiful ! " she ex 
 claimed. " I did not really believe him when he 
 said I was." She looked again at the image, with its 
 dark eyes and its mouth like a vivid scarlet flower ; 
 then, leaning forward, kissed her reflection in the 
 glass. " Oh, I am so glad, so glad, so glad I did 
 look nice," she added. She met her mother's glance. 
 "Do you not think I look nice?" she asked 
 naively. 
 
 Constance passed her hands over the soft con 
 tours of the girl's face. 
 
 "I know what /think of your looks," she said, 
 kissing her. " You do not need to go to other 
 people for compliments." 
 
 Kitty was now comparing the two faces reflected 
 in the mirror. 
 
 " Of course," she observed, " I am not beautiful 
 as you are, mamma mia. You are like a queen. 
 But then, just for poor little me, I rather like my 
 own face."
 
 230 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Vanity ! " 
 
 "But if he loves me?" 
 
 " You must go to bed ; you must go to sleep." 
 
 " The idea of sleeping ! I am pretty, charming, 
 quite adorable, and he loves me ! " 
 
 Constance's hands had been busy in unfastening 
 the white frock, unknotting ribbons, and undoing 
 buttons. Five minutes later, Kitty, in a long white 
 slip like a baby's, was kneeling by the bedside say 
 ing her prayers. Her devotions lasted twice as 
 long as usual, and Constance knew that the girl 
 was praying for the new hope, praying for what 
 must be denied her, for what must never, never 
 come to pass. 
 
 Kitty crept into her little white bed presently. 
 Her mother bent over and caressed her. 
 
 " Now go to sleep," she said, then reached closer 
 for one more kiss. She extinguished the lamp and 
 went into her own room, and stood at the open 
 window listening to the wind, which had been rising 
 all the evening and now blew a gale. A weird 
 moonlight showed the fantastic shapes of the trees 
 as they bent writhing in the blast, and heightened 
 the weary, melancholy feeling Constance had of 
 somehow being alone outside of the- world. 
 
 As she stood, suddenly there came the sound of 
 a patter along the floor. She turned ; there was a 
 long, lithe shape, the twinkle of white feet, and 
 Kitty darted towards her with a little elfish laugh. 
 
 " Mamma, he loves me ! " she exclaimed, and 
 clasped her mother in her strong young arms.
 
 YOUTH SHOWS 'BUT HALF. 231 
 
 " But this is nonsense," said Constance. 
 
 " I know it is. Still something bubbles up within 
 me. I feel like laughing and like crying ; I feel 
 like praying too. I love cousin Glen, but that is 
 not all of it. I love you just as much, and uncle 
 Richard. I love the whole world. I am so happy." 
 
 Constance led her back to her bed, sat down on 
 the bedside, and leaned over her until she slept. 
 Then she went again to her own room, and again 
 stood by the window, still incapable of any con 
 nected thought. 
 
 What she felt was intense anger against Glen, 
 a wholly righteous wrath. 
 
 At ten o'clock next day Glen came to see her. 
 They were expecting guests, and Richard Amory 
 had driven with Kitty across the country to meet 
 them at the Junction. Constance sat alone in her 
 brother's library waiting for her visitor. It had 
 rained in the night, half cleared at dawn, but the 
 south wind still blew, and sunshine and cloud 
 chased each other. 
 
 As Glen came towards her, he was conscious of 
 a change in Constance: her face showed certain 
 deep lines about her mouth he had never seen 
 before, still courage, and a sort of exaltation. She 
 also found a difference in him. He looked sub 
 dued, chastened, rather ethe realized. 
 
 She gave him no greeting, but said in a tone of 
 acute reproach, 
 
 " If it had been an open enemy that had done 
 me this dishonor, I could have borne it. But it
 
 232 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 was even thou, my companion, my guide, mine own 
 familiar friend." 
 
 " I know that I have done wrong," he said, sink 
 ing down into a chair at some distance. " It 
 troubles you ; I see that. I, too, am not in an 
 over-buoyant mood." 
 
 " I have not slept." 
 
 "Nor I." 
 
 " It disturbs your conscience." 
 
 " I am afraid it was not my conscience that kept 
 me awake. I was too awfully happy to sleep." As 
 he said this, perhaps to hide the expression of his 
 face, he flung back his head and looked towards the 
 ceiling. " You see, Conny," he added, after a mo 
 ment's silence, "I never was really happy before 
 in my life, at least not since mamma died." 
 
 "Oh, Glen!" 
 
 " Still, I hated to think it would make you miser 
 able." He paused a moment, then burst out anew, 
 " Conny, I have been the loneliest fellow on earth ; 
 I have had nothing and nobody but John. When 
 I began to think that she really cared for me, it 
 brought a new heaven, a new earth." 
 
 " Your words have a sting in them for me." 
 
 " That I blame you for my loneliness ? " 
 
 " Oh no ; I do not take your loneliness to 
 heart." 
 
 " You mean I suggested that she cared for me 
 first? No woman ever cared for me before. Kitty's 
 love was a spontaneous gift." 
 
 " It hurts me to hear you say it."
 
 YOUTH SHOWS BUT HALF. 233 
 
 " To me it is so beautiful." 
 
 " Oh yes ; you were ennuye. I can fancy that it 
 flatters, charms, fascinates you for the moment to 
 feel that an ignorant young girl idealizes you." 
 
 " Do not accuse me of cynicism. With all my 
 faults I was never cynical ; and now " 
 
 Constance had risen ; she walked three steps to 
 wards Glen, and stood there for a moment looking 
 at him. 
 
 " I cannot let her marry you," she said in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " I told her you would say so." Glen also had 
 risen. His face had grown pale. His tone was 
 cold and formal. " But please tell me just what 
 your reasons are for rejecting me." 
 
 "Because she is my child, my child for whom 
 I have done everything, for whom I must do 
 everything." 
 
 " But can you do everything for her ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Constance, as if wondering at 
 the question. "It would be strange indeed if I 
 could not do everything for my own child." 
 
 "It is not for me to doubt your efficacy." He 
 said this, smiling, but Constance suspected some 
 irony behind his words. 
 
 " What could you do for her ? " she demanded. 
 " I grant that for six months you might find her a 
 charming plaything." 
 
 " Do you think I could make her happy for six 
 months ? " 
 
 " What are six months in a woman's life ? "
 
 234 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I have lived so meagrely, it seems to me a great 
 deal to be happy for six months." 
 
 " You know nothing of life ; you know nothing ' 
 of women." 
 
 " It does seem to me that I know Kitty. Life 
 I may not know, because I have never had a chance 
 to try it. But I believe I could make Kitty 
 happy." 
 
 " Happy for six months ! " 
 
 " You seem to doubt the permanence of any feel 
 ing in me, but I was faithful to you for twelve 
 years, Conny." 
 
 " Faithful to me ! " she repeated. " How faith 
 ful?" 
 
 Question and answer had flashed back and forth 
 like equal stroke and counterstroke ; but, as if this 
 thrust of the rapier probed his conscience, he sud 
 denly gave up parrying her words. He looked like 
 a man disgusted with himself, seized with remorse, 
 even with a wish to repent, if it had been worth 
 while. He went to the mantelpiece, turned his 
 back to her, and leaned his head on his hands. 
 
 " If I have sometimes wanted the assurance of 
 being alive," he murmured, without looking at her, 
 " if I have been at times desperate with loneli 
 ness, half mad with pain at my own failure, 
 still there has never been one moment, Conny, 
 when " 
 
 She caught at his meaning before he finished his 
 speech. 
 
 " Oh, do not say that," she exclaimed ; " I am
 
 YOUTH SHOWS BUT HALF. 235 
 
 grateful for all your friendship, Glen ; but, as you 
 know very well, I never took you too seriously; 
 I was simply a peg on which to hang your ideals." 
 
 " If you had cared for me one moment, Conny, 
 you would have known. Kitty does care for me, 
 and that makes the difference. I have sometimes 
 said to myself of late that you owed me this com 
 pensation." 
 
 " I could better marry you myself -than give 
 Kitty to you." She was so deeply in earnest she 
 had no sense of the strangeness of her words. 
 Meeting the measureless surprise of his glance, she 
 went on, " Why, Kitty is my child ; I love her a 
 thousand times better than I love myself. I have 
 always forgotten myself in loving her. Don't you 
 see how it is ? " 
 
 " I see that you think I 'm a dismal failure ; that 
 I have no money, no position, nothing to offer 
 her." 
 
 " That sort of failure is nothing." 
 
 " But that sort of failure stands for everything." 
 
 " The sort of failure I care about means dis 
 enchantment ; it means deterioration ; it means 
 being miserable." 
 
 His face startled her. He was frowning slightly ; 
 his features had grown pale and set. He looked 
 suddenly ten years older. 
 
 He became conscious of her gaze. He made an 
 effort to smile ; his expression softened. 
 
 " Oh, Glen," she said wearily, " I hate to think 
 I 've hurt your feelings."
 
 236 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Oh, go on. Say what you have to say. Let 
 me know the very worst that is in your thoughts 
 about me." 
 
 " The worst that is in my thoughts is that you are 
 a man in quest of sensations ; and, when a man 
 simply wants his imagination and senses stimulated, 
 planets and solar systems do not suffice." 
 
 He stared at her as if dumfounded. 
 
 "Am I actually that sort of man ? " he asked 
 after a little pause, as if struck by the accuracy of 
 her definition, but still a little incredulous. 
 
 " Oh, it 's an interesting character and tempera 
 ment," Constance now said. " Only when the happi 
 ness of one's daughter is at stake one is not artistic, 
 Bohemian ; one is bourgeois, Philistine. Actually 
 my ambition for Kitty is a very simple-minded one ; 
 but, after all, the real point of my objection to 
 the whole thing is that Kitty does not really love 
 you." 
 
 " Has she told you so ? " 
 
 " She may believe that she loves you ; she is only 
 in love with the idea of being in love." 
 
 "Are you sure of that?" 
 
 His soft, persistent tone, indicating a clearer 
 knowledge than her own, shook Constance's belief 
 in her own statement. 
 
 " Sure ? I am sure of nothing except that she I 
 is the merest child. Hitherto I have been almost 
 her only companion. She has never felt her soli 
 tariness, for I have kept her busy, interested in all 
 sorts of little, every-day things that occupied and
 
 YOUTH SHOWS BUT HALF. 237 
 
 absorbed her mind and heart. She has never 
 thought about love ; she has hardly known that 
 such a sentiment existed. It was quite enough for 
 her to love me. But, coming here, thrown with 
 so many intimate relatives, hearing the Darrow girls 
 talk as if they were probing the deepest secrets of 
 existence, she has suddenly matured. Then, 
 Glen, you are rather charming." 
 
 " I never charmed you, marchesa." 
 
 She reached out her hand and laid it on his arm 
 as he bent towards her, his acute, brilliant face 
 just touched with mischief. 
 
 " We have had the cream of acquaintance," she 
 said. " We have been excellent comrades. I 'm 
 not easily charmed, at any rate, I do not care 
 very much about being charmed. I have my 
 ideals ; I like stability, permanence, something that 
 does not wax, nor wane, nor change." 
 
 " The rock of ages. You ought to have married 
 John." 
 
 She made no answer to this suggestion, but 
 continued to look at Glen, her serene brown eyes 
 dilated, a vivid spot of pink burning on each cheek. 
 The effect of her words, of her gaze of clear in 
 sight, was deeper than she knew. Glen stood lean 
 ing against the desk, his arms folded, a half smile 
 on his lips, but his eyes were covered by their lids. 
 What he experienced was a dreary self-abasement, 
 a sense of eclipse. 
 
 " I suppose you are right. I always go over to 
 the enemy's side. I always believed in the critics
 
 238 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 who cut me up. But Conny, dear, just answer me 
 this," he said, making one step forward. " If I 
 were to set to work, make a good income, in 
 short, succeed as other men do, would that alter 
 your views ? " 
 
 " The question of money has not entered into my 
 calculations at all. You are not of the age when 
 men suddenly change all the habits of their lives." 
 
 " You mean I am too old. I said so to Kitty, 
 but all the same I don't believe it. I have been 
 ill so much I have lost ten years out of my life, 
 actually I am only twenty-eight. What was it, 
 Winckelmann said, ' The gods owe me this, for I 
 was so unhappy when I was young.' ' ; 
 
 " Oh, don't make me pity you. You would not 
 want Kitty to marry you out of pity." 
 
 " Yes, I do. I 'd take her on any terms." 
 
 "Now look at the matter practically. I can 
 fancy you sitting down and laughing at your pre 
 dicament with a helpless young wife." 
 
 " If we both sat down and laughed together " 
 
 " That sort of laugh shortly becomes grim and 
 tragic." 
 
 " Oh, John could put me in the way of " 
 
 " Mr. Haliburton could not put you in the way 
 of being the man to whom I could entrust my 
 child. It 's Kitty I am thinking of. It is Kitty j 
 that I should have to give up. My child. I should 
 not be thinking of whether she could have one ser 
 vant or five ; one course for her dinner or six." 
 
 " Or none at all," suggested Glen.
 
 YOUTH SHOWS BUT HALF. 239 
 
 " But whether she could keep her faith, whether 
 each day would bring her better hopes and be 
 liefs " 
 
 " I wish," said Glen, as she broke off, " that one 
 might matriculate, as it were take a course for 
 marriage as one does for medicine or the law, 
 hear lectures, and pass an examination. I feel sure 
 I should come out a first-class." 
 
 " Ah, you laugh at it." 
 
 " I dare not try to convince you of my earnest 
 ness. You are prejudiced against me. The trou 
 ble is not that I am too absolute a failure, too poor, 
 too old, but that " 
 
 " The trouble is that while life is only beginning 
 for Kitty, you have lived." 
 
 " You prefer Teddy Darrow." 
 
 As Glen said this, a new impression of the man 
 and of his meaning all at once startled Constance. 
 Up to this moment all that he had said had been, 
 as it were, calculable, but his look of sharp-set 
 melancholy, his tone of sombre disdain, suddenly 
 made her insight outrun her theory. There was 
 feeling in Glen, which so far he had struggled with 
 and put down, a strong, even a violent passion 
 which he had not offered as a plea. 
 
 " I prefer no one," she made haste to say. " I 
 feel about Kitty as the mother-hen might have felt 
 if asked how she would prefer to have her chickens 
 served up, that she did not wish them to be served 
 up at all. I should particularly object to Kitty's 
 marrying any one for five years to come."
 
 240 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I might do something in five years." 
 
 Constance could not help shivering at the 
 thought of a five years' cloud of hesitation, doubt, 
 and expectancy thickening over her own and 
 Kitty's life. 
 
 " Oh, Glen," she murmured. " Kitty is eighteen 
 years old." 
 
 " I do not ask for any engagement. I only ask 
 you to let me have my chance. Let me have those 
 five years, Conny, to show what is in me, even 
 three of them. If I could feel that I had some 
 thing to be constant to, to do my best for, 
 something that was my own, my very own " 
 
 " Oh no, no, no." 
 
 " I only mean the idea of her, of the way she 
 jumped up from her chair when I came in last 
 night ; the way she stood looking at me. All that 
 Kitty feels for me is my own, my own from the 
 very beginning. She gave it to me of her own free 
 will. She does not only belong to you." 
 
 " You mean that she belongs in part to you." 
 
 "I wish she did, God knows. What I meant 
 was that she belongs to herself, that she has some 
 right to decide upon the worth of a feeling which 
 began the very moment we met last May." 
 
 Constance sat silent, staring at him, trying to 
 weigh his plea. To say to herself that Kitty's 
 wishes or her soberest judgment had any right to 
 be considered in the matter would be to let a little 
 boat without compass, without even a rudder, drift 
 out into deep seas before a gathering storm. As-
 
 YOUTH SHOWS BUT HALF. 241 
 
 suredly a mother has the right to decide what is 
 her duty by her child. To say she has no right is 
 to deny the fact that she is the mother. Yet if to 
 use the right were to pierce Kitty's heart 
 
 " Don't fear me. I will not even touch her fin 
 gers," said Glen. Constance had a horrible feel 
 ing of perplexity. She did not entirely trust her 
 own feeling of passionate antagonism to all that 
 Glen could offer, suggest, promise. 
 
 " Have you consulted Mr. Haliburton ? " she 
 asked forlornly. 
 
 No, Glen had said not a word to John about 
 Kitty. He confessed this rather shamefacedly. 
 
 " He considers me still desperately in love with 
 you," he -.added, and they both laughed. " I will 
 consult with him gladly," Glen added. Constance 
 had glanced at the clock. It was clear she ex 
 pected Kitty to return, and he at once went his 
 way.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 INS AND OUTS. 
 
 HALIBURTON had seen the change in Glen of 
 course, but the nature of the change had been 
 unfathomable to his perceptions. For years, in 
 deed down to two months back, all that woman 
 hood contained for Glen had existed in Con 
 stance. He had had no idea of any happiness 
 except what she could give him. 
 
 " It was all purely imaginary ? " asked Hali- 
 burton bewildered. " Just a trick of speech, a 
 fashion of apprehending the charm of life ? " 
 
 " Don't ask me to define it," said Glen. " 1 
 suppose I felt that Conny was beyond me. Kitty 
 seems nearer, more within reach." 
 
 " Are you actually in love with Kitty ? " 
 
 " I don't wonder you mistrust me," said Glen ; 
 " I think Conny herself mistrusted me, I said 
 so little about my present feeling. But when a 
 man has once had his say out he rather sickens 
 of saying it over again." 
 
 " But just a little while ago you were in love 
 with the marchesa." Haliburton was about to 
 add that only a few weeks before he had been 
 pleading with Constance, almost entreating her to 
 marry Glen.
 
