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 BEATRIX RANDOLPH 
 
 JULIAN HAWTHORNE 
 
 Author of "Fortune's Fool," etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY ALFRED FREDERICKS 
 
 BOSTON 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY 
 
 1884
 
 Copyright, 1883 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Press of Rockwell and Churchill, Bostor
 
 OO^TE^TS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HOW LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE SHE WAS . . 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HOW DESTINY BEGAN TO OCCUPY ITSELF WITH 
 
 HER AFFAIRS 28 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HOW SHE WAS WORRIED AND PERSECUTED . . 47 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN WHAT GUISE DELIVERANCE CAME TO HER . 64 
 
 CHAFIER V. 
 
 WHAT WAS GOING ON ELSEWHERE ... 83 
 
 iii
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HOW EVERYTHING WAS MADE PLEASANT AND EAST 
 
 FOR HER , . . . . 95 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A FEW WORDS ABOUT CADWALADER DlNSMORE . 113 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HOW THEY ENTERTAINED THE NEW DIVA . .123 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HER FRIENDS. HER ENEMIES, AND HER LOVERS . 141 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE SUCCESS AND GLORY OF HER CAREER . .155 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 HOW SHE WAS BETRAYED AND SLANDERED . . 171 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WHAT CONSEQUENCES ENSUED . . .. . 187
 
 CONTENTS. V 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO HER IN THE MEANWHILE . 205 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 "To BE HONEST, AS THIS WORLD GOES " . . 220 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HOW HER BROTHER WAS PUNISHED . . . 235 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 HOW THEY WERE LOST IN THE STORM . .249 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE GREAT MARANA ... , 265
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 DRA WJV B Y ALFRED FREDERICKS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "He turned to the young diva and said, 'That 
 
 must be Beethoven' " . 131 
 
 "Thank you," she said; "and thank you for 
 these flowers. I feel made over new ! 
 Now I can sing" 163 
 
 "Perhaps it would be pleasanter for you to 
 go out of your own accord, instead of 
 waiting to be . . . . assisted" . . 219 
 
 "As for me, I sing no more! I have been 
 your audience, Mademoiselle ! I will never 
 again have an audience of my own ! " . 276 
 
 vii
 
 BEATRIX RANDOLPH, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HOW LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE SHE WAS. 
 
 TTTHAT is more worthy the contemplation of 
 * * a humane mind than the spectacle of a 
 pretty young woman ? It is the least selfish of all 
 pleasures. By learning we seek to elevate our- 
 selves above our fellows ; by philosophy, to console 
 ourselves for the past and to fortify ourselves for 
 the future ; by religion (as it is commonly prac- 
 tised), to make ourselves respectable in this world 
 and comfortable in the world to come ; but he who 
 stands rapt in the fascination of a girl's beauty en- 
 joys the possession by another of what he can never 
 have himself, admits his inferiority, and generously 
 exults in the existence of goodness for its own sake. 
 The sole drawback is the risk he runs of falling in 
 love ; that is, of wishing to restrict to himself a 
 blessing designed to rejoice mankind at large.
 
 2 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 It might seem a pity that such a girl as Beatrix 
 Randolph should be so situated as not to have it in 
 her power to confer upon every one the unselfish 
 gratification whereof we speak. But to be rare and 
 difficult of access are among the conditions of mortal 
 loveliness. In no other way, perhaps, could the 
 heavenly aroma be preserved ; and were we to be- 
 come callous to beauty, as we do to pain, life would 
 have nothing left to promise us. On the other 
 hand, dulness is negative, delight positive ; and a 
 single day of glorious sunshine compensates for a 
 whole blank week of lifeless landscape and leaden 
 sky. 
 
 But Beatrix, though delightful to look upon, was 
 not beauty in the abstract ; she was, first of all, a 
 distinct and concrete human person. It is fitting, 
 therefore, to consider not so much the loss the world 
 sustained by her seclusion, as its effect upon herself. 
 Certainly, she was not of a temperament naturally 
 inclined to solitude. She was quick to feel emotions 
 of all kinds, and apt and simple in the expression of 
 them. Her proportions, both of the soul and the 
 body, were symmetrical and active ; as she moved 
 easily and sweetly, so was she sweetly and easily 
 moved. Her life, in spite of its circumscribed con- 
 ditions, showed an instinctive love of largeness and 
 variety, and herein she was helped by a generous 
 and lively imagination. She could not read a story
 
 LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE. 3 
 
 or watch the sun rise without engendering in her 
 mind a thousand fresh ideas of the possibilities of 
 existence ; and her body was in such fine harmony 
 with her spirit that you could see a stirring thought 
 turn to roses in her cheeks, or conjure diamonds to 
 her lovely eyes. When she came forth in the morn- 
 ing from her maiden chamber, having put on, let us 
 say, a fresh, white gown, just crisp enough to whisper 
 as she stepped, and a pink or a blue ribbon (as 
 fancy might dictate) at her throat and on her hair, 
 and her figure elastic and alert with the wholesome 
 vigor of nineteen years, and a mouth that laughed 
 fragrance and music, and large brown .eyes, which, 
 besides being as beautiful as possible in themselves, 
 were rendered yet more so by being a few shades 
 darker than her rippled hair ; and . . . and hands 
 that were white wonders of warm flexibility and 
 tapering softness ; when th^ exquisite young Amer- 
 ican girl, in short, type of the most charming 
 and most intelligent womanhood in the world, 
 came dawning like Aurora out of the room in which 
 she had been dreaming visions only less lovely 
 than herself, it did seem as if the Golden Age 
 were now about to begin, and as if nothing false 
 or impure were henceforward possible. She ex- 
 plained, without uttering a word, why the grass in 
 spring is so deliciously green, the sky of so tender 
 a blue ; why birds sing, and water is transparent ;
 
 4 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 why violets have perfume, and the sun warmth. 
 She was the spoken secret of the universe the 
 interpretation of its fairest elements. By what mis- 
 hap, then, was such a creature confined (as she was) 
 to a few square miles of village land in the centre 
 of the State of New York? Was such a pearl 
 created only to be cast before cattle, and the vil- 
 lage grocer's son, and the hollow-chested young 
 Unitarian minister, and the innkeeper's daughters? 
 The world could not afford it ; and yet, there she 
 was, and, just at the time this story begins, there 
 seemed to be rather less probability than usual of 
 her ever getting anywhere else. 
 
 She lived with her father in a roomy, broad- 
 beamed, brown old house, environed by elm trees 
 taller, but less antique, than itself. It was an 
 American eighteenth-century house ; some hero of 
 the Revolution had passed a night in it. It was en- 
 dowed with that open-handed, patriarchal aspect 
 which modern-built houses never have, owing to 
 some deficiency in the architect's soul or the owner's 
 pocket. The hall was unnecessarily, chivalrously 
 broad, and the banister of the wide, low staircase 
 was polished and massive, and coiled itself round at 
 the bottom like a mahogany serpent. Beatrix and her 
 brother Edward had slid down it, sideways, astride, 
 or at full length, innumerable times. Edward had 
 also cut his initials conspicuously upon the boss
 
 LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE. 5 
 
 in the centre of the coil, for which exploit he had 
 been separated for three days from his bay mare. 
 But the punishment was over years ago, while the 
 initials were there still ; and Beatrix (now that Ed 
 iwas gone away) had got the habit of letting her 
 finger-tips pass over them, with a sort of good-morn- 
 ing caress, when she came downstairs early to see 
 about the breakfast. The staircase, before reaching 
 the first floor, indulged in a preliminary landing, for 
 no other reason, apparently, than to lounge forth 
 through a broad glass door upon the top of the front 
 porch, thus forming a pleasant little balcony. Over- 
 head arched a trellis- work, which Ed, who was a 
 handy youth, had put up some time subsequent to 
 the period of the initials, and which was now over- 
 grown witli two climbing-roses that he and Beatrix 
 had planted. These roses, white and red, began to 
 bloom with the first warm days of the year, and kept 
 on till late in the season ; and every day, while they 
 lasted, Beatrix would pluck one from each vine, as 
 she went downstairs in the morning, and wear them 
 in her bosom. Hers was the red rose, her brother's 
 was the white ; and their father, in those early days, 
 used to declare with a smile that the red rose sym- 
 bolized his little daughter's warm and generous heart, 
 and the white rose, the stainless honor which should 
 always characterize a son of the Randolphs. Dur- 
 ing the last year or so, however, the old gentleman
 
 6 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 had made no more fanciful allusions to the white 
 rose, and once, when he saw it on his daughter's 
 breast, he had frowned, and said that it was not be- 
 coming. Thereafter, Beatrix forebore to wear it 
 openly, but kept it next her heart, unseen. For 
 this young woman, up to the present time, had loved 
 no man of anywhere near her own age, except her 
 brother ; strange to say, she had remained unmoved 
 by the blandishments not only of the hollow-chested 
 minister, but of the grocer's son likewise although 
 the former preached to her, for her, or at her, every 
 Sunday, and the latter uplifted his voice in music 
 along with hers in the choir. The only other gen- 
 tleman, besides her music master, with whom she had 
 made acquaintance since reaching years of indiscre- 
 tion, was a friend of her father's, Hamilton Jocelyn. 
 But Hamilton Jocelyn could not have been very far 
 from fifty years of age. He was forty-five, at any 
 rate ; and though very entertaining, and always 
 .ready to tell stories of his travels and adventures at 
 home and abroad (when he was attached to the em- 
 bassy) , and though he was particularly kind and 
 genial to Mademoiselle Beatrice, as he called her, 
 still it does not spontaneously occur to yng ladies 
 of healthy instincts to connect sentimen^with per- 
 sons of their father's age, or thereabouts. 
 
 The house stood, as has been said, amid elm trees, 
 on the side of a low, gradual hill, which protected it
 
 LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE. 7 
 
 on the north and north-east. Its site was a natural 
 shelf, or level space, about a dozen acres in extent, 
 a third of the way up the hill. A flower-garden 
 was laid out on the south-west, and the rest of the 
 area was in turf and grass. The hillside at the back 
 was terraced, and on the terraces were planted apple 
 and cherry trees. A stone-wall, somewhat out of 
 repair, faced in the valley-ward limits of the estate, 
 and a drive, branching off from the main road, 
 passed through a gateway and wound up toward the 
 house. The view from the front windows took in a 
 grand curve and sweep of valley, with the long, 
 white village straggling off a mile or more in the 
 foreground, and in th distance the gleam of 
 the river. The nearest railway station was four 
 miles away. Altogether the region was sufficiently 
 remote, though New York city was hardly more than 
 three hours distant by rail. The mail arrived twice 
 a day ; and Mr. Alexander Randolph (the owner of 
 the house and estate) received yesterday's World 
 every forenoon, and read it during the hour preced- 
 ing dinner, which always took place at two o'clock. 
 It was an eminently conservative Household ; at all 
 events, it^naster was a conservative and a demo- 
 crat, as fira fathers had been before him. 
 
 These forefathers were of Virginian descent, and, 
 two generations ago, had owned large plantations 
 there. But the young Randolph of that epoch had
 
 8 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 fallen in love with a Northern lady, and ended by 
 marrying her and settling down on this estate, which 
 was his bride's dowry. Afterward, when his father 
 died, he relinquished the Virginia plantation to a 
 younger brother, turning his own share of the inher- 
 itance into money, which he placed in various pru- 
 dent and profitable investments. He became quite 
 wealthy, and was one of the prominent men of the 
 State ; but both he and his descendants were always 
 proud to call Virginia their home, and to talk about 
 revisiting it. Meanwhile, however, the Virginian 
 branch of the family had gradually decayed, and the 
 last male bearer of the name was killed in the civil 
 war, and the plantations, W course, were destroyed. 
 It was at about this juncture that Alexander Ran- 
 dolph's troubles began. As a thorough-going dem- 
 ocrat he was inclined to sympathize with secession, 
 and the fact of his Southern kinsmen being of that 
 party did not diminish his rebellious bent. But he 
 was an almost morbidly conscientious man, and prone 
 to casuistry, and he was torn with doubts as to whether 
 or not he ought to show the courage of his opinions, 
 and openly join the rebel cause. He was careful to 
 carry on the argument on no lower a level than that 
 of abstract political justice ; but, as a matter of fact, 
 he had been married not long before the war broke 
 out, and men of no less eminent morality than the 
 Randolphs have before now been influenced in their
 
 LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE. 9 
 
 career by domestic circumstances. Be that as it 
 may, the political reasons in favor of remaining in 
 the North steadily gained weight, until the moment 
 when he was thrown from his horse and broke his 
 thigh. From that period he was all for joining Gen- 
 eral Lee, but, unfortunately, was physically incapac- 
 itated from doing so by his accident. Such is the 
 perversity of fate in this world ! But he consoled 
 himself for his disappointment by talking treason 
 more or less overtly, according to circumstances ; and 
 even, it was said, by affording the Southern cause 
 pecuniary aid. He certainly believed in the ultimate 
 success of the secession principle, and when it finally 
 collapsed, he found himself embarrassed in more 
 senses than one. He had lost money, repute, and 
 good-will toward men ; possibly, also, some trifle of 
 self-esteem, though he never confessed as much. 
 "With intent to compel a better fortune, he soon after 
 ran for an office, but was defeated, as a foregone 
 conclusion, by a crushing majority. To crown all, 
 he lost his wife, to whom he was devotedly attached ; 
 she died of typhoid fever in 1868. He was left 
 with two children, a boy of ten and a girl of six. 
 He renounced the world, theoretically, if not quite 
 practically, in truth, he had few friends, and was 
 able to see them but seldom. He spent most of his 
 time at home, running down to New York twice a 
 year for perhaps a week. He was a great reader
 
 10 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 of Shakespeare, of Bunyan, of Defoe, of Victor 
 Hugo, and of Washington Irving. Owing to his 
 broken leg, which had healed badly, he was obliged 
 to give up riding ; but he limped dignifiedly about 
 his estate, with a cane in one hand, and the other 
 upon Ed's or Beatrix's shoulder, issuing peremp- 
 tory orders to the gardener or the groom, which 
 were sometimes heeded and sometimes not ; for 
 Mr. Randolph, though of a haughty and head- 
 strong character, was not what is called thorough, 
 and seldom followed up a matter far enough to know 
 whether it were done in accordance with his desire 
 or not. He liked to be masterful ; but he was too 
 indolent, or too inconstant, to be a master. He 
 demanded immaculate faithfulness from his servants, 
 and unquestioning obedience from his children, but 
 never took the pains to insure either the one or the 
 other. Such men, being able intellectually to con- 
 ceive admirable conduct, give themselves credit 
 (without further ado) for practising it ; and since, 
 nevertheless, the results which should follow admi- 
 rable conduct do not occur, they count themselves 
 among the martyrs of virtue. They commonly re- 
 ceive a good deal of petting and humoring, but they 
 seldom or never leave any lasting impression on the 
 world. 
 
 Alexander Randolph was tall and of slender build, 
 with high shoulders, a gray mustache and imperial,
 
 LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE. H 
 
 and thick, wavy hair, growing rather long. His eye- 
 brows were bushy and overhanging, and gave to his 
 eyes a fiercer expression than might otherwise have 
 belonged to them ; he had a habit of twisting them 
 between his thumb and finger, when in thought, 
 which looked ominous to strangers, but really 
 amounted to nothing. His fingers were very long, 
 and so were his arguments and discussions ; almost 
 the only short thing about him, in fact, being his 
 temper. His general aspect was that of a retired 
 Southern brigadier, whose slaves had been unright- 
 eously made contraband. His expression was, ordi- 
 narily, profoundly serious, and he smiled rarely ; but 
 it was not difficult to make him break into a shrill, 
 giggling laugh, which absurdly marred the severe 
 contour of his visage, and betrayed the underlying 
 weakness. 
 
 He was fond of phrases, and had a fancy for calling 
 himself "the most indulgent of fathers," the basis for 
 which was, that he was prone to feel affection for 
 persons who appertained to him, and to whom he was 
 accustomed, and that he had an easy and graceful 
 way of acceding to proposals which did not interfere 
 with plans of his own, or make demands either upon 
 his leisure or upon what he was pleased to term his 
 "time." In so far he did no doubt indulge his 
 children, even more than was good for them; but 
 whenever they transgressed the moral law of their
 
 12 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 father's good-humor or indolence, and this was not 
 seldom the case with Ed, who was as restless and 
 independent as a hawk, he fell upon them with 
 sweeping broadsides of rebuke, culminating, if they 
 answered him back, in violent assertions of their 
 total depravity. Hence a perception on the chil- 
 dren's part that papa was not unalterably just, 
 which begat an affectionate compassion for him in 
 Beatrix, but in Ed, a sentiment not far removed 
 from contemptuous indifference. The children were, 
 however, cordially devoted to each other. Beatrix 
 was ambitious to imitate and support her brother in 
 all his feats and escapades ; she ran races with- him, 
 vaulted gates, climbed trees, fired off his shot-gun at 
 woodchucks and squirrels, though to hit them gave 
 her acute distress, and, in every way she could, 
 played an ardent second fiddle to him. Hereby she 
 acquired (if she acquired nothing else) a vigor of 
 health and strength, and a variety of hearty out-door 
 experience that does not fall to the lot of all American 
 girls. As the children grew into their teens, horse- 
 back riding became their favorite diversion, and they 
 made a fine picture cantering together side by side 
 through the green shade and sunlight of the woodland 
 ways. Ed, from being a bony and angular lad, be- 
 came in due time a sufficiently graceful and athletic 
 youth, with handsome blue eyes and bold and spirited 
 features. In disposition he was warm-hearted, ad-
 
 LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE. 13 
 
 venturous, and selfish ; audaciously outspoken when 
 his temper was up, but capable of a no less audacious 
 dissimulation when that suited his purpose. No one 
 could speak the truth with a more reckless disregard 
 of consequences, or tell a lie with more inscrutable 
 composure than he. He had much more intelligence, 
 energy, and grasp than his father ; but his curiosity 
 and his apprehension were both so lively that he ap- 
 peared very fickle. There was robust masculine 
 fibre in him, and some deficiency of moral sensitive- 
 ness. He showed small reverence for anybody or 
 thing except Beatrix. In her eyes he was always 
 anxious to maintain the gallant and noble character 
 which she ascribed to him ; and though he made her 
 the confidant of a thousand private matters which he 
 would never have dreamed of mentioning to his 
 father, yet, as he grew older, he carefully concealed 
 from her some things which he knew would lower 
 him in her esteem. It might be said that he feared 
 nothing except the forfeiture of her love for him. 
 
 Ed was sent to school, but the study of books 
 had no part in his scheme of existence. He had an 
 inventive brain, a quick insight into the elements of 
 things, and much manual dexterity ; and he pos- 
 sessed, moreover, an aptitude for mathematics, 
 especially in their practical applications. But any- 
 thing abstract or ornamental in the way of learning 
 he despised and abjured. On the other hand, he
 
 14 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 was a born leader of boys in all those pursuits that 
 are aside from, or hostile to, the regular school 
 curriculum ; and the pedagogue soon found that this 
 scholar was likely, if allowed his way, to overthrow 
 the entire educational system of the village. The 
 worthy man strove, to the extent of his faculty and 
 permission, to subdue the sturdy outlaw. He was at 
 length compelled to invoke the parental authority. 
 This led to some stormy scenes between father and 
 son, but to no good result; and the end of it was 
 that Ed, at the age of sixteen, was taken from school 
 and let loose upon the neighborhood, where he 
 worked out his own evolution pretty much as he 
 pleased. The following year Hamilton Jocelyn, 
 being on a visit of a few days to the Randolphs, was 
 tickled by Ed's bearing, and the story of his exploits, 
 and offered to take him back with him to New York 
 city for a month or so, to give him instruction in the 
 laws and amenities of polite society. Mr. Randolph 
 easily persuaded himself that this was a providential 
 last chance to tame the ferocity of his offspring ; but 
 though, characteristically, he grounded his decision 
 on the question of the benefit to Ed, the real weight 
 in the scale was the temporary freedom from annoy- 
 ance which would accrue to Mr. Randolph himself. 
 As for Ed, the prospect excited and pleased him ; 
 and, though he did love his sister, he was not nearly 
 so much disturbed at this, their first parting, as she
 
 LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE. 15 
 
 was. He would not even have wished to have her 
 go with him, had such a thing been possible. This 
 fact may indicate that he had formed a shrewder 
 estimate of Hamilton Jocelyn's character than his 
 father had done, though the latter and Jocelyn had 
 been acquainted for more than twenty years, and 
 that he looked forward to being initiated into other 
 things besides the ways of polite society in New 
 York. He went off, accordingly, and the month 
 hud prolonged itself to six before he came back. 
 His father thought that he had been improved by 
 his sojourn there. Beatrix sometimes fancied the 
 contrary ; but she could have assigned no definite 
 reason for her opinion. He seemed a little less un- 
 reservedly than before her brother that was all. 
 That, however, may have been only the natural result 
 of so long a separation. He was older more of a 
 man ; and men, of course, must be different from 
 boys. He had brought back with him, certainly, a 
 great deal of entertaining talk, and gave her endless 
 accounts of the great city, its streets, its houses, its 
 horses, its theatres ; above all, of its operas and its 
 concerts. Both she and Ed had always been 
 passionately devoted to music ; they had understood 
 it, by the light of nature, as it were, from a very 
 early age, and had constantly practised ever since. 
 Ed.'s voice was not of much use, but he was an 
 admirable performer on the violin. Beatrix, on the
 
 16 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 other hand, was above all things a singer, and her 
 voice developed into a soprano of remarkable range 
 and power. Amid such surroundings as hers it was, 
 of course, impossible to estimate her faculty by any 
 trustworthy standard ; but, in her own little circle, 
 she attained great celebrity, and the church choir 
 would have been nothing without her. Her studies 
 were not confined to church music. She knew by 
 heart all the great operas and oratorios ; and, in 
 pursuance of the marked dramatic ability which she 
 possessed, she had, with Ed's assistance, acted out 
 scenes from many of the former (so far as two per- 
 formers might) on the stage of the back drawing-room. 
 The audience on such occasions was sometimes purely 
 imaginary ; but generally Mr. Randolph, who pro- 
 fessed to be a connoisseur in musical affairs, occupied 
 the auditorium, and applauded with sage discrimina- 
 tion. Often his presence was supplemented by that 
 of the clergyman, who took a more than friendly 
 interest in Beatrix, and whose expressions of enthu- 
 siasm were, therefore, perhaps less to be depended 
 on than those of an entirely impartial listener would 
 have been. On the other hand, it might be said, 
 however, that no one who had listened to and looked 
 at Beatrix for ten minutes could ever afterward be 
 impartial. Men are but mortal, and no man not 
 deaf and blind could be insensible to her enchant- 
 ment both of voice and aspect. One day Hamilton
 
 LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE. 17 
 
 Jocelyn, who had heard all the famous singers of the 
 world in his time, attended one of these private en- 
 tertainments. Contrary to expectation he turned 
 out to be the most eulogistic auditor that Beatrix had 
 ever had, and he wound up his praises by declaring 
 that she must be provided with a master, to bring 
 her voice out. The most indulgent of fathers was 
 gratified by this tribute of admiration, from such a 
 source, to his favorite child ; and a week or so after- 
 ward the master was sent out. Jocelyn's acquaint- 
 ance with musical and theatrical people and things 
 was larger than most people's, and he had fixed upon 
 a man eminently qualified to do what was required 
 of him. This was an elderly Englishman of respect- 
 able antecedents, who, twenty years before, had 
 begun his musical career with what was considered 
 the finest tenor voice of the age, and whose knowl- 
 edge of the principles of music was as profound as 
 his proficiency was remarkable. But, before he had 
 been a year on the operatic stage, the theatre in which 
 he was singing caught fire, and he was burned about 
 the throat in such a way as forever to destroy the 
 voice which would have made him rich and famous 
 enough to satisfy ambition itself. Professor Dori- 
 mar, as he afterward came to be called, had some 
 small private means, which rendered him in a humble 
 way independent ; and, with a philosophical serenity 
 which rarely characterizes the musical temperament,
 
 18 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 he settled quietly down to be a writer on the art and 
 science of whose highest triumphs he could never 
 more hope to partake. He published a book on the 
 subject of vocal culture, which will remain a classic 
 with all who have intelligently read it ; and he con- 
 tributed occasional articles on musical problems and 
 mysteries to the higher class of reviews. For the 
 last eight years he had liv^d in New York ; but he 
 was known to very few. He sat with his piano, and 
 his manuscripts, and his visions of divine harmonies, 
 in a retired little room a few blocks west of Wash- 
 ington square, and seldom went forth save to listen, 
 for half an hour, to one or other of the very few 
 singers who, in his judgment, were great enough to 
 sing. He never was known to have undertaken the 
 personal instruction of pupils, though he might un- 
 doubtedly have derived a large income from so doing. 
 But he was of opinion that the right to use the voice 
 in music is given to but two or three in an age, and 
 the chance that the training of one so gifted should 
 fall to him was too remote to be considered. To 
 the myriad chances of failure he preferred his com- 
 parative poverty and his peace of mind. 
 