 INS AND OUTS. 243 
 
 " It is quite possible," Glen observed after a 
 moment's thought, " that even now if I saw them 
 both struggling in the water unable to swim, the 
 one I should make an effort to save would be Con 
 stance." 
 
 " Then you love her best." 
 
 " No, I don't. But I shan't explain. Kitty is 
 mine ; Constance never was mine. That makes 
 all the difference. Constance is too perfect, too 
 far above me ' beauty too rich for use.' For 
 Constance is far more beautiful than Kitty. I 
 always did feel that if Constance were to accept 
 me, my happiness would strike me dead. I should 
 have burned up in pure flame a masculine 
 Semele." 
 
 To teach himself that Glen was in love with 
 Constance, and that he himself must be loyal to 
 Glen, had so long been a point of honor with Hali- 
 burton he hardly ventured to reckon on a different 
 basis. Indeed, this new love affair seemed too 
 much like one of Glen's haphazard impulses. 
 And now, as if to deepen the impression that he 
 was talking at random, Glen must go and say that 
 if he were to save one of the two women from 
 drowning, it would be the mother. 
 
 Haliburton pressed question after question. 
 
 " I simply need to understand," he said. 
 
 Glen ended by kindling altogether. His feeling 
 for Kitty, his daily comfort in her, his great long 
 ing need of her, all passed into speech. When had 
 it happened that he fell out of love with Constance
 
 244 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 and in love with Kitty? He had never been in 
 love with Constance. It was a young poet's metier 
 to adore, and he had adored. Haliburton might 
 have said to himself that this over-nice balancing 
 of feeling on a needle-point, ought to have come 
 earlier. He dared not think of the emancipation 
 which might lie in Constance's being free. 
 
 " Are you sure that this is a real feeling for 
 Kitty not a mere, foolish vagary ? " Haliburton 
 demanded. 
 
 But when Glen answered in speech like flame, 
 there was still another question besides the real 
 ity of Glen's passion for Kitty, or Kitty's feel 
 ing for Glen. Haliburton said that he must have 
 a talk with the marchesa, and on the following 
 day, after this talk had taken place, he was in a 
 less bewildered state of mind. 
 
 " I know," Haliburton had begun by saying to 
 Constance, " that Glen has given you a good deal 
 of trouble. But if I know Glen at all he is get 
 ting over his early faults, the sort of faults 
 which are apt to beset clever men before they have 
 a real career. He is something more than a clever 
 man, he is a fine fellow, a dear fellow." 
 
 " Oh yes, Glen is charming," Constance replied. 
 " But all the more because he is charming he will 
 make Kitty miserable." 
 
 When Haliburton waited for her to explain she 
 went on, 
 
 " He has all sorts of talents ; he dazzles her
 
 INS AND OUTS. 245 
 
 with them ; then his quick changes of mind, when 
 ever a fresh whim seizes him, amuse and interest 
 her. He has, besides, a sort of magnetic power 
 over her, I mean the sort of influence which 
 carries her off her feet. She would not know right 
 from wrong, black from white, if he wished to make 
 her think and feel as he chose." 
 
 " Does not this show " Haliburton began. 
 
 " It shows me that I ought not to have let her 
 see him so much. It had not occurred to me when 
 I saw them chatting and laughing together that 
 such terms of intimacy were anything more than 
 cousinly. I had forgotten that young girls were 
 so impressionable. I had forgotten, too, that men 
 love youth, love it insatiably." 
 
 Haliburton would have tried to soften this gen 
 eralization, at least to make her objection more 
 narrow and specific. 
 
 " I find a great deal of fault with myself," Con 
 stance made haste to say. " I seem to have gone 
 on permitting Glen to keep up the fiction of his 
 caring about me. I do not need to explain to you, 
 for you know, Mr. Haliburton, that twelve years 
 ago Glen asked me to marry him, asked me two 
 or three times over. He left Italy and I saw him 
 no more until I met him here. I had refused 
 him, perhaps a little too much on the ground that 
 I should never marry again. What I ought to 
 have told him was that I did not love him, could 
 not love him ; that as a friend, a cousin, a com 
 rade, I enjoyed him, but that no closer tie was pos-
 
 246 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 sible. As it was, it seems as if I had permitted 
 him to sacrifice all these twelve years to a fantasy. 
 Then when he saw me again he found out what a 
 false and unreal fantasy it was. Actually I had 
 robbed him, left him hungering and thirsting in 
 the wilderness. He wanted something real, 
 something to amuse and stimulate him, and 
 Kitty has fascinated him for the moment." 
 
 It was clear to Haliburton that Constance's 
 mind was quite made up. She had marshaled 
 every possible argument ; she had had time to get 
 behind intrenchments and was ready to stand a 
 siege if need be. She objected to Glen, but what 
 she particularly objected to was giving up Kitty. 
 She was nervously excited, in a state of extreme 
 tension, although from force of habit she made -an 
 effort to appear tranquil and self-possessed. Hali 
 burton had to own that he had not, in this crisis, the 
 courage or the presumption to offer advice. He 
 heard what she had to say, then went back to Glen. 
 
 " She says that either she must take Kitty away 
 or you must go away," was his message. 
 
 Glen had listened to the account of the inter 
 view so far with an intensely eager face. 
 
 " Of course I shall go away at once," he now 
 said. 
 
 Haliburton put his hand on the other's shoulder. 
 
 " I told her you would do so." 
 
 " I must see Kitty first." 
 
 " Yes, you can see her, but not alone."
 
 INS AND OUTS. 247 
 
 " Oh no, not alone. If you told me I could see 
 her alone I should say, ' No, John, I prefer to have 
 you with me.' ' 
 
 " What the marchesa really hopes is that the 
 whole affair may die out. She will be grateful to 
 you if you will raise no expectations, no hopes of 
 any ultimate engagement in Kitty's mind." 
 
 " Does she suppose that we are as mummies, 
 that we have no blood in our veins, no faith in 
 our hearts ? " 
 
 " You know what she means." 
 
 " Better than she knows what I mean. The 
 trouble is with Conny, she is too cut-and-dried. 
 She married Phil Amory because she could n't 
 help it, because the whole thing was arranged ; 
 then when he died she married a dreary old 
 pedant because it seemed safe. She does n't know 
 what love is, she has led such a monotonous, 
 such a dispassionate life." 
 
 " She loves Kitty." 
 
 " I wish she did n't," said Glen illogically. 
 " If she would let me have Kitty the transport of 
 it would give me a capacity for work. Kitty 
 would enjoy the combat the struggle of the race 
 in midstream. She would kindle at the danger of 
 it ; she would rather like whirlpools and rapids." 
 
 " A man ought to be able to say to the woman 
 with whom he plunges into the current, ' Trust me, 
 I can swim for both.' " 
 
 They dropped into silence for a while. Hali- 
 burton looked at Glen from time to time and saw
 
 248 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 that his brow was furrowed, his eyes dark and 
 troubled, his teeth set hard. 
 
 " I shall not give her up," he said finally. " I 
 mean that she shall be my wife. It would kill me 
 to think of stopping just here. Why, John, I did 
 not even kiss her." 
 
 " I am glad that you had so much self-restraint." 
 
 " She is so young," said Glen, with a sigh. 
 " There was just a thin fragile barrier like a veil 
 between us that evening. She had somehow grown 
 exquisitely shy, until then she had not known 
 what fear of me was. I did n't disturb it." 
 Something stirred his recollection and he laughed. 
 " Trying to recall afterwards what she said I could 
 hardly think of a word. She was like the French 
 girl in a pretty little thing somebody wrote whose 
 mother tells her to say nothing to a man except 
 *OA, monsieur!' but who says 'OA, monsieur!' 
 with such effectiveness, with so many intonations, 
 with so many nice shades of expression, that all 
 is said." Glen jumped up and began pacing the 
 room. " When one is in love," he now said, " every 
 fact, every detail of the passion seems an absolutely 
 fresh thing in the mind's history, but everybody 
 who can hold a pen has been fooling over descrip 
 tions of it since hieroglyphics were invented." He 
 came back presently to Haliburton. 
 
 " I '11 go to town and stay until I finish up the 
 six weeks," he said, " then I had already decided 
 to take that place in New York. Suppose I were 
 to succeed, suppose I were to make enough to
 
 INS AND OUTS. 249 
 
 live on, I tell you, John, I shall hold out my 
 arms to Kitty and she shall come." 
 
 " She would never marry you without her 
 mother's consent." 
 
 " She shall marry me, I say. That is, if I have 
 the pluck and the health to get on."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 GLEN SAYS GOOD-BY. 
 
 KITTY had waked up on the morning after 
 Glen's visit feeling perfectly happy. The beauty 
 and the wonder of the clear knowledge that Glen 
 really loved her still overmastered her intellect as 
 well as her fancy. The experience had lifted her 
 off her feet ; she felt as if she floated rather than 
 walked. Nothing was an effort. It seemed so 
 natural, so necessary, to be more grateful, more 
 loving, more appreciative than she had ever been 
 before, more anxious to make others happy. The 
 cook sent up a little dish for luncheon of which 
 Kitty was especially fond ; she must run down to 
 the kitchen to thank Martha for the galantine. 
 The man was going round and round the lawn, 
 clipping the grass; it seemed to her such good 
 ness that Perry should expose himself to this hot 
 sun for their comfort, she ran out to him bare 
 headed with a glass of lemonade. She would have 
 offered something to the horse who drew the mow 
 ing-machine, but Perry, much refreshed by his 
 cooling draught, wiped his lips on the sleeve of 
 his blue shirt, and, thanking her kindly, told her 
 the beast was used to it.
 
 GLEN SAYS GOOD-BY. 251 
 
 How beautiful the world was that day and the 
 following days. The very way the tops of the great 
 tulip-trees rested against the sky was enough to 
 live for. On the terrace were two pergolas of 
 clematis, one all over great white stars and the 
 other purple. To sit and look at them was a reve 
 lation of form and color. To see a humming-bird 
 poise itself before the red flowers of the trumpet- 
 creeper was an experience to watch for hour by 
 hour. Still, although silence and reverie held so 
 much, she overflowed with talk the moment she 
 was with any one, she was ready to listen and 
 sympathize even more than she talked. Richard 
 Amory suddenly found that he could pour out all 
 his sombre ruminations, his sharp-set criticisms of 
 life to Kitty. He could tell her his whole story. 
 
 " Thy child is all at once a woman," he 'observed 
 to Constance. 
 
 Constance winced at the word. She would not 
 admit it to herself, but she was conscious that there 
 was an inexplicable difference in her own inter 
 course with Kitty. Yet the young girl had never 
 in her life been so humble, so anxious to please her 
 mother. She listened attentively to the least word, 
 her eyes resting on Constance's as if waiting to 
 hear more ; when she answered, her voice softened 
 and grew more caressing. 
 
 They happened at this time to be entertaining 
 friends for a few days, and this was, Constance be 
 lieved, a fortunate circumstance, and helped to 
 bridge over an awkward interval. There had been
 
 252 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 no allusion to Glen since the evening when they 
 had said so much. Kitty had asked no questions, 
 she had apparently felt no anxieties, not even 
 curiosity. 
 
 It was a very hot day when Haliburton took 
 Glen over to make his farewell visit to Waldstein. 
 Constance knew that they were to come, and said 
 to her guests after luncheon that they would have 
 tea under the tulip-trees at five o'clock. Upstairs 
 she observed to Kitty, 
 
 " Glen is coming to say good-by." 
 
 "To say good-by?" Kitty repeated as if in a 
 dream. But Constance noticed that she turned 
 from red to white and from white to red, and sat 
 down suddenly as if needing support. 
 
 " He is going away for a time," Constance said. 
 " We have talked everything over, and . it seems 
 best." 
 
 While Constance was speaking Kitty looked at 
 her with intense eagerness. The young girl was 
 presently quite tranquil again and self-possessed ; 
 a smile hovered about her lips. But when she rose 
 to go into her own room she tottered slightly. 
 
 " The heat overpowers me," she murmured. Sho 
 sank down on the window-seat and soon fell asleep. 
 At a quarter before five Constance, dressed and 
 ready to go down, awoke her. 
 
 "Time to dress, dear," she said. " I have put 
 out your thinnest frock. It is so very warm." 
 
 She descended, and it was not long before Hali 
 burton and Glen emerged from the woods and
 
 GLEN SAYS GOOD-BT. 253 
 
 crossed the lawn. Constance, her brother, and 
 their three guests were sitting- together by the tea- 
 table, but Kitty was not there. 
 
 " Kitty will be down presently," Constance said, 
 observing Glen's wandering glance, and when she 
 saw, after a time, a flutter of white in the door 
 way, she remarked to him, " There she is." 
 
 She seemed not only to permit him to go and 
 meet Kitty, but to expect it. Nevertheless, her 
 magnanimity put Glen freshly on his guard. He 
 walked towards the young girl apparently with his 
 ordinary nonchalance, and stood waiting at the 
 foot of the steps for her to descend. He forgot to 
 speak for a moment. In a thin, white dress, which, 
 with its light ample breadths floated airily about 
 her, her throat and head rising out of delicate, crisp 
 frillings of lace, she looked fairer, softer, more 
 exquisite than he had ever seen her. She was not 
 pale, rather rosy instead, and there was spread 
 over her whole face, her motion, her manner, a 
 sort of dreaminess ; her eyes met his with a lan 
 guor which was new to him. 
 
 " I have been asleep," she said, with humble 
 apology. " Indeed, I am half asleep now. It is so 
 warm." 
 
 " Asleep are you, you baby ? " murmured Glen, 
 smiling at her. 
 
 They did not shake hands. It seemed to Glen 
 as if she took his presence quite passively; she 
 did not after the first moment try to meet his 
 eyes. He could only utter words of banter. He
 
 254 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 felt moved to the deepest tenderness, but the veriest 
 nonsense came from his lips. He had hardly slept 
 of late ; all to-day he had been thinking of what 
 he should say to her, or rather what he could leave 
 unsaid, and yet utter one speech, one final word 
 which should reach her heart, like a seed which 
 might swell, put forth its root, and fix itself there. 
 It was fairly comical to him that at this moment 
 she should be drowsy, inert, half indifferent. But 
 he liked it. He would not even say, 
 
 " Kathleen mavourneen, awake from thy slumbers." 
 
 He was moved rather to tread softly, to hush every 
 suggestion that could rouse her. He felt enough 
 for both. 
 
 Kitty went straight to the table after giving her 
 fingers to Haliburton as she passed. She always 
 served the tea when they had it out of doors. She 
 took the eyes of all the group, so that they dropped 
 their talk. Constance almost held her breath as 
 she looked at her daughter. Kitty had been grow 
 ing prettier and prettier all summer ; at this mo 
 ment she had burst into delicate bloom, like a 
 wonderful hothouse rose. And it was all for 
 Glen. He was to carry away this impression of 
 her, a bewitched, undying sense of the girl's 
 sweetness and loveliness which would fix itself in 
 his permanent consciousness. 
 
 The tea to-day was a sort of punch ; there was a 
 great bowl full of lumps of ice and slices of pine 
 apple and lemon on which strong, hot tea had
 
 GLEN SAYS GOOD-BY. 255 
 
 been poured. Kitty ladled it out into little glass 
 cups with handles, and took them, two at a time, 
 and offered one to the right and the other to the 
 left. 
 
 " Ah, Kitty, Kitty," said Richard Amory, shak 
 ing his head at her, " thee told me yesterday thee 
 was a good Quaker, but thee does not look like a 
 good Quaker to-day." 
 
 She smiled and nodded, but there seemed to be 
 a dullness in her head, a roaring in her ears. Per 
 haps her heart was beating too fast. Presently, 
 when she had given everybody tea, she sat down 
 on the nearest bench, feeling quite helpless. 
 
 Glen had waited, and now came and sat down 
 beside her. 
 
 " Are you still asleep ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Fast asleep." 
 
 " Well, I am glad ; I can say what I please ; I 
 have to say it ; you need not listen. It is not very 
 important. Did I tell you the other night that I 
 loved you ? Well, to-day I love you just one thou 
 sand times more than I loved you then. Do you 
 hear ? Just one thousand times more." 
 
 She looked away from him. A great wave of 
 exultation seemed to rise in her and almost over 
 power her. She felt blindly for her fan. It was 
 he who lifted it from her lap and began to fan her. 
 
 " But your mother will not give her consent to 
 our marriage," he went on. " And I am going 
 away. I shall not see you again, perhaps, for a 
 long while ; I shall not write to you ; I shall leave
 
 256 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 you to forget me, if you can and will. But I do 
 not think you will find it too easy. It seems to me 
 that what I feel for you and what you feel for me 
 is too sweet oh, too surpassingly sweet to melt 
 away and leave no trace." 
 
 "I shall not forget you," said Kitty, and she 
 turned and looked at him an instant with a calm 
 timidity. 
 
 " You must make me no promises," said Glen. 
 " I wish your mother to feel that I have not bound 
 you by one single word that could hamper your abso 
 lute free play. But I am yours, Kitty, absolutely. 
 I shall think of you all the time. Even though you 
 do not hear my name for months and months, I 
 shall not only have been thinking of you, but 
 working for you. I am tired of being a failure. 
 If there is anything in me it is going to come out 
 now. I am going to take my life, my brain, my 
 heart, my nerves between my two hands, as it 
 were, and compel them to give me something. If 
 it kills me, why then it is over and done with. 
 That problem is ended. But, Kitty, if I die, all 
 through your long life, and I hope your happy life, 
 just remember that one poor fellow was eternally 
 grateful to you." 
 
 "You must not even think of such a thing," said 
 Kitty. " Of course you will not die." 
 