 What arguments Jocelyn employed to woo him 
 from his reserve cannot be known. But Mr. Ran- 
 dolph received a note from the Professor, men- 
 tioning the day and hour of his arrival, and re- 
 questing Mr. Randolph to meet him and drive him
 
 LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE. 19 
 
 up from the railway station alone. This was done, 
 and on the way the Professor stipulated that he 
 should be enabled to hear Miss Randolph's voice 
 before she was aware of his presence. "There is a 
 train back to the city this evening, sir," he remarked, 
 " and, if I should conclude to take it, it would be 
 well to have spared the young lady the annoyance 
 of an interview." The matter was readily managed. 
 Beatrix sang with the unembarrassed freedom of sup- 
 posed solitude, and the Professor listened. When 
 the young lady had finished her selection, whatever 
 it was, she rose from the piano and passed out 
 through the open window of the room to the 
 veranda. Here she was surprised by the appa- 
 rition of a meagre and pallid personage, of gentle- 
 manly bearing and aspect, with a broad scar on the 
 right side of his face and throat, and many thought- 
 ful lines and wrinkles on his brow and around his 
 eyes, who advanced toward her with a bow, and 
 took her hand. As she looked at him, she fancied 
 there were tears in his eyes. "Miss Randolph," 
 he said, in a low and very pleasant voice, "I am to 
 have the honor of being your instructor ; my name 
 is Dorimar," He said no more at that time, but 
 raised her soft fingers to his lips, and with another 
 bow, disappeared. He did not take the evening 
 train back to the city, but, on the contrary, tool? 
 up his abode in the Randolnhs' house, and being, in
 
 20 BEATRIX. RANDOLPH. 
 
 addition to his musical attainments, a man of culti- 
 vation, and of a singular naive charm of character, 
 he was nearly as much of an acquisition to Mr. 
 Randolph as to his daughter, and they all became 
 very good friends. As to his teaching, it was a 
 matter between his pupil and himself, and was 
 not often referred to outside. It seemed to afford 
 him especial pleasure to think that Beatrix was 
 singing for music's sake, and without any purpose 
 of publishing or profiting by her acquirements. 
 "Music is a sacred thing, my child," he would 
 often say to her, "and, like all sacred things, it 
 is shamefully and almost universally desecrated. 
 It is not a mere question of voice and ear, but of 
 purity and loftiness of soul. Great music never was 
 greatly sung by a charlatan, or a libertine, or a 
 fortune-hunter. I, for my part, thank God that you 
 are what you are, and that you will never be obliged 
 to weigh your music against gold. The world may 
 listen to you, if it can ; but you shall be spared the 
 insult of receiving for it what it dares to call 
 recompense ! " This was Professor Dorimar's hobby, 
 and was almost the only topic that brought color to 
 his cheeks. Beatrix sometimes asked him vague 
 questions about the musical profession, its ways and 
 conditions; but he would never answer them. "A 
 good woman," he would say, "will always find more 
 good than evil in the world ; and she can only suffer
 
 LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE. 21 
 
 by the reports of it given by those who are not good. 
 It is the purity or the frailty of the heart that clears 
 or blocks the path before you. Take no one's 
 experience as the guide and measure of your own 
 life. What is true for them will not be true for 
 you." Beatrix acquiesced in all this wisdom ; but 
 somewhere in her secret soul she may have cherished 
 the germ of an ambition to meet great multitudes of 
 her fellow-creatures, to test herself upon them, 
 perhaps to delight and inspire them, if there were 
 power in her so to do. But it was all imagination 
 air-castles of the airiest kind. Young ladies of 
 wealth and blue blood do not sing for a living, and 
 people do not come before the public except for the 
 purpose of making a living in some way. Besides, 
 she was only the most obscure of amateurs, ani 
 probably could not for a moment bear comparison 
 with a thousand professional singers, not to speak 
 of the great ones at the summit of the art. She 
 would have given the best ten years of her life, she 
 thought, to have heard those great ones ; but Pro- 
 fessor Dorimar, on various pretexts, opposed the 
 idea. " Some day, when you are the wife of some 
 fine fellow, you can see and hear all you wish to," 
 he said ; " but do not spoil it all by beginning too 
 soon, before you can understand and discriminate." 
 Mr. Randolph, if he had had a large circle of fash- 
 ionable friends in New York, might have been in-
 
 22 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 clined to spend a season there with the ornament of 
 so pretty and accomplished a daughter ; but, as 
 things were, he felt that he would best consult his 
 vanity by keeping her at home. So at home she re- 
 mained, up to the time of entering upon her twentieth 
 year. Then, several things happened. 
 
 In the first place, Ed went to Europe. There 
 was some pretext about his attending lectures at a 
 university of mining engineering in Saxony ; but it 
 was a tolerably transparent pretext. His father was 
 of the opinion that the expense of maintaining 
 him abroad Avould be more than repaid by the com- 
 fort of not having him at home. His propensity to 
 get into mischief had not diminished of late, and the 
 kinds of mischief he got into as a young man, if less 
 noisy than his boyish escapades, were certainly not 
 less objectionable. He would be better in countries 
 where nobody knew him or. was held responsible 
 for him, than here, where all his sins were laid at 
 Mr. Randolph's door. Whether this were the most 
 conscientious way of dealing with a troublesome son, 
 the most indulgent of fathers did not earnestly in- 
 quire. He may have contented himself with the as- 
 surance that a scapegrace like Ed would never be 
 good for anything until he had had a chance to get 
 the nonsense knocked out of him by the world. 
 Whether he went to Saxony in quest of this result, 
 or to Central Africa, or to the North Pole, was of
 
 LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE. 23 
 
 no particular consequence. That he should come 
 back, at the end of two or three years, somewhat 
 toned down, was the best Mr. Randolph hoped. As 
 to the question of funds, after a good deal of medi- 
 tation, Mr. Randolph came to the following rather 
 eccentric determination : Ed was to be allowed to 
 draw on the paternal resources for whatever sums of 
 money he, from time to time, might require. "You 
 may draw little, or you may draw much, my son," 
 the old gentleman said, " and, be it much or little, all 
 your drafts will be duly honored. I shall not restrict 
 you nor advise you, but I shall depend upon your 
 own sense of honor and decency, as a Randolph and 
 a gentleman, not to abuse my confidence in you." This 
 speech seemed to the utterer of it very noble and im- 
 pressive, and also very sagacious and worldly-wise. 
 For if to put a young fellow upon his honor will 
 not make him reasonably virtuous and economical, 
 what will? Ed certainly showed himself pleased 
 with the arrangement, if not so much impressed by 
 the phrases in which it was announced to him, con- 
 cerning which, indeed, he privately and figuratively 
 remarked to his sister that the old man seemed to 
 think that talkee-talkee was the philosopher's stone ! 
 It is not to be inferred from this that Ed had any 
 intention of committing an outrage upon the family 
 estate. He was an enterprising and able youth, and 
 probably expected to bring home all the treasures of
 
 24 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 the earth, at the end of his two or three years, and 
 decorate the old homestead with them, not to men- 
 tion bestowing an emperor's ransom upon Beatrix 
 for her dowry. So he departed on his journey, quite 
 with the air (in his sister's eyes at least) of a hero of 
 romance. And she shed many tears, some because 
 she should not see him again for so long, and some 
 because she could not go with him, and some she 
 could scarcely have told wherefore. "Poor dear Ed," 
 she said to herself often, with an affectionate, uneasy 
 sigh, " I do hope nothing very bad will happen to 
 him! " 
 
 The next thing that occurred in this eventful year 
 was an offer of marriage, emanating from no less 
 distinguished a personage than Hamilton Jocelyn 
 himself. Beatrix thought it was exceedingly funny 
 he should do such a thing, and not altogether com- 
 fortable ; but as it was instinctive with her to con- 
 sider other people's feelings almost as much as her 
 own, and sometimes more, she suppressed her emo- 
 tions, and expressed her acknowledgments, adding 
 that she had no idea of marrying anybody. When 
 Jocelyn found that her resolve was not to be shaken, 
 he very gracefully said that to have known and loved 
 her was a privilege and a revelation for which he 
 should never cease to be indebted to her. He said 
 that he had, perhaps, presumed too much in hoping 
 that she could ever care for a grizzled old fellow like
 
 LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE. 25 
 
 himself; but that his sentiments would never change, 
 and that if, at any future time, circumstances should 
 lead her to reconsider her present views, she would 
 find him eager and grateful to throw himself at her 
 feet. He concluded by requesting that she would 
 forbear to mention the episode to any one, even to 
 her father, lest the latter should be grieved to dis- 
 cover that she could not bring herself to consent to 
 an alliance with his oldest friend. Beatrix replied 
 that she had no wish to speak of what had occurred, 
 and that she hoped they both would forget it as soon 
 as possible. Hereupon Jocelyn took his leave, and 
 went back to New York, probably regretting the is- 
 sue of the adventure almost as much as he professed 
 to do, although perhaps for reasons other than those 
 he thought it expedient to allege. 
 
 The third event was the death of poor Professor 
 Dorimar, which occurred suddenly, and filled Beatrix 
 with grief, notwithstanding that it appeared, in one 
 sense, the most natural thing that could have hap- 
 pened to the good and magnanimous old man. He 
 had had a habit of looking upward as he talked, and 
 Beatrix had thought that he seemed much of the 
 time communing with a better world, and perhaps 
 derived from some angelic source his grand ideas 
 about music and its mission to mankind. It was the 
 first death the girl had ever witnessed, and it invested 
 the three years of the association together of the
 
 26 BEATRIX EANDOLPH. 
 
 pupil and her master with a sort of retrospective 
 sanctity. They had been altogether the happiest 
 years of Beatrix's life. The Professor had taught her 
 something else besides how to sing. Less by words 
 than by some tacit, sympathetic influence he had led 
 her to perceive and meditate upon the nobler and 
 loftier aspects and capacities of human nature. As 
 to his share in her vocal culture, and her own pro- 
 ficiency, he never had made any definite pronounce- 
 ment ; but, on the morning before his death, he re- 
 quested her to sing for him the air from Handel's 
 oratorio of " The Messiah " "I know that my 
 Redeemer liveth." When she had finished, he said, 
 " My child, you have enabled me to thank God that 
 my voice was destroyed, and that my life has been, 
 for so many years, a lonely disappointment. I have 
 had triumphs and blessings that most men do not 
 even know how to desire. A mighty sceptre is in 
 your hand," he went on, turning his grave and gen- 
 tle eyes upon her. " I have helped to show you 
 how to wield it. Power is very sweet, but it needs 
 almost an angel not to use it harmfully. I don't 
 know what life may be before you, my dear; but, 
 whatever it be, I trust that when you come to the 
 end of it you will find as little cause to regret hav- 
 ing met me as I have much cause to rejoice that 
 I have known you." Beatrix hardly knew how to 
 understand this at the time ; but, afterward, the
 
 LOVELY AND UNFORTUNATE. 27 
 
 words frequently revisited her memory, and may have 
 had some influence over her at critical moments of 
 her career. 
 
 Still another matter remains to be alluded to, also 
 of a distasteful character, and threatening more 
 serious practical consequences than any of the 
 others. But this long and desultory introduction 
 may as well end here, and means shall be found to 
 make the reader acquainted with the final calamity 
 by another channel.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HOW DESTINY BEGAN TO OCCUPY ITSELF WITH 
 HER AFFAIRS. 
 
 /^\NE morning in the early autumn a gentleman 
 ^-^ was performing his toilet in one of the hand- 
 some bedchambers of a certain hotel near Union 
 Square, in the city of New York. He was appar- 
 ently about fifty years of age, of medium height, 
 stout, with a broad, flat head, from the top of which 
 the hair had disappeared, leaving a bushy ring round 
 the sides and back. His face, which was ruddy and 
 broad, with a large nose and a thick mouth, 
 indicated coarse good-nature and shrewdness, tem- 
 pered by irritability. At the moment we come 
 upon him he was standing in his shirt and trousers 
 before the looking-glass, endeavoring to adjust a 
 scarf necktie of brilliant colors. Something seemed 
 to be wrong with the fastenings, and, after a few 
 ineffectual struggles, he wrathfully flung this impor- 
 tant article of a gentleman's attire on the floor, 
 emphasizing the act with an audible expletive. He 
 then walked to the mantel-piece and poured some of
 
 HER DESTINY. 29 
 
 the contents of a decanter into a tumbler, gazed at 
 the liquor for a moment, and tossed it down his 
 throat. He turned to the table, upon which, among 
 various other articles, was lying a foreign cablegram. 
 He took this up and glanced over it gloomily, then 
 thrust his hands into his trousers-pockets and strode 
 heavily to the window, where he remained, making 
 inarticulate grunts and mutterings, and occasionally 
 puckering his thick lips to whistle a few bars of some 
 operatic air. 
 
 After a while his Avandering gaze was arrested by 
 the figure of a gentleman, fashionably dressed, who 
 was coming along the street in the direction of the 
 hotel. He stepped hastily across the room, and 
 pressed the button of the electric bell beside the 
 door. 
 
 "Tell the clerk," he said to the servant who 
 presently answered the summons, "to ask Mr. 
 Hamilton Jocelyn if he'll come up here ; I want to 
 see him. I guess you'll find him in the office. 
 Look alive, now ! " 
 
 "All right, General," replied the servant, who 
 was a complacent negro, and seemed to entertain a 
 kindly regard for the stout gentleman. "Xothin' 
 else, sah?" 
 
 " Go to the devil ! " the General answered testily ; 
 upon which the colored person smiled indulgently, 
 and gently withdrew.
 
 30 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 An interval of several minutes followed, during 
 which the General marched up and down the room 
 with a preoccupied and impatient air, like a lion 
 moodily pacing his cage. At last there was a loud 
 and brisk knock on the door, which opened at the 
 same moment, and Mr. Jocelyn came in, with a 
 jaunty smile, and a cigar in his mouth. 
 
 "Halloo, Signer Don General Impressario Inigo ! " 
 he exclaimed, as his gaze perused the wrathful and 
 lugubrious figure of the owner of the room ; ' f who's 
 been crumpling your rose-leaves now? Do you 
 know, it's half-past ten o'clock, and you ought to 
 be" 
 
 " I ought to be ! Oh, yes ; of course I ought to 
 be! I shall be, too, before long with such a 
 gang of thieves and scoundrels as I've got to deal 
 with ! Now, look here ! " 
 
 " I'm looking," said Jocelyn, seating himself in a 
 rocking-chair and crossing one knee over the other. 
 " Have a cigar ? Why don't you put on your 
 vest? I declare, General, you're getting stouter 
 every day. Why don't you adopt the Turkish 
 costume? It would suit your figure to a dot, 
 besides giving your innocent victims a warning of 
 your character. When I was in Stamboul" 
 
 " Now, just you listen here," interrupted the 
 General, a slight Jewish pronunciation becoming 
 perceptible in his speech. He drew up a chair in
 
 HER DESTINY. 31 
 
 front of his guest, and sat down on it, with his feet 
 drawn up underneath, and his fat hands on his 
 knees. " Just you listen here. I'm an honest 
 man, aint I? I pay my way cash do wn,_ don't I? 
 I'm no slouch nor dead-beat, am I ? When I sign 
 a contract, and find I've got left, I don't go back on 
 it, do I? Oh, this is a sweet world for honest folk, 
 this is ! I've been in this business fifteen years, by 
 Jupiter ! I've run all the big singers in this country 
 and in Europe ; and hvyou Americans have ever seen 
 an opera decently put on the stage, you may thank 
 me for it. Where would all these blessed stars and 
 divas, with their three and four thousand dollars a 
 night, where would they be if Moses Inigo hadn't 
 shown 'em up, and worked for 'em, and kept 'em 
 straight, and humored^ 'em, and stepped out and told 
 lies for 'em to the public's face, by Jupiter? And 
 here I am, a poor man to-day, and they rolling in 
 riches ! And haven't I just gone and built the finest 
 opera-house in the world, for a million and a half of 
 dollars, out of my own pocket and " 
 
 "Yes, for a poor and virtuous man you've done 
 pretty well, General," put in Jocelyn, removing his 
 hat and yawning. "But what's the matter? Has 
 the chorus struck for higher wages ? or won't the 
 electric light work? or didn't that fellow at the club 
 pay you the five dollars you won of him ? or haven't 
 you had your cocktail this morning ? or what ? "
 
 32 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 With an air of terrible calmness, General Inigo 
 arose, took the telegram from the table, and handed 
 it to his friend without a word. The latter received 
 it indolently, disengaged from his fob-pocket a pair 
 of eye-glasses, placed them across the handsome 
 curve of his nose, and began to read the telegram 
 with a sigh. Mean while the General, with a certain 
 air of tragic satisfaction, repaired to the mantel- 
 piece and repeated his late transaction with the 
 decanter and tumbler. He then resumed his chair, 
 still in silence. 
 
 Jocelyn had by this time re-read the telegram 
 more than once, had said "Humph!" in several 
 tones, and had bitten his lip and pulled at his side- 
 whiskers reflectively. "Well," he observed -at 
 length, returning the paper to the other, " she has 
 played it pretty low down on you, Inigo, and no 
 mistake ! Any idea what's got into her ? " 
 
 The General lifted his shoulders and eyebrows, 
 and spread out his hands. He had temporarily be- 
 come as voiceless as he was just now voluble. He 
 was enjoying the dignity of unutterable wrongs. 
 
 " Any row about terms? " pursued Jocelyn. 
 
 The impressario smiled scornfully, as one who 
 could not deign to correct such an insinuation. 
 
 " Must be something, you know," said Jocelyn. 
 " A woman doesn't throw away twelve thousand 
 dollars a week for nothing. Depend on it you've
 
 HER DESTINY. 33 
 
 stepped on her toes somehow. I'll tell you what it 
 may be, you haven't put about any photographs of 
 her. Of course ! What are you thinking of? " 
 
 " Yes ; you are one of those fellows that think 
 they can fix everything in five minutes," growled 
 the impressario, breaking silence at last. "Now, 
 just you look at this." He held up a broad, square- 
 topped forefinger. " That woman has never had a 
 photograph, nor any sort of picture, made of her 
 in her life. She won't allow it to be done. That's 
 her fad ; and, by Jupiter, it's pretty smart of her, 
 when you come to think of it ! " 
 
 " Homely, is she? Has to depend on her voice? 
 I see ! " 
 
 " You don't see an inch before your nose ! She 
 may depend on her voice when she's nothing else to 
 depend on. There's not another voice like it ever 
 been heard in America ; but homely ! Well, I 
 saw her last year in St. Petersburg, and if ever I set 
 my eyes on a handsomer woman, I'll take 'em out 
 of my head and give 'em to her ! No, sir ! I'm a 
 judge, if any man is, and I say that, for face, figure, 
 and movement, there aint her equal on the stage 
 to-day. 
 
 " Then why the deuce " 
 
 " Exactly ? That's just it ! ' Why the deuce ? ' 
 is the whole thing in a nutshell. Everybody says it, 
 and what's the result? Why, that everybody's ten
 
 34 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 times as hot to see her as if they all had her picture 
 tucked away in their breast-pockets, or their watch- 
 cases, or on their mantel-pieces, if they're bache- 
 lors. She makes on it, every time. She knows 
 that any woman can be made to look handsome in a 
 photograph ; but she's the only handsome woman 
 before the public whose photo's never been seen. I 
 tell you, sir, curiosity, if it's managed well, will make 
 two dollars where beauty, or anything else, will 
 make one. There's no advertisement ever came up 
 to it ! And to work up curiosity has been that 
 woman's pet scheme from the start. There's more 
 stories going about her, and scandal, and fewer 
 facts that you can put your finger on.- . . . Oh, she's 
 smart ! " 
 
 "She's overdone it this time," Jocelyn remarked. 
 '* 'Unable to keep my contract,'" is what her telegram 
 says ; f will pay forfeit.' How much is that, by the 
 by?" 
 
 " Bah ! I would as lief take ten cents ! Am I a 
 man to cry about a little money? That aint my 
 trouble. But here I am, with my opera-house 
 built, and my posters out for three weeks back, and 
 advertisements and paragraphs in every paper in the 
 Union, and everybody on their beam ends to get the 
 first sight of the great Russian prima-donna (though 
 whether she's Russian, or Irish, or American, the 
 devil only knows ; it's just what she's a mind to
 
 HER DESTINY. 35 
 
 call it) , and my great prima-donna drops me a tele- 
 gram that she aint coming, by Jupiter ! A nice 
 figure she makes me cut, don't she? Here am I, 
 with a public record of fifteen years, and never once 
 disappointed an audience, or kept them waiting, or 
 failed to give them their money's worth ; and now, 
 after all my labor, and planning, and contriving, this 
 is the reward I get, to be made a fool of! The 
 jewel reputation, that's what she's robbed me of ! 
 I'd sooner she'd done me out of a million. But I'll 
 be even with her, as sure as I'm Inigo, if I have to 
 send her an ounce of dynamite in a jewel-case ! " 
 " She's never been heard in this country, has she ? " 
 " No ; nor in England either. I don't suppose 
 there's another man besides me in New York to-day 
 that has ever heard or seen her. She's kept herself 
 on the Continent, and sung for royalty, and kept 
 herself out of people's way, as if she were royalty 
 herself, that's been her game. And a first-class 
 game it is, too, when a woman can afford to play it, 
 as she can. She never hollers for herself; she lets 
 the others do it for her. And that's why the public 
 will pay higher to listen to her, if they could only 
 get her, than to any other woman that sings. 
 And I travelled eight thousand miles, and spent close 
 on to two million dollars, just so they might have 
 what they wanted ; and this is how I get left ! " 
 " Can't you get any other "
 
 36 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 w Any other? Oh, yes, I dare say ; of course ! I 
 think I can see 'em when I propose it ! Why, 
 they've been that jealous of this new woman, as they 
 call her, and of me building a theatre for her, and 
 cracking her up to be the finest soprano and the 
 grandest singer in the world, that, when they hear 
 she's sold me, they'll be ready to split 'emselves for 
 joy ; that's what they'll be ! And if they could 
 only get me just to ask one of 'em to take her place, 
 so as to give a chance to say, ' Don't you wish you 
 may get me ? ' I do believe they'd split outright 
 and be done with it ! " 
 
 " You're confoundedly vulgar this morning, Inigo," 
 observed his friend, musingly. " They say success 
 is more trying than adversity, but I think the reverse 
 is true in your case. Of course I wasn't thinking 
 of substituting Patti or Scalchi, or any of that cali- 
 bre. They'd stand on their dignity, naturally. But, 
 as your great Russian is entirely unknown here, ex- 
 cept by reputation, I was thinking " He paused. 
 
 " Out with it, man, if there's anything there ! " 
 exclaimed General Inigo, impatiently. 
 
 " By George, I shouldn't wonder if it could be 
 done ! " muttered Jocelyn, half to himself. " Why 
 not ? There's necessity enough on both sides ! " 
 
 " What's that? " demanded the General. 
 
 " I'll tell you what I want you to do, Inigo," 
 said Jocelyn, throwing the butt of his cigar into the
 
 HER DESTINY. 37 
 
 fireplace, and resuming his hat. "I want you to 
 finish putting on your clothes, and get yourself into 
 a composed and respectable frame of mind, and then 
 join me downstairs, and we'll go over to the club 
 and have breakfast. I've had only a cup of coffee 
 this morning, thus far." 
 
 " Have breakfast ? " cried the General, indignantly. 
 " Is that all you have to propose ? " 
 
 " No ; not by a good deal. Unless I'm very much 
 mistaken, I've got a scheme that'll set you on your 
 legs again, upset all the rivals, and make your great 
 Russian strangle herself for rage. But I'm going to 
 turn it over in my mind first, and then I'll let you 
 into it in my own way. You came to the right 
 quarter this time, old fellow. But it isn't every 
 man in the world, let me remind you, that's got a 
 Hamilton Jocelyn to advise him." 
 
 "All I have to say," returned Inigo, as he took 
 his place once more in front of the looking-glass, 
 and selected another neck-scarf from the drawer, "is, 
 that whoever does Moses Inigo a good turn never 
 has any reason to regret it. That's all I have to say 
 at present. AVe'll go into details when we've heard 
 what the good turn looks like." 
 
 " You'll find me below in the reading-room," said 
 Jocelyn, turning, with his hand on the door. "You'd 
 better make your arrangements so that we can leave 
 town, if necessary, and be away all night. And, mind
 
 38 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 you, don't open your mouth to any human soul about 
 what has happened. Everything depends on that ! " 
 
 " I guess I know how to hold my tongue, any- 
 how !" exclaimed the impressario, resentfully; but 
 before he could say more the door had closed and 
 he was alone. In the course of ten minutes he 
 finished his toilet, and sallied forth, jingling his door- 
 key as he went. 
 
 " If he pulls me out of this scrape, by Jupiter I'll 
 make his fortune ! " he murmured to himself, as he 
 took the elevator to the office floor. 
 
 When the two gentlemen were seated at their 
 breakfast-table, in a retired corner of the club dining- 
 room, and had swallowed their first cup of coffee, 
 Jocelyn opened his mouth and spake as follows : 
 
 " How old is your Russian phoenix ? " 
 
 " She looks twenty and may be thirty," the Gen- 
 eral replied. 
 
 " What's her style? Stout or thin, tall or short, 
 dark or fair?" 
 
 "That's about as she likes, I expect. She's what 
 I call a true child of nature changes with the 
 seasons ! " said the other, with a wink. " One of 
 those women with hazel eyes and oval face, and hair 
 all the way from straw color to black, that can make 
 'emselves look like anything. She's about medium 
 height. When we'd signed the contract, at our last 
 interview," he continued, putting on a diabolical leer
 
 HER DESTINY. 39 
 
 of retrospective gallantry, " I pressed a chaste salute 
 upon her brow, and didn't have to stoop for it.' 
 
 " Probably it was the recollection of that embrace 
 that influenced her in throwing up her engagement," 
 remarked Jocelyn, dryly. " You're a dangerous 
 fellow with women, Inigo, in some senses ! Better 
 make all your salutes parting ones, final partings. 
 Well, to continue, does she speak English?" 
 
 " Just as well as I do myself," returned the Gen- 
 eral, emphatically. 
 
 "Poor girl ! " said Jocelyn, as if to himself. 
 
 " What are all these questions for, anyhow ? " de- 
 manded Inigo, after a pause. 
 
 " What sort of an actress is she ? " went on 
 Jocelyn, not noticing the interruption. " Realistic, 
 or conventional, or what? " 
 
 "Independent, I should call her," said the other. 
 " She doesn't seem to act much any how, if you know 
 what I mean. Free graceful spontaneous ! " he 
 explained, waving his short arm about, with a fork- 
 ful of mashed potato in his hand. "Worth your 
 money to see her just walk about the stage," he 
 added, engulfing the potato in his enormous jaws. 
 
 " She'll do ! " said Jocelyn, leaning back in his 
 chair with the air of a man who has succeeded in an 
 arduous and ingenious enterprise. " Your famous 
 Russian diva, niy dear Signer Impressario, lives not 
 more than a hundred miles from where we are sitting ;
 
 40 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 and, if I know anything about human nature, and 
 hers in particular, she will make her appearance as 
 per advertisement, and sing herself and you up to 
 your chiiis in bank-notes, not to mention my modest 
 little commission ! " 
 
 " Bah ! What ails him now? " said the General, 
 helping himself to another croquette. 
 
 " Let me tell you a little story," continued Jocelyn. 
 " About a hundred miles from New York city there 
 lived, once upon a time, a beautiful and talented 
 young lady, only daughter of a father who had 
 brought her up in luxury, refinement, and seclu- 
 sion. This young lady had an amazing genius for 
 music, and a voice so ravishing that the larks came 
 down from the clouds to listen to her, and the night- 
 ingales grew hoarse with unavailing rivalry. The 
 best instructor in the world was procured to train 
 her, and, in the course of a few years, he turned her 
 out finished in every respect ; but, unfortunately for 
 mankind, her affluent circumstances forbade her ap- 
 pearance on the public stage. At this junction, 
 however, a providential change of circumstances 
 altered the entire complexion of her career. She 
 had a brother, a wild and graceless youth, who, 
 finding his native place too narrow for the develop- 
 ment of his energies, went forth to investigate foreign 
 lands, with an unlimited letter of credit on the pater- 
 nal exchequer. Now, this same letter of credit is
 
 HER DESTINY. 41 
 
 the specious specie, I would say disguise of the 
 fairy who works the tranformation. The energetic 
 youth makes use of it to such good purpose that, in 
 less than a year from the time of his departure, he 
 has not only exhausted the family income, but has 
 made desperate inroads into the capital, most of 
 which has to be sold out, and the remainder heavily 
 mortgaged, the old gentleman paying all demands 
 for the sake of what he calls the honor of the family, 
 though other people might think it was in order to 
 prove what an incorrigible idiot a man of antiquated 
 prejudices and aristocratic lineage can make of him- 
 self when he is afforded the opportunity. The re- 
 sult, at any rate, at the time of which we speak, is 
 that the old gentleman finds himself choked with 
 honor and destitute of cash ; that he is on the point 
 of being obliged to sell the ancestral mansion in 
 order to satisfy the creditors, and that, were the 
 honor he has preserved at so high a price worth 
 anything in the market, he might perhaps be dis- 
 posed to mortgage some of it in consideration of an 
 assurance of bread-and-butter for the rest of his 
 life." 
 
 " I've heard of gifted amateurs before now," 
 began Inigo, shaking his big head with a sigh ; but 
 Jocelyn interrupted him. 
 
 " What you've heard before is nothing to the pur- 
 pose," said he. "This is precisely the case that
 
 42 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 contradicts all experience. Now, it so happened 
 that a certain distinguished imprcssario had spent 
 vast sums and made stupendous preparations to in- 
 troduce a famous singer to the New York public. 
 It so happened, too, that the diva in question, al- 
 though so famous, was personally quite unknown in 
 this country ; and, as if for the special purpose of 
 insuring the success of the grand enterprise that was 
 preparing, she had even taken a whim to allow no 
 portraits of herself to be exhibited. For some 
 cause, at present unknown to this historian, the 
 diva, at the last moment, backed out of her contract. 
 The distinguished impressario, with disgrace and ruin 
 staring him in the face, luckily bethought himself 
 to consult the wisest man of his acquaintance, who, 
 by virtue of his presence of mind and penetration, 
 promptly saw the way out of the difficulty. He 
 took the impressario with him to the ancestral man- 
 sion aforesaid, where the young lady sang to them, 
 and was instantly made the recipient of the following 
 offer by the impressario : that she was to assume, and 
 inviolably maintain, the name and personality of the 
 Russian diva ; that under this name and character 
 she was to come to New York, take up her abode 
 at the most fashionable hotel, and receive whatever 
 company will venture to form the acquaintance of 
 a lady with a history so formidably and fascinatingly 
 scandalous as hers. In consideration "
 
 TIER DESTINY. 43 
 
 "Hold on! hold on!" said Inigo, with a shake 
 of his hand in the air ; " I see what you're driving 
 at. I didn't take it in at first, that your amateur 
 was to appear as the diva herself, as well as to be 
 her substitute. It's a smart notion; but I expect 
 it'll do better to talk about than to try. She'd slip 
 up somehow. She might carry it out for a day or 
 two; but.when you come to two or three months, 
 that's another story ! It would take a better actress 
 than I've ever come across to " 
 
 " She won't have to act at all," Jocelyn interposed. 
 " The public, of course, will have made up its mind 
 beforehand that she is the real original diva, and the 
 more unsophisticated she appears the more convinced 
 and charmed they'll be. They'll take her innocence 
 to be the diva's consummate hypocrisy, man alive ! 
 and any unfamiliarity she may show on the stage, to 
 be the perfection of acting. But, for that matter, 
 when once they've heard her sing, they wouldn't ex- 
 change her for all the divas in Christendom ! " 
 
 "If she can sing yes!" said the impressario, 
 rather sceptically. 
 
 "Did you ever happen to hear of a gentleman by 
 the name of Dorimar?" inquired Jocelyn, putting 
 down his wristbands, and folding his handsome 
 hands on the edge of the table. 
 
 " Old Dorimar ? Rather ! Best man in the pro-
 
 44 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 fession. Dead now, poor old boy ! Ah, if he'd 
 only kept his voice " 
 
 "Dorimar was the instructor I mentioned just 
 now. He went up one day just to hear her try her 
 voice, and the consequence was he stayed three 
 years to listen to it. He told me a month before 
 he died she was the finest soprano, with the grand- 
 est method, he'd ever known." 
 
 "The devil he did ! Dorimar was no fool, that's 
 a fact." 
 
 " I found her out before he did. If it hadn't been 
 for me, where would you be now, friend Moses?" 
 
 " That's all right ; but I've got to hear her first." 
 
 "That's why I told you to make your arrange- 
 ments to be out of town to-night. We'll take the 
 noon train up there. I've telegraphed 'em to expect 
 me. We'll settle with her to-night, and be back in 
 town to-morrow morning. Now, as to terms. You'll 
 have to pay her what you'd promised the diva." 
 
 "Oh, I will, will I? I'll see about that!" re- 
 turned the impressario, with a shrewd grimace. 
 " No need of me believing she's the real diva as well 
 as the audience ! " 
 
 "In that case we won't take the noon train," said 
 Jocelyn, firmly. 
 
 " Say, my boy, what's your game ? " inquired the 
 other, after a pause, during which the men had 
 looked intently at each other. "Do you want me
 
 HER DESTINY. 45 
 
 to pay you her salary, and you hand her over what- 
 ever doesn't stick to your fingers, is that it ? He ! 
 he ! he ! " 
 
 "You're a coarse-minded idiot," said Jocelyn, 
 bruskly. "You attend to your business, and 
 let me manage mine. I know what I want, and 
 how to get it. If she's not all I say she is, of 
 course the bargain's off altogether. If she is, you'll 
 have to pay for her, that's all. And if you don't 
 like those terms, you can get out of your scrape 
 yourself, if you can ! " 
 
 "You ought to be a rich man, my boy, one of 
 these fine days," remarked the impressario, medita- 
 tively. " Well, if she comes up to your report, I'll 
 agree. But if she doesn't " 
 
 " If she doesn't, I'll stand the railway fare there 
 and back ! " said Jocelyn ; and with that they laughed, 
 and rose from the table. As they were passing out 
 of the room, a tall young man, with a thick brown 
 beard and severe blue eyes, met them in the door- 
 way. He had a roll of paper in his hand. 
 
 "You're the man I'm looking for," he said to 
 Inigo. 
 
 "Halloo, Bellingham ! " said Jocelyn. "How 
 comes on the Temple of the^ Muses?" 
 
 " All right," replied the gentleman so addressed, 
 rather curtly, as his manner was. He looked at 
 Inigo and added, " There's a point about the con-
 
 46 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 struction of the stage entrance I must consult you 
 on." 
 
 "I'm in a devil of a hurry," objected the im- 
 pressario, reluctantly. 
 
 "I want only ten minutes," Bellingham said. 
 
 "You architects are worse than . . .Oh, by 
 the way, I can't decide about it till to-morrow, any- 
 how," exclaimed the other, as Bellingham began to 
 unroll his paper. He glanced at Jocelyn, and went 
 on, " Come to the office to-morrow afternoon and 
 we'll fix it." 
 
 " The workmen will have to wait," said Belling- 
 ham. 
 
 "Everybody has to do that," returned the im- 
 pressario, sententiously ; and, with a nod, he and 
 Jocelyn went out.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HOW SHE WAS WORRIED AND PERSECUTED. 
 
 ~TN autumn the old Randolph homestead looked 
 as if it were showered with gold. The great 
 elm-trees, transmuted by the touch of this Midas of 
 the seasons, stood in a yellow glory of myriad leaves, 
 which every breath of the cool west breeze scattered 
 profusely earthward, where, with the still unchanged 
 grass, they formed a spangled carpet of green and 
 gold. The apples thronged the crooked boughs of 
 the orchard, some like glowing rubies, others like 
 the famous fruit of the Hesperides, though there was 
 no guardian dragon to give them a fictitious value. 
 The broad roof of the house itself was littered with 
 innumerable little golden scales, of workmanship 
 far beyond the skill of any human goldsmith, yet of 
 absolutely no market value. What is the signifi- 
 cance of this yearly phantasmagory of illimitable 
 riches, worthless because illimitable? Is it a satire 
 or a consolation ? Does it mock the poor man's in- 
 digence, or cause him to hope again for competence? 
 It comes as the guerdon of Nature, after her mighty 
 task is done ; but when she has composed herself to
 
 48 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 her wintry sleep it is trodden into the earth and for- 
 gotten ; and the new year begins his labors with 
 new sap and naked buds. It is only the human 
 world that has to bear the burden of inheritance ; 
 and perhaps we shall never enjoy true wealth till we 
 have learned the lesson of the trees. 
 
 Poor Mr. Randolph certainly had little else beside 
 autumn leaves wherewith to satisfy his creditors, 
 and the \vinter of his discontent was close upon him. 
 There is a philosophy for the poor, and a philosophy 
 for the wealthy ; but the philosophy that can console 
 the debtor has yet to be discovered. Debt does not 
 allow its victim to be either dignified or resigned. 
 It afflicts him, as Job was afflicted with sore boils, 
 from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, 
 so that he can neither stand nor sit nor move with 
 comfort. He can find no peace, at home or abroad ; 
 he is sought by those who love him not, and no 
 barriers that he can erect will keep them away. 
 His social position and his moral respectability no 
 longer gain him reverence ; he is compelled to meet 
 the meanest of his fellow-creatures on a basis of 
 plain human equality, save that he is defenceless, 
 while they are armed to the teeth with writs, war- 
 rants, injunctions, deeds of bankruptcy, and all the 
 dismal arsenal of the law. All his assertions are 
 doubted, and all his motives misjudged. He finds 
 himself driven by inevitable pressure into an attitude
 
 WORRIED AND PERSECUTED. 49 
 
 of hostility and hatred toward his kind ; he discovers 
 the injustice of justice, and the wrong of right. 
 Gradually his moral sense becomes impaired ; feel- 
 ing that the whole great, heartless world is against 
 him, with all the odds of numbers, means, and tra- 
 dition, he begins to consider himself warranted in 
 resorting to any measures of self-protection. He 
 will rejoice in his enemy's discomfiture, and slay him, 
 if he can, in the dark. His analysis of his fellow- 
 man reveals nothing but selfishness, under whatever 
 disguise of virtue hidden ; and, finally, like Macbeth, 
 he throws aside all compunction and half-measures, 
 and direness, familiar to his thoughts, cannot once 
 move him. 
 
 The higher his previous position, the more in- 
 tolerable his present predicament ; and this was the 
 case with Mr. Randolph. Born and brought up in 
 the custom of sufficient resources, he had never 
 contemplated the possibility of want. There had 
 seemed to be something noble and high-minded in 
 meeting without question all demands upon him ; 
 but, when the supply actually ran short, things wore 
 a different aspect. He had never believed that a 
 gentleman like himself of excellent family and unim- 
 peachable repute, could ever come to positive help- 
 lessness. Such a catastrophe might happen to 
 others, but never to Alexander Randolph. At the 
 last moment, if not much sooner, society would
 
 50 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 come forward with an indignant protest, and in some 
 way deliver him from all embarrassments. Society, 
 however, failed to avail itself of so shining an op- 
 portunity to express its sense of Mr. Randolph's 
 merit. There is one moment in a man's life in 
 which society takes no interest, and that is the 
 moment when his head is just going under water. 
 There is something vulgar in the spectacle, and 
 society turns its attention elsewhere. 
 
 If Mr. Randolph had spent his whole fortune 
 simply in paying his son's drafts, he would at least 
 have had the comfort of putting the whole burden of 
 the responsibility on his son's shoulders. But, un- 
 fortunately, the larger part of the loss was due to 
 private rashness of his own. When he found that 
 Ed's rapacity was getting serious, he bethought him 
 that his property was invested in things which, al- 
 though perfectly safe, brought a very low interest. 
 Now, stocks were to be had which would double 
 or treble his income, although, to be sure, their 
 soundness was less assured than that of United States 
 bonds. This defect, however, might be remedied by 
 sound judgment and presence of mind. None of Mr. 
 Randolph's friends, probably, would have specified 
 these qualities as being conspicuous in him, save by 
 their absence ; but Mr. Randolph himself was of an 
 opposite opinion. The devoted gentleman betook 
 himself to Wall street, and speculated there. The
 
 WORRIED AND PERSECUTED. 51 
 
 brokers treated him as Richard III. proposed to treat 
 his wife, they had him, but they did not keep him 
 long. His speculations after he returned home were 
 probably more edifying than those he indulged in on 
 the street. Be that as it may, his proceedings ma- 
 terially hastened the conclusion which Ed's extrava- 
 gances had first brought into view. He was ruined, 
 and he began to realize it. Two or three weeks' 
 experience of it (such was his quickness of appre- 
 hension) more than satisfied him. He perceived 
 that, for the sake of an empty sound, an artificial 
 pride, he had sacrificed all the solid comforts of life. 
 Nor was the " honor " for which he had made this 
 sacrifice any the more honored by the transaction. 
 Nobody knew or cared anything about it ; it was like 
 a Confederate bank note, worth attention only for 
 the sake of the comical contrast between its assump- 
 tion and its value. To believe in one's self is a 
 comfortable feat, but difficult to perform in defiance 
 of an incredulous and indifferent world. The revolt- 
 ing suspicion that he had been a fool began to ger- 
 minate in Mr. Randolph's mind. This suspicion, 
 which is the salvation of some men, is the destruction 
 of other*. The integrity of Mr. Randolph's moral 
 discrimination began to deteriorate from that hour. 
 Having enacted, all his life, the part of his own 
 golden calf in the wilderness, his overthrow left him 
 destitute of any criterion of conduct. He talked
 
 52 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 violently and volubly about his wrongs, and discussed 
 various schemes, more or less impracticable and im- 
 proper, of evading his liabilities. Beatrix was, nat- 
 urally, the chief sufferer from this ungainly develop- 
 ment of her father's character, and she was also 
 obliged to bear the brunt of most of the concrete 
 unpleasantness of their situation. She had to talk 
 to the creditors, to extenuate her father's side of the 
 case, to hold out fair hopes, and to smooth over 
 disappointments ; and when she had wearied herself 
 in parleying with the enemy, she had before her the 
 yet harder task of pacifying and encouraging her 
 father, who had listened to the dialogue from the 
 head of the stairs, and fell upon her with a petty 
 avalanche of complaints, questions, suggestions, 
 scoldings and querulousness. Beatrix loved her 
 father with all her heart ; but she was of a penetrat- 
 ing and well-balanced mind, and often had difficulty 
 in not feeling ashamed of him. Insensibly she began 
 to treat him as a fractious and supersensitive child, 
 who must at all costs be humored and soothed ; and 
 when she felt her own strength and patience almost 
 overtaxed she would only say to herself, " No won- 
 der poor father has to give up, when I find it so 
 hard." 
 
 But, if her encounters with the enemy were trying, 
 those whose motive was benevolence were even 
 harder to get on with. Among the latter were
 
 WORRIED AND PERSECUTED. 53 
 
 the daughters of the innkeeper. Beatrix had never 
 affected the society of these young ladies, who had 
 been brought up in a public school, and*vho frater- 
 nized in the most engaging manner with all the 
 young men of the village, their father's trade giving 
 them special opportunities to cultivate a wide circle 
 of acquaintances. Their tone of conversation alter- 
 nated between the confidential whisper and the full- 
 lunged repartee ; and their mirth was expressed, now 
 by the rippling giggle of intimacy, and now by the 
 strident crow of incipient familiarity. As to what 
 they talked about, it may be surmised that, had all 
 idea of the sterner sex been eliminated from their 
 minds, they would have been practically dumb. 
 Altogether, Beatrix, during the period of her pros- 
 perity, had assumed in the eyes of these young la- 
 dies an attitude of proud exclusiveness ; though from 
 her own point of view she was probably in the posi- 
 tion of feeling rather panic-stricken at the sight of 
 them. At any rate, after the aspect of things had 
 been altered by Mr. Randolph's calamity, the inn- 
 keeper's daughters, in order to show that they were 
 above bearing malice, made a point of calling upon 
 that unfortunate gentleman and Beatrix, and mani- 
 festing an appalling amount of cordiality and exuber- 
 ant helpfulness. "Don't you get down in the 
 mouth, Mr. Randolph," exclaimed Miss Sarah, with 
 an intonation as if she were patting him on the back.
 
 54 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 " Why, father was most as down as you, five years 
 ago, when Schneider & Co. failed, and never sent 
 him all tha* liquor he'd paid 'em for ! Father says 
 he'd just as soon take you and Beatrix to board this 
 winter, when there aint much outside business going 
 on, and not charge you a cent ; he said he guessed 
 you wouldn't eat much anyway ; those in trouble 
 seldom do." " You'll find it real lively, too," added 
 Miss Gertrude, turning to Beatrix ; " a lot better 
 than sitting moping up here from one week's end to 
 the other, strumming on that old piano of yours. 
 We have hops three times a week, and no end of 
 beaux." " A pretty girl like you," went on Miss 
 Sarah, generously, " will be sure to catch a husband 
 before long. There's Mr. Starcher for one : he as 
 good as told me he was sweet on you, not a week 
 ago ; and I guess it would be a relief to your father 
 to marry you off his hands, now that his pockets are 
 empty." "All I have to say about Starcher is, if he 
 don't mind, the minister '11 cut him out ! " remarked 
 Miss Gertrude ; whereat both the young ladies 
 laughed joyously, and manifestly believed that they 
 were making themselves exceedingly agreeable. But 
 civilization makes one man's meat another man's 
 poison. 
 
 Mr. Starcher was the grocer's son ; and the grocer 
 divided with the innkeeper the highest social con- 
 sideration of the village. His son was a young
 
 WORRIED AND PERSECUTED. 55 
 
 gentleman of highly respectable character and educa- 
 tion. After leaving school he had studied for a 
 year at a business college in New York ; he was a 
 member of the Young Men's Christian Association, 
 and a person of gravity and religious convictions. 
 A week or two after Mr. Randolph's misfortune be- 
 came known, he put on a suit of black clothes, 
 relieved by a faded blue necktie, and called formally 
 on Miss Randolph. After the first courtesies had 
 been exchanged, he eaid that he desired, in the first 
 place, to put the minds of Miss Randolph and her 
 good father at ease regarding the little account be- 
 tween his firm and them. The money was not 
 needed, and, so far as he was concerned, might re- 
 main unpaid indefinitely. "And I should like to say, 
 too," he continued, with a manner of almost melan- 
 choly seriousness and a husky voice, " that groceries 
 
 or anything else I could get you might be 
 yours, permanently, if I could you would that 
 you might consent to unite your life to mine. My 
 father contemplates retiring from active business. I 
 have never before spoken to you of this ; but in sea- 
 sons of trouble we say things and I have often 
 thought, when we were singing in the choir together 
 
 that we might be very happy that it was our 
 destiny. I have been in New York and seen the 
 great world, but you are the wife I would choose 
 from among them all." He had a smooth, round,
 
 56 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 fresh-colored, innocent face, that seemed made for 
 dimpling smiles, but which never indulged in them. 
 Beatrix felt a sensation of absurd alarm, like the 
 princess in the fairy tale, under a spell of enchant- 
 ment to mismate herself in the most grotesque man- 
 ner conceivable. Mr. Starcher was so much in 
 earnest, and so ludicrously sure, apparently, that 
 the success of his suit was among the eternal certain- 
 tics, that a vision of a long-wedded life with him, amid 
 an atmosphere of meal-tubs, salt-cod, and pickles, 
 interspersed with psalm tunes and solemn walks 
 to and from church on Sundays ; this desperate pan- 
 orama of inanimate existence rose up before her in 
 such vivid imaginative vraisemblance that she was 
 impelled to protest against it with more than ade- 
 quate vehemence. She gasped for breath, rose from 
 her chair, and said, " Mr. Starcher, it is terrible ! I 
 would rather die ! " Then, perceiving, compassion- 
 ately, that he would feel cruelly wounded as soon as 
 his astonished senses enabled him to comprehend the 
 significance of her words, she added, f 'It would be 
 wicked for me ever to think of being married ; you 
 must see that I" Here she paused, partly from 
 emotion, and partly because she was unable, at the 
 moment, to bethink herself of any conclusive argu- 
 ment in support of her assertion that, for her, mar- 
 riage would ever be a crime. One certainly would 
 not have drawn that inference from the superficial
 
 WORRIED AND PERSECUTED. 57 
 
 indications. A silence ensued, prickly with spiritual 
 discomfort. Mr. Starcher was the first to find his 
 tongue, and he carried off the honors of the encoun- 
 ter by observing, with tearful gentleness, that he 
 should claim the privilege, just the same, of not 
 presenting the little account for settlement. This 
 magnanimity was none the less genuine because the 
 materials for it were slender, and Beatrix, long 
 afterward, found comfort in recalling it to mind. 
 
 But there was yet another adversary for her to 
 engage, and he was in some respects more formidable 
 than Mr. Starcher, because his position and educa- 
 tion rendered his pretensions less monstrous ; nay, 
 there even seemed to be a sneaking disposition on 
 Mr. Randolph's part to accord him at least a nega- 
 tive support. Mr. Vinal, the Unitarian clergyman, 
 was, in fact, from an unworldly point of view, a tol- 
 erably inoflbnsive match. He was studious, deco- 
 rous, and endowed with grave and unobtrusive man- 
 ners. He was not handsome, but there was a certain 
 masculine concentration in his close-set gray eyes and 
 long narrow chin which was not in itself unpleasing. 
 His voice, if somewhat harsh, was resonant and 
 assured ; and, coming as it did from a chest appar- 
 ently so incapacious, produced a sensation of agreeable 
 surprise. It would have been unreasonable not to 
 respect the man, and churlish not to feel amiably 
 disposed toward him ; but, for Beatrix, it was impossi-
 
 58 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 ble to love him. He lived in a little whife wooden 
 house with green blinds, close to the white, green- 
 blinded church ; he possessed an imposing library, 
 in which was not a single book that Beatrix could 
 have brought herself to read, and the main object of 
 his endeavors was, apparently, to make all the rest 
 of the world think and live like himself. Moreover, 
 though he approved of music, he neither knew nor 
 cared anything about it. 
 
 Mr. Vinal began his operations by a private inter- 
 view with Mr. Randolph, from which he came forth 
 with a countenance whose serenity made Beatrix's 
 heart sink. The dialogue which followed was of 
 extreme interest to both of them. 
 
 " Have you made any plans regarding your imme- 
 diate future?" the minister began, in an unembar- 
 rassed and business-like tone. " We cannot doubt, 
 you know, that Providence, in bringing this affliction 
 upon you, has had some wise and merciful end in 
 view. You have talents ; perhaps but for this you 
 might have kept them folded in the napkin. Adver- 
 sity forces us out of our natural idleness, and stimu- 
 lates us to use what means we have to win our own 
 way in the world. Have you thought of anything 
 to do ? " 
 
 Beatrix's spirits rose again ; he was not thinking 
 of marrying her, after all. " I've been thinking I 
 might give lessons on the piano," she said. She
 
 WORRIED AND PERSECUTED. 59 
 
 happened to be seated at that instrument, and as she 
 spoke she let her white fingers drift down the key- 
 board, from bass to treble, from depression to hope, 
 from gloom to light, winding up with a sort of inter- 
 rogative accent, as much as to say, " Why shouldn't 
 I be good for something ? " 
 
 " Very right," said Mr. Vinal ; " I have nothing 
 to object to in that ; indeed, I had intended to pro- 
 pose it. You could, also, unless the instructions 
 of the late Professor Dorimar were wholly value- 
 less " 
 
 "What?" interrupted Beatrix, in a voice which, 
 supported as it was by a chord sharply struck, made 
 the minister start in his chair. After a moment's 
 pause, she said, her eyes still bright with indigna- 
 tion, " Professor Dorimar, who is now in heaven, 
 taught me more and better things than you have ever 
 dreamed of ! He showed me that I have a soul ! " 
 
 " Surely I have done as much as that ! " faltered 
 Mr. Vinal, who was confused by this sudden out- 
 burst. 
 
 " Xo ! for you know nothing about it," said Bea- 
 trix, loftily. " You have only been told that it is so, 
 you have read it in books, and you repeat what 
 you have been told, and no doubt you think you 
 believe it. But you can never know it ! " continued 
 the young lady, with a fiery emphasis on the verb, 
 "because you can't understand music."
 
 60 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 "I intended nothing against Professor Dorimar," 
 protested the minister, who was amazed and daunted 
 by the passion and pride that he had unawares 
 caused to kindle in her lovely face. It was, perhaps, 
 the first time he had occasion to observe that the 
 spirit of the old Virginia Randolphs the descend- 
 ants of the cavaliers was as haughty and untamed 
 in this tender-hearted American girl, as in that terri- 
 ble ancestor of hers who rode with Prince Rupert. 
 