 Her childish, despotic air, her petulance, restored 
 Glen to his balance. He laughed. The shadowy 
 index hand pointing to the loss of all things, the 
 dearest things, was not seen by Kitty. A little
 
 GLEN SAYS GOOD-BY. 257 
 
 more and he would have been lachrymose. He had 
 had his say, and Constance had not once glanced in 
 his direction. It is, however, presumable that she 
 was not insensible when he rose from Kitty's side, 
 came back to the group, joined in the talk, then 
 presently took his leave along with Haliburton, 
 saying to one after the other " Good-by " without 
 any particular emphasis. 
 
 " Good-by, Kitty." 
 
 " Good-by, cousin Glen." 
 
 Constance heard these words with an unspeak 
 able relief. Kitty stood looking after the two men 
 as they crossed the grounds. As he entered the 
 path under the trees, Glen turned, looked back, 
 and waved his hand. Kitty raised hers in return, 
 then she sat down as if at the end of her strength. 
 
 Constance went up to her. 
 
 "Kitty, dear," she said. 
 
 "Yes, mamma." 
 
 " We shall miss cousin Glen dreadfully." 
 
 " Dreadfully," Kitty repeated. It was not, how 
 ever, the tone of one who is left uncomforted.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A BIRD IN THE SOLITUDE SINGING. 
 
 OTHER people missed Glendenning Rennie after 
 he had gone. One of them was Haliburton. 
 
 " Pray come and go exactly as if nothing had 
 taken place," Constance said to him. 
 
 But there was a difference, nevertheless. Glen's 
 absence hung heavily upon Haliburton when he 
 was at home. He felt a vague discomfort, a dis 
 comfort which gradually defined itself as a restless 
 curiosity about the future. He still saw Glen in 
 town, and twice Glen came out for the evening. 
 There was much talk between the two. The first 
 question Glen asked, was whether John had seen 
 Constance and Kitty ; he was eager for the most 
 minute details. Haliburton had little to tell, ex 
 cept that it was evident the marchesa and Kitty 
 were on the easiest of terms, simply and frankly 
 depending on each other and doing everything to 
 gether. 
 
 Glen bore no grudge against Constance. He 
 perfectly understood her doubts of him. She had 
 offered him sharp tonics, and they had braced him. 
 He was proud of himself for having a mind for 
 tonics. In place of the old anguish of despair he
 
 A BIRD IN THE SOLITUDE SINGING. 259 
 
 was now full of another emotion, that of present 
 happiness and desires and beliefs in the future. 
 He confessed himself absolutely commonplace and 
 sordid in his ambitions. Constance might not 
 care for money in itself, but money meant sub 
 stance, solidity. Hitherto he had lived by caprice ; 
 he had sacrificed none of his individuality ; he had 
 substituted ideas of what he liked for action. Now 
 there was to be no pause, no let-up. He had already 
 found a place in a publishing house in New York. 
 
 "I told them," he remarked to John, "that I 
 had taken two degrees, that I understood Latin, 
 Greek, Sanskrit, a little Hebrew ; that I not only 
 read but spoke fluently five modern languages ; 
 that I was a good stenographer, could operate the 
 type-writing machine, had published a book of 
 poems besides having written both pi-ose and poetry 
 for magazines ; that I had conducted newspapers 
 and been a musical, dramatic, and art critic. They 
 offered me at first fifty dollars a month, but when 
 I told them I habitually worked nineteen hours a 
 day, they raised it to eighty. You see genius and 
 merit do tell even in this world." 
 
 " Perhaps when they find out what a clever dog 
 you really are they will double the salary," said 
 Haliburton. 
 
 " Oh, I shaU get on," said Glen. " Only I wish, 
 John, that now and then you would put Kitty in 
 mind of me." 
 
 Haliburton was ready enough to do it. What 
 chilled and dispirited him was that Constance and
 
 260 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 Kitty had begun to settle down as it were upon 
 new terms ; there was a suggestion that a disturb 
 ing, harassing element had gone out of their lives ; 
 that in Glen's absence the marchesawas reappro- 
 priating Kitty, drawing her closer. Once more 
 he had that feeling that there was no place in 
 Constance's life for himself. Her unalterable se 
 renity and completeness moved him to dejection. 
 Of course she was perfectly happy with Kitty. No 
 love can surpass that of a parent for a child. Hali- 
 burton said dryly to himself, that no doubt if he 
 had married at the age of twenty-five, he too might 
 be wrapped up in his offspring, but having no chil 
 dren, and being in love with Constance, he had no 
 sufficient satisfaction in his life, and he viewed with 
 jealous disquietude her complete intercourse with 
 Kitty, who turned to her mother for interpretation 
 of all her ideas, hopes, intuitions, and beliefs. 
 
 Other people besides even Haliburton missed 
 Glendenning Rennie, and one of them was Agatha 
 Darrow. 
 
 The Ambury Darrows had been away at the sea 
 side. When they came back about the middle of 
 September, they brought new life and animation 
 to the quiet neighborhood. Everybody was com 
 ing and going ; questions were asked ; whatever 
 one was doing had to be explained in due and 
 logical order. Sue had a thousand new ideas ; a 
 hundred schemes. Agatha had one. 
 
 " And you have been going on in just the same 
 way," Agatha said to Constance and Kitty. "Just
 
 A BIRD IN THE SOLITUDE SINGING. 261 
 
 the same coming down to breakfast, talking, read 
 ing, seeing the same tiresome people. Oh, how 
 wonderful you are, never to be thoroughly weary 
 of your life." 
 
 " You have had delightful times of course," said 
 Constance. " Everything has been fresh, new, and 
 vividly interesting." 
 
 " Nothing was ever so dreary," said Gatty. " I 
 did riot care for anything in the least. One has 
 to fall into the fiction that society is delightful, or 
 else it is the most absurd business. The first thing 
 one does when one goes to a summer resort is to 
 see people and hear what everybody is doing. 
 ' Oh, how nice ! ' one says. Then one does what 
 everybody else is doing. ' Oh, how tiresome ! ' one 
 thinks. Still one goes on exchanging phrases: 
 ' How do you take your tea ? ' ' Ah yes, this is 
 delicious.' ' Do you like the seaside or the moun 
 tains best ? ' If I were to reply, 
 
 ' Two voices are there ; one is of the sea, 
 One of the mountains, each a mighty voice,' 
 
 they would consider me cracked. I have not had 
 a real human talk since I went away. I want a 
 real human talk. May Kitty come and walk with 
 me in the woods, marchesa ? " 
 
 " She will be delighted, I am sure." The two 
 girls set out at once. 
 
 There was still the gold-green glimmer of sum 
 mer through the woods. The snakeweed and the 
 beard-tongue still carried the last of their frail, 
 white flowers which lighted up the twilight of the
 
 262 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 deeper thickets, and the asters' star-like blossoms 
 in blue and violet were everywhere. The little rill, 
 which through the hot months had been almost 
 dried to its source, now slid, singing, through mossy 
 margins. Agatha paused and looked down into the 
 leaf -strewn spring under a green bank. 
 
 "I wanted to take this walk again," she ex 
 claimed. " Do you know when I took it last? " 
 
 " Before you went to the seaside ? " 
 
 " The last day Glen was here," said Agatha. 
 
 Kitty looked at Agatha, her eyes quickened by 
 expectation. 
 
 The sound of that interdicted name fell on her 
 ears like music, reminding her that deep down in 
 her soul there lay a whole world of meaning, hid 
 den, sacred, to which nobody could be admitted. 
 Had Agatha glanced at Kitty at this moment, a 
 part of her secret must have been discovered. 
 
 " I was coming along the path," Agatha con 
 tinued, looking about her as if to be sure of the 
 exact locality, " when I met him. He stopped short 
 before me and asked where I was going. I replied 
 that I was going nowhere in particular, and he re 
 marked that he would go there with me. So we 
 went on side by side. At first I talked, but find 
 ing that he not only made no response but did not 
 even take the trouble to listen, I, too, said not one 
 word. When we came to this spring he glanced at 
 it and murmured, 
 
 ' In the desert a fountain is springing.' 
 
 He said it dreamily ; he walked on just as we are
 
 A BIRD IN THE SOLITUDE SINGING. 263 
 
 walking now, and when we reached that group of 
 oaks, he broke silence again, 
 
 ' In the wide waste there still is a tree.' 
 
 He said it as he says so many things, you know, 
 Kitty, with a little suggestion of whim and mis 
 chief, his eyes half closed, his lips rather smil 
 ing. Then all at once a thrush gave its note, 
 first the whistle and then the carol. 
 
 ' And a bird in the solitude singing,' 
 
 he added, and not another word did I hear from 
 him until we came to the edge of the wood, when 
 he suddenly held out his hand and said, ' Good- 
 by, Gatty,' and was off like a flash." 
 
 Kitty had sunk down on the stump of a tree. 
 She was laughing, an irresistible little gurgling 
 laugh. 
 
 " It was drolj, was it not ? " said Gatty ; " just like 
 Glen. But, oh, it made me raging, furious." 
 
 " But why ? " demanded Kitty. 
 
 " Don't you see ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Of course ; you are an innocent child. You 
 had not noticed what had been going on. It was 
 the merest flirtation. He understands me, and he 
 does not adore me. I don't pretend to understand 
 him ; I do not adore him, but he interests me ; I 
 love to hear him talk ; I love to have him look at 
 me. The way his eyes travel over my face simply 
 puts me in good humor. I do not think I really 
 care for him in the least, but yet in a way I care
 
 264 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 for him more than I ever cared for anybody in my 
 life. And he knows it. He knows that he moves 
 me ; he knows that he can play upon me ; he knows 
 that if he were to make any real attempt to win a 
 genuine response, all my defiance, all my theories, 
 would shrivel up and be without the least efficacy. 
 He has talked to me endlessly ; he loves to talk to 
 me, he says. He is audacious ; he does not stop at 
 a trifle " 
 
 " Gatty ! " cried Kitty, as if she were in pain. 
 
 " Well ? " answered Agatha, breaking off in the 
 midst of her confession and looking with astonish 
 ment at Kitty's pale face and burning eyes. 
 
 " Do you mean that cousin Glen made love 
 _ to you?" 
 
 " You put it so solemnly. I mean that he has 
 been playing with me as a cat plays with a mouse. 
 For a month all interest, all devotion ; watching 
 for me, waiting for me. Then we meet in the 
 wood. He has nothing to say ; but just observe 
 the close suggestion of those three quotations. Do 
 you know the fourth line ? " 
 
 " Yes," murmured Kitty, growing even more 
 pale than before. 
 
 Still Agatha could not deny herself the pleasure 
 of repeating, 
 
 " In the desert a fountain is springing, 
 In the wide waste there still is a tree, 
 And a bird in the solitude singing, 
 Which speaks to my spirit of thee." 
 
 "He meant nothing," she went on. "He was
 
 A BIRD IN THE SOLITUDE SINGING. 265 
 
 simply playing out his part to the close. He knew 
 that I would not absolutely believe that he was 
 thinking only of me ; he did not wish me absolutely 
 to believe it, only to believe it up to a certain point. 
 It was just a little light comedy episode, and now 
 it is over." 
 
 " He was making love to you," Kitty repeated 
 mechanically. 
 
 " Is a man never to make love ? Is a woman 
 never to have love made to her? " 
 
 "I thought I thought," Kitty burst forth, 
 " you did not care for such things." 
 
 " Care for such things ! What am I but a wo 
 man? Not an intellect, not a soul, not a mere 
 body, but a woman with a heart, senses, nerves, 
 intellect, soul, and a life she has got somehow to 
 spend. I 'm the half of a complete being, and 
 cannot help missing the other half. I have never 
 seen it even in my dreams ; but Glen has always 
 come nearer to my ideal than any other man. 
 He knows it ; there is nothing he does not know 
 where women are concerned. He was interested 
 in seeing if he could make me in love with him a 
 little. It was only that I wished to be touched and 
 pleased. If he were to go down on his knees and 
 ask me to marry him, I would not do it, for he 
 does not love me. Indeed, I think in his secret 
 heart he even laughs at me. There is only one 
 woman whom he loves or has ever loved. After 
 loving her, he never could love anybody else." 
 
 Agatha stopped in her rush of self -revelation 
 and gave a significant little laugh.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 TIME'S REVENGES. 
 
 KITTY had at first experienced the sweetest 
 exultation ; she had had no doubt as to whom Glen 
 had been thinking of in the wood on that day when 
 they were to separate. But she had been bewildered 
 by Agatha's own confidences. The torment of the 
 situation put her in a fever. She was first hot, 
 then she shivered. She seemed to have no strength. 
 Something had stunned her heart. 
 
 But she made an effort to say, 
 
 " Whom do you mean ? " She was swimming in 
 uncertainty. 
 
 " Why, have you never heard who was the hero 
 ine of Glen Rennie's ' Love Unfulfilled ' ? " Agatha 
 demanded. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Can it be possible ? Why, all the world 
 knows." 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 Kitty's face showed her effort to think acutely. 
 But it was of no use. Her brain whirled. 
 
 " There can surely be no harm in telling you. 
 But try to guess." 
 
 Kitty shook her head.
 
 TIME'S EEVENGES. 267 
 
 " Is it any one I know? " 
 
 " Somebody you know most intimately, some 
 body you have seen morning, noon, and night all 
 your life." 
 
 Kitty tried her wits at the riddle. 
 
 " Do you mean me ? " she faltered. 
 
 " You, you infant ! I mean your beautiful 
 mamma." 
 
 " Mamma ! " 
 
 " Whom else ? " As Agatha spoke, she sud 
 denly caught Kitty's hands in one of hers and 
 clasped her with her arm. 
 
 " Why, what is the matter ? " she demanded. 
 " Are you fainting ? " 
 
 As the two girls sat side by side on the trunk of 
 a fallen tree, Kitty, turning perfectly white, had all 
 at once swayed and had leaned against Agatha's 
 shoulder for support. In another moment the 
 weakness had passed. Her lips regained a trifle of 
 color. Agatha deeply regretted her blunder ; but 
 who would have supposed the child could have 
 been either so ignorant or so susceptible ? 
 
 " I ought not to have told you," she said, " yet 
 all the world knows it. And I remember you 
 yourself telling me how Glen heard your mother's 
 step on the stairs, how he talked to her, listened 
 to her " - 
 
 Again Kitty had to struggle for self-command. 
 
 " I suppose," Gatty went on, " that it makes you 
 jealous that any one has dared to make love to your 
 mother. But you may as well understand, once
 
 268 THE BEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 for all, that Glen is only one of many. Glen sim 
 ply paid the marchesa the highest compliment in 
 his power to bestow. She was faithful to your 
 father." 
 
 They looked at each other for a moment, tremu 
 lously, in silence. 
 
 Kitty drew a long breath finally, and said, " I 
 thank you for telling me. It took me by surprise. 
 We will not talk of it any more, please." 
 
 " No, we will not talk about it ; nevertheless, you 
 ought to glory in it. Did you ever hear of your 
 beautiful Quaker ancestress, Elspeth Waldstein ? 
 When you go home, look at the little faded sofa 
 which stands in your upper hall. That was Els- 
 peth's. It used to have a place in the drawing- 
 room. Once while she was sitting there, an English 
 officer asked her to marry him. She declined 
 politely, when he told her she seemed not to realize 
 what an honor she was refusing. She drew herself 
 up, and said, ' Friend, I have refused fifty offers 
 .from this very sofa.' Her blood runs in your veins. 
 I have none of it. No man ever offered himself to 
 me, and I dare say no man ever will. There is 
 just that subtle difference in women. I do not 
 desire fifty offers, not even one, but I have some 
 curiosity concerning the women men do make fools 
 of themselves about." 
 
 Kitty proposed, in an indifferent manner, that 
 they should go back, as if the question of love and 
 marriage in no wise concerned or interested her. 
 All through this interview she had had the sensation
 
 TIME'S REVENGES. 269 
 
 of a man who finds himself in a marsh, feels himself 
 sinking deeper and deeper at every step, yet has to 
 go on in order finally to reach some sure footing. 
 She hardly tried to listen to Agatha's flow of words. 
 
 " You are too sensitive, too emotional, too in 
 tense. I suppose it is your Italian blood. It 
 cannot be your training ; the marchesa is always 
 so unalterably serene. It is not safe to feel so 
 much, Kitty. It is a bad trick, this of idealizing 
 everybody one cares for, putting them on a 
 pedestal, then, when you get tired of adoring them, 
 pulling them down." 
 
 The moment they reached the point in the woods 
 where their paths diverged, Kitty said good-by. 
 
 " You are not angry with me, dear ? " said 
 Agatha. 
 
 " Angry ? Oh no. I am glad you told me." 
 
 Agatha shrugged her shoulders over Kitty's 
 incomprehensibility, and set off towards home. 
 Kitty, free to follow her own instincts, would have 
 flown, but she seemed to have no strength. Her 
 knees at times bent beneath her, and more than 
 once she took hold of a shrub or tree that was in 
 her path, and supported herself until she had re- 
 gathered the force to go on. When she reached 
 the house she went straight to her mother, who 
 was in her room, standing before her mirror, put 
 ting the last touches to her toilette for dinner. 
 
 " I want to ask you a question, mamma," Kitty 
 said. By this time the feeling that suspense was 
 to be ended had nerved her. There was something
 
 270 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 in her tone which made Constance turn and look 
 at her with curiosity. 
 
 " What is it, dear ? " she asked. 
 
 " Was Glen ever in love with you ? Did he ask 
 you to marry him ? Did he write a book about 
 you ? " The three questions followed one another, 
 each clear, concise, and in direct sequence. 
 
 " Who has told you this foolish thing ? " de 
 manded Constance, deeply pained and indignant. 
 
 " You ought to have told me, mamma," said 
 Kitty. " If it is true that he was in love with you, 
 that he asked you to marry him, I can never, 
 never forgive you for not telling me." 
 
 She was standing at the door, she tried to 
 cross the room to reach her own chamber, but 
 swerved a little, then sank down on her knees be 
 side a chair and hid her face in the cushions. 
 
 Constance stood for a moment as if she was 
 trying to take in the meaning of Kitty's words. 
 Then she darted towards her, lifted the bent head, 
 and, sitting down, drew it upon her lap. 
 
 " Kitty," she whispered, " Kitty," but no an 
 swer came. 
 
 "Kitty, look up and kiss me," she implored. 
 " What is this ? Why are you angry with me ? " 
 
 " You know why I am angry with you." 
 
 " Because Glen when he was a mere foolish boy 
 asked me to marry him, fancied he was in love 
 with me, wrote ridiculous verses about me ? " 
 
 " You might have spared me the the ignominy 
 of of of letting me go on believing believ 
 ing when all the time he loved you."
 
 TIME'S REVENGES. 271 
 
 " I have never in my life told any one that any 
 man has asked me to be his wife. If such things 
 have been told, other people have told them. I 
 cannot understand how any woman ever speaks of 
 such matters. If she accepts a man's offer, all the 
 world knows ; if she rejects, nobody need know." 
 
 " I needed to know it." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because because it shows me that Glen never 
 loved me." 
 
 Constance understood on the instant that the 
 girl's delicacy had taken a mortal hurt. 
 
 " I will tell you anything about my life, Kitty. 
 There is nothing I will keep back. Perhaps I 
 might have told you about Glen's early feeling if 
 I had had any preparation for for what has 
 happened. As it was under the circumstances 
 you could hardly have expected me to bring up 
 such a " Constance broke off without trying 
 to finish her sentence. 
 
 "You ought to have been frank with me," said 
 Kitty, persisting. " You have treated me as a 
 foolish child." She paused a moment, then lifted 
 her head from her mother's knees and looked at 
 her. " Tell me now, everything," she demanded. 
 
 " Everything ? " Constance exclaimed. " Do 
 you realize that Glen and I belong to a different 
 generation from you ? I was engaged to Philip 
 when I was nineteen. Glen was seventeen, the 
 merest boy. Well, when he heard that I was 
 to be married the next week, he came to me ; he
 
 272 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 made a scene, said his heart was broken, that 
 I had broken it. That was three years and more 
 before you were born." 
 
 Kitty, looking at her mother, listened intently. 
 
 " That is not all ? " she asked. 
 
 " No, that was the very foolish and presumptu 
 ous beginning. It was nine years later when you 
 were six years old that I took you to the seashore, 
 to the place where Glen was consul. It was to 
 me almost the same as if he were my brother. 
 He belonged to my family, I was a widow, I 
 had a child. I did not go into society. It had 
 not occurred to me that there was any danger of 
 his renewing his boyish feeling, but he did." 
 
 " Why did you not marry him ? " 
 
 "Because I did not love him. Because I had 
 you, I had all I needed in my life." 
 
 " But cousin Glen had nobody." 
 
 " He had himself ; he had his career ; he had his 
 life to make the most of." 
 
 " You let him go on loving you ? " 
 
 " I have never taken Glen very seriously. When 
 a man is seriously in love he is not very managea 
 ble. Glen was manageable. If I would not marry 
 him he was almost equally happy and comfortable 
 as my friend ; and I I have always enjoyed 
 talking with Glen. And just at that time it was as 
 if I were pausing to take breath. My life had been 
 so strange to me, I seemed to need to think about 
 it hour after hour, try to get used to it. Some 
 times that summer, as I sat on the rocks looking off
 
 TIME'S EEVENGES. 273 
 
 at the Mediterranean, I would say to myself, ' Is it 
 really I Constance Amory ? ' Just to watch you 
 as you played, to have Glen come and sit down 
 beside me and talk over our old life here, quieted 
 me, balanced me. You recall a good deal about it 
 yourself, dear. Lucia was your bonne. You had 
 not been quite strong, and the doctor had told me 
 to let you paddle about in the water in your bare 
 feet as fishermen's children do. You and Glen 
 used to run races along the sands. I was making 
 plans, trying to settle all the details of my future 
 life. I had decided to leave Rome and all your 
 father's relatives and live by myself with you. 
 Seeing Glen made me feel once more as if I had a 
 life of my own to lead ; I lifted up my head and 
 said 'Kitty and I against the world.' Think how 
 happy we were all those years in the villa at 
 Fiesole." 
 
 " Glen was not happy," said Kitty. " I think, 
 mamma, you have no heart, no heart at all." 
 
 "Oh, Kitty!" 
 
 " It makes me almost hate you. He loved you, 
 he needed you. You had no thought of him 
 then except as he was somebody you had known, 
 different from papa's relatives who cramped and 
 fettered you. You went off with me and left him. 
 You had rest and relief, he had none. That 
 was what made me love him, that he was sad, 
 that he needed comfort. I thought I thought 
 it was / who could give it. All the time it was 
 you he loved but who would not love him, you
 
 274 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 would not even let me help him. You put a doubt 
 between us. Yet at the same time you let me 
 deceive myself." 
 
 Constance gazed at Kitty in astonishment. The 
 girl had not risen from the floor, but had withdrawn 
 from her mother's support, and, kneeling at a little 
 distance, poured forth this indictment not passion 
 ately nor impetuously, but as if she had weighed 
 each word, and now gave voice to a long-suppressed 
 condemnation. 
 
 " If you had told me all this story long ago," 
 she went on relentlessly, " I should have under 
 stood ; I could have judged." 
 
 " I am sorry now that I did not tell you, Kitty," 
 Constance said calmly. 
 
 " My whole life is spoiled, and you are sorry ! " 
 
 " I am sorry, I say, that I did not tell you, but 
 that your life is spoiled I cannot and will not be 
 lieve." 
 
 Kitty had risen to her feet. 
 
 " I suppose you must go down to dinner," she 
 said quietly. " I shall stay in my own room." 
 
 " Yes, dear, stay if you prefer it. I will send 
 your dinner to you." Constance went up to her 
 as she spoke, expecting an embrace. Kitty with 
 drew. 
 
 " Not kiss me, Kitty ? Not kiss me ? " 
 
 " I do not love you, mamma. I feel as if I 
 never could love you again." 
 
 Downstairs the brother and sister dined al-
 
 TIME'S EEVENGES. 275 
 
 most in silence Afterwards they walked up and 
 down the terrace path together, and Constance told 
 Richard Amory the whole story. 
 
 " What shall I do ? " she asked. 
 
 " If I were thee," he answered, " I would wait 
 for the prompting of the spirit." 
 
 " Do you consider that I have acted wrongly to 
 wards Kitty in any way ? " 
 
 " Surely not wrongly. But think it over quietly, 
 Constance, and thee will see everything more 
 clearly." 
 
 "I am thinking it over. I have been thinking 
 all the time of late." 
 
 " Is thee thinking of conquering or of yielding ? 
 Is thee thinking of what is best for thee or for 
 Kitty?" 
 
 " I believe I can truly say that I am thinking of 
 what is best for Kitty." 
 
 " She has been very sweet of late. Sometimes 
 her face has touched me, and her voice has had a 
 peculiar softness." 
 
 " Yes, I have been proud of her." Constance, 
 as she spoke, gave a little sigh. " I saw that she 
 was trying to show me she could be* brave, that 
 she respected my wishes and accepted them. But 
 this is different. She no longer trusts me ; she 
 imputes heaven only knows what motives to me. 
 She says she says " Constance could hardly 
 utter the words " that she does not love me, 
 that she almost hates me. My Kitty, my own 
 little Kitty, would not kiss me."
 
 276 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 Her voice was full of anguish. Kichard Amory, 
 too, was deeply touched, feeling both for Constance 
 and with Kitty. 
 
 " Pity her because she is so young, so ignorant, 
 so miserable," he said. " She is desolate." 
 
 " Pity her ? " repeated Constance. " What I am 
 longing for at this moment is to hold her in my 
 arms. Only that. It is she that leaves me deso 
 late ; not I that would let her suffer a minute." 
 
 " Thy Kitty is eighteen years old," said Richard 
 Amory. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Before she came thee had been thinking of thy 
 child ; thee has had her, we will say, almost nine 
 teen years." 
 
 " Yes. I had longed for a child. After Philip 
 died I thought, ' Oh, if I had but a child to come 
 and comfort me as some widows have had.' Kitty 
 was the fulfillment of a long hope." 
 
 "Did thee nurse her? " 
 
 " Yes ; I felt I could not resign her to one of 
 those tyrannical Roman nurses. Francesco con 
 sented, but his family regarded my fulfillment of a 
 mother's duties as something unheard of, bizarre, 
 American." 
 
 " The little soft head on thy breast made thee 
 happy." 
 
 " Happy ! I often think of it now." 
 
 " And her cheek on thine, her smiles and laughter, 
 her grief that thee only could still, her little coos 
 and babbling cries that thee only could interpret,
 
 TIME'S REVENGES. 277 
 
 they made a part of thy life ; they are a part of 
 thy memory still." 
 
 " Ah yes. Thee knows, brother, I can see that 
 thee knows how a mother loves her child ! " 
 
 " Thee taught her to walk. In all thy life thee 
 was never more pleased than when her little feet 
 learned how to patter along the floor. And no 
 joy, no triumph, was complete unless thee held her 
 close, covered her with kisses, and felt the ardent 
 thrill of the physical life of the little creature. 
 But although this is so large a part of thy ex 
 perience, Constance, she cannot recall it. She was 
 gathering her strength, but her mental life had 
 not then begun." 
 
 " You mean that I inevitably love her more than 
 she loves me ! " Constance exclaimed. " Of course, 
 in a way ; but she has always been devoted to me 
 
 until now." 
 
 " She has been a loving, dutiful child. My two 
 boys were good, loving, candid little boys. When 
 I look at Darrow I have often a little laugh to my 
 self. At the time he was three years old his mother 
 and I were entertaining some of the Friends who 
 had come to the Yearly Meeting. We were having 
 a sober discourse, which Darrow interrupted by 
 putting questions and making a general disturbance. 
 So I said to him quite sternly, ' Go and sit thee 
 down quietly, Darrow. Little boys should be seen 
 and not heard.' The conversation went on until 
 some refreshments were offered, when the question 
 went up between his mother and me, 'Where is
 
 278 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 Darrow ? ' We called ' Darrow, Darrow ! ' A lit 
 tle voice answered from under the table, and what 
 does thee think, Constance ? He came forth stark 
 naked. He had amused himself by unbuttoning 
 all his clothes and putting them in a pile. When 
 Darrow nowadays puts on a certain air, takes a 
 certain tone, offers advice, blames me for this or 
 that omission or commission, I can think of the 
 chubby little figure emerging from under the table. 
 That was my little son ; this present Darrow is a 
 fine, stately man, but he is not the child whom I 
 held precious." 
 
 " Let us sit down," said Constance. " Thee 
 gives me something to think of." 
 
 They sat down on the garden seat. 
 
 "Darrow is my second son," Richard Amory 
 pursued. " William came first. He was born in 
 November. One warm day in April, when the 
 grass was beginning to spring fresh and luxuriant, 
 I took my firstborn in my arms, brought him forth 
 from the farm cottage where thee knows we lived 
 until our father died, across the place, took off his 
 little socks, and set him down on his bare feet in the 
 middle of the lawn by the tulip-trees. ' The lines 
 are fallen unto thee in pleasant places,' I said to 
 the crowing baby. ' By God's help this shall be 
 thy goodly heritage.' When I die, and he sells 
 this estate, as he longs to do, the opening of the 
 street will come just where my firstborn son, 
 Richard William Amory, stood, supported by his 
 father's arms."
 
 TIME'S REVENGES. 279 
 
 " Did thee ever tell him the story," inquired 
 Constance. 
 
 " Oh yes, I have told him," said Richard Ainory. 
 " He says I am a sentimentalist." 
 
 They sat silent side by side for a time, then he 
 spoke again. 
 
 " The instinct is in thee and in me ; it is in all 
 men more or less, but a little more in families 
 which have gone on for years preserving what their 
 fathers bequeathed them. The longing for some 
 thing permanent, fixed, becomes at last a need. 
 Thee looks up at the hurrying clouds, at the serene 
 stars ; thee is so slight, so little powerful ; the uni 
 verse is so great ; this little world even so vast in pro 
 portion to the narrow circle in which thee lives and 
 moves ; the time thee hast to live is so brief, the 
 past is so wonderful, the future so mysterious, yet 
 thee hast had such sweet hopes, such great thoughts ; 
 it would be tragically short and useless unless thee 
 felt that thy share in springtime and harvest, sun 
 shine and storm, sunset, sunrise, moonlight and 
 starlight, were to pass on to Kitty. She will have 
 it, she will enjoy it ; but what she will most think 
 of will be her own children, it will be to her as 
 to me and to thee. Is it thy father, thy mother 
 thee thinks of ? " 
 
 Constance uttered a stifled cry. 
 
 " I had no mother. Oh, I have thought to my 
 self I would be to Kitty, not only all I could be of 
 myself, but all that I missed. And now " 
 
 " If I were thee," said Richard Amory, " I would 
 wait for the prompting of the spirit."
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE ESTRANGEMENT. 
 
 FOR some days Kitty continued absolutely es 
 tranged from her mother. Constance waited, as 
 her brother had advised, but not so much for the 
 prompting of the spirit as because she was like a 
 mere straw on the stream. She felt singularly 
 helpless against the fierce current of Kitty's re 
 sentment and wounded pride. The young girl 
 did not leave her room for some days, and was 
 treated as if she were ill. She would rise from 
 her bed at noon, and lie listlessly on the lounge 
 gazing out of the window at the tops of the trees 
 against the sky. She was very pale, and Constance 
 could see, when she went to her every two hours, 
 that she wept much in the intervals between her 
 visits. Constance did not sit down. It was evi 
 dent that her presence made Kitty very restless ; 
 and after twenty-four hours had gone by, the young- 
 girl looked so fragile it seemed a serious matter 
 to run any risk of exciting her. 
 
 Richard Amory alternated with his sister, and 
 carried Kitty grapes from his vines and some 
 splendid peaches from a tree which Kitty had seen 
 in blossom just after she came in the spring. He
 
 THE ESTRANGEMENT. 281 
 
 would sit beside her, and pare the beautiful luscious 
 fruit, and feed her with slices from the end of his 
 fruit-knife as if she were a child. Thus there was 
 a sound of cheery laughter during his visits. 
 
 Haliburton discovered that something was wrong, 
 and he came to the house frequently., One even 
 ing as he sat with Richard Amory and his sister, 
 they were talking about the different religions of 
 the world, and how each answers some crying need 
 in the heart of man. While the talk went on, 
 Richard Amory thought he heard Kitty's voice, 
 and he went upstairs to her. 
 
 Constance turned to Haliburton and said with a 
 soft vehemence which startled him, 
 
 " Richard believes that if we restrain our im 
 pulses, fix our thoughts on the end, and wait for it, 
 we are safe from anxieties and perturbations of soul ; 
 but what I have felt the past few weeks, and espe 
 cially the past few days, is that one needs to be 
 very strong, very self-sustained, to need no help 
 while one listens for the Divine Voice. I am not 
 good company for myself nowadays. I have felt 
 more than once as if I should like to kneel down 
 by the side of a confessional and pour all my 
 troubles into some one's ear." 
 
 Haliburton reached out his hand and touched 
 hers. 
 
 " Here am I." he said. 
 
 " I know you so well ; you also know all about me. 
 It is partly a judge I need, or rather to feel that I 
 am taking counsel not from flesh and blood."
 
 282 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Is not a priest flesh and blood ? " 
 
 " I am not strong ; I am very weak ; I am led 
 hither and thither by contrary impulses ; I need 
 somebody something to sustain me." 
 
 Haliburton could hardly have believed it was 
 Constance speaking. Tears had come to her eyes ; 
 there was a half wildness in her tone. 
 
 " You need a friend," he said. " Am not I a 
 friend ? You could not easily find a friend more 
 faithful than I long to be." 
 
 " I could not tell everything to you as I could 
 tell it to a priest, whose vocation it is to listen and 
 advise." 
 
 " You shall find me as safe as a priest. A priest 
 is certain to have listened with more or less indif 
 ference to plenty of confessions from women who 
 have only too much to confess. He could not 
 know you as I know you ; he could not believe in 
 you as I believe in you ; I long to say he could not 
 help you as I could help you. For no man on 
 earth I dare say it, I will say it, Constance 
 has ever loved you as I love you." 
 
 She shrank from him slightly; the blood had 
 rushed to her face. He went on, " I only say this to 
 show you where I stand. Unless you love me, and 
 are ready to accept me as your husband, my wish to 
 have you for my wife is nothing. I only want you 
 to know that all my service is yours unalterably. 
 I wish it could be the easiest and pleasantest thing 
 in the world for you to turn to me and tell me 
 everything."
 
 THE ESTRANGEMENT. 283 
 
 " You cannot help me. The priest could not help 
 me. Only Kitty can help me, and she will not." 
 
 " Is the trouble still about Glen ? " Haliburton 
 asked. 
 
 " It has taken a new shape," said Constance. 
 She had not until this moment looked fully into 
 his face ; but now as he spoke, encountering his 
 straight glance, she gave a sort of sigh, and said, 
 "It is not hard to tell you everything, you are so 
 kind." She leaned forward and laid her hand 
 on his arm. " Kitty is angry with me," she said 
 faintly, her whole face quivering with emotion. 
 " It is clear that she has grown absolutely to dislike 
 me. When I go into her room, she turns so pale 
 I have more than once feared that she was on the 
 verge of fainting." 
 