 Beatrix made no reply, but sat with her head 
 erect, and flushed cheeks, and one hand still on the 
 piano keys, as if ready once more to smite terror 
 .into the soul of her visitor should he again step 
 amiss. A piano, it seems, can be used as a weapon 
 of defence even against one who has no comprehen- 
 sion of music. 
 
 " What I was about to remark was, that you 
 might teach singing as well as playing," said Mr. 
 Vinal, circumspectly. " There are, I believe, a 
 number of persons in the village who would be will- 
 ing, under the circumstances, to place their children 
 under your instruction." 
 
 " It is no favor to be taught music under any cir- 
 cumstances," returned Beatrix, kindling again. 
 " Whoever thinks otherwise does not deserve to 
 learn ! And there are other places in the world 
 besides this miserable little village, and people who 
 are wiser and better ! "
 
 WORRIED AND PERSECUTED. 61 
 
 " You surely do not mean to intimate that you 
 contemplate going anywhere else?" demanded the 
 minister, in some consternation. 
 
 The fact was that such an idea had never, until 
 that moment, definitely presented itself to Miss 
 Randolph's mind ; but, in her present aroused con- 
 dition, she could see and entertain many possi- 
 bilities that would have seemed audacious or 
 impracticable an hour before. 
 
 " Why not ? " she said ; " I was not born to pass 
 my life here ! " 
 
 " But I it has never been my intention to leave 
 here ! " exclaimed Mr. Vinal, anxiously. 
 
 " What satisfies you does not satisfy me," answered 
 the young lady. 
 
 " But your father in a conversation I have just 
 had with him has informed me that he will not 
 oppose my addressing you with a view to marriage," 
 said the clergyman, in a solemn tone. 
 
 " He would not have done so if he had been him- 
 self," replied Beatrix, warmly. "He is broken 
 down by trouble and sorrow, else you would not 
 have ventured to ask him! But I will tell you, 
 since he could not, that I am not a piece of land, 
 or furniture, to be sold for the satisfaction of cred- 
 itors ! I will not be a burden upon my father or 
 any one ; but I have a right to myself to my own 
 self ! Do you think I am so much afraid of being
 
 62 BEATRIX RANDOLPH, 
 
 poor, or of starving, that I would marry anybody 
 to escape it ? I do not love you ! I do not love 
 you, Mr. Vinal, and so I will never marry you. I 
 will have love, and music, or nothing ! You do 
 not know me, sir, none of you here seem to know 
 me. I am an American girl, and I will not be 
 bargained away, or buried alive, by any one ! You 
 shaft see," she added, rising and walking to the 
 veranda window, "that I can make my own way, 
 and take care of myself ! You shall see that Pro- 
 fessor Dorimar taught me something worth know- 
 ing!" 
 
 Mr. Vinal was unable to stand up against a 
 succession of blows like this, delivered by one 
 whom he had heretofore supposed to be the type 
 of gentleness and docility. His mind was narrow, 
 and slow to adapt itself to new impressions ; and 
 it would have taken him a long time to frame a 
 suitable reply to Miss Randolph's unexpected at- 
 tack. But the opportunity was not allowed him. 
 
 For, as Beatrix stood by the window, with flushed 
 cheeks and glowing eyes, and her heart beating 
 harder than usual, with indignant emotion, her 
 glance fell upon two figures advancing arm-in-arm 
 up the avenue. One of them she recognized ; the 
 other was unknown. But a strange tingle of antici- 
 pation went through her nerves. Something was 
 going to happen something great something for
 
 WORRIED AND PERSECUTED. 63 
 
 her ! The crisis of her fate was at hand ; and she 
 was more than ready for it. Therefore she did not 
 start, or cry out, but only smiled with an air of 
 beautiful triumph, when Hamilton Jocelyn, relin- 
 quishing the arm of his companion, ran up the steps 
 of the veranda, took both her hands in his, and said, 
 as he bent toward her. 
 
 " My dear girl, I bring you fame and fortune ! "
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IX WHAT GUISE DELIVERANCE CAME TO HER. 
 
 \Y7~HAT became of Mr. Vinal, Beatrix never as- 
 certained ; she forgot about him for several 
 minutes, and, when she looked round for him, he 
 was gone. But her life, which for the past month 
 or two had seemed to be dwindling away to a dreary 
 little rivulet, had now all at once begun to leap 
 onward in a full, rejoicing torrent. The change 
 had, indeed, found its source in her revolt against 
 the clammy assumptions of the clergyman : it was 
 the fervent reaction of her nature against the chilly 
 lethargy and oppression! that had been settling upon 
 it ; and Jocelyn's unexplained announcement had 
 only given form and confidence to the instinctive 
 conviction that a new dispensation must be on its 
 way to her. For the time she was satisfied to rest 
 upon the assurance that it had come, and to inquire 
 no farther. Meanwhile, Jocelyn introduced his com- 
 panion to her as " General Inigo, a gentleman inter- 
 ested in music " ; and Mr. Randolph was extracted 
 from his retreat, into which he had withdrawn under 
 the impression that more duns were after him, and
 
 DELIVERANCE. 65 
 
 was likewise made a partaker of the General's 
 acquaintance. The latter appeared in quite a 
 different light from that in which we first encoun- 
 tered him. He had not only been assiduously 
 instructed by Jocelyn as to the behavior he should 
 put on, but the fresh country air and scenery, and 
 the tendency which all persons who live in some 
 measure by luck have to hope for a fortunate turn 
 in their affairs, had combined to put him in a genial 
 and optimistic frame of mind. As a contrast to the 
 gloom in which they had lived of late, this sunny 
 mood of the General's seemed even more paradis- 
 iacal than would have been the case at a cheerfuller 
 time. His jokes and comicalities had an arch charm 
 to the ears and eyes of Mr. Randolph and his 
 daughter that would have perplexed the manu- 
 facturer of them. A feeling of security and pleasant 
 promise diffused itself in the air, though, as yet, 
 there was no known foundation for it. It was four 
 o'clock in the afternoon, and dinner was over, but, 
 in consideration of the city habits of the guests, 
 preparations were made for one of those high teas 
 which combine the best features of all meals. In 
 the meantime the old ex- Virginian rummaged out a 
 bottle of claret (which the General secretly wished 
 had been whiskey) , and proceeded to dispense it with 
 something of the courtly air that had belonged to 
 him before misfortune and misanthropy had marked
 
 66 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 him for their own. But his hospitality was tempered 
 by a haunting suspense. What was the General, 
 and what did he intend ? Evidently he must have 
 had a purpose of no ordinary urgency, to bring him 
 all the way from New York City hither. His 
 smiling bearing forbade the supposition that the 
 purpose could be a hostile one ; but why, and in 
 what way, should it be friendly ? It was only by an 
 heroic effort that Mr. Randolph subdued the evidence 
 of his curiosity, and perhaps did not succeed in dis- 
 guising it so completely but that his guests could 
 amuse themselves by detecting it. 
 
 At length, when the bottle was nearing its last 
 glass, Jocelyn turned to the young hostess with his 
 most fascinating manner and said, "My dear Beatrix, 
 I wonder whether your piano is in tune? The 
 General and I are pining for some music. The fall 
 season hasn't begun yet, you know, and positively 
 I don't believe either he or I have heard any 
 singing worthy of the name for four months, eh, 
 General?" 
 
 " Four months ! I should think not, by Jupiter ! " 
 returned the General, rubbing his nose pleasantly. 
 " One doesn't hear good singing as often as that, my 
 dear boy. I'll just tell you," he continued, turning 
 to Beatrix, " a thing my dear old friend Dorimar said 
 to me once " 
 
 " Was Professor Dorimar a friend of yours ? " ex-
 
 DELIVERANCE, 67 
 
 claimed Beatrix, with sunshine streaming from her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Well, I guess it was a good while before you 
 was born that I knew him first," said the General, 
 gallantly ; " and there was nobody had much to say 
 about music after him ! " 
 
 "Oh, I'll sing for you as much as you wish!" 
 rejoined the young lady, all alive with generous 
 pleasure. " Thinking of Professor Dorimar always 
 makes me feel as if I could do anything." She led 
 the way, as she spoke, to the inner sitting-room, the 
 scene of her late battle with Mr. Vinal. The gentle- 
 men followed, and Jocelyn took the opportunity to 
 murmur to Inigo, "What do you think of her?" 
 
 "If she could sing as she looks," responded that 
 personage, " I'd never bother my head again about 
 the Russian. The funny thing is, this gal looks a 
 little as the Russian would like to, if she could. 
 But the beauties can't do anything but look beautiful, 
 as a rule. Well, we'll see. I might like to have 
 her for opera bouffe, anyhow." 
 
 " Were you on the Southern side during the war, 
 General?" inquired Mr. Randolph, as they sat down. 
 
 " Humph ! my commission was an English one," 
 the General replied, with military presence of mind. 
 " Hadn't the luck to see your country till after the 
 racket was over." Here he endeavored to catch 
 Jocelyn's eye, in order to relieve his own feelings by
 
 68 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 a wink ; but at that moment Beatrix's fingers 
 touched the keys, and thenceforward nothing was 
 possible but to listen. 
 
 It need not be asked what she sang on thi? 
 momentous occasion. Her method and quality 
 would have been apparent in almost any selection. 
 But the phases of emotion through which she had 
 recently passed were surging toward that expression 
 which only music can afford, and, with deep-drawn 
 breath and exultant heart, she launched into a 
 passage from one of those grand works of the last 
 century which all the intellectual brilliance and pic- 
 torial complexity of the modern gospel of music 
 cannot supplant nor outweigh. As the mighty 
 strains won control of the listeners' senses, all things 
 seemed to undergo a noble transformation. There 
 was a feeling of enlargement and exaltation ; what 
 was trifling and ignoble faded out of sight, or was 
 absorbed into the prevailing harmony of ordered 
 beauty. Passion gained majesty from restraint ; 
 sorrow throbbed with the delight of joy, and joy 
 assumed the dignity of sorrow. The mystic unity 
 of art, which grasps the elements of things, and gives 
 them speech and meaning ; the utterance of the 
 divine reason, which transcends the bondage of 
 words ; the language that belongs to no man, but 
 to mankind, this magic and mystery of song, flow- 
 ing forth in its grandeur and enchantment from a
 
 DELIVERANCE. 69 
 
 simple girl's throat, cast over all a spell of wonder 
 and delight, and, but for the profound warrant of its 
 beauty, would have seemed miraculous. The room 
 in which the auditors sat appeared to assume finer 
 proportions ; the very chairs and tables were endowed 
 with elegance, and the persons themselves were con- 
 scious of a certain stateliness in their attitudes and 
 movements, and of being uplifted to a higher sphere 
 of thought and feeling than was native to them. 
 And the singer was transfigured ; for the music 
 which touched the others as it were from without 
 was made the very form and fibre of her soul. It 
 magnified and strengthened her ; it annulled the 
 merely individual and accidental limitations of her 
 being, and brought her into that large, impersonal 
 state which marks the artist in seasons of inspiration. 
 So was it with the pythoness of old, who, in such 
 measure as her private personality was subdued and 
 obliterated by the god, took on the god's own super- 
 human guise of majesty. Beatrix, when she sang, 
 rose above Beatrix, and became the fearless and 
 self-unconscious instrument of her art's expression. 
 Whatever reverence and dignity belonged to music 
 belonged, in such moments, to the musician ; and 
 she bestowed the faculty of reverence upon those 
 who were before incapable of it. 
 
 The General had at first put on a strictly critical 
 air, as of one to whom pleasure and social amenities
 
 70 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 are one thing, and very well in their place; but 
 business, quite another. After two or three minutes, 
 however, he had forgotten all about everything, 
 except the rise and fall, the swell and resonance, 
 the airy gambollings and the strong, melodious poise 
 and movement of this matchless voice. There is a 
 point in the enjoyment of art where we cease to draw 
 comparisons, and only feel that we are following the 
 artist's charmed footsteps into hitherto unexplored 
 regions of beauty and fascination. Our burden of 
 responsibility falls from our shoulders, because we are 
 conscious that what we now see or hear is better than 
 anything we have heretofore known. This recogni- 
 tion of true mastery, wherever and whenever met 
 with, is among the sui-est signs of knowledge and 
 experience. A fool will find fault with Raphael, 
 and chat through a symphony by Beethoven. Gen- 
 eral Inigo was not a fool. He was a vulgar Jew, 
 of uncertain nationality, whose past history and 
 private life would not bear examination ; but he knew 
 what music and musical genius are, and he could 
 estimate accurately the rarity and value of the 
 discovery which Jocelyn had led him to make. 
 Accidents aside, this unknown and unsuspecting 
 girl would be one of the great prime donne of the 
 world. It was not a matter of opinion, but of 
 certainty. Indeed, the General flattered himself 
 that no one besides himself and Dorimar would be
 
 DELIVERANCE. 71 
 
 able to understand how great she really was. As 
 he sat there and listened to her, with his fat hands 
 folded on his waistcoat, his stumpy little feet 
 crossed one over the other, and his big head wagging 
 and swaying in involuntary accord with the splendid 
 diapason of sound, he was happier than he had ever 
 been in his life. Not only was his reputation saved, 
 his outlay secured, and his revenge on the Russian 
 made certain, but his name would go down to 
 posterity as that of the man who had brought before 
 the world the brightest operatic star of the age. " I'll 
 do the handsome thing by her I will, by Jupiter ! " 
 thought the General to himself. " There are cases 
 in which generosity pays fifty per cent. , and here's 
 one of 'em." 
 
 Beatrix sang for the better part of an hour, and 
 might have gone on indefinitely, so far as either she 
 or her auditors were concerned; for a truly noble 
 voice, rightly trained and managed, is as tireless 
 and untiring as it is beautiful. But mortal existence 
 is full of petty lets and hindrances ; and Beatrix, 
 being for the present a hostess as well as Prima 
 Donna Assoluta, was obliged to go and see about 
 the supper. When the gentlemen were alone, the 
 General pulled down his waistcoat, sat up in his 
 chair, and, after regarding Jocelyn for a few mo- 
 ments between half-closed eyelids, nodded his head 
 several times slowly.
 
 72 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 "I see you are fond of music, General," said 
 Mr. Randolph, discerningly. 
 
 "Well, music and I are under some obligations 
 to each other," was the General's reply. " Now, 
 just tell me has that young lady ever sung in 
 public ? " 
 
 " My daughter ever sing in public ! " exclaimed 
 the young lady's father, with the air of a prince 
 of the blood. " We are not that sort of people, 
 sir ! " 
 
 " Come, now, Randolph, this is between friends 
 you know," said Jocelyn, smiling as one who is 
 superior to prejudice. " Great gifts like hers 
 deuce take it, you've no right to hide 'em ! We're 
 not living in the feudal ages ; what's the good of a 
 girl's being talented, if nobody's to know anything 
 about it? Besides, talent means money nowadays ; 
 and your daughter's voice is a fortune, if it's rightly 
 managed ; don't you agree with me, General? 
 
 "Well, a great deal depends on the management," 
 returned that gentleman, squeezing his large nose 
 between his thumb and forefinger. " But with good 
 management yes she could make money ; as 
 much as she wants." 
 
 "I should say she could, as much as she wants, 
 or as much as you want either, Randolph, if these 
 stories I hear about your embarrassments have any 
 truth in 'em."
 
 DELIVERANCE. 73 
 
 " I scarcely understand ; perhaps you will ex- 
 plain yourself more fully," said Randolph, looking 
 from one to the other in a manner that betrayed 
 agitation. 
 
 "I see you don't know who Inigo is," observed 
 Jocelyn, suavely. " You've made such a hermit of 
 yourself up here, of late years, you've dropped out 
 of the running. Why, Inigo, my dear man 
 simple as you see him sit there is the foremost 
 impressario and musical manager of the age. He 
 has heard a report of our Beatrix's powers, and, 
 well, go ahead, Inigo ; put it in your own way." 
 
 "I'll just tell you what it is, Mr. Randolph," 
 said the impressario, assuming the reins of the con- 
 versation with a wave of the hand. " A few words 
 are best, when it's about business. I came up here 
 to find out if your daughter could sing as good as 
 Jocelyn, here, says she could. Well, she's got a 
 fine organ, and she knows what to do with it ; no 
 mistake about that ! Well, I've got an opening, 
 and I'll take her in, and I'll pay her first prices ; 
 that's what I'll do. She goes right on, in opera, 
 under me, and she makes her fortune ; that's all about 
 it I I'm a square man, by Jupiter ! and I don't 
 make no fuss about terms ; when I buy a good 
 article, I pay good money for it. When I say I'll 
 make her a boom, I'll do it. When Moses Inigo 
 says he'll do the management, the young lady's all
 
 74 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 right, if she was as homely as a cow and sung 
 like a bull ; and if she gets a fool to manage her, or 
 manages herself (it's about the same thing), she 
 might sing like an angel and look like Venus, and 
 not make fifty dollars a week ; and don't you forget 
 it ! " 
 
 "I am not accustomed, I need hardly say," ob- 
 served Randolph, with an appealing glance at 
 Jocelyn, and endeavoring to appear calm and 
 indifferent, " to consider or discuss such matters. 
 I have always lived, as iny forefathers have before 
 me, upon my private resources, without reference 
 to trade of any sort. However, gentlemen, I must 
 admit that fortune has played me a very scurvy trick, 
 through no fault of my own ; and I suppose that 
 what you say is true : the good old days are pass- 
 ing away, and each one of us has to fight for his 
 own hand. At the same time, it could only be with 
 the greatest reluctance, and under pressure of the 
 severest necessity, that I could permit a daughter 
 of mine " 
 
 "To be, of course, that's understood ! " put in 
 Jocelyn, comfortably. " But you'll be surprised to 
 find how little annoyance there is about it ; espe- 
 cially since, in your case, it very fortunately happens 
 that we shall be able to put Beatrix upon the stage 
 without any one's being aware who she is. She will 
 be incognita from first to last."
 
 DELIVERANCE. 75 
 
 "Ah! that changes the aspect of the matter 
 materially," said Randolph, looking at the impressa- 
 rio. "But it occurs to me that" 
 
 The entrance of Beatrix herself at this juncture 
 prevented the thing which had occurred to her father 
 from becoming known. She announced that supper 
 was ready. The gentlemen rose, and Jocelyn, ap- 
 proaching her, took her hand and put it under his 
 arm, murmuring confidently in her ear, "How 
 would our little Beatrix like to pay all her father's 
 debts, and set up the family on its legs again? 
 
 Beatrix gazed round at him with searching eyes 
 and questioning lips. The unruly part of her ex- 
 citement had been composed by her singing ; but 
 the exalted mood remained, so that she was ready to 
 expect anything that was not commonplace. She 
 could not have told what Jocelyn meant, and yet 
 she seemed to herself to anticipate what he was 
 going to say. Good news was in the air. However, 
 for the moment, nothing more was said. Her father 
 was behind, with the General, and they were speak- 
 ing in an undertone. Her heart beat high, and her 
 step was light. As they came to the supper-table, 
 and Jocelyn pressed her hand, she gave him a smile, 
 which, had he been worthy of it,, would have knighted 
 him on the spot. She was young, and knew nothing 
 worse than her own pure self, and she was ready to 
 give gratitude without waiting to know for what her
 
 76 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 gratitude was due. Experience of the world is apt 
 to correct this impulse. 
 
 The conversation at table wandered at first over 
 miscellaneous topics ; for Mr. Randolph was some- 
 what at a loss how to present the all-important 
 subject to his daughter ; Jocelyn was busy thinking 
 over his own part in the little comedy, and the 
 impressario, besides finding much to occupy his 
 attention in the viands, was now wholly at ease 
 in his own mind and dreamed of no difficulties. 
 He had interpreted Mr. Randolph's scruples as merely 
 a bid for good payment, to which he had responded 
 in his usual whole-souled style ; as to the young 
 lady, of course she would follow her father's lead. 
 Of the three, it was Jocelyn who spoke first. 
 
 " I don't see why we should keep this dear child 
 any longer in ignorance of the plot we have hatched 
 against her," he said, addressing the others, but 
 keeping his eyes caressingly on Beatrix. " My dear 
 girl, I said I brought you fame and fortune ; but, 
 in fact, I only brought you the opportunity to win 
 them for yourself. You have a glorious future 
 before you. This gentleman is the owner and 
 manager of the new opera-house in the city. All 
 your favorite operas will be produced there this 
 season, splendidly set and cast, and you, my dear 
 Beatrix, are to sing the leading music." 
 
 Beatrix grew pale, and turned her face toward
 
 DELIVERANCE. 77 
 
 her father. "O papa, can I?" she said in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "It is painful, of course, to contemplate such a 
 thing," Mr. Randolph replied, looking down in his 
 plate with an uneasy, evasive air ; " but we are poor 
 folks now, you know, and we must do the best we 
 can. We can only hope, my dear, that the neces- 
 sity will not " 
 
 " Oh, but it is not that ! " exclaimed the girl, 
 interrupting him, and tremulous with excitement; 
 "but to sing, papa to sing in real opera, before 
 a real audience ! It is the best thing in the world ! 
 But can I do it, do you think? Am I able? 
 Would Professor Dorimar have wished it? I 
 would rather " she was going to say, marry Mr. 
 Vinal, but changed it to " I would rather do any- 
 thing than disgrace Professor Dorimar." 
 
 "You just leave all that to me, young lady," said 
 the impressario, nodding good-naturedly. "I take 
 the risks ! You'll not disgrace Dorimar, nor no- 
 body else. You're as good as the best of 'em, 
 though it's money out of my pocket to tell you so ! 
 You'll need some drilling about the stage business ; 
 of course, that But don't you worry ; I'll fix it all 
 right ! You've got a month or six weeks' rehearsals, 
 and you'll catch on as quick as most gals, I guess." 
 
 Thus far the glory and delight of the merely 
 musical aspect of the adventure had so dazzled
 
 78 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 Beatrix's eyes that she had thought of nothing else ; 
 but now a new idea entered her head. 
 
 "Am I to be paid for doing this?" she asked, 
 glancing from her father to Jocelyn. "Of course, 
 I mean by and by, if I succeed. Is that what 
 you meant when you talked about my winning for- 
 tune ? But I would rather not make money in that 
 way I would rather make it in some other way 
 than by singing, because .... But I couldn't 
 make it in any other way, I suppose," she added, 
 faltering a little. " Singing is all I can do ! And, 
 after all, it would be good if my singing would help 
 pay our debts ; that would not be unworthy even 
 of music, would it, papa? I wouldn't take money 
 to get rich, but I would to prevent your being 
 
 troubled any more by O papa, can 
 
 it be true? I'm sure you are very kind, General 
 Inigo ; and thank you for telling him of me, Mr. 
 Jocelyn." 
 
 This speech a broken medley of musical tones, 
 smiles, wet eyelashes, pauses of reflection, and 
 eager utterance completed the General's captiva- 
 tion. He thumped his fat fist down on the table- 
 cloth and exclaimed, " By Jupiter ! gentlemen ; I 
 move we drink the health of the new prima 
 donna, " 
 
 " And christen her at the same time," put in 
 Jocelyn, quickly. "You haven't heard your new
 
 DELIVERANCE. 79 
 
 stage name, Beatrix. Henceforward you are to be 
 known to the world, not as Beatrix Randolph, but 
 as what is it, General ? " 
 
 "Mademoiselle Marana," said Inigo. "Here's 
 Mademoiselle Marana's health, boys ! May she 
 stand at the top of the profession, and sing pearls 
 and diamonds, like the gal in the fairy tale ! Down 
 she goes ! " 
 
 " Up she goes ! you mean," said Jocelyn, laugh- 
 ing. "Well, mademoiselle, how do you like your 
 new name ? " 
 
 " It's very pretty," answered she ; " but how did 
 I get it?" 
 
 " If you or your father had been in New York 
 lately, you wouldn't need to ask. The name of 
 Mademoiselle Marana, the great prima donna from 
 St. Petersburg and Moscow, is placarded all over 
 town. All the world is agog to see and hear 
 her. The new opera-house was built expressly for 
 her." 
 
 "But how" 
 
 "I'm going to tell you. There's another lady, 
 somewhere, who sings under that name, and whom 
 Inigo had invited to sing here. But she refused to 
 keep her word at the last moment ; and since the 
 public must have some new divinity to worship, and 
 since I know that it would be painful to your father 
 to have you appear under your own name, I advised
 
 80 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 Inigo to put you in her place. That's the whole 
 story." 
 
 Beatrix's clear eyes grew troubled. " It doesn't 
 seem right to pretend to be another person it 
 would be deceiving people," she said. 
 
 " Nobody goes on the stage under his own 
 name," replied Jocelyn. " To go on the stage is 
 to change your identity, and become some one else. 
 Nobody's deceived, because nobody expects any- 
 thing else." 
 
 But Beatrix at once detected the flaw in this 
 argument. " Why should I be called Marana ? " 
 she demanded. " Why not give me some other 
 name that nobody has ? " 
 
 "It seems to me that that might be preferable," 
 observed Mr. Randolph. 
 
 "My dear Randolph, it's merely a business ques- 
 tion," said Jocelyn, not sorry to make the explana- 
 tion to him instead of to his daughter. " We call 
 her Marana simply because Marana is the name in 
 people's mouths at this moment. To give her an- 
 other name would be to create all sorts of doubt 
 and confusion, in the course of which the dear 
 child's identity would be certain to be discovered. 
 Nobody here knows Marana by sight or sound ; so, 
 even if Beatrix were inferior as a singer, they would 
 be defrauded of nothing. But the fact is, as 
 Inigo, who has heard the lady, will confirm me in
 
 DELIVEBANCE. 81 
 
 saying, Beatrix can sing every bit as well as Ma- 
 rana, and rather better ; so we are giving the public 
 even more than they bargained for. It's a pure 
 formality ; but some forms are of the first impor- 
 tance practically. To bring her out under any 
 other name than Marana would be a great injustice 
 to our friend the General, who has, so to speak, 
 made out all his invoices and labelled all his goods 
 under that title ; and it would be quite as great an 
 injustice to Beatrix herself, who, instead of at once 
 receiving the salary that her genius deserves, would 
 have to fight an uphill battle through stupidity and 
 prejudice, and, taking all accidents into considera- 
 tion, might not win through at all." 
 
 " It may be foolish, but I can't help not liking it," 
 said Beatrix, feeling unhappy. "But you know 
 best, papa, and I'll do what you say." 
 
 " I believe the amount of the salary has not been 
 mentioned," said Mr. Randolph, turning to the im- 
 pressario. 
 
 The latter was about to reply, when Jocelyn 
 swiftly took up the word. " She will be paid three 
 thousand dollars a night," said he, "and there will 
 be from three to four performances a week." 
 
 Mr. Randolph grew very red, and could not sup- 
 press a start. His most sanguine expectations had 
 not exceeded a tenth of this sum. From nine to 
 twelve thousand dollars a week ! it was scarcely
 
 82 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 credible ; it was magnificent ; it was a fortune once 
 a month ! Meanwhile Beatrix sat almost indifferent, 
 much to Inigo's admiration; but the truth was, the 
 girl knew nothing of the value of money, and was, 
 moreover, personally much less concerned about the 
 rewards of the enterprise than about the enterprise 
 itself. She certainly never imagined that her 
 father's discrimination between right and wrong 
 could be influenced by such considerations. 
 
 After a pause to recover his composure, Mr. 
 Randolph cleared his throat and said : " I only 
 asked for information ; I know little about these 
 matters, but I presume the sum you name would 
 be considered fair remuneration. As to the morality 
 of the matter," he added, breaking into his shrill 
 laugh, "I agree with you, Jocelyn, that the ques- 
 tion is more one of form than anything else ; and 
 it would be an ungracious return for General Inigo's 
 courtesy to subject him to the embarrassment you 
 indicate. I think you may call yourself Made- 
 moiselle Marana with a clear conscience, my dear." 
 
 Beatrix sighed, and faintly smiled. The worst 
 that can be said of her at this moment is that she 
 did not know whether she were glad or sorry.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 WHAT WAS GOING ON ELSEWHERE. 
 
 TOCELYN and the impressario stayed over-night 
 at the Randolphs', and completed the details 
 of the agreement for Mademoiselle Marana's appear- 
 ance. She was to come to the city in a few days, 
 take up her abode at a hotel, and begin rehearsals 
 immediately. Before leaving, Inigo handed Mr. 
 Randolph a check for three thousand dollars, as 
 advance salary, to enable him to make the necessary 
 arrangements ; and the two gentlemen took their 
 departure with many professions of good-will on 
 both sides. 
 
 Late in the afternoon, a tall, rather stern-looking 
 young man, with grave blue eyes under thick level 
 brows, and a short, dense, brown beard covering 
 the lower part of his face, walked into General In- 
 igo's office, and was informed that the General was 
 expected every minute. He seated himself at a 
 table, undid the roll of paper that he carried, and 
 proceeded to busy himself in making calculations and 
 sketches. 
 
 This young man, whose name was Geoffrey Bel-
 
 84 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 lingham, was a New Englander, whose family had 
 lived for many generations in an ancient town not 
 very far from Boston. The town in question had 
 formerly possessed no small importance in a maritime 
 sense, and the Bellinghams had been for a long 
 period identified with its prosperity. One of the 
 long rambling streets that skirted the sea-front still 
 bore their name, and so did a half-ruined wharf, 
 stretching out into the harbor, and now used as a 
 landing-place for stray fishing-smacks, though, in the 
 last century, it had received the cargoes of many a 
 stately ship from the East Indies and the Spanish 
 main. The Bellinghams of that epoch had been 
 prominent and successful traders ; and their family 
 mansion, which was still standing till within fifty 
 years ago, with deep-browed dormer windows and 
 an overhanging upper-story, was among the most 
 imposing edifices in the place. The first immigrant 
 and his descendants were Puritans of the strictest 
 type, and were active in the wars against the 
 Indians, and in the persecution of witches and 
 Quakers. Afterward, representatives of the family 
 served with distinction in the war of the Revolution, 
 chiefly by sea ; and the prizes which they captured 
 still further enriched them. From the early part of 
 the present century, however, their prosperity began 
 to recede, along with that of the town with which 
 they were so closely allied. Large families of
 
 GOING ON ELSEWHERE. 85 
 
 children divided and dissipated the property ; many 
 of them moved to other parts of the country ; those 
 who remained, proudly mindful of their past gran- 
 deur, and unwilling to descend to a lower level in 
 search of new ways to fortune, gradually faded out 
 of sight or existence, retaining to the end the old 
 traits of character, rendered harsher and gloomier by 
 their more restricted circumstances. At length, 
 about thirty years ago, Geoffrey Bellingham was 
 born. He was a child of unusual intelligence, and 
 with a strong appetite both for reading and advent- 
 ure ; by the time he was seven years old he had 
 made himself acquainted with the contents of all the 
 books in his father's home, and was proficient in 
 studies generally reserved for children three or four 
 years his senior. But the monotonous and lifeless 
 existence of the sluggish old town vexed and wearied 
 him ; he wished he had come into the world a 
 hundred years earlier, when men went forth to bat- 
 tle, and to sail the seas, and the days were full of 
 novelty, activity, and excitement. His heart stirred 
 within him to bear a hand in the work and movement 
 of the world, and such echoes as reached him of 
 what was going on in other places and lands kept 
 alive this longing and developed it. He met with 
 no sympathy, however, from his own family circle, 
 and at length ceased to make them confidants of his 
 desires and projects ; yet this discouragement to the
 
 86 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 utterance of his thoughts led him to cherish them 
 not less but more ardently. Finally, in his twelfth 
 year, he ran away to sea, taking passage on board a 
 Boston vessel bound for the Pacific. He was absent 
 three years, and what were his adventures during 
 this period was never exactly known. He had cir- 
 cumnavigated the globe, at all events, and had seen 
 people of all kinds and colors ; he had encountered 
 many hardships, met with some good luck, and had 
 learned something from whatsoever befell. He had 
 spent a few months in Australia, and got some gold 
 there ; and he came home first mate on board an 
 English blockade-runner from Liverpool. It was 
 in the midst of our Civil War ; the blockade-runner 
 was captured and Bellingham was taken prisoner. 
 On his announcing his readiness to take service 
 under the Federal flag, however, he was allowed to 
 join the crew of a government war-vessel ; he had 
 the good luck to see a great deal of fighting, and was 
 promoted for gallantry and general efficiency. Be- 
 fore the year was out he met a Confederate bullet, 
 which put an end to his participation in the war, and 
 very nearly severed his connection with all human 
 affairs. Nevertheless he recovered, and made his 
 way to the North, with a thousand dollars in his 
 pocket. On reaching his native place, he found his 
 father and mother both dead, and his sister (the only 
 child besides himself) married. He was at this time
 
 GOING ON ELSEWHERE. 87 
 
 about seventeen years old, but as tall and robust 
 (barring the temporary effects of his wound) as a 
 much older man ; with a. premature gravity and 
 dignity of demeanor, and a strong, penetrating, and 
 resolute mind. After remaining quiet for a month 
 or two, to recuperate his physical powers and to 
 think over his position, he determined to be an 
 architect. He set to work at once, with his usual 
 energy and persistence ; and after having familiarized 
 himself with the rudiments of the profession, at the 
 best scientific school in the country, he entered an 
 architect's office in New York, and worked there 
 from twelve to fifteen hours a day for seven years. 
 Unremitting application such as this, rendered phys- 
 ically possible as it was by an invincible constitu- 
 tion, and turned to the best advantage by a powerful 
 and comprehensive intellect, could not fail to have 
 its effect. 
 
 When Bellingham, at the end of his apprentice- 
 ship period, set up in business on his own account, 
 there were few men in the country who possessed a 
 broader and sounder knowledge of architecture than 
 this young man of twenty- three, or who had so much 
 taste and originality in matters of design. The re- 
 mainder of his professional history, being mainly a 
 record of well -deserved and increasing success, has 
 little interest. A't the epoch of his entrance into 
 this story, he had had a hand in many of the best
 
 88 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 buildings of our large cities, both private and public ; 
 and incidentally he had been brought in contact 
 with a great number of people whom it might be 
 deemed socially expedient to know. But Belling- 
 ham scarcely seemed to have the ordinary social 
 instinct. His manners were abrupt and reserved, 
 and he had a very disconcerting glance for those who 
 seemed disposed to attempt to be familiar with him. 
 The few persons with whom he associated on any- 
 thing like intimate terms were chiefly artists and 
 literary Bohemians ; but he was very popular among 
 his workmen, toward whom his bearing was kindly 
 and even affable, though he held them strictly under 
 control. He seemed to have a temperamental 
 antipathy against aristocratical or exclusive preten- 
 sions of any kind, though in a certain sense no one 
 was more exclusive and aristocratic than he. His 
 humility was very proud humility, indeed. He liked 
 to tell himself that he was simply a man like other 
 men, and that he would neither claim superiority 
 nor suffer it ; but that was only to remove the 
 superiority that actually belonged to him from one 
 place and to put it in another, to deny it in the outer 
 region of circumstances and accessories, and to 
 recognize it (however tacitly) in the interior region 
 of intellect and character. The type is no uncom- 
 mon one, as the critics say ; and it" is perhaps a pity, 
 nowadays, that it is not a great deal commoner.
 
 GOING ON ELSEWHERE. 89 
 
 Though repellent in several ways, it has some 
 qualities of almost infinite redemption. It includes 
 everything that we call .masculine. Its exemplars 
 are often deficient in humor ; but they have a 
 sternness and simplicity that are to the other parts 
 of human nature what sea-salt is to water. They 
 are often unjust, but they are never complaisant. 
 They may be bitter, but they are never sweet ; or 
 hard, but never soft. And yet there is another 
 side to them but only very few perhaps only 
 one ever comes to know it. Enough of general- 
 izations. 
 
 Geoffrey Bellingham had not the air of being sus- 
 ceptible to feminine charms. His manner, when he 
 was brought in contact with the gentler sex, under- 
 went no gentle and illuminating change. The ele- 
 ments of his nature seemed averse from harmonizing 
 with those of women. When he happened to speak 
 with a woman, he would express himself in his usual 
 curt, laconic way, keeping his eyes fixed upon her 
 face the while, with a sort of unsympathetic inquisi- 
 tion. The impression conveyed was that he con- 
 sidered women insufficient and untrustworthy. On 
 the other hand he never railed against them, as self- 
 conscious misogynists do ; his indifference seemed 
 not to be the result of an exhaustive or mortifying 
 experience of them in the past ; it was scientific or 
 temperamental rather. He recognized their func-
 
 90 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 tional uses to the race and to society, but did not 
 care to be personally concerned with them more than 
 was necessary. A very ordinary female a country 
 farmer's wife, or a girl in the city street was ap- 
 parently less irksome company for him than a lady 
 endowed with the beauty and cultivated grace of 
 good-breeding. This may have been because re- 
 fined society (which really exists only in the pres- 
 ence of ladies men by themselves are all barba- 
 rians) embarrassed him ; that he did not know 
 how to make himself agreeable. At all events, he 
 preferred if practice be any indication of prefer- 
 ence the society of men, men of a rough and 
 unconventional sort. He never was coarse or vul- 
 gar himself, but these qualities seemed to please him 
 in others ; he loved the rank, unrestrained expres- 
 sion of human nature. He was rigorously cleanly 
 in his personal habits, but his dress was plain 
 and careless. Seen from behind you would have 
 taken him for a master- workman ; but when he 
 faced you, you would have reconsidered your con- 
 clusion. 
 
 But his professional reputation was so high and 
 so well attested, that his social disqualifications did 
 not injure his success ; and when General Inigo con- 
 ceived the idea of a grand new opera-house Belling- 
 ham was among those to whom he applied for a plan 
 and an estimate, and it was Bellingham who got the
 
 GOING ON ELSEWHERE. 91 
 
 contract. The result was a building which many 
 judges considered to be second to none of its kind 
 in the world. It was beautiful, it was luxurious, 
 it was acoustically a marvel, it was fire-proof. Inci- 
 dentally a number of artists achieved renown and 
 made money by the decorations which they executed, 
 under Bellingham's supervision, for its inner and 
 outer walls. New York boasted of it, the papers 
 contained descriptions of it, and the illustrated jour- 
 nals published pictures of it, and endeavored, but 
 unsuccessfully, to obtain a portrait of the architect. 
 But, as a compensation, there was engraved a digni- 
 fied and imposing representation of General Inigo, 
 and a record of his brilliant and typically American 
 career. As has been already intimated, moreover, 
 the air was full of rumors and conjectures as to the 
 great Marana ; how she compared with the queens of 
 song already known to Western audiences ; who she 
 was ; what she was ; how much money she was likely 
 to carry away with her ; whether she would be re- 
 ceived into New York society. Everybody asked 
 these questions, and nobody seemed able to answer 
 them, unless it were the General, who mostly con- 
 tented himself with the assertion that she was the 
 best, the most beautiful, the most expensive, and the 
 most eccentric prima donna who had ever trod the 
 American operatic stage. She was something alto- 
 gether unique and unprecedented so very superior
 
 92 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 that, hitherto, she had condescended to appear 
 only before emperors and kings ; but, the General 
 would add, with a wise wink at his questioner, 
 the lady thought it no derogation of her dignity, 
 but rather the contrary, to sing to an audience 
 each one of whom was an independent continental 
 sovereign, at from two fifty to twenty-five dollars 
 a head. 
 
 Bellingham had been waiting in the General's 
 office fifteen minutes when the latter appeared, 
 with Jocelyn on his arm, both in the best of 
 spirits. The architect did not rise from his chair 
 or make any other response than a preoccupied 
 nod to the expansive greetings of the gentle- 
 man. "If you have your wits about you," he 
 said to Inigo, "look at this plan and tell me 
 your idea about it." 
 
 " What's it all about, anyhow ? " returned the irn- 
 pressario, removing his cigar from his mouth and 
 pulling himself together. " Stage entrance ! What's 
 the use botheriu' with that ? Just make it so as they 
 can get in and out, and the gals can see their fel- 
 lows " 
 
 " No, sir," interposed Bellingham, quietly. " I 
 want to stop that." 
 
 " Stop what, in the name o' gracious?" 
 
 " Fellows hanging round the stage-door for the 
 girls to come out. I don't like it; and I mean
 
 GOING ON ELSEWHERE. 93 
 
 to give the girls a chance to get off free if they 
 choose." 
 
 "Your saving clause will cover ninety-nine cases 
 in a hundred, I fancy," remarked Jocclyn, with a 
 laugh. 
 
 " What has that got to do with it ? " demanded 
 Bellingham, looking at him ; "and what have you to 
 do with it, either?" 
 
 " Oh, I was merely startled to see you turning 
 missionary," replied the other, moving away. 
 
 Bellingham paid no further notice to him. 
 
 " By connecting the window above the lower 
 door, by means of an iron bridge of fifteen feet 
 span, with the corridor in the building on the 
 opposite side of the alley," he said, referring to 
 his drawing, "you give additional means of exit 
 either by the street-door of that building, or by 
 the upper passage leading to the elevated railway 
 station. Well?" 
 
 "What'll it cost?" inquired Inigo. 
 
 "Not more than eight hundred, or I'll pay the 
 difference." 
 
 " It's all darn nonsense ; but I'll do it, to oblige 
 you," said Inigo. 
 
 "That way, if you like," said Bellingham, fold- 
 ing up his plan. " Good-day." 
 
 "Odd fish, that fellow," observed Jocelyn, when 
 the architect had gone out.
 
 94 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 " I just tell you what," said Inigo, " if that odd 
 fish was an impressario the divas wouldn't go back on 
 him, not much ! " 
 
 " Why wouldn't they ? " 
 
 " Oh, maybe they wouldn't dare ; but they 
 wouldn't, anyhow." 
 
 " What do you know about it ? " 
 
 " I know a man when I see him," returned the 
 other, wagging his head, " and so do they."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HOW EVERYTHING WAS MADE PLEASANT AND 
 EASY FOR HER. 
 
 nnWO or three days afterward Jocelyn betook 
 himself to a small and rather shabby-looking 
 house in East Eighteenth street, and asked if Mrs. 
 Bemax were at home. The woman who opened the 
 door had on a dingy dress and a brown shawl, which 
 she kept across her breast with one hand. Her hair 
 appeared not to have been brushed lately ; detached 
 strands of it dangled across her forehead. Her feet 
 were encased in an old pair of button-boots, with 
 most of the buttons missing. She sjiid, in a weary 
 and discontented voice, that Mrs. Bemax was in ; 
 and Jocelyn went upstairs. He entered the front 
 room on the first floor. This room had a dingy and 
 brownish aspect, similar to that of the woman with 
 the shawl ; the pattern was worn off the carpet, 
 except near the walls ; the furniture was meagre 
 and rickety; upon the wall between the windows 
 hung, askew, a print of the Prince of Wales and 
 his family, taken from some illustrated paper, and
 
 96 BEATEIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 framed in a wooden frame, stained black and var- 
 nished. One or two novels, in the twenty-cent 
 pamphlet form, lay on the table, the outer pages torn 
 and soiled. On the mantel-piece was a small pew- 
 ter-cased clock, which ticked very loud and was 
 about three-quarters of an hour fast. The only 
 pretty thing in the room was a photograph of a 
 chubby little child, about four years of age. It was 
 mounted in a tasteful -standard frame of stamped 
 leather ; and a small vase containing two or three 
 flowers stood in front of it. The photograph itself 
 was much faded and was in the style of ten years 
 ago. 
 
 In a few minutes a tall, middle-aged woman, with 
 a square-shaped face and rather strongly marked 
 features, came into the room. Her eyes and brows 
 were "dark ; her hair jras slightly touched with gray. 
 The corners of her large mouth had acquired an 
 indrawn look,^apparently from a habit of pressing 
 her lips together ; her general expression was studi- 
 ously impassive. She looked like ono accustomed 
 to meet with rebuffs and disappointments, and to 
 put up with them _when necessary, though never 
 with meekness and resignation. There was an air 
 about her that showed she had once been familiar 
 with the handsome side of the world, but, from 
 whatever cause, had discontinued to enjoy or practise 
 its refinements. There were more hard and un pleas-
 
 MADE PLEASANT AND EASY. 97 
 
 ant things in her memory than the contrary ; and 
 these memories and experiences had worn away her 
 former comeliness and made her sceptical and some- 
 what malicious, instead of gentle and engaging. 
 
 "Well, Hamilton," she said, as she came in, "I 
 hope you've brought me some money." 
 
 " Money, my dear Meg ! Didn't I send you some 
 last week?" 
 
 "Yes, enough to pay up my arrears of board. 
 I've had none to spend on myself for a month, and I 
 have only one other dress to my back, and that is not 
 fit to be seen." 
 
 " Things are more expensive here than in England. 
 I told you that when you insisted on coming here. 
 You would have been more comfortable at home." 
 
 "Home is where the heart is," she replied, with 
 an intonation of sombre sarcasm. " My heart is not 
 in England, wherever else it may be." 
 
 " Well, I've been very busy," said Jocelyn. 
 
 " So you always tell me ; but I presume, as usual, 
 it is no business of mine." 
 
 "Well, my dear, it's only the money aspect of my 
 business that you feel any interest in." 
 
 " If you mean there is no longer any sentiment 
 between us, I cordially admit it," was the answer. 
 " I don't care the snap of my finger for you, or for 
 any one else, now alive. But I have some claims 
 upon you, and I've come here to enforce them,"
 
 98 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 " You have the photograph there still, I see," 
 remarked Jocelyn, turning to the table. "Poor 
 little fellow ! If he'd lived, I'd have made a man of 
 him." 
 
 " Yes ! You'd have made the same sort of man 
 of him as you've made woman of his mother. I'm 
 glad he's dead, if it's only to save him from know- 
 ing what sort of a father he's got ! However, you 
 said that to put me in a good humor, I suppose. 
 What do you want ? " 
 
 "I vow, Meg, you're too confoundedly sour for 
 anything," exclaimed Jocelyn, twisting his whiskers. 
 " I never meant you any harm ; I've always done 
 what I could to help you along, and been sorry I 
 couldn't do more. And now I've come to tell you 
 of an arrangement that will enable you to live at 
 your ease the rest of your days ; and this is the way 
 I am received. Come, now ! " 
 
 " It is impossible you should intend any benefit to 
 me that would not benefit you ten times more," 
 said Mrs. Bemax, impassively. " To talk of gratitude, 
 between you and me, is as absurd as to talk of love. 
 Go on." 
 
 " You do me gross injustice ; you are like all 
 women with a grievance ! " returned Jocelyn, whose 
 temper was certainly very easy. "My scheme is 
 this : to get you out of these scrubby lodgings ; to 
 set you up in the best hotel in town; to provide
 
 MADE PLEASANT AND EAST. 99 
 
 you with plenty of handsome dresses, and a carriage 
 to drive in ; to bring you in contact with all the 
 swells in New York, and to put you in receipt of an 
 income of twelve hundred dollars a year. Have you 
 any fault to find with that ? " 
 
 " What are the services for which this is the pay- 
 ment? " Mrs. Bemax inquired. 
 
 "To chaperone a lady, nothing more." 
 " A lady ! " repeated the other, a peculiar smile 
 "drawing down the corners of her mouth ; " I begin 
 to understand ! Who is she ? " 
 
 "The prima donna at the new opera-house." 
 " Yes ; in whom you are tenderly interested. I 
 have heard something about her. I am to act as 
 her companion, that is, to be your go-between, and 
 make everything secure and comfortable for you. 
 Taking everything into consideration, Hamilton, 
 that is very characteristic of you ; a very delicate 
 piece of kindness ! " 
 
 " Bah ! Meg, your cynicism is overdone ; you 
 are on a wrong scent entirely. In the first place, 
 the lady is not the person she's supposed to be. 
 She's the daughter of an old friend of mine ; I once in- 
 tended to marry her, but . . . I thought better of 
 it. Circumstances which you will be fully informed of 
 have led to her personating the Marana name and 
 all the coming season. It's a grand secret, of 
 course, and I selected you as the only woman who
 
 100 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 could be trusted to keep it. Scores of people 
 young fellows, mostly will be applying to you 
 for information about her, and all that sort of thing. 
 You are to confirm, in every way that suggests itself, 
 the idea that she is the bona-fide Marana ; say 
 you've lived with her for years in Europe, and so on. 
 But she is wholly ignorant of the world, and you 
 are to see to it that none of the young fellows get 
 ahead of her. You may invent all the adventures 
 you like for her, in the past ; but on no account 
 let her get into any scrapes in the present. Do you 
 see what I mean ? " 
 
 " I think so. You intended to marry her ; but 
 you thought better of it ! That means, I take it, 
 that the young fellows you speak of are to be kept 
 out of the way for your sake rather than for hers ; 
 and she is to be instructed that any scrape she gets 
 into with you is no scrape at all, but a distinction 
 and a blessing. Yes ; I might instance myself in 
 proof of it ! " 
 
 w Upon my soul, I should flatter myself you were 
 jealous if I didn't know you so well," said Jocelyn, 
 with a laugh ; r I only wish to protect the girl from 
 annoyance, and to insure the success of the whole 
 scheme. As to marrying her, my main object was. 
 of course, to repair my finances, so you would have 
 been indirectly the gainer, even by that. But they've 
 lost their money, and that's the end of it. Your
 
 MADE PLEASANT AND EASY. 101 
 
 suspicions haven't a leg to stand on, rny dear Meg ; 
 and if they had, what would be the odds to you?" 
 " None whatever, I assure you. But I shall not 
 allow you to think you are hoodwinking me. You 
 should have known better than to fancy that ; with 
 the life I have behind me, I haven't learned that 
 nothing is to be got for nothing in this world. You 
 are foregoing the only privilege of persons in our 
 situation, of being perfectly frank with each other. 
 It's against your own interest, too. If you could 
 make me believe in your disinterestedness and virtue 
 the only result would be that I should serve you less 
 efficiently than otherwise. But you always liked 
 deception for its own sake, and you are the same 
 Hamilton Jocelyn that I knew in Richmond twelve 
 years ago. Well, then, let us put it that the best 
 way to keep her free from the attentions of other 
 men is to let it be supposed that she is specially in- 
 clined to you ; and that it is to be no one's business 
 but your own how nearly the supposition approaches 
 the truth. Then I shall know what tone to take 
 Avith her." 
 
 " Take any tone you like, in the devil's name, so 
 long as you take the position and observe the con- 
 ditions !" exclaimed Jocelyn, getting up, with some 
 signs of impatience. 
 
 "I will take the position, on condition of being 
 guaranteed my outfit and twelve hundred dollars,"
 
 102 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 said Mrs. Bemax. "It is not high wages for the 
 devil to pay, but it's better than nothing ; and to 
 live as comfortably as I can, so long as I do live, is 
 the best I have to look forward to now. I'm not so 
 fastidious in other respects as you do me the honor to 
 imagine." 
 
 "Well, Meg, you have had a hard time of it, 
 that's a fact ; and it's no wonder if you are a little 
 bit cantankerous after it all. But when you've en- 
 joyed a few months' luxury, you'll take a more genial 
 view of things, I hope, and of me, among the rest. 
 Here's a bank-note for your present necessities. 
 Come to Inigo's office to-morrow afternoon. I'llbe 
 there ; and you can secure whatever guarantees you 
 want. Above all things, make as good an impression 
 on the lady as possible ; and no one can make a 
 better impression than you, when you've a mind to. 
 She must learn to confide in you, and to take your 
 advice in all social matters from the outset. You 
 can do anything with her, if she likes you and trusts 
 you, and nothing if she doesn't." 
 