 "Is it because you have separated her from 
 Glen?" 
 
 " That she accepted, or seemed to accept. No ; 
 somebody has told her that Glen once cared for 
 me." 
 
 " She is jealous ? " 
 
 " Oh, I would not I could not think she 
 would be jealous. She feels that I ought to have 
 confided in her; that I ought to have prepared 
 her for the situation ; told her that between her 
 and Glen existed this obstacle of an old, foolish 
 affection. She thinks I have treated her as a child. 
 She also accuses me of heartlessness, that I did not 
 marry poor Glen twelve years ago. The want of 
 logic, the absurdity of it all, the odd jumble of
 
 284 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 past and present, the passing sentence with abso- 
 lute condemnation on what happened long before 
 she had any knowledge of things, would make one 
 smile, except except that they go to show that 
 in her mind there is an intense resentment against 
 me. In Kitty's mind! Do you understand, Mr. 
 Haliburton, my Kitty my own little Kitty 
 will not kiss me ; if I reach out my hand, she draws 
 hers away shudderingly." 
 
 As she spoke her clasp tightened on Haliburton's 
 arm. It was easy for him to see that she was 
 suffering acutely. He did not speak for the mo 
 ment, and she went on : 
 
 " She says I have spoiled her life." 
 
 Haliburton uttered an exclamation. 
 
 " That is youth," he said. 
 
 " Yes, it is youth ; but what I intended was that 
 Kitty should be saved that sort of heartbreak. It 
 really did seem that by keeping her close to me, 
 sharing everything I did and said and thought 
 with her, she would take life logically and ration- 
 ally." 
 
 " But did you tell her everything ? " demanded 
 Haliburton. 
 
 " Everything." 
 
 " You did not tell her that Glen had been in love 
 with you all these years, not that." 
 
 " If I did not tell her that, it was because it 
 was too " She finished her sentence with a little 
 gesture suggestive almost of disdain. 
 
 " It was too personal, too intimate," said Hali-
 
 THE ESTRANGEMENT. 285 
 
 burton. " It was your life, or a part of it, and it 
 is not so easy a matter to share the deep thoughts 
 of our lives with any one." 
 
 " It is largely a matter of taste," said Constance. 
 "I had not felt that she was sufficiently grown up 
 to be told of love affairs. When should I have 
 told her ? When we left Fiesole, on the voyage, 
 after we arrived here ? She was the merest 
 child." 
 
 " But eager, inquisitive, ardent, bent on acquisi 
 tion, she must climb to the top of trees ; she 
 must study out everything that is new, whether a 
 bird, or a flower, or an unexpected phrase. You 
 would not have expected her to halt on the 
 threshold and not explore what is actually the one 
 reality of human life, the falling in love with 
 what touches the heart ? " 
 
 " She did not know what sentiment was, except 
 as she felt it for me, for her uncle, for every 
 thing that was beautiful. I remember the day she 
 came home after a talk with Gatty Darrow, when 
 the two had discussed the necessity of having some 
 great distinguishing passion." 
 
 " It is only the first step that counts. She had 
 acquired the phrase." 
 
 " Do you remember the night we dined with you ? 
 We all pampered her appetite and let her eat half 
 a dozen dishes of ice cream and strawberries. She 
 had looked so pretty, as she moved about at the 
 table, so rather womanly, that it was reassuring to 
 see What a greedy child she actually was."
 
 28G THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I remember that night," said Haliburton ; but 
 what he remembered chiefly was that on that me 
 morable night he had felt it his duty a point 
 of conscience and of honor to urge Constance to 
 marry Glen. 
 
 " But I think," Constance went on dreamily, 
 " that it all began that night. She and Glen went 
 out together to see the shower come up. He was 
 ill for a week afterwards, and all that time she was 
 in a fever. It did not suggest anything to me ex 
 cept her longing to do something for a friend who 
 was ill. Now I see." She sighed. She had with 
 drawn her hand from Haliburton's arm, and, sit 
 ting back in her chair, leaned against the cushions, 
 closing her eyes. 
 
 Haliburton studied the pale face. He knew that 
 she was working out a long equation ; her one 
 object, her one thought, being to have x equal y ; 
 and Haliburton knew, or believed that he knew, 
 that x is irrevocably x, and that y has its own 
 potentialities, and no more. 
 
 Richard Amory came tiptoeing down in another 
 moment. He said that Kitty was asleep ; that he 
 thought she was brighter, and that the following 
 day she would see everything in a different light. 
 
 " I told her, " Richard Amory went on, " that 
 this was a house in which life had been going on 
 for many generations. Birth, marriage, death, 
 birth, marriage, death, one had succeeded the 
 other, each bringing along in its train much sorrow, 
 much necessity for endurance, some joy, but none
 
 THE ESTRANGEMENT. 287 
 
 unalloyed. I told her that these events had come 
 to pass one after the other ; so long as human 
 beings peopled the earth they must always come to 
 pass. But I told her, too, that never within my 
 knowledge had any one in suffering done as she was 
 doing now, separating herself from the loving, 
 longing hearts close beside her, belonging to her, 
 her nearest and dearest, longing to comfort and to 
 soothe her." 
 
 Constance put out her hand and clasped her 
 brother's. " I thank thee, Richard," she said.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 HALIBURTON FINDS HIS OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 THE days were so long, so dull to Kitty. Nothing 
 happened ; nothing ever could happen again. Life 
 had stopped ; the mainspring of the mechanism was 
 broken. Let the hands on the dial-face travel round 
 as they might ; let the sun rise in the east, climb 
 to the meridian, decline to the west, and give way 
 to let the moon and stars shine forth in his place ; 
 yet everything in the universe stood stock-still. 
 
 It was not that Glen had vanished out of her 
 life. It was not that the transport of loving him 
 and believing herself to be loved by him was flatly 
 over and done with. It was not that the old rap 
 ture and belief in her mother's feeling could never 
 be rekindled. It was that she suddenly saw with 
 new eyes, heard with new ears, realized the empti 
 ness of things, the great, gaping void between 
 what she craved and the reality offered in its place. 
 
 Kitty's eternity of despair lasted six days. It 
 was then that her uncle had spoken to her quietly, 
 saying finally, 
 
 " When we think only of our individual rights 
 and forget duty, thee sees, Kitty, life is full of 
 complexity."
 
 HALIBUETON FINDS HIS OPPORTUNITY. 289 
 
 Next day, Kitty rose, dressed, and resumed her 
 old habits in the house. Morning and evening she 
 kissed her mother, and gave her cheek to her uncle, 
 but there was none of the old clasping of hands, 
 the old clinging of cheek to cheek. She talked, 
 but without ardor or spontaneity. She had grown 
 thin to meagreness in the interval, and was still 
 very weak. 
 
 Constance used all her woman's wit to meet her 
 child just at the point where she was needed, but 
 her heart almost failed her. It seemed sometimes 
 as if she and her child could never meet again in 
 comradeship and trust. She detected in all Kitty 
 said the ring of an irony which was the result of 
 long, hard thought over her own problems. 
 
 Yet Kitty was struggling to crush herself into 
 conformity with what was expected of her. When 
 her uncle came in to breakfast with his hands full 
 of anemones and cosmos flowers, and told about 
 the new chrysanthemums which he had called the 
 Constaiitia and the Caterina, she tried to seem in 
 terested. In old days, every fact connected with 
 growing things had been curiously important to 
 her. Now, she had an angry wish to say, 
 
 " That is what I should do, live in a six-inch 
 flower-pot, absorb all the nourishment which is 
 given me, and fulfill my destiny by taking a prize 
 at a show. But I am not a vegetable." 
 
 That she did not say this was because she put 
 a curb upon herself. When her mother proposed 
 amusements, diversions, she longed to exclaim,
 
 290 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I am a child to be taken to see shows, to visit 
 other children, and play games ! " 
 
 What she was always saying to herself nowadays 
 was that her mother considered her a child, in 
 capable of anything beyond a child's apprehension. 
 If Constance addressed a general observation to 
 her, particularly if she alluded to anything that 
 was the result of her experience, Kitty said to 
 herself, 
 
 " She is cased round with formulas ; she can 
 live, breathe, and think by rote." 
 
 If Constance studied how to please her daughter, 
 Kitty's thought was, 
 
 " She wants me to be happy, but she expects me 
 to be happy in her way." 
 
 Even the dogs irritated her when they came 
 running towards her, fawning, crouching, and in 
 viting her to run races as of old. It showed her 
 how light-hearted she had been on first coming to 
 "Waldstein. She had been then just such another 
 animal as Kaiser or Khan, obeying at a call, ac 
 cepting gratefully the least word or glance flung 
 at him; stanch, loyal, and devoted, ready to lay 
 down his life in eager service. 
 
 Yes, Kitty mused, she had been reared to think 
 always first of others ; to find happiness in 
 making others happy. It had been her mother's 
 creed : nothing done for self could give any satis 
 fying measure of reward. Happiness lies in self- 
 forgetfulness, in renunciation. 
 
 And what, Kitty argued, had it all come to?
 
 HALIBUBTON FINDS HIS OPPORTUNITY. 291 
 
 Everybody had accepted what she gave so gener 
 ously, and had made light of what was her very life 
 of life. " Is it worth while to go on thinking chiefly 
 of others?" she now asked herself after this ex 
 perience of being kissed and betrayed. She could 
 not endure to think of Glen. One day when she 
 lay in bed, finding the upper story deserted for a 
 brief space, she had risen, crept to the bookcase in 
 her mother's room, and taken out the little volume, 
 " Love Unfulfilled." She had read no more than 
 twenty lines ; but they had dazzled her as if by a 
 flash of lightning. They showed what Glen's love 
 could be. They startled her consciousness, alarmed 
 her, arrested her on the threshold of love, as it 
 were. She not only could not cross it, but she 
 hated the idea of crossing it. Certain fiery, unfor 
 gettable words in one of the sonnets ran in her 
 head like a persistent strain of music. She hated 
 them. 
 
 Yes, there was the sting of it, she was a child ; 
 she had accepted phrases, falling into her mother's 
 pretty fictions. It was her mother who had dwarfed 
 all effort and experience in order to keep her a 
 child. 
 
 One day, about the first of October, Constance 
 happened to come upon Kitty as she sat brooding 
 over thoughts like these before the great open fire 
 in the hall. Constance's keen mother feeling had 
 been growing more tender and more poignant day 
 by day, but she had waited. Now, as she caught 
 the look in Kitty's eyes as she turned, the instinct
 
 292 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 of an ambushed creature longing for escape, she 
 advanced, sat down beside Kitty on the great carved 
 oak settle, and said softly, 
 
 " Kitty, I cannot have you so cheerless, so un 
 happy. I am going to send for Glen." 
 
 Kitty gave her one woeful glance, then burst into 
 unmeasured weeping. 
 
 " That is what you wish ? Tell me that you wish 
 it," said Constance. 
 
 " No, no, no," cried Kitty fiercely. " I wish never, 
 never to see him again." 
 
 She began to sob convulsively ; but when Con 
 stance encircled her with her arms the girl yielded 
 as if with intense relief, and presently lay clasped 
 tightly to her mother's breast. 
 
 " My child," said Constance after a time, " tell 
 me what I am to do. Anything you ask for you 
 shall have. Glen is not my choice for you, he 
 never could be my choice, but I give up any 
 wishes of my own. You shall marry him rather 
 than go on in this desolate, weary way." 
 
 Kitty lifted her head and looked at her mother 
 with a world of resistance and revolt in her eyes. 
 
 " I will not rob you of Glen, mamma. Glen is 
 yours, yours only." 
 
 Again Constance detected that ring of irony, 
 the result of long, persistent anger. 
 
 " Glen has never been anything but a cousin, a 
 brother to me," Constance replied ; " he never will 
 be anything else, except as you give him a closer 
 tie."
 
 HALIBURTON FINDS HIS OPPORTUNITY. 293 
 
 " Do not talk to me of Glen," cried Kitty, with 
 intense feeling. " He never cared for me. I know 
 for whom he cared. I have read his book." 
 
 Constance looked at Kitty with suffering, not 
 only for herself but with a sympathy for Kitty's 
 suffering. 
 
 " If you had given me that book to read, 
 mamma," said Kitty ; " if you had warned me ! " 
 
 " That book is not for a child," Constance re 
 plied calmly. " I hardly think it is for a woman. 
 I have read little of it myself. I never saw it 
 until this summer, when I came upon a copy of it 
 in your uncle's library. To me, it is incompre 
 hensible, besides being foolish. Glen is probably 
 more ashamed of it than I am. Whatever it re 
 presents was over and done with long ago. Kitty, 
 darling, let all that pass. They say that in heaven 
 there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage. 
 When one is. only eighteen such a heaven is attain 
 able on earth. Life is before you. It is beautiful 
 out of doors. Let us take the dogs and go after 
 chestnuts." 
 
 There was just a suggestion of humor in Con 
 stance's look and manner. A great sob rose in 
 Kitty, but these close caresses had carried her back 
 to the feeling of warm, intimate life. Something 
 that had been checked began to move again. Here 
 was her mother's face, beautiful, clear, and loving ; 
 the lips so tender, the eyes so soft. Even while 
 she told herself that she was solitary, loveless, that 
 an irredeemable wrong had been done her, she was
 
 294 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 once more swayed by her mother's just and accu 
 rate good sense. 
 
 " Oh, mamma," she cried, again clinging closely, 
 " I do not care about Glen. I do not care about 
 anything. I do not know what is to become of me. 
 I feel so dead." 
 
 " I know. It seems to me sometimes as if you 
 were only the ghost of my little Kitty. Oh, to 
 have you happy again ! " 
 
 " I do not want to be happy. I want only the 
 feeling that I am alive, that I have something 
 to do." 
 
 " Come out into the sunshine," said Constance ; 
 and Kitty permitted herself to be persuaded. But 
 when they had crossed the lawn with the dogs run 
 ning gladly before them, and entered the woods 
 where autumn had come thinning the foliage but 
 enriching every leaf that remained with some tint 
 of beautiful color, Kitty could not help recalling 
 every word, every incident of her last walk here 
 with Agatha. Again that dreadful feeling came 
 over her of what she had suffered, what she 
 had lost. Everything that was past asserted it 
 self ; she pulsed and palpitated and clung to her 
 mother helplessly. But she fought against her 
 weakness resolutely, and presently was calm. 
 
 " Oh, Kitty, Kitty," said Constance. " I did so 
 want to spare you all this." 
 
 " I do not want to be spared." 
 
 "It is something to be young, to make mistakes, 
 and yet to feel that they are not irreparable ; still 
 it is better not to lose time by making mistakes."
 
 HALIBURTON FINDS HIS OPPORTUNITY. 295 
 
 " I want to make mistakes," said Kitty. " I 
 want to go on and learn for myself by hard expe 
 rience. You tried to save me from everything. 
 You kept me a mere child, knowing nothing, under 
 standing nothing." 
 
 " You were a happy child, dear. I wanted you 
 to go on being happy." 
 
 " You want me to be happy your way, mamma. 
 If I am to be happy it must be my way. It 's my 
 brain, my nerves, my heart, my eyes, my ears I 
 have to live by, not yours. I cannot go on taking 
 your ideas at second-hand. I did so as long as I 
 could, and it has made me perfectly miserable." 
 Then her harshness, injustice, unreason, became 
 apparent even to herself as she saw the sorrow in 
 her mother's face. " Oh, mamma," she cried, 
 dropping into contrition, "forgive me for being 
 cruel." 
 
 Constance, however, was glad of any outburst 
 which gave her a chance of insight into what was 
 behind the general rebellion and revolt in the young 
 girl's mind. It was an unmanageable idea that 
 Kitty no longer cared for Glen. Constance was 
 more ready to believe that the passionate stirring of 
 feeling had gone far deeper than she had at first 
 believed. In spite of the seeming complexity of 
 many human motives there is apt to be some very 
 simple, some elementary need behind them all. 
 
 Agatha Darrow had set out to pay Kitty a visit, 
 and they encountered her, and, a little farther on, 
 John Haliburton. The four naturally divided into
 
 296 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 pairs, Kitty and Agatha leading the way, and the 
 elders following. 
 
 Haliburton looked at Constance closely. 
 
 " You are a little lighter-hearted to-day," he 
 said. 
 
 " Yes, it was something that Kitty consented to 
 come out with me." 
 
 " It will all turn out right." 
 
 " Kitty will live down this state of mind. It is 
 like a grief, it spends itself and is spent. But 
 I shall not have my happy little girl back again," 
 said Constance. 
 
 " That exists in the nature of things," said Hal 
 iburton. " She is eighteen years old. She cannot 
 be a happy little girl again. What you want is to 
 have her a happy woman." 
 
 Haliburton had received a letter from Glen that 
 morning, and had come out early from town in 
 order to consult Constance. Glen's employers 
 had decided to send him to London on a matter 
 of business connected with some English copy 
 rights, and to settle the question about certain 
 illustrations for a book. Haliburton was to take 
 the four o'clock train to New York in order to 
 catch a last glimpse of Glen before he sailed on 
 the following day at ten o'clock. 
 
 Constance uttered an exclamation. 
 
 " That settles the question," she murmured. 
 
 " What question ? " 
 
 " I have thought of writing and telling Glen to 
 come back to see Kitty."
 
 HALIBURTON FINDS HIS OPPOETUNITY. 297 
 
 " Do you mean that you give your consent to his 
 marrying her ? " asked Haliburton much per 
 turbed. 
 