 " I understand ; I am to be another mother to 
 her! "said Margaret Bemax, in a tone and with a 
 look in her eyes so quiet, and yet so repellent, that 
 Jocelyn made no attempt to reply, but took his leave 
 without further ceremony, and was half minded, 
 when he reached the bottom of the stairs, to go back 
 and cancel the whole arrangement. But when one
 
 MADE PLEASANT AND EAST. 103 
 
 has half a mind to do a thing, the other half of his 
 mind generally carries the day. Besides, Margaret's 
 bark had always been worse than her bite ; it would 
 not be easy to find another woman so well suited for 
 the position; and she could do no further harm to 
 Beatrix than to initiate her into the ways of the 
 world, which, after all, the girl would have to learn 
 somehow. Moreover, Jocelyn had means of con- 
 trolling Margaret more completely than a stranger ; 
 and, finally, it was a great point in the direction of 
 comfort to have the woman provided for, and, in 
 that respect, off his hands. She had been very irk- 
 some to him for several years past, and especially of 
 late. It was a prudent and an expedient stroke of 
 business, from whichever side regarded ; so, let well 
 alone ! And Jocelyn slammed the street-door behind 
 him, and strode jauntily down the street, with the 
 feeling that he was both a shrewd mlan and a 
 benevolent one, and that luck lay before him. 
 Nevertheless, that phrase, "Be another mother to 
 her," recurred to his memory when he saw Beatrix, 
 a few hours later, and gave him a qualm. To men 
 of his sort the way a thing is put makes a great 
 deal of difference. 
 
 Certainly, Beatrix needed a mother at this epoch 
 of her career. The peculiar conditions under which 
 she was making her entrance into the world rendered 
 her especially defenceless. She was not only igno-
 
 104 BEATRIX BANHOLPH. 
 
 rant (as any girl brought up in the seclusion of home 
 is likely to be) of the ways and wickedness of 
 mankind, but the strict necessity of her incognito 
 cut her off from the support and society both of her 
 father and of all the other relatives and friends who 
 should naturally be around her. It is a serious step 
 for any one to surrender personal identity ; and 
 Beatrix had not only done this, but she had assumed 
 the identity of a person whose nature, character, and 
 antecedents were at all points alien from her own. 
 She was not herself, and she was somebody 
 wholly different from - herself as well. Further- 
 more she was a singer, with all the sensitiveness and 
 the liability to emotional impressions that the musical 
 temperament implies. No section of the community 
 need social protection more, and receive less of it, 
 than those endowed with the genius of music. The 
 cool reasonableness and deliberation, which are the 
 best safeguards against folly and dissipation, are 
 precisely the qualities in which the passion and sym- 
 pathetic abandon of their art render them most 
 deficient. The excitement of musical inspiration, 
 and the alluring halo with which it invests persons 
 and things, dazzle and distort the moral judgment. 
 Children in impulsiveness, in vanity, and in lack of 
 self-restraining and regulating power, musicians are 
 mature only in those respects where a strong curb 
 upon the natural instincts is most needed. Their
 
 MADE PLEASANT AND EASY. 105 
 
 predicament is pathetic, and its difficulties are en- 
 hanced by the fact that the traditions and habits of 
 the profession offer so little encouragement and 
 example to moral orthodoxy. The feeling that the 
 world is ignorant of their peculiar temptations, or 
 underestimates them, promotes the persuasion that 
 they are victims of injustice, and thereby confirms 
 the evil that it discovers. Music, in its higher and 
 purer aspects, is -perhaps the divinest of the arts; 
 but there are scoundrels in all departments of human 
 activity, and musical scoundrels are second in de- 
 pravity to none. Upon the whole, therefore, a 
 young woman can select no career more dangerous 
 than that upon which Beatrix had just entered ; 
 and the external circumstances which attended 
 her entrance could scarcely have been more un- 
 toward. 
 
 At present, however, the current of her life was 
 too full of hurry and strangeness to admit of her 
 holding grave communion with herself; and she was 
 probably not disposed to take a discouraging view 
 of the situation. She did not much believe in prac- 
 tical evil. Good people without experience are of 
 much the same persuasion with bad people with ex- 
 perience namely, that all the rest of the world is 
 more or less like themselves. Besides, the buying of 
 pretty dresses, the study of costumes for the stage, the 
 tumult and novelty of her environment, and the queer
 
 106 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 variety of persons who met her and talked to her, 
 could not but be pleasant to a young woman whose 
 emotional and intellectual capacity was so large 
 as hers, and whose opportunities of getting in contact 
 with the world had hitherto been almost non-exist- 
 ent. It was very different from what she had ex- 
 pected, but it was too real and too rapid not to be 
 agreeable. It made her feel vividly that life con- 
 tained vast possibilities, and that she was now at the 
 beginning of them. The noise and crowd of the 
 streets excited her. The ugliness, the beauty, and 
 the immensity of the city fascinated her. The 
 sumptuousness of her suite of rooms at the hotel, 
 the civilized and sagacious despatch of the service 
 and organization, the brisk familiarity with things 
 unfamiliar to her which every one else evinced ; the 
 sensation of a multitude of other lives going on in 
 immediate proximity to her own, which had till now 
 been so secluded, all these things aroused and 
 stimulated her. All seemed like something that 
 could not last, an uproar and scurry merely tempo- 
 rary, presently to subside once more into the country- 
 peace and solitude, which were still, to her, the nor- 
 mal condition of things. But we forget the past 
 even faster than we learn the present ; and, sooner 
 than she imagined, the city would seem natural to 
 her, and the country strange. 
 
 Meantime, the subject most constantly present to
 
 MADE PLEASANT AND EAST. 107 
 
 her thoughts, since it gave color to everything else, 
 was her assumed character of the Marana. She 
 soon perceived that she had not ascribed adequate 
 importance to this matter. It divorced her, so to 
 'speak, from herself, in so much that she could 
 scarcely venture to think her own thoughts lest they 
 should betray that she was not Marana, but Beatrix. 
 To be herself began to appear in the light of some- 
 thing criminal. Everything depended upon main- 
 taining the deception. It was not a bit of holiday 
 make-believe, like the quaint assumptions with which 
 children amuse themselves, but a hard and anxious 
 piece of work, admitting of no variation or inter- 
 mission. Her difficulty was increased by the fact 
 that she had no idea what sort of a person the Ma- 
 rana was, and could not, therefore, throw herself 
 dramatically into the character. At most she could 
 only attempt to construct an imaginary personality 
 from observing what other people seemed to expect 
 from her. But their expectations were neither very 
 intelligible nor very consistent ; and not seldom there 
 was, in the manner of those who addressed her, the 
 insinuation of something vaguely offensive. The 
 latter phenomenon perplexed her. She had always 
 been treated as a lady, and had probably never con- 
 ceived the possibility of being treated otherwise ; and 
 she did not know whether to refer the behavior of 
 these persons to something wrong in herself, or in
 
 108 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 them. She thought it would be a good idea to ask 
 information of Mr. Jocelyn. 
 
 "Fellows bother you, do they?" said that gen- 
 tleman, in answer to her complaint, with a reassur- 
 ing smile. "Well, ma'mselle, you know we mustn't 
 be too particular about that. When we have been 
 on the stage a little longer, we bhall learn to look 
 upon all men as our brothers, and not mind a little 
 fun. Besides, you know, you are the famous and 
 invincible Marana, and are supposed to be able to 
 settle all such Jack-a-dandies with one hand, so to 
 speak ! " 
 
 "I don't understand you," said Beatrix, with a 
 slight flush. 
 
 " Well, my dear, the amount of it all is, they 
 mean no harm, and they've heard so many stories 
 about the Marana's adventures, that they feel justi- 
 fied in trying to find out what she's made of. The 
 fact is, you know, she's said to be a little hazarde, 
 dangerous, as soon ruin a man as look at him ; 
 and you must act out the character." 
 
 " Do you mean that I should pretend to be any- 
 thing that is not good ? " 
 
 "Oh! no, no not that, of course! Only a 
 sort of give-and-take, live-and-let-live style, that's 
 what you want." 
 
 " If they think I am different from what I am, in. 
 any bad way," continued Beatrix, "I will either tell
 
 MADE PLEASANT AND EASY. 109 
 
 them who I am, or give up the whole thing." Her 
 voice trembled. 
 
 "Now, my good little prima donna, don't you 
 say anything so foolish ! " said Jocelyn, taking her 
 hand in his and patting it. " Come, you know me, 
 don't you ? and you know whether or not Hamilton 
 Jocelyn would permit any one to insult you ? Very 
 well, then ; you're as safe, if the worst comes to the 
 worst, as if you were sealed up in the centre of the 
 pyramid of Cheops ! But what I want you to learn 
 is to have courage, to hold your own bravely; 
 and not to be too squeamish about what the people 
 you meet with say and do. The world always seems 
 queer and a little disagreeable when one is first 
 brought in contact with it, full of people not a bit 
 like our quiet folks out in the country. But we 
 can't change the world, can we? All we can do is 
 to take things as they are, and make the best of it. 
 If we are all right nothing can really hurt us. But 
 we must have courage, we mustn't be afraid, we 
 mustn't talk of giving up ! We must be a little 
 woman of the world. Every woman must be, who 
 intends to accomplish anything, let alone to make 
 such a reputation as lies before you. It's a little 
 freemasonry we all have to learn, nothing more ; 
 and, as I said, though you won't love me naughty 
 child ! yet you can't help trusting your father's old 
 friend ; and, as a matter of course, you will come to
 
 110 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 me if you get into any real scrape. I shall be only 
 too ready to assist you ; but I don't want to seem 
 officious either to you or to others ; and I want you 
 to fight your own way as much as possible at first. 
 It will make it all the easier for you hereafter. 
 Don't let yourself be put upon, of course ; but don't 
 altogether forget that you're the Marana, either. 
 If you manage it cleverly her name ought to be a 
 help to you, rather than the contrary." 
 
 " In what way ? " 
 
 " Oh, the sharper the fight the sooner over, you 
 know, and the more decisive," said Jocelyn, laugh- 
 ing. "Yes, it is an advantage in every way. If 
 you were entered in the lists in your own name, with 
 your father and all your friends to fall back on, you 
 would be falling back all the time ; you would be 
 trusting to their strength instead of to your own. 
 But since you're alone, you'll discover your own 
 force, and make it evident to the others into the bar- 
 gain." 
 
 " But will not papa live in the hotel with me ? " 
 
 "My gracious, no!" exclaimed Jocelyn, lifting 
 his hands in half-playful consternation. "In the 
 eyes of the world, remember, he's nothing but a 
 respectable old gentleman, in no sort of way related 
 to you. To have him in attendance on you would 
 be most what shall I say ? inexpedient ; and if 
 it led to nothing else, it might lead to his true rela-
 
 MADE PLEASANT AND EASY. HI 
 
 tionsbip being found out. No ; you may see him 
 occasionally, of course, but on the same footing as 
 any other chance acquaintance. Ha, ha! You 
 wouldn't want to compromise your own father, 
 would you ? not to speak of being compromised by 
 him ! " 
 
 "Well, I certainly am alone !" said Beatrix, 
 gravely. 
 
 "In appearance, yes; but so long as Hamilton 
 Jocelyn is alive you'll have an unfailing resource." 
 
 "I should compromise you, as well," said she, 
 looking at him fixedly. He made a laughing ges- 
 ture of depreciation. 
 
 "Oh, don't be afraid of that! I'm known ; 
 everybody understands me ! We can do no possible 
 harm to each other. It's an understood thing that 
 I stand godfather to all prime donne on their entry 
 into New York society. You may safely refer to 
 me as an old friend on all occasions. And, by the 
 by, I've taken the liberty to do you a bit of service 
 already. You need a companion, and I've been so 
 lucky as to secure just the person. She's an 
 English lady, daughter of a clergyman ; I've known 
 her for years ; an excellent creature ; really a lady 
 of great refinement and experience, and pre- 
 cisely suited to your needs. She will take perfect 
 care of you, and keep you posted about everything 
 you ought to do, and all that sort of thing. I have
 
 112 BEATRIX RANDOLPH '. 
 
 let her into the secret ; the only other persons who 
 know it being your father, Inigo, and myself. The 
 idea is, of course, that she's been living with you on 
 the Continent, and all that sort of thing. Madame 
 Bemax. She'll be here to-morrow morning. You'll 
 be certain to like her immensely." 
 
 "Well, what must be, must, I suppose," said 
 Beatrix, folding her hands in her lap and looking 
 down. "It does seem hopeless to think of going 
 back, now I have come so far. But if I had un- 
 derstood beforehand." . . . She paused, but 
 went on after a moment : " I seem to be living in 
 the midst of falsehoods, and it seems to me that that 
 is more likely to take away courage than to give 
 it." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! things will very soon shake down, 
 and then, in everything but name, you can be more 
 yourself than you ever were before ! " returned her 
 father's old friend, encouragingly. 
 
 The next day Madame Bemax was introduced, 
 and was very genial, helpful, and agreeable.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A FEW WORDS ABOUT THE CADWALADER 
 DINSMORES. 
 
 OOCIETY is a good thing, and so is the great 
 ^ Republic ; but there are obstacles in the way of 
 driving them successfully to the same vehicle. Good 
 society is easily defined and recognized in Europe ; 
 but how to draw the line in America ? Is there no 
 good society there ; or is it not, rather, true that 
 every social circle is good society, at least in its own 
 eyes ? It can hardly be denied, however, that no par- 
 ticular circle of society is universally acknowledged by 
 the other circles to be Good Society par excellence. 
 There is one society of wealth, another of literature, 
 another of politics, others of other denominations, 
 each with its leader or two, and each 'secretly or 
 openly turning up its nose at the rest. Segments 
 of these various circles doubtless overlap each other, 
 to some extent ; but there is no rule about it. Hence 
 the amiable bewilderment of the foreigner and the 
 satires of the domestic prophet. In London you 
 may begin at the bottom and proceed to the top, or
 
 114 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 vice versa, and know just where you are at every 
 step of the journey ; but omniscience itself could not 
 do as much in Xew York. The end of it is that 
 you make a few friends or acquaintances, and are 
 glad whenever you happen to meet them. The rest 
 of the time you wander at hap-hazard. 
 
 This necessity for standing upon one's own in- 
 dependent basis as regards social procedure fre- 
 quently results in standing still and doing nothing. 
 In the absence of any recognized authority to give 
 the word to inarch, and no one wishing to run the 
 risk of marching alone, nobody marches at all. 
 How shall our dinner-table be arranged? What 
 is the polite rule as to making and receiving 
 calls ? What sort of clothes shall we put on ? Will 
 it be the proper thing to invite this or that person ? 
 "Thus and so is the way it is managed in England," 
 exclaims the person who has been there. "What 
 have we in America got to do with that ? " retorts 
 the independent and untravelled native. " We have 
 no Prince and Princess of Wales here, and you 
 don't expect us to be governed from Buckingham 
 Palace, do you ? " What rejoinder can be made to 
 such questions ? Beyond a doubt, this is the land 
 of liberty, where every one has a right to be afraid 
 to do anything, either from ignorance, or lest they 
 should be taunted with obeying foreign etiquette, or 
 lest they should be accused of not obeying it. Fi-
 
 CADWALADER DINSMOBES. 115 
 
 nally, in desperation, each one does whatever comes 
 into his head ; and still we are not happy. But we 
 are consoled by the assurance of the observer that 
 "this is a transition period." Let us hope the 
 period will not develop into a full-stop. 
 
 Practically, after all, the predicament is not so 
 bad as logical deduction would lead us to suppose. 
 Occasionally there are awkward pauses, and vacancies, 
 but not always ; and, though we may feel embarrassed 
 at the moment, we are amused afterward. "We tell 
 ourselves that it does not make much difference, and 
 that, if we are liable to make mistakes, our friends 
 are liable not to be aware of it. Be that as it 
 may, there was a week during which New York 
 sat waiting in considerable suspense to be informed 
 whether or not it were going to "receive" the 
 renowned Mademoiselle Marana, of St. Petersburg 
 and other European capitals ; or whether it were 
 simply going to listen to her from across the 
 footlights, and rely for its further knowledge of her 
 upon the reports of the male sex, and of the news- 
 papers. In this crisis a champion was needed, and, 
 greatly to the public relief, he appeared. It became 
 known that Mr. and Mrs. Cadwalader Dinsinore 
 were asking people to dinner and a reception, to 
 meet Mademoiselle Marana. 
 
 Now, the Cadwalader Dinsmores are people such 
 as can exist (as a social fact) nowhere but in
 
 116 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 America, and, indeed, in New York. Mr. Dins- 
 more (called TVallie Dinsmore by every one who 
 knows him) is a man of paramount though unob- 
 trusive usefulness." He is or, for the sake of the 
 unities, let us say he was a gentleman of medium 
 size, plain exterior, and remarkable quietness of 
 speech and demeanor. He was like the heart of 
 peace in the midst of the fashionable social whirl- 
 wind : the undemonstrative centre of all demonstra- 
 tions, the reposeful culmination of all activities. To 
 say that he knew everybody and everything, not 
 only that everybody else knew, but that everybody 
 else would like to know, but imperfectly expressed 
 his accomplishments. He lived in New York ; but 
 he was at home in all countries and in all societies, 
 and occasionally was met with in all. He was 
 about forty-two years of age, but looked younger, 
 having light hair and a subdued reddish complexion ; 
 and he seemed, when you considered his experience 
 and serenity, indefinitely or in fact infinitely older. 
 He had unexceptionable manners, was genial, kindly, 
 gently humorous, and insensibly entertaining. He 
 never was detected making an effort, and he never 
 forbore an effort to be obliging. He was as accurate 
 as a pendulum, and as versatile as a continent. 
 He could neither play, sing, act, make a speech, 
 write a book, nor paint a picture ; but no one 
 knew better than he how all these things ought to be
 
 CADWALADER DINS MORES. H7 
 
 done, or was more sympathetically appreciative of 
 others' attempts to do them. He smiled easily, but 
 always as if he could not help it ; his laugh was a 
 low, contagious chuckle, and seemed to suggest an 
 unexpected charm and drollery in life. There was 
 a manly, masculine look and quality about his plain 
 face and ordinary figure, and in the tone and utter- 
 ance of his voice ; you felt that there was substance 
 in him, when required, that he was by no means a 
 phantom of conventions and escapades, that, when 
 everything else had been eliminated from him, a 
 gentleman would remain. ]\ lean while, his most 
 prominent traits (if anything in such a character 
 can be termed prominent) were composure and 
 sanity. He was so sane as to lead some friend of 
 his to conjecture that, were he to walk through the 
 Ward's Island Lunatic Hospital, in at one door and 
 out at the other, the patients would all straightway 
 regain their reason. Yet Wallie Dinsmore had 
 his own crotchets, his prejudices, and his hobbies. 
 He could not bear all round, clerical collars, and 
 always wore one that opened out generously in front, 
 like a cordial greeting. He hated to make formal 
 calls, and would exhaust ingenuity itself in courte- 
 ously evading them. He was very fond of making 
 unique collections ; almost all the books in his 
 large and valuable library had the autograph of 
 their authors in them ; he had specimens of all the
 
 118 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 prints that ever were made of Charles First, of Mira- 
 beau, of Voltaire, of Rajah Brooke, of Goethe, of 
 Mary Wollstonecraft, and a dozen others. He had 
 photographs of (I was going to say) all the people 
 he knew ; at all events they formed a quadruple 
 belt of physiognomies round his large study. Other 
 collections were of the drinking-cups, pipes, canes, 
 and paper-knives, that had belonged to various 
 distinguished personages ; from the gas-jet over the 
 writing-table depended the black velvet skull-cap once 
 worn by the learned Porson ; and beside the fireplace 
 reposed a dilapidated pair of slippers, which had for- 
 merly encased the feet of .... But enough of 
 such catalogues. These accumulations were not 
 inanimate, mechanically amassed hoards, but they 
 were, so to speak, permeated and lived through 
 every day by the human sympathy and apprehension 
 of their collector. They were a part of his organism. 
 As might be surmised, his interest was not confined 
 to human or inanimate objects; he had pets, for 
 instance, an African lemur, and a great white owl, 
 without exception the ghostliest and most appall- 
 ing wild-fowl ever seen in the corner of a dusky 
 room. Wallie seemed to spend a great deal of 
 time in this study of his, and yet he found time to be 
 in a great many other places. His friends were 
 never contented not to have him at their dinner- 
 tables, where he had not the appearance of talking
 
 CADWALADER DIN SHORES. 119 
 
 much, but somehow enabled every one else present 
 to discourse his best. He was a great favorite with 
 women and with children, and his relations with the 
 former were just as cordial and simple as with the 
 latter. If you dropped in to see him during a morning 
 you were sure to find a number of men whom it was 
 particularly worth while to meet, sitting about in 
 the easy-chairs, and smoking Wallie's famous cigars 
 and cigarettes. He had a fine old-fashioned house 
 down in West Twenty-third street, and plenty of 
 money, which he knew how to spend : that is, he 
 was both generous and economical. 
 
 But the most remarkable thing about Wallic 
 Dinsmore was that, instead of being in fact the 
 bachelor uncle of society that he was in spirit, he 
 was actually and conspicuously married. Mrs. 
 Cadwalader Dinsmore (they never called her Mrs. 
 Wallie) was a few years older than her husband, 
 and weighed about fifty pounds more than he. 
 She was mighty and imposing, convincing, and 
 memorable. Upon her massive countenance, 
 which had the texture and hue of the finest pink- 
 and-white enamel, was fixed immutably a gracious 
 smile, which served to condense, as it were, into 
 manageable dimensions the else too ponderous 
 acreage of her cheeks, and to refine the contours 
 of her scarlet lips. Her hair, of a dense yellow 
 hue, without a thread of gray, was arranged, in an
 
 120 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 inscrutable manner, upon what might be termed the 
 cylindrical principle ; it resembled a carving in 
 varnished maple; it looked brittle. As for her 
 figure, Mrs. Cadwalader might have stood for the 
 capstan of a three-decker, round which the jovial 
 seamen trip as they heave the mighty anchor. Her 
 voice, meanwhile, was small, soft, and caressing, 
 and she regarded her interlocutor with a glance of 
 indulgent coquetry, as if to mitigate the terror of 
 her proportions, though it really rendered them only 
 more alarming. Nor was her usual talk, as might 
 have been expected, about devouring quarter-beeves, 
 or causing earthquakes, or obliterating populations ; 
 but about embroidered handkerchiefs, and summer 
 zephyrs blowing on wild-roses, and the holiness of 
 infants' slumber. Was she, then, a sardonic 
 humorist; or a fool buried alive in flesh? Ko, 
 she was a hard-headed, practical, shrewd woman, 
 with sharp eyes, a politic disposition, and unrelent- 
 ing determination. On meeting you for the first 
 time, she would make up her mind whether you 
 could be of use to her, in which case she would 
 cultivate you ; or whether you were likely to be an 
 obstacle, in which case she would take measures to 
 do away with you ; or whether you were neither 
 one thing nor the other, in which case she would let 
 you alone. As she had much knowledge of average 
 human nature, and was an acute judge of character,
 
 CADWALADER DINSMORES. 121 
 
 she seldom made mistakes or was discomfited. She 
 wag spoken of as a person who did a great deal of 
 good, and with whom it was well to be on good 
 terms. In fact, she recognized the policy of kind 
 actions, prudently dispensed and unobtrusively ad- 
 vertised ; and she could effect a good deal toward 
 hindering or promoting the social success of persons 
 who had not already secured it ; for she had what 
 merchants call extensive connections, and she was 
 correspondent of one or two influential journals. 
 The fact that she was not of aristocratic or indeed 
 discoverable lineage may have sharpened her claws, 
 so to speak, and steeled her heart ; she had had to 
 fight her own way, and was a little too much alive 
 to the value of the worldly objects she had striven 
 for. The most telling success she had ever scored 
 was, of course, her marriage with Wallie Dinsmore. 
 How she contrived it is not known ; but it must 
 have been, in every sense, easier to embrace her 
 fifteen years ago than now. Wallie was the most 
 humane of mankind, generously appreciative of 
 everything except his own value. At any rate, 
 the thing took place, and Mrs. Cadwaladcr proved 
 to be an admirable and substantial wife. The 
 treasures of friendship and good-will which had 
 come to Wallie as freely and spontaneously as the 
 airs of heaven, and which he had received only to 
 return threefold, she regarded as so much solid
 
 122 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 social capital, which she invested at good interest. 
 In course of time she established a salon, to which 
 it was a sort of privilege to be admitted ; it gave 
 you the cachet, in other words, you could hence- 
 forth allude to your familiar acquaintance with 
 various distinguished persons, whom you were in 
 the habit of meeting at the Cadwalader Dinsmores'. 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Cadwalader displayed much tact 
 and sagacity in her treatment of her husband. 
 She msde war upon none of his hobbies ; she broke 
 up none of his habits ; she sacrificed none of his 
 bachelor friends ; she kept out of his way except 
 when she could be of use to him, and then she 
 was always ready. She made him pay, as the ver- 
 nacular hath it, but she let it cost him nothing. 
 In short, though she and her husband had almost 
 no tastes or traditions in common, they were com- 
 pletely in harmony, had no children, and were a 
 model of New York domestic virtue, happiness, and 
 prosperity. It is no small thing for a husband to 
 be able to affirm that his wife has not had his study 
 dusted for a week, nor launched even an oblique 
 criticism at his African lemur.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HOW THEY ENTERTAINED THE NEW DIVA. 
 
 T "FAYING made up their minds to extend the 
 J *- right hand of hospitality to Mile. Marana, it 
 was incumbent upon the Dinsmores to make her a 
 call, and they did so accordingly, Mrs. Cadwalader 
 going in person, and Wallie (as a matter of 
 course) in the shape of his name written on a 
 piece of pasteboard. The diva's acceptance hav- 
 ing been secured, the other invitations were issued, 
 and the day arrived. 
 
 " You will have to put in an appearance," said 
 Wallie to Geoffrey Bellingham, during the previous 
 week. " You built the opera-house, and decency 
 demands it." 
 
 " The more reason why not, "the architect replied. 
 " I should have to be introduced, and I don't care 
 for it." 
 