 Constance gave him an account of her talk with 
 Kitty ; told him how the young girl had declared 
 that she wished never to see Glen again. 
 
 " But it does not make me believe that she no 
 longer cares for him," Constance added ; " rather 
 the reverse." 
 
 Haliburton looked at Constance intently. 
 
 " She is jealous of you," he said. 
 
 " But that is folly." 
 
 " I have been in love, and I know that one may 
 be jealous even of a caress given to a dog. In this 
 case Kitty might readily be jealous of a feeling 
 that has existed so long, that in a way has been 
 made fixed and durable. Has she read those son 
 nets?" 
 
 " Unluckily, yes." 
 
 " Ah ! " Haliburton gave Constance a side glance 
 as they walked on. 
 
 " I told her that to me they were both foolish 
 and incomprehensible," she said, with some con 
 straint ; " that is, so far as I could bring myself to 
 read them." 
 
 " Still " Haliburton began, then hesitated. 
 
 "Still what?" 
 
 " Their incomprehensibility and folly might 
 make her believe all the more powerfully in their 
 meaning. If you and she were on equal terms " 
 
 "But are we not?"
 
 298 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Far from it. You are older, more experienced. 
 Above all, you are not in love with Glen, and I 
 hope Kitty is. But you being just what you are, it 
 is as hard for her to believe that, after having given 
 his love to you, Glen could love her as it is for 
 me to believe that " 
 
 He did not finish, and she gave him a question 
 ing look. 
 
 "Surely you understand me," he said, coloring 
 deeply. 
 
 " Not quite." 
 
 " I mean that when I reflect that Glen has loved 
 you in vain, there seems no sort of hope for a dull 
 fellow like me." 
 
 Her lips opened as if to speak. A new feeling 
 shone in her eyes ; she blushed, and had the air 
 of suddenly experiencing the conviction of a fact 
 which she had never before accepted. 
 
 " Do not speak of love," she said, after a little 
 pause. " If you could realize how I value your 
 friendship, how I feel your support, how I in 
 fact how it has comforted me in these lonely 
 days to think that you that any one " He 
 saw that her eyes were suffused with tears. " You 
 see," she went on after a struggle for self-control, 
 " you see I have lost faith in myself. I seem no 
 longer to have any belief in my own judgment. I 
 knew before that at critical periods in my life 
 I had made mistakes. Twice I married, failing 
 wholly to understand my own needs, my own duty, 
 without counting the cost of marriage. Twice I
 
 HALIBURTON FINDS HIS OPPORTUNITY. 299 
 
 have had to fight with the remorse a woman feels 
 for the dead for whom she might have done much, 
 but for whom she can do no more." 
 
 As she spoke, Haliburton laid his hand on her 
 arm. " I am certain," he said in an agitated voice, 
 " that all your life long you have made every in 
 dividual person who had the joy of being near you 
 perfectly happy." 
 
 " You are very good to say so," Constance re 
 turned, and as she looked up at him there was a 
 half smile on her lips. " At any rate, whatever my 
 sins had been, I meant to make no mistakes with 
 Kitty. I intended to foresee everything, to provide 
 for everything." 
 
 " In short, be omniscient and omnipotent," said 
 Haliburton. " But then it was never intended we 
 should be omniscient and omnipotent. The truth 
 is, you felt that Kitty was wax in your hands to 
 be modeled into just the sort of being you yourself 
 are. Whereas, she is only half your child ; she 
 has a separate character, a separate temperament 
 which has to be taken into account." 
 
 " I have said that to myself of late. Her father 
 had a much more persistent and passionate will 
 than I have. In the least conflict of opinion it was 
 my habit to give up to him on the instant. Of late, 
 when I have found myself on the point of surrender 
 ing to Kitty, I have " 
 
 Constance broke off and sighed, yet smiled as 
 she pointed towards the two girls some distance in 
 front, who had seated themselves on top of the
 
 300 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 stile, and were talking with animation. The wind 
 played softly through the rosy maples and the 
 yellow chestnuts, and scattered now and then a 
 leaf. The dogs were lying on the ground, looking 
 up wistfully while they waited. 
 
 " If you really wish to have Glen come on," said 
 Haliburton, "he would be glad enough to fling 
 business to the winds and come." 
 
 " No, he must not fling business to the winds," 
 said Constance. 
 
 " He says he felt at first on going away as a 
 cabbage feels when pulled up out of its quiet, com 
 fortable cabbage-garden," said Haliburtou. " But 
 he is getting used to it." 
 
 " There is everything in getting used to it," re 
 turned Constance. " At this moment even Kitty 
 seems happy. No, we will not spoil Glen's great 
 chance. I only felt so sure that one word from 
 him, even a look, would convince Kitty that she 
 has no need to be jealous of me." She gave a 
 half bitter little laugh. 
 
 " Constance," said Haliburton in a low voice. 
 
 She raised her eyes. In his face was the ex 
 pression of all that had lain vibrating so long 
 in the man's inmost soul. 
 
 " Marry me," he said. " It will end all Kitty's 
 mistakes, all poor Glen's, too, if you will marry 
 me." 
 
 She dropped her eyes, smiled, blushed, and 
 shook her head. 
 
 " You know it is impossible," she murmured.
 
 HALIBURTON FINDS HIS OPPORTUNITY. 301 
 
 " I know nothing of the sort." 
 
 " I shall have to teach you, then, its absolute 
 impracticability." 
 
 " You could not. I could help you, even in 
 this matter more than you think." 
 
 " Oh, I know that you can always help me, Mr. 
 Haliburton." She smiled as she spoke. Still he 
 did not feel encouraged to go on. All he said 
 was, 
 
 " You still call me Mr. Haliburton." 
 
 " You never told me to call you anything else," 
 she replied, with some archness. 
 
 " Do you know the reason ? If you were to call 
 me plain John, I actually believe I should go mad 
 with happiness." 
 
 At least he had had his say. He no longer 
 needed to reproach himself by the warning, " He 
 who abstains is taken at his word."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE BED FLAG. 
 
 THE four walked on together for the rest of the 
 way. But when Constance and Kitty were left 
 alone together it was clear that the latter had 
 carried away an abundance of ideas from her talk 
 with Agatha. Agatha had confided to Kitty that 
 she was eating her heart out with longing for some 
 thing to do, something to be. No declaration 
 could have struck a more responsive chord. Kitty 
 had been eating her own heart out. But Agatha, 
 when she had a little fight with Fate, was not 
 likely to yield without getting at least a part of 
 what she wanted. To her, life was an experience 
 to be dealt with experimentally. Kitty also wished 
 to experiment. 
 
 She told her mother that she should like to be 
 a nurse, Agatha had almost decided to be a 
 nurse ; the best object in life surely was to try to 
 diminish human pain, and to study how to do this 
 scientifically and effectively seemed the best sort 
 of practical effort. The trouble was that she and 
 Agatha longed to do something together, and Kitty 
 was far too young to be accepted at a training- 
 school. To wait all those years before she reached
 
 THE BED FLAG. 303 
 
 the required standard was, however, impossible. 
 How impatient she and Gatty were at all the petty 
 restrictions put in the way of heroic effort. They 
 could, of course, understand the consistency of 
 applying certain rules to average cases, but still 
 there ought to be some loophole made for individ 
 ual needs and aspirations, like Kitty's, for example. 
 
 Kitty looked at her mother for sympathy. 
 
 " You would like to have me a nurse, mamma ? " 
 
 " Oh, my darling ! It is a very hard life, but 
 still it is a very noble life, and I shoidd admire 
 you, I should feel proud of you, if you could enter 
 on it and persist in it. Nevertheless, it seems to 
 be out of the question for some years to come." 
 
 The very suggestion of an avenue of escape from 
 the daily routine which had oppressed and dead 
 ened her had given Kitty a look of animation. Her 
 voice was sweet and sympathetic again ; her step 
 elastic ; her eyes had lost their heavy, melancholy, 
 troubled brightness ; her lips had renewed their 
 vermilion. It was Kitty once more, not a 
 suffering woman ; and Constance could only feel 
 grateful for the change. For three or four days 
 inquiries were pushed as to the age restrictions at 
 the training-schools. Kitty said twenty times a 
 day, " Oh, if I were but ten years older." She 
 and Agatha were constantly together, the latter 
 talking with an impassioned rapidity, while Kitty 
 found ample breathing room in Agatha's enthusi 
 asm. Life seemed easy again, its meaning clear, 
 while, with senses all a-quiver, Kitty drank in
 
 304 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTEE. 
 
 Agatha's fluent discourses. And this burning 
 desire for some sort of individual effort carried 
 Kitty through the next two weeks. 
 
 She set to work with her brush and paints, 
 occupying herself with them day after day, with 
 some evident clear intention which Constance did 
 not at first understand, but was ready to sympa 
 thize with. When Kitty brought her mother half 
 a dozen pretty little fancies, a branch of apple- 
 blossoms straggling across the canvas, a group of 
 cosmos flowers against a vivid blue sky, a spray 
 of pink roses bent with its weight of raindrops 
 from a passing shower, a choice of applied ideas 
 from Japanese art possessing attractive color and 
 some charm of sentiment, Constance was frankly 
 delighted. 
 
 " I remember, mamma," said Kitty, " you used 
 to say it was better to do nothing than to commit 
 absurdities. I thought it was better to commit 
 absurdities than to do nothing." 
 
 " But these are not absurd, they are actually 
 very nice indeed. I shall love to have them 
 prettily framed and hung up." 
 
 She detected a certain wistfulness in Kitty's 
 look. 
 
 " Do you think, mamma," she asked, " that any 
 body would be likely to buy them ? " 
 
 " Buy them ? I will buy them if you wish to 
 sell them." 
 
 " Oh, I do not mean that. It is not merely a 
 question of money. I should like to earn money,
 
 THE RED FLAG. 305 
 
 but it would be chiefly because it proved that what 
 I did possessed some value, that I am not an 
 inferior or commonplace artist." 
 
 " Ah, when one's little pigs stay at home they 
 are the cleverest little pigs in the world, but the 
 moment one takes them to market there are so 
 many others cleverer, one's own little pigs have 
 so slight a chance." 
 
 But even while she spoke the face she was look 
 ing at grew scarlet, and, before she had finished her 
 speech, tears gained the mastery. The young girl 
 snatched the pictures and would have torn them 
 across if Constance had not been too quick for her. 
 
 " Surely, Kitty dear," she said, " you are not so 
 sensitive but that I may have my little joke." 
 
 " Ah, you may like to joke, but it is death to 
 me." 
 
 " I said, I still say, it is a charming talent this 
 of yours." 
 
 " But only amateur talent," Kitty said, with a 
 bitterness which made itself felt. 
 
 " What are you but an amateur ? " Constance 
 said, with perfect serenity. " You were such a 
 bright, clever, little girl I used to say to myself, 
 * My Kitty will be a genius.' I suppose mothers 
 will never get over the hope and belief that they 
 have brought a shining genius into the world. 
 At that time I used to take you to the Uffizi and 
 Pitti galleries to see the great pictures and statues, 
 and you know I still keep the models and sketches 
 you made after them. I sent for masters, but
 
 306 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 somehow, although they said you had a certain 
 clever trick, really quite a good deal of talent, 
 the spark of genius did not show itself. So 
 I did not let you make too much of your work, for 
 a half talent is so terribly disappointing. It is 
 just as well to draw the line sharply ; to be thank 
 ful that genius does exist, to say to one's self it is 
 enough that other people have genius." 
 
 " It is not enough to me that other people have 
 genius," answered Kitty. "It is not enough to me 
 that you decide that I am a child, that I know 
 nothing, feel nothing, must be always led about. 
 If I am to wait for your decision, I shall never 
 do anything, never be anything. If, as a little 
 girl, I had even the least show of talent, I am 
 certain that, as a woman, I have ten times that 
 amount. You may laugh as you like, mamma, 
 about taking my drawings to market, but I do 
 believe I could earn my living by them." 
 
 " But you do not need to earn your living. We 
 are not rich, but we have a little money very safely 
 and well invested. You shall study and work all 
 you like; you shall develop so much genius that 
 you can put me wholly in the wrong. You can " 
 
 " Can I go to Paris with Gatty and study art, 
 mamma?" demanded Kitty, her eyes sparkling. 
 
 " Go to Paris and study ? With Gatty ? " Con 
 stance repeated, as if dazed. 
 
 " That is what we want to do," said Kitty. 
 " Take a little apartment, keep house, and work at 
 one of the large studios."
 
 THE RED FLAG. 307 
 
 All Kitty's brightest self was in her look; all 
 the old charm, zest, appetite, had come back to her 
 life along with this new hope, that was clear. 
 
 " Do you mean," inquired Constance, " that I am 
 to go with you ? " 
 
 " Oh no, mamma, only Gatty and I. That is 
 half the fun of it that we are to go just by our 
 selves." 
 
 " Can it be that you mean you wish to go away 
 and leave me alone ? " 
 
 "You would have uncle Richard and and 
 all the friends." 
 
 Constance could feel the blood rushing to her 
 heart, which beat heavily and unevenly. 
 
 "Oh, Kitty," she faltered tremulously, "oh, 
 Kitty, you hurt me." 
 
 The two looked at each other for a moment in 
 silence. What Constance saw in Kitty's face was 
 the answer, " But, mamma, you hurt me." She 
 understood she could not help understanding 
 that planted between her and her child was her 
 offense, still unf orgiven. She almost felt that 
 Kitty longed to make her expiate it ; that this 
 scheme was a part of her appointed punishment. 
 
 Kitty remained silent, but it was a silence in 
 which she was gathering her strength, then she 
 burst out, 
 
 " I cannot stay here, mamma. It is impossible 
 for me to stay here. I want some life of my 
 own." 
 
 " A life of your own ? "
 
 308 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I mean I want something to do. I have cour 
 age and force within me ; I want to spend them in 
 work ; I long to achieve something. This easy, 
 comfortable life which brings me no opportunity to 
 use my powers has become intolerable." 
 
 Constance continued to look at Kitty with an 
 expression of pain and bewilderment. So many 
 thoughts and sensations in her mind rushed to 
 gether at once they jostled each other, and only 
 confused beginnings of sentences occurred to her. 
 She could have burst out with reproaches, sarcasms, 
 angry remonstrances, for the mere suggestion of 
 this scheme was an outrage upon her rights, her 
 own dignity. But what were her own rights, her 
 own dignity, when Kitty asked for anything ? She 
 might have denounced the whole enterprise as hys 
 terical, the mgre stirring of youthful insubordi 
 nation, the love of movement, the craving for 
 notoriety. Her taste, her whole womanly instinct, 
 rejected the idea of having her child rushing round 
 the world in search of adventures. But yet she 
 was able sufficiently to analyze her intense an 
 tagonism ; to confess to herself that what went to 
 her heart like a knife was the fact that Kitty had 
 withdrawn wholly from her influence, had surren 
 dered herself to others ; that Kitty found her 
 companionship irksome, wished to go away from 
 her. 
 
 What Constance finally said was, 
 
 " But who will take care of you ? " 
 
 Kitty gave a little laugh. " Oh, mamma, that is
 
 THE BED FLAG. 309 
 
 where you make such a mistake about me. You 
 think I am a foolish child, but really I am not 
 a child. You were married when you were only a 
 few months older than I am now. You were left a 
 widow and went on living in Italy all by yourself 
 until you married papa." 
 
 " I had no mother. My father had died. I had 
 no home here." 
 
 " My having had you so long has taught me all 
 the better to take care of myself now. I shall 
 soon be nineteen. I am sure I feel as if I were 
 thirty-nine. And, in any case, Gatty is older, 
 she will be twenty-five in a few weeks." 
 
 Constance remained silent, and Kitty began to 
 give her all the details of the enterprise. All was 
 apparently arranged with a skill and assurance 
 which seemed to have foreseen every difficulty and 
 provided for each emergency. Gatty had found 
 out what a little suite of four or five rooms would 
 cost ; she knew of a sensible French maid whom 
 they could have at so many francs a week, who 
 was a clever cook, understood the markets, and 
 could do all the work in the appartement, with 
 some occasional help from afrotteur. This sudden 
 grip upon the practical details of life filled Con 
 stance with a hopeless pang of admiration. Was 
 this her little Kitty whose ideas took shape with 
 such admirable lucidity? The little parade of 
 economy, the self-abnegation exhibited in dispens 
 ing with whatever they did not care for, that is, 
 the mere necessaries of life, being able thus to
 
 310 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 concentrate themselves on the luxuries, would 
 have raised a smile at any other time. The little 
 flaunt of Bohemianism in Kitty's saying, "We 
 shall not need any clothes except blouses and serge 
 skirts ; we shall not go into society at all, and so 
 ciety will not come near us; we wish to know 
 nothing and care for nothing except art," had its 
 own flavor of absurdity ; but Constance was too 
 terribly in earnest to find anything amusing in the 
 situation. 
 
 "Of course," Kitty went on, "unless women are 
 artists this sort of a life would be impracticable ; 
 but we intend to throw ourselves into it heart and 
 soul and mind and strength." 
 
 " Have you asked Mrs. Darrow's consent ? " 
 Constance now inquired. 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Darrow quite approves," Kitty made 
 haste to answer. " She has not only given her con 
 sent to Gatty's going, but she encourages it. She 
 offered to break the matter to you. I was not sure 
 that I was brave enough." The girl laughed 
 rather tremulously. 
 
 " You knew I could not approve ; you must 
 understand now that I am utterly opposed to the 
 scheme. It seems to me it would be absolutely 
 wrong to give my consent to it." Constance spoke 
 with intense feeling and resolution in her voice. 
 
 " I remember, mamma," murmured Kitty, grow 
 ing pale to the lips, " that you said you would do 
 anything to make me happy. And this is all I ask 
 for. I think you owe me this compensation."
 
 THE BED FLAG. 311 
 
 "Let us be frank, Kitty; let us not deal in 
 phrases. I owe you compensation for what ? " 
 
 Kitty shook like a leaf. For a moment she found 
 it hard to speak, then she whispered, 
 
 " For robbing me of all I cared for in life." 
 
 " Do you mean Glen ? " 
 
 "I mean my belief in Glen, my feeling that 
 he cared for me just as I cared for him. He be 
 longed to you, all the time he belonged to you ; 
 he only pretended to be interested in me because I 
 thrust myself upon him." 
 
 " If I were to prove to you that Glen never really 
 cared for me ; that it was a mere flash of youthful, 
 poetic fervor ; if he were to come to you to tell 
 
 you"- 
 
 " I wish never to see him again," cried Kitty. 
 " I hate myself when I think of him ; I feel how 
 childish, how silly I was. I do not blame him ; I 
 do not blame you except, that is, for not telling me 
 in time ; I only blame myself. Let all that go, 
 mamma; it is over. I do not suppose I really 
 loved him, perhaps, as you said once, it was my 
 trick of idealizing everything and everybody. But 
 it seems to me that I did love him only you 
 came in between. He could n't love me after 
 loving you. I know you too well for that ; I know 
 him too well for that ; and I know myself too well 
 to feel that I am worth his loving me. I also know 
 myself so well that I would n't let him take me out 
 of pity. And I hate the idea of love ; I hate the 
 thought that I am a flesh-and-blood body that has
 
 312 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 any need of love. What saves me is the know 
 ledge that I have a brain and soul, and that in that 
 brain and soul there is help for me if I can have 
 the life I need." 
 
 "But, Kitty," Constance said in an agony of 
 tenderness, 
 
 " But what, mamma ? " 
 
 " This instinct that you may choose for yourself ; 
 shake off the harness of custom, of duty ; claim 
 your share of the pleasure and " 
 
 Kitty interrupted her. "It is not pleasure I 
 want. And what duty have I that I am not ful 
 filling in doing the best I can with my faculties 
 and powers ? " 
 
 "No duty to me?" 
 
 " You cannot sympathize with me, mamma ; you 
 are an admirable mechanism ; you are beautifully 
 wound up ; but you cannot leap out of your own 
 system of cogs and wheels. You will have to go 
 round and round in the same old way. I suppose 
 it is because you were born a Quaker." Kitty 
 laughed as she spoke, and her manner gave her 
 words an archness which in part robbed them of 
 their sting. Still, Kitty saw that her mother 
 flushed crimson, and that she evidently suppressed 
 the rejoinder which flashed in her eyes, even if it 
 did not come to her lips. After a moment's pause, 
 Constance said, 
 
 " I will not dogmatize on the subject." 
 
 "I think you may trust me," Kitty said, with 
 some stateliness. " You wish, you have always
 
 THE EED FLAG. 313 
 
 said, to make me happy, and this is all I ask for. 
 I suppose I may ask for a little money at first. 
 Afterwards I hope, but, perhaps, my hopes are 
 only fit to smile at. No matter; if I cannot 
 make my own living I can starve. That is what 
 Gatty says, to starve to death is hard, but not 
 half so hard as to be wearied and bored to death." 
 Then, at the expression on her mother's face, Kitty's 
 mood melted a little. She drew nearer Constance. 
 
 " At least, mamma," she said in a broken voice, 
 " it will be safety and peace. There was a long 
 time when I wanted to die. I thought of the ' Im- 
 plora pace ' on the old tombs at home. But this 
 also will be peace, peace and hope, the peace 
 and hope of a different life." 
 
 As she spoke, she clasped her arms about Con 
 stance, who was shaken, feeling herself at the 
 mercy of a power against which she could not 
 contend.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 YOUTH AND ART. 
 
 HAVING flung their flag to the breeze, Gatty's 
 and Kitty's preparations went on apace. 
 
 Constance had not yielded at once. She had 
 talked with Ambury Darrow and his wife. 
 
 " Oh, let her go," said Ambury. " They will do 
 no harm, and they may find out their folly. I am 
 thankful to have two of my girls stick by me. 
 This present generation is a little cracked, I fear. 
 They have taken cold, and their measles has been 
 driven in and has gone to the head." 
 
 Mrs. Darrow was unhesitatingly fluent, as usual ; 
 dogmatic and sentimental at once ; these two beauti 
 ful, buoyant young souls demanded but one simple 
 right, that of enlarging their lives, putting aside 
 the claims of family, and living for art. 
 
 Richard Amory said that Ambury's wife always 
 reminded him of the free-thinker at whom Dr. 
 Johnson thundered, " Friend, thee is a bigot to 
 laxness." 
 
 But Richard Amory himself advised Constance 
 to yield. 
 
 " Thee will find that thee will never regret that 
 thee thyself makes the sacrifice," he said. " What 
 robs us is the sacrifice we impose."
 
 YOUTH AND ART. 315 
 
 " That is what I feel, that I ought not, just 
 for her soul's good, to let Kitty carry out what is 
 only an egotistical freak of Agatha's," said Con 
 stance. 
 
 " Thee speaks as if thee could govern facts, as 
 if thee could say to the rising tide, ' Thus far and 
 no farther.' " 
 
 Then, presently, he added, " Thee must remem 
 ber, Constance, what Seneca says : ' Many travel 
 for pleasure to that city to which thou art banished ; ' 
 many mothers fit out their daughters gladly to go 
 to Paris. Thee has said constantly that Kitty's 
 education was not complete ; that thee must send 
 her to school, perhaps even to college. Let us 
 say to ourselves, ' She is finishing at Paris, she 
 is acquiring the accent.' ' 
 
 " She speaks French like a Parisian already," 
 Constance pleaded. 
 
 " Thee has not learned the pang of philosophy," 
 said Kichard Amory. "Thee finds the logical 
 must too hard. Philosophy will give thee an in 
 controvertible argument for accepting what thee 
 cannot help." 
 
 What Haliburton said was, " Poor Constance ; 
 appointed to love and to suffer." 
 
 " I am not sure that it is not my pride that suf 
 fers most," Constance rejoined. " I am a dread 
 fully proud woman, and this humiliates me." 
 
 " Poor Constance ! " 
 
 " Mrs. Darrow triumphs over me. She tells me 
 she always saw that I was bringing Kitty up,
 
 316 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 not according to her needs, but according to my 
 wishes." 
 
 " I know she takes the detestable contemporary 
 tone, but no matter." 
 
 " Of all the evil things that could have happened 
 to me," Constance went on, " I should least have 
 expected to give Kitty over to such an influence 
 as Agatha Darrow's. They talk about a life of 
 sacrifice, strict industry, full of study and mental 
 expansion ; but all the time they are thinking of 
 how delightful it will be to have no duties, no re 
 strictions, nothing but enjoyment. But, after all, 
 that is not the point." 
 
 " The real point is," said Haliburton, " that you 
 are giving up your Kitty." 
 
 "Exactly." Constance smiled and sighed. "I 
 think of nothing else. My brain wearies itself out 
 in going over and over the thought of what Kitty 
 will do without me. I cannot put my state of mind 
 into words ; I am so utterly broken up by forecasts, 
 imaginations, terrors. You see she has always slept 
 in a little bed in the room next to mine. I have 
 looked at her after she has fallen asleep. I " 
 
 Haliburton took her hand. 
 
 " You would like to go with her, watch over 
 her?" 
 
 " Yes." Constance made this confession with a 
 feeling of shame, of contrition. " You cannot think 
 how terrible the wrench is." 
 
 " Could you not go ? " he asked, with some visi 
 ble effort.
 
 YOUTH AND ART. 317 
 
 " She does not want me. She repudiates the 
 idea that she could possibly have any need of me." 
 
 Haliburton could not have pushed any claims of 
 his own at such a moment. He may have felt, 
 however, some of the magnanimity of a man who 
 sees that fate is doing for him what he could not 
 have done for himself. Still, Haliburton perhaps 
 thought he could assist fate a little. 
 
 Agatha and Kitty were to sail in the French 
 steamer on the 22d of October. They were to 
 cross with the Willoughbys, who were connections, 
 and were glad to look after the young art students. 
 Indeed, since Mrs. Willoughby was to spend a 
 year in Paris, this suggestion of chaperonage was 
 to Constance something to be grateful for. It so 
 fell out that Haliburton had received word from 
 Glen Rennie that he was to sail from Southamp 
 ton for New York on the 26th of October. 
 
 When Haliburton mentioned this to Constance, 
 she exclaimed, 
 
 " ' Ships that pass in the night.' It had occurred 
 to me that if Glen only knew " 
 
 " Knew that Kitty was going to Paris, he would 
 prevent it ? " 
 
 " Something of the sort has passed through my 
 mind. I have felt the need of Glen of late. If I 
 could talk over the whole subject of Kitty with 
 him. If I could discuss the whole matter with him 
 pro and con " 
 
 " The matter of his marrying Kitty ? " 
 
 Constance made a little gesture of deprecation.
 
 318 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 " I say simply discuss the whole matter. I have 
 no settled theory. Sometimes for half an hour I 
 can bring myself to see over and beyond all this 
 present turmoil of feeling. It seems, then, as if 
 possibly all this might turn out for the best. Kitty 
 says she does notjlove Glen anymore, wishes 
 never to see him again " 
 
 " But she does love him, nevertheless," said Hali- 
 burton, with feeling. " To see him again would set 
 the world right for her." 
 
 "Tell me why you think so," Constance mur 
 mured. 
 
 " When Glen went away from here in Septem 
 ber, he asked me not to let Kitty forget him. I 
 said to her yesterday that I often wrote to Glen, 
 and that he would be so glad of a message." 
 
 " What did she say ? " 
 
 " It was not so much what she said as the way 
 she looked. She asked timidly, ' How is he ? ' I 
 told her he had been wonderfully well of late. I 
 told her he was in London. She was evidently 
 greatly surprised. ' In London ? ' she repeated." 
 
 Constance interrupted : " I expected to have told 
 her of his going to London ; I inquired of her 
 whether she wished to hear about Glen's move 
 ments, and she said no ; she preferred to know no 
 thing about him." 
 
 " Perverse, foolish little girl that she is ! " Hali- 
 burton said ; then went on : "I informed her that 
 he was to sail for home four days after she took 
 the steamer for Havre, and for a moment she gazed
 
 YOUTH AND ART. 319 
 
 at me breathless, and seemed about to speak impul 
 sively ; then, after reflecting, she said, ' Is it pos 
 sible ? ' No more, no less. ' Is it possible ? ' ' 
 
 " And that made it clear to you that she is still 
 in love with Glen ? " Constance asked. 
 
 " Quite clear." 
 
 " Well," said Constance, " I admit that I agree 
 with you. Still, if she takes up a new life, with 
 new aims and motives, new industries, new ac 
 quaintances, it is not improbable that all this early 
 feeling may pass away and leave no trace." 
 
 " I hope not," said Haliburton. " Constance, I 
 want you to let her marry Glen." 
 
 " Yes, I think you do. It has influenced me a 
 little. Still, Teddy Darrow is, I fancy, a better 
 choice for her." 
 
 " Teddy Darrow," Haliburton exclaimed almost 
 with wrath. "He will make a good lawyer no 
 doubt, he might even make Kitty a good hus 
 band, but " 
 
 " You want her to marry Glen." 
 
 " I want to see Glen settled and happy."
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE WAY OF A MAID. 
 
 STRANGE to relate, when Kitty came down the 
 gang-plank at Havre she could not help looking to 
 the right and left, as if she expected some one to 
 meet her. And yet she knew very well that Glen- 
 denning Rennie was to sail on the 26th, and that 
 they must in a way have passed each other on the 
 ocean two days before. Still, why had Mr. Hali- 
 burton whispered to her, as he bade her good-by 
 on the steamer a week and a day before, " If you 
 see Glen, be a little good to him, Kitty, for my 
 sake"? 
 
 How could she see Glen? Still, it has to be 
 confessed, that all through the voyage, Kitty 
 had thought of what she should say to him if she 
 did meet him. It would have been better, possibly, 
 if Haliburton had not put the idea in her head. 
 For, suddenly as she walked toward the train 
 for Paris, Glen was there. He was shaking hands 
 with Mr. Willoughby, with Mrs. Willoughby, with 
 Blanche, with Alice, even with little Jack ; he was 
 laughing and talking with Agatha Darrow; the 
 only person in the whole party he had not observed 
 was Kitty herself. Twice Glen had almost touched
 
 THE WAY OF A MAID. 321 
 
 her dress, but he had not yet glanced towards her. 
 It was just as well perhaps, for, in spite of all the 
 mental preparation, Kitty found the reality of meet 
 ing Glen, at least of hearing his voice and being 
 conscious of his proximity, something quite differ 
 ent from her idea of it. Was it that the mal 
 de mer still pursued her, that the planks beneath 
 her feet suddenly seemed to rise at a right angle, 
 so that it was like walking up a steep roof ? that 
 when they paused before the open carriage-door an 
 abyss had to be leaped before she could gain the 
 step ? In fact, the world was turning round to 
 Kitty. She was sure of nothing until she pre 
 sently found herself seated with her back to the 
 engine, beside the window of a first-class carriage, 
 opposite Mrs. Willoughby. Next to Mrs. Wil- 
 loughby was Blanche who was still white and ca 
 daverous from the voyage, and was being propped 
 up with cushions by by whom? By Glenden- 
 ning Rennie, who was somehow established on the 
 left of Kitty. 
 
 " You know," he said to her presently, " I ex 
 pect to catch the steamer at Cherbourg early to 
 morrow. But I am going almost as far as Paris 
 with you." 
 
 She did not reply. 
 
 " Suppose," he said, after a little pause, " you 
 were to take off that veil." 
 
 The whisper reached only Kitty's ear. Mrs. 
 Willoughby, solicitous for Blanche, was feeding her 
 with the essence of beef. Where were the others ?
 
 322 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 The carriage was full, but Agatha was not to be 
 seen, nor Mr. Willoughby, nor Alice, nor Jack, 
 nor the maid. 
 
 Kitty lifted the gray veil from her face. It was 
 a compromise between her principles and compara 
 tive comfort. She could not, of course, obey 
 Glen ; still it was necessary to have a chance to 
 breathe. 
 
 " Where are the others ? " she inquired, with ap 
 parent nonchalance. 
 
 1 " What others ? I feel as if there were nobody 
 in the whole wide world save you and me." 
 
 Kitty, leaning forward, addressed Mrs. Wil 
 loughby and Blanche with suavity. Tempest-tossed 
 and worn out as the two were, they were not in 
 a mood for conversation, but she elicited the fact 
 that the party had been obliged to divide as the 
 carriages were so full. Kitty helped to make the 
 ladies comfortable ; she put her dressing-case under 
 their feet, and drew down the blind. In five minutes 
 Mrs. Willoughby, supporting Blanche's head on her 
 shoulder, was, like her daughter, fast asleep. Prac 
 tically it was as Glen had said, he and Kitty were 
 alone in the world. The other occupants of the 
 carriage were strangers. Had he not planned it ? 
 Did he not know the good Mrs. Willoughby and 
 the drowsy Blanche ? Had he not hurried the alert 
 Mr. Willoughby and Alice, not to say Agatha Dar- 
 row, into the other carriage ? 
 
 Kitty had huddled into her corner. 
 
 " Look at me, Kitty," Glen said to her.
 
 THE WAY OF A MAID. 323 
 
 She lifted a white, woeful face. She had not 
 really seen him before, had only been conscious 
 of his presence. He was so vividly, ardently alive, 
 with his dark, imperious glance, his smiling lips, 
 that she caught her breath. 
 
 " Have you forgotten me in these few weeks ? " 
 he demanded. 
 
 She hesitated before making any reply. 
 
 "What is it all about?" he asked, laying his 
 hand on hers. " John cabled to me a week ago 
 yesterday, ' Meet Kitty, Havre 29th.' I was utterly 
 flabbergasted." 
 
 " Flabbergasted ? " repeated Kitty blankly. 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "It is what a fellow feels when the girl he sup 
 posed to be safely at home, sewing her seam and 
 reading her primer, suddenly begins to run around 
 the world after him." 
 
 " I had no idea you were in Europe until 
 until a little while before we sailed," said Kitty. 
 
 " You would n't have thought of coming if you 
 had known you were running into my arms ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " A few days after I had the dispatch a letter 
 came from John," Glen proceeded. He no longer 
 smiled; he almost frowned instead. Her glance 
 could not meet his. " He told me that you had 
 not been quite on satisfactory terms with the mar- 
 chesa, that, against her wishes, you were coming 
 to Paris to study art." 
 
 He looked at her, waiting for an answer.
 
 324 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 "Am I not to be reckoned with?" he de 
 manded. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " What do you mean, Kitty ? " 
 
 " Mamma can tell you." Kitty lifted her heavy 
 eyelids, and looked him straight in the face. 
 
 " But it is from you I want to hear it. A little 
 while ago, in fact until now, although a hint 
 had come before, I did believe you loved me." 
 
 " You tell me that ! " she said impetuously ; 
 " you dare to taunt me with it ! " 
 
 " Kitty ! " exclaimed Glen under his breath, ab 
 solutely aghast at her words and tone. But his 
 hand still pressed hers as it lay on the folds of her 
 dress. Let it flutter as it might, he would not let 
 it go. 
 
 " Let us understand each other," he whispered 
 in her ear. " I love you with all my heart and 
 soul ; I love you with the first real love of my life." 
 
 A little cry escaped her. 
 