 "You will have to come," the other repeated, 
 calmly. "Do you want the woman to be dis- 
 respectable ? " 
 
 "It's none of my business." 
 
 "It is. A woman is what her associates are. If
 
 124 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 respectable people don't receive her, they are to 
 blame if she cuts up." 
 
 " If she were a novice but she's notorious ! " 
 "You affect Phariseeism in imitation of your 
 Puritan ancestors. But this poor girl is neither a 
 witch nor a Quaker. Her notoriety comes from 
 her genius, the rest is mere hearsay, which it's 
 none of your business to attend to. I intend that 
 she shall leave New York without a spot on her 
 reputation, and you must bear a hand. Otherwise, 
 you're not the fellow I took you for." Wallie knew 
 Bellingham better, and had more influence over him 
 than any one else ; and the end of it was that 
 Bellingham consented to come. 
 
 There were less than twenty persons at the dinner. 
 The dining-room walls were of a soft Indian-red 
 hue, the wood-work being mahogany and maple. 
 The flowers on the table were yellow and blue. 
 The room was lighted by tinted wax candles, each 
 provided with a little colored shade. Everything 
 looked cool, fresh, and sweet. The host and hostess 
 received their guests in the adjoining drawing-room. 
 By previous arrangement, Mile. Marana and Mrs. 
 Bemax were the first to arrive. The diva was 
 dressed in something white, of a lithe and feathery 
 effect, giving the impression of a beautiful great 
 bird. Her heart was up, for this was her first 
 irre vocable step in her assumed personality. She
 
 THE NEW DIVA. 125 
 
 was a high-spirited girl, and having entered upon 
 her course, she had laid aside fear and irresolution. 
 Whatever she did, she would do with her might. 
 Such a vision of purity and loveliness as she was did 
 not often enter a New York drawing-room. She 
 gave her hand first to Mrs. Cadwalader, and then to 
 Wallic. The latter grasped it cordially, and seemed 
 about to say something, but suddenly checked him- 
 self, and looked at her with an odd, perplexed ex- 
 pression, like a man who is taken by surprise. 
 Doubtless, so much beauty would be a surprise to 
 any one. After a moment's hesitation, he said, 
 "I'm glad to welcome you to this country, mad- 
 emoiselle. I hope you will learn to feel like an 
 American as much as you already look like one." 
 
 " Thank you ; if it is American to feel happy, then 
 I am one," she answered ; and it was observable, 
 as she spoke, that this foreign lady's pronunciation 
 was remarkably accurate. Wallie forbore to make 
 the observation, however ; he only took his chin 
 between his thumb and forefinger, with a quietly 
 smiling look. 
 
 Mrs. Cadwalader said, "What delicious lace, 
 Mademoiselle Marana ! It is like frost-work on 
 ivory. Will you take a cup of tea?" 
 
 Mile. Marana declined, and presently the other 
 guests began to arrive. 
 
 There was Mr. Barcliffe, a wool merchant, but
 
 126 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 for social purposes an amateur composer. He was a 
 small, slender, lively man, with gray hair and an 
 immense gray mustache, like a great bar across the 
 lower part of his face ; he had the air of always 
 standing on tiptoe to peep across this bar with a 
 sportive, twinkling expression. There was Mr. 
 Bidgood, a rosy, roystering, spherical personage, 
 bald-headed and short of breath ; he smiled at you 
 with a penetrating look, as if there were a private 
 joke between you and himself which it would not do 
 to mention. There was Mr. Grasmere, tall, courtly, 
 and romantic, with a resonant voice and an occa- 
 sional gleam from beneath his upper eyelids, as if 
 his soul were kindling within him. He had been a 
 lawyer by profession, but had married well, and was 
 now the proprietor of an artistic weekly. There was 
 Mr. Knight, a distinguished politician, with fresh 
 complexion, clear-cut features, powerful black eyes 
 and snow-white hair ; his bearing was covertly con- 
 descending, as though he were reluctant to have you 
 realize how greatly he was your superior. There was 
 Mr. Damon, also white-haired and white-bearded, a 
 someAvhat unsuccessful publisher, but gifted with a 
 warm heart, a keen wit, and a bitter tongue. There 
 was a certain unconventional wrath and heat about 
 him, mixed with laughter and mockery, and nothing 
 seemed to delight him so much as to shock a fastid- 
 ious person, or to bully a humbug. There was Mr.
 
 THE NEW DIVA. 127 
 
 Plainter, a gentleman all profile and eye-glasses, with 
 a grating voice, a retentive memory, and an insatia- 
 ble earnestness. He was president of the American 
 branch of the Society for the Scientific Investigation 
 of Supernatural Phenomena, and his normal condition 
 was one of high argument and exposition. He 
 spoke of himself as " we," and of the rest of the 
 world as " you " imparting to that pronoun an in- 
 tonation significative of bigotry and prejudice. His 
 neck projected forward, and his figure was thin and 
 curved like the new moon. There was Mr. Beau- 
 fort, once a clergyman, now an actor, a large-headed, 
 small-bodied man, with a big nose and deep-set eyes ; 
 extremely graceful and deliberate in his attitudes 
 and gestures ; wearing in repose an expression of 
 thoughtful melancholy, as if reflecting that he had 
 been a clergyman ; but brightening (when addressed) 
 with a smile of almost excessive sweetness, as if re- 
 membering that he was an actor. Such of these 
 gentlemen as possessed wives were accompanied by 
 them, but the latter were for the most part like the 
 engravings of ladies in fashion papers : though their 
 faces might be pretty, it was the dresses you looked 
 at and recollected. When an American lady is dis- 
 tinguished at all, she is apt to appear almost too 
 much so. Not to mention the hostess of the evening, 
 there were, for example, Mrs. March, of the Women's 
 Political Association, sliin, erect, holding her elbows
 
 128 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 close to her sides, with a tight business mouth and 
 yearning melancholy eyes ; possessing an insufferable 
 command of language, enhanced by a faculty of 
 seeming to repress more than she uttered; Miss 
 Korner, of German extraction, with short sandy 
 hair, pale prominent eyes, a snub nose, and protrud- 
 ing jaw ; her volubility was as great as that of Mrs. 
 March, and her rapidity greater ; but whereas the 
 former lady's conversation was mainly explanatory 
 and argumentative, Miss Korner's was interrogatory 
 and anecdotical ; Mrs. Bright, a beauty, the wife of 
 a wealthy brewer, holding herself as if she were on 
 horseback, rushing at a, topic or an enterprise as if it 
 were a five-barred gate, and forgetting it the next 
 moment, headstrong, enthusiastic, blase; she had 
 embraced Herbert Spencer during the last season, 
 and reproduced him in jets and sparkles; Mrs. 
 ' Musgrave, the dramatic reader. . . . But why con- 
 tinue? The peculiarity of New York society is 
 that no two people are alike ; you have to focus 
 yourself anew for every person you meet; whereas, 
 abroad, the difficulty is to distinguish Mr. Smith 
 from Mr. Brown, and Mrs. Jones from Mrs. 
 Robinson. People there seem to be born, bred, 
 and moulded in platoons ; the various social grades 
 each have the same traditions, the same prospects, 
 the same resources, the same topics of conversa- 
 tion, the same tailors, and the same faces. But
 
 THE NEW DIVA. 129 
 
 in New York we have not settled down yet ; our 
 people have what may be called a New York look, but 
 there is no New York type, the former being a 
 trick of facial expression merely ; the latter, a matter 
 of feature and structure. But we are preparing to 
 people a hemisphere, while the European nations 
 have to pack themselves together like sardines in a 
 box, or pickles in a jar, mathematically, economi- 
 cally, and irrevocably, and by natural selection have 
 long since lost their elbows and idiosyncrasies. We 
 are all elbows on this side of the water, especially 
 since we have ceased any longer to be all fists and 
 shoulders. 
 
 In addition to the guests above mentioned there 
 were several of our older acquaintances, General 
 Inigo, Hamilton Jocelyn, and Bellingham. When 
 dinner was announced, Wallie Dinsmore took in 
 Mile. Marana and seated her at his right hand, and 
 it turned out that Bellingham sat next below her, 
 much to his displeasure. He told himself that he 
 owed Wallie one. On the other side of him sat 
 Mrs. Bright, whom, indeed, he had taken in to 
 table. The other gentlemen thought that Belling- 
 ham had nothing to complain of. Mrs. Bright, who 
 could interest herself about almost anything, pro- 
 vided it did not last more than an hour or so, 
 noticed that her companion was good-looking, and 
 determined to exploit him on the subject, of archi-
 
 130 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 tecture. She had read Ruskin's " Stones of 
 Venice," and had seen classic and mediaeval antiqui- 
 ties abroad. Accordingly she rode at him with great 
 dash and .courage, and at first he answered her 
 graciously enough. Before long, however, he 
 perceived that she did not know the meaning of her 
 own information, and then he ' became laconic. 
 Young Mrs. Bright, on the other hand, was not 
 accustomed to rebuffs, and Bellingham's reticence 
 only stimulated her enterprise. She sparkled on 
 like a cataract in a rainbow, determined that he 
 should fall in love with her at any rate. Meanwhile 
 his other ear was being visited occasionally by the low 
 and varied music of a voice, the freshest and most 
 melodious, he thought, that he had ever listened to. 
 At times, too, as the dishes were passed, the lovely 
 speaker would lean toward him, so that her soft 
 white plumage brushed his shoulder. The Marana 
 and Wallie were having a most entertaining conver- 
 sation ; it was not about architecture, and yet 
 Bellingham felt attracted by it. Wallie was smiling 
 and chuckling, and ever and anon making some 
 pithy or arch remark ; the diva seemed to be 
 attempting to describe the mental visions which 
 certain kinds of music called up for her. At last 
 she said : " The end is like ' the awful rose of 
 dawn ' ; and it seems to keep unfolding more and 
 more ; but the twilight darkens between, and you
 
 Tf/TT
 
 THE NEW DIVA. 131 
 
 can only feel that the great flower blooms at last in 
 the morning of the other world." 
 
 At the same moment Mrs. Bright was saying to 
 Bellingham, "In that way, don't you see, the second 
 and third boxes would have just as good a view of 
 the stage as the first, and yet the parquet wouldn't 
 lose anything. Now, isn't that a nice plan?" 
 
 Either Bellingham had not heard her, or else he 
 didn't think it worth while to answer. He turned 
 to the young diva and said, "That must be 
 Beethoven." 
 
 Wallie's eyebrows went up ; he had been quietly 
 watching Bellingham, and had been much amused 
 by his evident distraction and final surrender. He 
 asked Mr. Knight, in the second seat on his left, 
 whether it were true that Grant intended to found a 
 college of politics in Mexico ; and left the young 
 people to arrange themselves as they liked. 
 
 Mrs. Bright turned pale, took up a silver pepper- 
 box, and overwhelmed her croquette de volaille 
 with red pepper. Blinded by her indignation, she 
 was on the point of putting a piece of the highly 
 condimented viand in her mouth, when General 
 Inigo, who was on her left, and who had been 
 assimilating his nourishment with knife, fork, and 
 forefinger, and vast enjoyment of champing and 
 deglutition, hurriedly set down the glass of sherry 
 he was raising to his lips, and with great good-
 
 132 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 r 
 
 nature arrested the young lady's hand by laying his 
 own fat paw upon it. " My dear madam," he ex- 
 claimed, with his unctuous Hebraic drawl, "would 
 you commit suicide at a table like this ? " 
 
 "Oh, I'm awfully obliged," returned Mrs. Bright, 
 really feeling so on more accounts than one, though 
 she had never before been able to endure that horrid 
 free-and-easy impressario ; she overcame her repug- 
 nance, and recouped herself for Bellingham's scant 
 courtesy by extracting whole hogsheads of it from 
 the ample reservoirs of her other neighbor. After 
 all, it amounted to the same thing. So a woman 
 receives attention, it is small odds whence it comes. 
 
 Bellingham and the diva, meantime, had taken a 
 short cut to a mutual understanding, and would 
 have been astonished, had they stopped to think 
 about it, at the vistas of sympathetic feeling that 
 were opening up before them. Sunshine arose on 
 their way, and they rambled onward at their will. 
 To talk with the prima donna on a subject that 
 attracted her was like drawing harmonies from some 
 exquisite instrument. She responded to the lightest 
 touch, and you could see the promise and invitation 
 of music in her face before you spoke. Bellingham 
 forgot that this was the woman whose adventures and 
 audacities everybody had been discussing for weeks 
 past ; she was to him a delicious outlet for a part of 
 his nature which he had heretofore repressed even
 
 THE NEW DIVA. 133 
 
 when by himself; so the seed first discovers itself in 
 the earth, and the flower in the sunlight. When, 
 half an hour ago, he had been presented to Mile. 
 Marana in the drawing-room, he had felt that she 
 was beautiful, but remembered that she must be 
 repellent, and had passed on without a second look. 
 She, on the other hand, had been sensitive to his 
 hostility, told herself that he looked cross and frigid, 
 and thought it fortunate that he was an architect, 
 instead of a singer, liable to appear with her on the 
 stage. But now, under the mingled persuasion of 
 happy accident and the genial stimulus of lights, 
 company, and the table, their averted regards had 
 unawares turned to accord, an accord which 
 might prove temporary, but was certainly delightful. 
 It was strange to both of them, but with the sort of 
 strangeness that seems like a sweet familiarity till 
 now forgotten. Now they would let air and warmth 
 into the secret chambers of their minds ; now they 
 could read the answer to -their spiritual riddles in 
 each other's faces. 
 
 At the other end of the table Mrs. Cadwalader 
 was prospering blithesomely with Mr. Grasmere on 
 one hand and Mr. Barclyffe on the other ; the con- 
 versation was of an aesthetic cast : would the Wag- 
 nerian method of musical composition prevail, and 
 if so, would not music ultimately be chargeable with 
 infringing on the preserves of the other arts ? Mr.
 
 134 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 Barclyffe, propping up his mustache occasionally 
 with his napkin, was of opinion that music was the 
 soul and reconciliation of all the arts, and that a 
 knowledge of music would henceforth be indispensa- 
 ble to enable the painter, the sculptor,' and the poet 
 to do their work intelligently. " As to architecture," 
 added he, "we all know that, in its higher manifesta- 
 tions, it has been termed frozen music." " Some of 
 Wagner's music that I have heard," retorted Mr. 
 Grasmere, " was dry enough to be called harmonized 
 hay-lofts." This epigram was overheard by Mr. 
 Damon at the centre of the table, and he immedi- 
 ately called out, "There's a portrait of Grasmere 
 down at the club that is said to have been painted to 
 the tune the old cow died of." Hereupon Mr. 
 Bidgood burst into a hearty laugh, and observed 
 that the old. cow probably died from feeding on the 
 harmonious hay-loft. Mr. Grasmere, who was 
 probably of Scotch extraction, drew himself up to 
 his full height, and said to Mrs. Cadwalader, with a 
 gleam from beneath his eyelids, that such men as the 
 last two speakers did more than vice or ignorance to 
 delay civilization. Mrs. Cadwalader smiled with 
 scarlet lips and said in her small, caressing voice, 
 " The proprietor of the * Professional Amateur ' 
 cannot believe that civilization is delayed." 
 
 If there were any further danger of a breach of 
 the peace, it was averted by the action of Wallie,
 
 THE NEW DIVA. 135 
 
 who now arose in his place and proposed the health 
 of the guest of the evening. " Though our guest to- 
 night," he said, "she is a host in herself; and if she 
 was born in a foreign land, we all know that some 
 of the truest Americans have never set foot in the 
 'United States." The toast having been drunk with 
 much cordiality, Wallie added : " I learnt that speech 
 by heart, ladies and gentlemen, and that is where it 
 came from." 
 
 When the applause had subsided, there was a 
 pause, and the prima donna perceived, with a beat- 
 ing heart, that everybody's eyes were fixed upon her, 
 as if expecting a reply. She cast a dismayed look 
 at Bellingham, but his eyes were cast down, and an 
 expression of coldness had suddenly overspread his 
 face. She drew a long breath, and rose, with a soft 
 rustle of her white dress, and glanced down the table. 
 She heard the clapping of hands, and saw Jocelyn 
 smiling and nodding encouragingly, and Inigo ham- 
 mering the table and beaming unctuously. The 
 thought passed through her mind, "lam not myself; 
 they arc applauding some one else." Instead of dis- 
 concerting her, this thought gave her self-possession. 
 "Ladies and gentlemen," she began, "I did not learn 
 a speech ; where I came from we did not make them. 
 Some time I shall sing you my thanks. But I feel, 
 now, how kind you are. A little while ago, I knew 
 nothing of you, and now we are friends ! Your be-
 
 136 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 v 
 
 lief in me will help me to deserve it. All this seems 
 
 hardly real to me, as if it were not possible. It 
 is not I who speak to you, but the music, that is the 
 reason of my being here. And yet I should like to 
 have you like me for myself, else I should feel very 
 lonely. I have only my music to take the place of 
 my mother and my father. It is a great deal, I 
 know, but not quite everything. And I cannot help 
 feeling, almost, as if it stood between me and you. 
 It is a disguise that I must wear, and I know that 
 the disguise is better than what is beneath it." Here 
 her eye happened to encounter Jocelyn's. He was 
 gazing at her apparently in much anxiety, and his 
 lips seemed to be forming some voiceless words . The 
 prima donna did not know what he meant, but she 
 stopped, and reflected that she was thinking aloud, 
 instead of making a speech, and that what she was 
 thinking had more reference to the blue-eyed man 
 with the brown beard, who sat on her right, than to 
 any one else in the room ; whereupon a blush rose to 
 her face, she murmured something hardly articulate, 
 and sat down. Everybody smiled and applauded 
 and seemed to be much pleased. 
 
 " My God, what an actress ! " muttered Mr. Beau- 
 fort to his neighbor, Mrs. March. "The delicious 
 audacity of that last sentence was inimitable ! " 
 
 " She must be very clever," returned the lady, 
 veiling her business mouth with the bouquet she car-
 
 THE NEW DIVA. 137 
 
 ried ; "but how very noticeable her foreign accent 
 is!" 
 
 " Ach ! well, my dear, it has been a long time be- 
 fore I could come to dalk so as one would not know 
 I was German," put in Miss Korner, charitably. 
 "Mademoiselle shpeak very well for a beginner." 
 
 " They say the Russiana are a very superstitious 
 people," remarked Mr. Plainter, putting up his eye- 
 glasses ; " I must remember to ask Miss Marana 
 whether she has ever investigated any of the phenom- 
 ena. She looks like a medium herself; I should 
 like to investigate, under rigorously scientific tests, 
 the range and quality of her abnormal capacities." 
 
 " Since meeting Mademoiselle Marana," said Mr. 
 Knight, addressing Wallie, but graciously pitching 
 his voice so as to be overheard by the diva, "I no 
 longer marvel at Russian despotism. I should be a 
 slave myself were I her countryman, nay, my 
 slavery has begun even as it is ! " 
 
 "By George ! old fellow," whispered Jocelyn 
 aside to the General, "hanged if I didn't think for 
 a moment the girl was going to give us away ! " 
 
 "Don't you believe it," the General mumbled in 
 reply. "She aint going to give us away, nor give 
 herself away, neither, not to you, anyhow, and 
 don't you forget it ! " 
 
 The dinner came to an end, the ladies withdrew, 
 and the gentlemen presently followed them to the
 
 138 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 drawing-room. People were already arriving for the 
 reception, and the room was getting crowded. A 
 number of immaculate young gentlemen, in tight- 
 fitting evening-dress, were reaching over their shirt- 
 collars to get a glimpse of the notorious Marana. 
 There was an unintermittent buzz of talk that made 
 it difficult to hear anything that was said. The 
 ladies were numerous and brilliantly dressed, but 
 many of them looked a little uneasy, as if they sus- 
 pected they were assisting at a somewhat hazardous 
 enterprise. The prima donna wore on her breast 
 a locket set with diamonds that had belonged to her 
 mother. 
 
 "Say, "Witman," said one of the young gentlemen 
 above mentioned to another, "did you notice the 
 locket?" 
 
 "Haven't been able to get up to her yet, confound 
 it ! Does she speak English?" 
 
 "Pretty well, I believe ; I spoke French Avith her. 
 Full of the devil ! " 
 
 "What about the locket?" 
 
 " Given to her by the Czar of Russia, before he 
 came into the business." 
 
 - "By Jove ! Say, does a fellow have to be intro- 
 duced, or can you go right up and talk to her? " 
 
 "Oh, sail in ! She won't mind. These women 
 always like to be taken by storm ! " So Mr. Wit- 
 man struggled forward, to try his luck as a stormer.
 
 THE NEW DIVA. 139 
 
 Bellingham, after wandering about restlessly in 
 the crowd, trying to keep his back turned toward the 
 diva, and finding himself, nevertheless, constantly 
 brought up within a few feet of her, at length made up 
 his mind to go home. But, just as he was on the 
 point of bidding adieu to Mrs. Cadwalader, some one 
 struck a chord on the piano, a hush fell upon the 
 assembly, and it became evident that the Marana 
 was going to sing. And there she stood at the piano, 
 the pure loveliness of her countenance looking across 
 the crowd, and looking at him. He folded his arms, 
 and stood still ; and no one but he knew that she sang 
 to him. 
 
 When the song was over there was a great stir of 
 admiration and surprise and comment ; for though 
 everybody had expected something very good, no- 
 body seemed to have anticipated that it would be good 
 precisely in the way it was ; and they all tried to 
 express what they thought in suitable language, with 
 indifferent results. It takes the world some time to 
 formulate its opinion accurately about a new thing. 
 As for Bellingham, whatever he may have thought, 
 he expressed nothing. He simply pushed his way 
 through the throng that surrounded the singer, took 
 her hand, looked her in the eyes, and said, "Good- 
 night ! " Strange to say, this unceremonious be- 
 havior seemed to satisfy her ; a glow of pleasure 
 mounted to her face, and thereafter she appeared
 
 140 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 light-hearted and content. Bellingham went away 
 immediately afterward, and without saying good- 
 night to any one else. 
 
 At the end of the evening, Jocelyn sauntered up 
 to Wallie, and, putting both hands on his host's 
 shoulders, said, " Well, old man, what do you think 
 of her?" 
 
 "I think a great deal," Wallie replied. "You 
 saw her abroad, didn't you?" 
 
 "Xo, the General did. Why?" 
 
 "Nothing," said Wallie, quietly fixing his gray 
 eyes upon the other's dismayed visage, "except that 
 I saw Mademoiselle Marana last year in Vienna, 
 and I think her greatly improved."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HER FRIENDS, HER ENEMIES, AND HER LOVERS. 
 
 "YTTITIIIX the next few days everybody in New 
 York could quote a more or less authoritative 
 opinion as to the merits of Mile. Marana ; for the 
 guests at the Dinsmores' dinner and reception had 
 been so selected that their various reports could 
 reach all sections of polite society. The verdict, on 
 the part of both sexes, was almost universally favor- 
 able, and every one, consequently, made prepa- 
 rations to extend further invitations to her. The 
 only noteworthy dissentient voice was that of Mrs. 
 Bright, who affirmed that the great prima donna 
 was underbred and presuming. Even this critic, 
 however, admitted that she had redeeming traits. 
 
 " In her proper place she is very well. She is a 
 professional singer ; and, though she is very profes- 
 sional, she is really a very good singer, too." 
 
 Mr. Barclyffc, the amateur composer, contributed 
 an able article to a leading journal, in which he at- 
 tempted to assign Mile. Marana her place among the 
 great singers of the last forty years. 
 
 " To the culture, the vivacity, and the subtlety of
 
 142 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 the present," he wrote, "our Russian guest unites 
 the training, the knowledge, and the solidity of the 
 past. Rooted in the soil of the best traditions of 
 her predecessors, the flower of her genius blossoms 
 in the new sunshine of to-day. The grandeur and 
 dignity of her method are vivified and sweetened by 
 rare personal charms of manner, and by that seeming 
 artlessness of execution which is the finest triumph 
 of art. Her appearance among us is another proof, 
 not only of the reputation which we of the Western 
 World have attained of being the final tribunal in 
 matters of musical taste and judgment, but of the 
 great fact that real genius is always unique. Mile. 
 Marana recalls no other singer ; she is herself ! and 
 to say this is (as those who have heard her will 
 testify) to pay her the highest compliment. She 
 does not accentuate an epoch, she makes one. Of 
 her dramatic capacities we have yet to judge ; but, 
 simple and unassuming as is her bearing in private 
 society, it is easy for the initiated to discern, in the 
 grace, effectiveness, and precision of her gestures and 
 carriage, the results of that long training upon the 
 stage, and command of t its resources, which alone 
 can make the poetry of movement a second nature. 
 Our only misgiving is," added the writer, "that the 
 ordinary repertoire of operas may fail to afford Mile. 
 Marana an adequate opportunity for the manifes- 
 tation of her powers. While yielding to none in our
 
 FRIENDS, ENEMIES, AND LOVERS. 143 
 
 reverence and admiration for the operatic productions 
 of the great composers, from Mozart to Wagner, we 
 may be permitted to wish that some new work might 
 be forthcoming, essentially modern in its scope and 
 quality, and thereby answering more completely to 
 the requirements of modern culture. It would 
 indeed be a matter of congratulation were such a 
 work to claim an American origin ! " 
 
 Those who knew the authorship of this article 
 made merry over the pero ration ?/ and inquired archly 
 whether Barclyffe had at last found somebody 
 capable of appreciating his musical accomplishments. 
 But by the majority it was accepted with becoming 
 docility ; and the impressario, it is needless to say, was 
 enchanted with it. The allusions to the Marana's 
 familiarity with the stage were especially grateful to 
 him. 
 