 " Is it my unlucky book that has come between 
 us ? " he now asked. " Ever since John wrote, I 
 have been puzzling my wits over the problem. Can 
 it possibly be that" He broke off. He saw at 
 a glance that his suggestion came home to her. 
 They exchanged a serious, thoughtful glance. He 
 took out his watch, glanced at its face, then put it 
 back in his pocket. " I have just forty-three 
 minutes more with you," he said. " Then we part. 
 I am not quite sure what you are thinking and 
 feeling ; but I wish to make it clear to you what is
 
 THE WAY OF A MAID. 325 
 
 in my mind. Will you try to listen ? Will you 
 dismiss prejudice ? Will you be candid and just ? " 
 
 She bowed her head. 
 
 " If I have treated you a little too much as a child 
 
 have I ? " She looked at him silently. " It is 
 not that I did not expect some time to be brought to 
 book. Nobody but myself knows just how certain 
 impulses have worked themselves out in me. The 
 first time I ever saw your mother it was when she 
 was a girl of fourteen or fifteen. She was dis 
 tributing gifts from a Christmas-tree at Mrs. Am- 
 bury's, my great-grandmother's, in the room where 
 we ate dinner last summer She wore a red dress 
 trimmed with white fur. I was an awkward, long- 
 legged boy of twelve or thirteen. From that mo 
 ment to this I have adored her. I adore her still, 
 
 I shall always adore her. I recall at this mo 
 ment the way she advanced from the Christmas-tree 
 and gave me a pair of skates. ' These are for you, 
 I think,' she said, and smiled, just as she smiles 
 now. I was ready to fall on my knees. From that 
 day to this she has been just the same, pure, 
 magnificent, unapproachable. I was an imaginative 
 boy, and she seemed necessary to my happiness. 
 Years later, when I met her in Italy one summer, 
 when you were six years old " 
 
 " Do not tell me," murmured Kitty. " Please 
 do not tell me." 
 
 He saw that her face was quivering. 
 
 " Either I must tell you everything, or you must 
 forget it."
 
 326 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 "I cannot forget it.'' She said this with pas 
 sionate indignation. 
 
 When he saw the shudder that passed through 
 her his impulse changed. He had believed that 
 when he should tell Kitty the whole story of those 
 nights when he used to walk up and down the 
 seashore with the effervescence of all sorts of hopes 
 and fears and longings in his heart and niind, the 
 youthful ferment which hindered sleep and had 
 somehow to be poured out in words, and finally crys 
 tallized into the sonnets of " Love Unfulfilled," 
 he had believed that Kitty, like himself, would be 
 ready to smile at his sufferings, his folly, his inca 
 pacity for understanding that Constance was not 
 for him nor he for her ; that although he had 
 needed to see her, to talk with, to listen to her, to feel 
 that there was a tie between them, it was simply en 
 thusiastic, youthful devotion, no more. But the 
 time for Kitty to understand this had not yet come. 
 
 " Kitty," he now said, " we will discuss this 
 later, say five years hence, when we have been 
 married long enough to have no illusions and no 
 mistakes about each other." 
 
 " Never, never, never ! " said Kitty impetuously. 
 
 " When you have found out that I love the mar- 
 chesa very much the same way you love her, and 
 when you know, know in every fibre of your being, 
 that it is you I love with the only real love I ever 
 felt in my whole life, not with my intellect, not 
 with my imagination, but with my heart and soul 
 and body, you will understand then why it was
 
 THE WAY OF A MAID. 327 
 
 that, although I have little enough to offer you ex 
 cept this love, you could not help taking up with me, 
 because there exists between us an indissoluble bond 
 of feeling. I do believe that you cannot help loving 
 me, just as I cannot help loving you and wishing 
 to live with you and having every sweet moment 
 of your life, as it were, framed in mine. Of course 
 I am not half good enough for you." 
 
 Her hand, until this moment turned palm down 
 wards, suddenly slid round in Glen's, whose face 
 and manner and tone had shown her that he 
 wished to lay bare the quivering roots of all his 
 feelings. His whole figure vibrated with emotion. 
 She could not help responding. 
 
 " I think," he now said, with an agitated laugh, 
 " that we may be married by this time next year." 
 
 " No, that cannot be, it can never be," Kitty 
 returned. " I am grateful for all you say, but it 
 can never be." 
 
 He drew out his watch again. 
 
 " Just thirteen minutes before we reach Clichy 
 where I must leave you. I 1nust catch the train 
 from Paris." 
 
 " Thirteen minutes ! " Their eyes met. 
 
 " I never in my life heard such nonsense as your 
 and Gatty's going to Paris to study art," he now 
 observed. " Thank heaven it will amount to no 
 thing very wonderful." 
 
 " I intend to work with all my heart and soul." 
 
 " Put your art between us, between your love 
 for me and mine for you ? "
 
 328 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 She nodded ; she almost smiled, then checked the 
 unworthy impulse. 
 
 " Gatty said you would be a skeptical, scoffing 
 critic ; would laugh at us, emphasize all our faults, 
 and see no good in our work." Kitty said this in 
 quite her usual voice and tone. " But we are go 
 ing to believe in ourselves." 
 
 " There are ten thousand too many artists al 
 ready," said Glen ; " but no matter. Go on and 
 perpetrate more abominations. I shall write to 
 you twice a week hereafter. Remember, Kitty, 
 no adventures ! " 
 
 She listened with impatience. 
 
 He held his watch up to her. 
 
 " Five minutes and then no more until I come 
 for you," he said. 
 
 Her head drooped. 
 
 " I shall see your mother," he whispered. 
 "What shall I tell her?" 
 
 Kitty raised her head. " Tell her," she be 
 gan, 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Tell her but no, not that " - 
 
 " What shall I teU her?" 
 
 " Tell her " - 
 
 " Kitty, there are only twenty seconds." 
 
 She was silent, but looked at him with a curious 
 pain and perplexity. 
 
 " We are parting, Kitty. Kitty, do you know 
 that we are parting ? What shall I tell your mo 
 ther?"
 
 THE WAY OF A MAID. 329 
 
 She drew a deep breath. 
 
 " You know," she faltered. 
 
 " I only know one thing and that is, that I love 
 you, that I have to leave you." 
 
 In another moment the train had stopped. Glen 
 let himself out, but continued to stand on the plat 
 form gazing at Kitty with a look that gripped her 
 heart. She pulled down her sash and leaned out. 
 
 " Tell her that I miss her every moment," she 
 said.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 LOVE FULFILLED. 
 
 WHEN Glen gave Constance Kitty's message 
 she said, 
 
 " Oh, I do not doubt that Kitty loves me still, 
 she must inevitably miss me, but she has 
 gone away from me." 
 
 " I do not think she is so far away but that I 
 can bring her back," said Glen. " I have given 
 you a great deal of trouble in my life, Conny, but 
 perhaps I may be able to atone for a little of it." 
 
 Constance looked at him and smiled. The 
 pallor and trouble of her face had communicated 
 themselves to him. The pang of sympathy he felt 
 had kindled strong feeling in his glance. As her 
 eyes met his a sudden intuition darted with an 
 electrical force through all her mental being, giving 
 her a revelation of the future. Something of re 
 verence, of chastened tenderness in his look and 
 tone, showed Constance that she was now to him 
 the mother of Kitty. And, on her side, she found 
 in the man who loved Kitty and whom Kitty 
 loved a worth, a dignity, a strength, she had never 
 recognized in the old Glen Rennie. She who had 
 expected to make Kitty's life for her found herself
 
 LOVE FULFILLED. 331 
 
 powerless to arrest a destiny which was working 
 itself out irresistibly. But, after all, she had desired 
 only to make her child noble, and if Kitty had 
 given Glen a new impulse and purpose in his life, 
 why surely that was a reward. 
 
 The issues of a lifetime are not seldom decided 
 in a moment, and in this moment Constance lived 
 down her pang. It would no longer hurt her 
 pride, her self-love, that she must trust Glen to do 
 for her what she could not do for herself. She 
 had said before that her renunciation was com 
 plete, but it had not been. She had tried to 
 reconcile herself to the inevitable. She did not 
 complain. The house was ordered in just the old, 
 pleasant way. John Haliburton came often and 
 sometimes stayed long. Never was opportunity 
 more propitious for a man to prove his devotion, 
 but Haliburton had not ventured to speak an 
 other word of what lay close to his heart. " Here 
 I am, at your orders," his manner may have said 
 to Constance's womanly perceptions, but he and 
 she and Richard Amory talked of business, gossip, 
 politics, and the books they read, as if there were 
 no nearer and dearer subject in the world. 
 
 Kitty wrote once a week to her mother and de 
 scribed hers and Gatty's life. Glen wrote to her 
 constantly but she had not answered his letters, so 
 he told Constance. Glen was working hard and 
 working well. He had told Kitty he should be 
 able to have a wife by another year, and he asked 
 her to find him one in Paris. She must have no
 
 332 THE BEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 nonsense about her ; she must be domestic, not a 
 bit of a Bohemian ; she must be delightfully pretty, 
 and she must adore himself. 
 
 It was Constance who finally said to Kitty in 
 one of her letters, " Why do you never write to 
 Glen ? He is wonderfully brightened and improved, 
 but he works too hard, and I think he needs the 
 refreshment of a word from you." 
 
 Kitty inclosed this note in the envelope contain 
 ing a letter to her mother : 
 
 PARIS, RUE Du BAC, February the tenth. 
 
 DEAR COUSIN GLEN, Mamma says I may 
 write to you, and I make use of the opportunity in 
 order, at once, to thank you for your delightful 
 and amusing letters, and to tell you that some of 
 my work is very well spoken of, and that there 
 seems a good prospect of my having a medal in the 
 spring. It is very encouraging to me. So long 
 as I was only tantalized by a hope that I possessed 
 some originality I could not feel sure that I ought 
 to devote myself to this career. But I am now 
 determined. In spite of the short days I work 
 almost ten hours. Gatty's eyes have troubled her 
 of late, and she has been going out a good deal 
 into society with the Willoughbys. I am always 
 in bed before ten o'clock, and am, most affection 
 ately and gratefully, 
 
 Your cousin, 
 CATERINA MARIA FRANCESCA BERTINI.
 
 LOVE FULFILLED. 333 
 
 It was about ten days after Constance had for 
 warded this note to Glen that Miss Darrow called 
 to see her. The Ambury Darrows had gone to 
 their town house in December, and Constance had 
 met them rarely. Sue now came out to tell the 
 news of Agatha's engagement to Dr. Eugene Dow, 
 Mr. Willoughby's nephew, who was studying sur 
 gery in Paris. 
 
 Constance received the announcement as if she 
 were stunned. She had all the time been dreading 
 lest she should receive some tidings of a fresh 
 problem in Kitty's conduct, and her imagination 
 at once galloped away towards some possible lover 
 for her child. 
 
 " I came to tell you," Sue now explained, " be 
 cause Gatty wrote that Kitty was very unhappy 
 about the affair ; feels that it is a lowering of 
 ideals, accepting mere humdrum and common 
 place. Gatty said, in fact, that she rather doubted 
 whether Kitty would condescend to speak of it at 
 all." 
 
 " She has not," Constance said, with a wistful, 
 anxious face. " What difference will it make in 
 Agatha's plans ? " 
 
 "They will be married here in June probably 
 perhaps a little later. He will have finished his 
 courses in May. It seems so wonderful to us all 
 that there is to be a wedding in the family," Sue 
 went on. " Eugene Dow is not a great hero, but 
 I think there must be a vast amount of romance 
 in us all hitherto latent. We go round hugging
 
 334 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 and kissing one another, and poppa is so excited he 
 has to entrust all the business to John Haliburtou." 
 Sue paused, looked at Constance with an intense, 
 steady gaze. " Conny Amory," she demanded, after 
 she had made the pause impressive, " why don't 
 you marry John Haliburton and put him out of his 
 misery ? " 
 
 " Must everybody be married because Agatha 
 is ? " said Constance, smiling and coloring. 
 
 " You are a regular dog in the manger," Sue 
 persisted. " You will neither make him happy 
 yourself, nor let another woman make him happy." 
 
 Sue got herself away as soon as possible after 
 this outburst, which embarrassed her almost as 
 much as it embarrassed Constance. She left the 
 latter with a good deal to reflect upon. What was 
 to become of Kitty in Paris ? Was there actually 
 to be a career ? A quick spring in her veins for 
 some sort of action sent her thoughts traveling. 
 She needed movement, she needed out-of-door air 
 to still the unrest within her. It was a cold, windy 
 March day; threatening clouds had hung lowering, 
 but neither rain nor snow had fallen. Now to 
 wards night a golden ring ran across the west. 
 She wrapped her fur-lined cloak about her shoul 
 ders,, put a little cap of fur on her head, thrust her 
 bare hands into a muff, and ran out for a turn on 
 the terrace. She had not taken ten steps before 
 she met Haliburton. She put her hand on his 
 coat-sleeve. 
 
 " Oh John," she said, " I wanted to see you."
 
 LOVE FULFILLED. 335 
 
 Haliburton kissed her on the lips as she lifted 
 her eager face. 
 
 " You know what I told you," he murmured. 
 " The moment you call me John I have gone raving 
 mad." 
 
 Constance wrote to Kitty that night that she felt 
 more than a little foolish in confessing that she 
 was about to make a third marriage ; but that 
 when Mr. Haliburton had insisted, she had not the 
 strength of mind to contradict him. 
 
 " Mr. Haliburton has been attached to me a 
 good many years," Constance went on ; " and his 
 affection has that satisfying quality about it which 
 makes me feel that nobody has quite loved and be 
 lieved in me before. I suppose I love him. But 
 that is not the point. The point is that I can put 
 my hands in his and say, ' Think for me, choose 
 for me : I trust in you absolutely.' 
 
 "Accordingly, he has decided everything. He 
 and your uncle Richard, that is, for I find that 
 my brother has hoped that I should marry Mr. 
 Haliburton. Although the arrangement is only a 
 few hours old, all is settled, cut and dried. We 
 are to be married on Easter Tuesday, and sail for 
 Europe the next day. Not only Mr. Haliburton 
 and I, but your uncle Richard is going with us. 
 He says he wants Kitty to take him to Fontaine- 
 bleau Forest. We have sent word to Glen of what 
 has happened, and await, with some expectation of 
 being amused, what he will say."
 
 336 THE EEVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 Kitty had read her mother's letter, stirred to the 
 very depths of feeling. She recognized on the in 
 stant, with an acuteness of perception which showed 
 her the whole truth as by a lightning flash, that she 
 had been wrong-headed, wicked, cruel. She fell 
 on her knees. " Oh mamma, mamma," she cried, 
 " forgive me, oh forgive me ! " Then in the silence 
 she whispered, "Oh God, forgive me and make 
 mamma forgive me ! " 
 
 She was all alone ; Gatty was away, would not 
 be back for hours. There was no one to whom 
 Kitty could speak. The thoughts, sensations, feel 
 ings, pent up within her had to overflow, not in 
 words, but in self-communings which penetrated, 
 which investigated, which illumined. Kitty needed 
 just this silence, this solitude, this intense personal 
 conviction of the wrong she had done her mother. 
 The scathing condemnation which she now passed 
 on herself for her own selfish preoccupation was, per 
 haps, a little exaggerated ; but it was necessary to 
 swing as far to the right as she had swung to the 
 left to balance at the imperious point of duty. 
 The only trouble was that she could not resist feel 
 ing happy. Something seemed to burst asunder in 
 her mind ; she had regained freedom, joy, hope. 
 
 She had received two letters. One she had not 
 yet opened. She hardly dared open it. It was 
 from Glen. Her heart beat ; her ardent southern 
 face flamed with warm color. She put the seal to 
 her lips, she gazed hungrily at the superscription. 
 Why should she dread to open it? Surely she
 
 LOVE FULFILLED. 337 
 
 need not torment herself. She cut the envelope, 
 then, reading the first lines, she laughed aloud. 
 This was Glen's letter : 
 
 NEW YORK, llth March, 189-. 
 
 MY OWN LITTLE KITTY, Is it not the most 
 wonderful, the most delightful, the most proper, 
 the most inevitable, thing that ever happened in 
 the world, the most unexpected, the most incredi 
 ble, the most unheard of, the most to be wished, 
 the most to be desired, the most to be thankful 
 for ? And to think of my blindness ! I see clearly 
 now that I was a chuckle-headed idiot not to have 
 known it all the time. I have said to Conny 
 more than once that she ought to have married 
 John, and I meant it, only I saw it in the ab 
 stract ; it is only now that I accept its possibility 
 in the concrete. I'm so perfectly enchanted to 
 have my dear old John happy. Then, too, I 'm 
 perfectly enchanted to have the marchesa happy. 
 For John has the trick ; he '11 make her the hap 
 piest woman she ever was yet. 
 
 But, my dear Signorina Caterina Maria Francesca 
 Bertini, if you suppose I am going to look on and see 
 all the rest of the world happy and be myself lonely 
 and miserable, you little understand me. I '11 give 
 them three days with you, then I shall arrive by 
 the French steamer. When I arrive, you and I will 
 go out shopping in the Rue de la Paix and buy an 
 engagement ring. The next day we will go and 
 buy the sweetest little trousseau for my bride, 
 all the charming fluffy things Paris can furnish.
 
 338 THE REVOLT OF A DAUGHTER. 
 
 Then, for the third and last time, we 11 go out and 
 buy a wedding-ring for the prettiest little finger 
 in the world, belonging to the hand that I adore, 
 that I kiss, that I claim. No more to-day. 
 
 Yours forever, 
 
 GLEN.
 
 CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS, U. S. A. 
 
 ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY 
 
 H. O. HOUGHTON AND CO.
 
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