 "I'll just tell you how it is," he said to Jocelyn ; 
 " you play off a little game on the public, and you 
 feel nervous because there's one or two weak points 
 in it. Well, sir, by Jupiter ! those weak points are 
 just the very ones the public swallows the quickest. 
 Now, here's this girl, she can sing; we all know 
 that ; but she's a born American, and she's never 
 been on the stage. Well, sir, there was old Lu- 
 cretia March, at the dinner, who said she could 
 hardly understand her on account of her Russian 
 accent ; and now Barclyffe comes out and swears she
 
 144 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 must have been born behind the footlights ! The 
 next thing'll be, we shall have some woman turning 
 up and vowing the Marana has run off with her 
 husband and a hundred thousand dollars ! " 
 
 "Are you aware, Moses," inquired his friend, 
 " that Wallie Dinsmore has seen the real woman in 
 Vienna, and knows this one to be a fraud?" 
 
 The General set down the cocktail with which he 
 was about to celebrate his good fortune. "Are 
 you lying, or what's the matter?" he demanded, 
 brusquely. 
 
 " I had it from the man himself, you old black- 
 guard," rejoined the other, composedly. 
 
 " Does he know who this one is ? " 
 
 "If he doesn't, he probably will before long." 
 
 The General reflected. At last he said, " Well, I 
 aint scared. What should he make a row for ? It 
 aint going to hurt him, and, what's more, he's taken 
 up the girl himself. It may tickle him to find out 
 the facts, but he aint a fellow to talk. If it was 
 you, now, I might want to buy you off; but he's 
 another sort." And General Inigo tossed off his 
 cocktail with renewed serenity. 
 
 "I'll bet you you're mistaken," said Jocelyn. 
 
 " I don't bet with you, my good friend," replied 
 the impressario, shaking his head and chuckling sar- 
 donically. " I'll tell you what I will do, though," 
 he added, after a moment. He took from his
 
 FRIENDS, ENEMIES, AND LOVERS. 145 
 
 pockets a check-book and a Mackinnon pen, and 
 wrote a check, which he showed to Jocelyn. It was 
 for ten thousand dollars, and was drawn to Jocelyn's 
 order. 
 
 "You can have that check," said Inigo, "and be 
 fingering the bank-notes in half an hour from now, 
 on one condition." 
 
 " Go on," said Jocelyn. 
 
 " On condition that you take yourself out of the 
 whole business, and leave me to deal with the girl 
 direct. It's a damned shame, by Jupiter, that you 
 should be putting thirty per cent, of her money into 
 your pocket every time she sings, and making her 
 think I pay her that much less than I do. I'll buy 
 you out for ten thousand dollars, cash down, to-day, 
 and take the risk of her bursting up, and everything 
 else. I'm talking money, that's what I'm doing; 
 and there it is ! Will you do it ? " 
 
 " You may go to the devil ! " said Jocelyn, pushing 
 back the check-book, though not without an effort. 
 " I'll have you to know that money's not the only 
 thing I'm after. I've got my own views about the 
 girl, and I'll manage the business my own way." 
 
 The impressario detached the check from the book, 
 and, having rolled it into an allumette, lit his cigar 
 with it. "That's all right," said he, crushing the 
 burnt remnant under his foot, " only don't you talk 
 to me no more about betting ! I know a man when
 
 146 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 I clap eyes on him ; and I know a woman, too ; and 
 I guess you'll have time to grow to be a bigger 
 rascal than you are, before you rope in my prima 
 donna! She's meat for your betters, my boy, and 
 they're not far to look for ! " 
 
 Jocelyn contrived to maintain a contemptuously 
 indifferent demeanor ; but it is qertain that whoever 
 made money out of the impressario was obliged to 
 earn it, in one way or another. 
 
 Meanwhile, Miss Beatrix Randolph, or the 
 Marana, as all the world now called her, was in 
 more cheerful spirits than she had been before her 
 reception at the Dinsmores. She liked the Dins- 
 mores ; she was inclined to like almost everybody. 
 She tried to take a charitable view even of the young 
 gentlemen in high shirt-collars who complimented 
 her so baldly, and said things which she knew were 
 witty only because they laughed at them. She re- 
 flected that she knew nothing of the freemasonry of 
 modern society, and that probably the young gentle- 
 men intended only to be polite and entertaining. 
 Mrs. Bemax, when appealed to on the subject, said 
 they Mr. "VVitman and the rest of them were 
 wealthy and well connected, and that it was desir- 
 able for a lady connected with the stage to cultivate 
 their acquaintance. " A little social relaxation is an 
 excellent thing for you, my dear mademoiselle," 
 declared this worthy lady, " and a capital way to get
 
 FRIENDS, ENEMIES, AND LOVERS. 147 
 
 rid of that little frigidity and stiffness you have 
 brought with you from the country. Ladies con- 
 nected with the stage have to work hard, but, en 
 revanche, they are allowed more freedom in social 
 intercourse than other people. It will be quite 
 proper for you to let Mr. Witman drive you home 
 from rehearsal in his brougham, if I am along, or 
 even without me, at a pinch. All the others do it. 
 You will not let him take any liberties, of course ; 
 but don't betray any timidity ; he wouldn't under- 
 stand it." 
 
 "It is one thing for me to do as I like," replied 
 mademoiselle, "and another thing for me to let other 
 people do as they like. I don't mean to be stiff, 
 but there is no reason why I should be bothered, 
 either." 
 
 "It will be no bother when you are used to it," 
 Mrs. Bemax replied ; but, at the time, she did not 
 advocate her view any farther. 
 
 The finishing touches were being put to the 
 theatre, and Geoffrey Bellingham was constantly on 
 hand to oversee the work ; consequently, he and the 
 prima donna must needs meet occasionally. He 
 said very little to her, and was generally very busy 
 when she might have entered into conversation with 
 him : but she had an impression that he kept his eyes 
 upon her often, when she was not looking at him ; 
 and his appearance at the theatre was generally
 
 148 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 coincident with the hour of her rehearsals. One 
 day, after she had been singing a grand scene very 
 effectively, she happened to catch his eye in the 
 stage box, where he stood leaning against the cur- 
 tained partition, abstractedly knotting and unknot- 
 ting a piece of tape. His gaze was so earnest, and 
 at the same time so melancholy, that the prima 
 donna, obeying an impluse that was partly curiosity, 
 but partly something else, went round to the box 
 when the scene was over, and met him as he was 
 coming out. 
 
 "How unhappy you looked!" she said. "TVus 
 anything wrong ? " 
 
 He stared at her for a moment, and said, ironically, 
 "Oh, you're a great artiste !" . 
 
 "I mean to be," she answered, smiling. 
 
 "A great actress, too ! I should like to see you 
 when you are yourself." 
 
 "I am myself now," replied Mile. Marana. Then 
 she remembered that she was not telling the whole 
 truth, and blushed and looked down. 
 
 "Then you must be a remarkable woman ! But 
 you probably don't know that you always appear to 
 me like a fresh and innocent American girl. I can't 
 see anything foreign or stagey in your talk or 
 manners. Extremes meet, I suppose, and, like 
 Paul, you are all things to all men." 
 
 This speech made the young diva feel that the
 
 FRIENDS, ENEMIES, AND LOVERS. 149 
 
 world was very wide and very cruel ; and tears came 
 into her eyes. She was alone ; there was no one to 
 answer for her or protect her. She would not have 
 minded so much what most people thought of her, 
 but it would have been a great comfort to her if this 
 man, at any rate, had by some divine faculty of 
 vision been able to see through the disguise that 
 veiled her from the rest of the world. He did see 
 through it ; but he did not believe what he saw. He 
 thought that his discovery was her deception, and 
 the more she was frank and simple, the more she was 
 her real self, the less would he believe in her. It 
 was a dilemma between intuition and reason ; and, 
 with a man of the world, reason, in such cases, is 
 apt to have the best of it. It would have been easy 
 for the prima donna to have enlightened him, and 
 under certain circumstances she might have been 
 tempted to do so. But now it was a matter of pride 
 to her, if nothing else, to say no word that could 
 laid him to infer that his sympathy was anything to 
 her one way or the other. But she was at liberty 
 to resent an insult, and she felt that to do so would 
 help her to preserve her composure. 
 
 "-You probably don't know, sir," she said, imitat- 
 ing his phrase, "that to call even an opera-singer 
 the extreme opposite of fresh and innocent, is not 
 polite. I am not so contemptible a thing to all men 
 as I seem to be to you ! "
 
 150 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 "It was a brutal thing to say, and I did not mean 
 it," he replied, in a low voice. "But I can't say 
 what I wish to you. There's no middle way." And 
 before she could make up her mind what this meant, 
 he passed by her, and walked heavily away down the 
 corridor. 
 
 The prima donna fell into a deep and not alto- 
 gether painful re very. She seated herself on a 
 bench behind the scenes, and followed out her mus- 
 ings, with her chin on her hand. The rehearsal 
 was going forward in front, the duets, the quartets, 
 and the choruses ; but she was lost in thought. 
 "There's no middle way." What was in his mind 
 in his heart when he said that? There had been 
 something very potent in his eyes, that she was 
 sure of. What eyes he had ! what a stern, resolute 
 face, with nothing mean or commonplace in it ! He 
 was not like the others, either in aspect or in man- 
 ner. His very carelessness and roughness were more 
 high-bred than their best behavior. Though he 
 might go among other men, he would always be 
 apart from them; he was lonely, like herself; but, 
 unlike hers, his was a voluntary and a noble loneli- 
 ness. And he despised her, because because some 
 other woman was despicable ! That was unjust, and 
 yet, perhaps there was inadvertent justice in it. 
 Perhaps, if he knew the truth, he would despise her 
 no less, on other grounds. But, again, there was
 
 FRIENDS, ENEMIES, AND LOVERS. 151 
 
 some other feeling besides contempt at work within 
 him ; what could that be ? The girl raised her 
 head slightly, with a doubtful, musing smile on her 
 lips. 
 
 There was a stealthy step behind her, which she 
 did not hear until it was close upon her. Then, 
 suddenly, a pair of hands were pressed over her eyes, 
 and her head was drawn back. For a moment she 
 was too much amazed to resist ; besides, she thought 
 it must be could not but be some one who had 
 a right to treat her so, her father, or even her 
 brother Ed ; no stranger would dare ! Any impos- 
 sibility was 'more possible than that. The next 
 moment she felt kisses on her cheek and mouth, 
 clumsy, offensive kisses. She was not a screaming 
 woman, but she gave a passionate outcry of disgust, 
 twisted herself free, and sprang to her feet. 
 
 The offender stood before her, evidently not at all 
 convinced of the enormity of his outrage. His visage 
 was wrinkled into a waggish laugh, in which he 
 seemed to expect the prima donna to join. It had 
 already been made apparent to her that the man had 
 been drinking, but the mist of wrath in her eyes kept 
 her for an instant from recognizing in him the newly 
 engaged musical director, Herr Plotowski. She felt 
 that if she had had a weapon in her hand she could 
 have killed him on the spot. And he was laugh-
 
 152 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 "Aha ! my beautiful ma'm'selle ! I catch you fair 
 dat time ! " he exclaimed, jovially. " Oh ! dose beau- 
 tiful lips ! I haf often long to salute dem I " 
 
 "If you ever come near me or speak to me again" 
 began the prima donna; but she checked herself. 
 She would not condescend even to threaten such 
 a wretch. Besides, what power had she to carry 
 a threat into execution ? Herr Plotowski had been 
 engaged at great expense ; he was considered a 
 valuable acquisition. No one could lead an orchestra 
 more ably than he. If she complained of him, her 
 complaint would be put off or disregarded ; nor could 
 she bring herself to confide the outrage to a man like 
 General Inigo. He would be sure to laugh, and 
 answer her with some coarse, good-humored jest. 
 In this new world she had entered into everybody 
 seemed to make a jest of everything. There was no 
 one to defend her ; she must submit, if she could 
 not defend herself. But, as her glance fell upon 
 Herr Plotowski, she told herself she would rather 
 die than submit to such another insult. 
 
 Her passionate indignation must have made itself 
 perceptible through the callous hide of the director, 
 fortified though he was by whiskey. The wrinkled 
 laugh gradually faded from his countenance, and 
 gave place to an expression of absurd solemnity and 
 irritation. "You be angry dat I kiss you, eh?" he 
 cried in a harsh voice. "Let me tell you, ma'm'selle,
 
 FRIENDS, ENEMIES, AND LOVERS. 153 
 
 I kiss all ze ladies vot sing by me. Zey dake it as 
 compliment; if not, I make it vorse for zem, eh? 
 Plotowski kiss all he please, and dat all right, aint 
 it? You ask ze General, and you find out ! Now 
 den ! " And he stalked away haughtily. 
 
 This incident would, perhaps, have affected her 
 somewhat less poignantly if it had not occurred im- 
 mediately after her interview with Bellingham, and 
 while her thoughts were full of him. The revulsion 
 was almost unendurable, and made her feel as if the 
 pollution could never be removed. Her bosom 
 heaved, and bitter tears ran down her face. A 
 woman is helpless enough at best, but she more than 
 the rest, because she was fighting under a false name 
 and reputation. Nevertheless, she could not retreat 
 now, nor give up the battle. She knew that her 
 father had incurred pecuniary obligations to Inigo, 
 whioh could only be repaid through her. Besides, 
 should she let her career be destroyed at the outset 
 because a creature like Plotowski had insulted her? 
 Should she not rather persevere until she had won 
 such position and such power as should enable her 
 to protect herself against all the world ? There was 
 a proud, unconquered spirit in her, which asserted 
 itself in her forlornness and distress more than it had 
 ever done in her security and happiness. And, after 
 all, she was not without friends. At the worst, she 
 could apply to her father; and then, there was
 
 154 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 Hamilton Jocelyn, who, although rather worldly and 
 absurd, was really a good man, with her interests at 
 heart, as was proved by his having obtained for her 
 this splendid engagement ; and there was Mr. Dins- 
 more, who seemed kindly, and a gentleman ; and 
 Mr. Barclyffe, who had written all that praise of her 
 in the newspaper ; and there, too, was Geoffrey Bell- 
 ingham ; whatever his opinion of her might be, she 
 did not believe that he would have stood by and 
 allowed Herr Plotowski to insult her. No ; things 
 were not so hopeless, after all. 
 
 Madame Bemax had been out to make a few pur- 
 chases on Broadway She now returned, carrying 
 her little bundles by loops in the strings that tied 
 them. She hoped mademoiselle had not been de- 
 layed or inconvenienced. Mademoiselle replied that 
 she had not been delayed ; but something prevented 
 her from telling Madame Bemax about the adventure 
 with the director. She feared madame would say 
 something about the benefits of a little social relaxa- 
 tion, and about getting used to it ; and she did not 
 wish to feel an aversion toward the good lady, who 
 was, in many respects, agreeable to her. So she 
 held her peace, and hid her secrets in her heart ; but 
 she could not fonret them.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE SUCCESS AND GLORY OF HER CAREER. 
 
 /^VN the day appointed for the selling of tickets 
 ^^ for the first performance the extent of the 
 popular interest that had been aroused was indicated 
 by the length of the "cue" of buyers, who made a 
 line from the box-office all the way round the block, 
 and who began their session, or station rather, up- 
 ward of twenty-four hours before the office opened. 
 Accounts of their nocturnal experiences, their jokes, 
 and their good-humor appeared in the morning 
 papers, together with plans of the interior arrange- 
 ments of the opera-house, the precautions against 
 fire and panic, the unequalled splendor and perfection 
 of the scenery, and the cost of the whole enterprise. 
 The usual safeguards against the imposition of spec- 
 ulators were taken, and met with the usual success. 
 By five in the afternoon the house was sold from 
 ceiling to cellar, and the impressario, leaning in an 
 insouciant attitude against the bar of the hotel, with 
 his hat on one side and his face broader than it was 
 long, treated his numerous friends to drinks, and 
 received their congratulations.
 
 156 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 This was on a Saturday. On Monday the per- 
 formance took place, " before the most fashionable, 
 cultivated, and appreciative audience ever assembled 
 on a similar occasion in the city of New York." So 
 recent and eminent a triumph is not likely to have 
 been forgotten by those who witnessed it. The 
 opera selected was " Faust " ; it is perhaps the most 
 satisfactory one for a first appearance, not only be- 
 cause of its musical merits, but because everybody 
 is familiar with it, and can estimate the comparative 
 success of the new-comer in " creating " afresh the 
 immortal character of Marguerite. There had 
 been a great number of rehearsals, and Mile. Ma- 
 rana had grown somewhat weary of the repetitions, 
 and latterly had begun to fear that when the great 
 night came she would, if not unnerved by stage 
 fright, at any rate be unable to go through the part 
 otherwise than mechanically. All spontaneity of 
 action and sentiment would be gone from her. She 
 stayed in her apartment all day on Monday, refusing 
 to see any one, and even dispensing, the greater part 
 of the time, with the presence of Madame Bemax. 
 She wished to dismiss the whole subject of the opera 
 from her mind, and, to aid herself in doing so, she 
 fixed her thoughts upon her brother Ed, and recalled 
 all his ways and escapades, and the happy times 
 they had spent together. She pictured him and 
 herself running races, and climbing trees, and find-
 
 SUCCESS AND GLORY. 157 
 
 ing birds'-nests, and tending their red and white 
 roses, and going on hunting expeditions after wood- 
 chucks and squirrels ; and she brought back to her 
 memory the talks they used to have together, when 
 they would lay out before themselves the course of 
 their future lives, what they would do and what 
 they would be. How different from their anticipation 
 it had turned out ! But he was her brother just the 
 same, and she loved him no less than she had ever 
 done ; on the contrary, she loved him more, for he 
 had given her an opportunity to show her love by 
 repairing an injury which he had done. It was 
 pleasant to think that, when he returned home, ex- 
 pecting to meet only distress and reproaches, he 
 would find instead prosperity as great, if not greater 
 than before extravagance began, and all owing to 
 his own sister ! If he had done wrong, his sister 
 thought, the discovery that she had worked to repair 
 it would be more certain than anything else to make 
 him henceforward do right. Then she began to 
 speculate as to what sort of wrong he had done, 
 whether it were anything more than thoughtlessness 
 and extravagance. A few weeks ago she would 
 have said that it could be nothing more ; but she had 
 been forced to see and hear certain things of late 
 which made her hesitate. She had seen what some 
 young men, possessed of money and freedom, were 
 and did ; why might not her brother Ed be like
 
 158 BEATEIK RANDOLPH. 
 
 them? . . . She put the thought away from 
 her ; she would not believe evil of her own brother. 
 He was a Randolph and a gentleman. He might 
 be selfish and reckless, but he would never do any- 
 thing wicked or disgraceful. It was more to be 
 feared that he would deem her to have disgraced 
 herself, in stealing another woman's name and repu- 
 tation. It was all very well to plead that she had 
 been persuaded into it half ignorantly, half against 
 her will ; the fact that she had done it remained. 
 Well it was too late to turn back now ! 
 
 The long hours passed on, and, as the evening 
 approached, she found herself thinking not of Ed, 
 but of another person, who had come into her mind, 
 not by her own invitation, but involuntarily ; or, 
 possibly, he had been in the background all the 
 while, and advanced as the other receded. She had 
 had no conversation with Bellingham since that day 
 at the theatre, but they had met several times, and 
 exchanged a few words, and there had been some- 
 thing in his manner that* had strengthened and re- 
 assured her, she knew not why, something that 
 seemed to show that intuition was acquiring more 
 weight with him than reason. And yet he had not 
 seemed happy, nor at ease ; but his uneasiness was 
 of a kind that soothed and inspirited her. It was 
 like the trouble of a cloudy dawn, out of which the 
 sun at last rises clear. He was not treacherous nor
 
 SUCCESS AND GLORY. 159 
 
 intangible, like so many men ; his qualities were 
 large and firmly based ; he could not play monkey- 
 tricks, and talk one thing while he thought another. 
 The process of his feelings was honest and open ; 
 he was reserved and reticent precisely because he 
 could not be insincere. The prima donna longed 
 with all her soul to be as frank and undisguised as 
 he. She felt that, could she be so, all would be 
 well between them ; but that, until then, all would 
 not be well. And she said to herself, how perverse 
 a mishap it was that this disguise of hers should 
 have become necessary just when they met ; had she 
 met him at any other time of her life, he would 
 have known her as she really was, and his intuition 
 and his reason would have been at one. But then, 
 again, her pride arose, and she vowed that, if he did 
 not care enough about knowing her to discern her 
 real self beneath the false disguise, he should never 
 know her at all. But did what she called her real 
 self exist any longer? Had not the disguise de- 
 stroyed it? And, if so, could she expect him to 
 discover what was no longer there ? She pressed 
 her hands over her eyes, and breathed heavily. 
 
 The time of waiting was now over, however. 
 Madame Bemax was knocking at the door, and 
 coming in with mademoiselle's cloak and bonnet in 
 her hand, and saying that the carriage was ready, 
 and that they must drive to the theatre at once, in
 
 160 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 order that mademoiselle might have time to put on 
 Marguerite's dress, before the curtain rose. The 
 prima donna stood up, and the realization of what 
 lay before her came sweeping over her mind like a 
 storm. She was slightly tremulous, and felt cold 
 and feeble. Madame Bemax made her drink a glass 
 of wine, and conducted her down to the carriage. 
 She seemed hardly to know where she was ; she 
 could speak only with an effort ; a benumbing preoc- 
 cupation had got possession of her. At the carriage- 
 door a gentleman was waiting, clad in evening dress, 
 with a light overcoat. Her heart beat for an instant, 
 then became oppressed and tremulous again ; it was 
 only Jocelyn. He helped her into the carriage, and 
 got in after her and Madame Bemax ; he began to 
 say various things in a caressing, encouraging voice ; 
 she exclaimed, sharply, " Don't speak to me ! I must 
 think my thoughts ! " The rattle of the wheels on 
 the pavement agitated her ; she could not keep her 
 hands or her lips still. Sometimes she fancied they 
 had been driving for hours ; sometimes, that they 
 had scarcely started. When at length they arrived 
 at the theatre, everything seemed at once familiar 
 and strange ; she had seen it all scores of times be- 
 fore, but never with the eyes she saw it with now. 
 Several persons addressed her, but she walked on 
 to her dressing-room without appearing conscious of 
 any one. The room was small, but prettily deco-
 
 SUCCESS AND GLORY. 161 
 
 rated ; there were two full-length mirrors in it, and 
 it was fragrant with flowers. On the table was ly- 
 ing a bunch of marguerites, tied about with a narrow 
 blue ribbon. The knot by which the ribbon was 
 fastened caught the prima donna's eye ; she had 
 seen something like it before. It was not an ordi- 
 nary knot, but one such as sailors make. She took 
 up the little white and golden cluster, and looked 
 them over ; there was nothing to show whence they 
 came, nothing but the knot. While she was put- 
 ting on her dress, her mind occupied itself with this 
 little mystery, and the oppression of her heart was 
 relieved. She put the marguerites in her girdle, 
 feeling kindly disposed toward them, for they had 
 done her good. Then a desire suddenly took pos- 
 session of her to go out and see the audience. The 
 overture was still in progress, and she might cross 
 the stage and look through a peep-hole in the curtain. 
 
 Madame Bemax assented, and accompanied her. 
 The stage was dimly lighted, and a number of people 
 were moving hither and thither upon it ; the scene- 
 shifters were giving the last touches to the arrange- 
 ments. Mile. Marana, with a light shawl over her 
 shoulders, glided unobserved up to the great curtain, 
 and looked through. 
 
 The spectacle was like nothing else she had ever seen 
 or imagined. The house was brilliant with light and 
 alive with movement and murmur. But the thou-
 
 162 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 sands of faces, row after row and tier above tier ! 
 the glance of innumerable eyes, all turned toward 
 her ; all come there to see her ! it was astounding 
 and terrifying ! Those innumerable eyes, nothing 
 could escape them, nothing be invisible to them. 
 They were overpowering, hostile, exterminating ! 
 All impression of individual human beings was lost, 
 and the audience seemed to be a sort of monster, 
 without sympathies and responsibilities, immense, 
 incontrollable, omniscient, a merciless, multitu- 
 dinous inquisition ! How could a single girl contend 
 against them ? By what miracle could her voice and 
 presence reach and subdue them? Rather, her 
 spirit would evaporate from her lips before them, and 
 leave her inanimate. 
 
 As she stood gazing there, some one, crossing the 
 stage from the wings, passed near her. She knew 
 the step, and turned. Yes, it was Bellingham. 
 He recognized her, and paused, apparently surprised 
 to see her there, but his expression could not be dis- 
 covered in the shadow. 
 
 "Does the house satisfy you, mademoiselle?" he 
 said, approaching her. As he did so he glanced at 
 the flowers in her girdle. The glance did not escape 
 her, and then she knew where it was she had seen 
 the knot before. It was that day of their inter- 
 view in the corridor ; his fingers had been idly busy 
 tying and untying a bit of string.
 
 SUCCESS AND GLORY. 163 
 
 > 
 
 "I didn't .know you would be here," she sail, 
 in a whisper. "I am glad." 
 
 "They expect a call for the architect," he replied, 
 "and I must make a bow." 
 
 " Will you be in the audience while I sing ? " 
 
 "Yes; why?" 
 
 " Show me which seat is yours." 
 
 He stepped to the peep-hole. 
 
 " You see that chair half-way down the centre 
 aisle? That is mine." 
 
 " Thank you," she said ; " and thank you for these 
 flowers. I feel made over new ! Now I can sing." 
 
 She put out her hand, and Geoffrey took it in his. 
 
 For a moment it seemed to them as if they were 
 alone together. When two persors meet in com- 
 plete sympathy all other human association seems 
 so trifling in comparison that they cease to be' aware 
 of it. 
 
 At this moment the overture came to an end, and 
 the order was issued for the stage to be cleared. 
 The jpr/ma donna found herself again in her dressing- 
 room, but not in the same mood as she had left it. 
 She was warm, composed, and happy. She looked 
 in the tall mirror, and for the first time saw Mar- 
 guerite reflected there. Then into her serene and 
 awakened mind entered all the tenderness, simplicity, 
 and pathos of Gretchen's lovely story, and she felt 
 the spirit of the German peasant maiden take posses-
 
 1G4 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 sion of her. The appurtenances of the stage, the 
 mechanism of the effects, the glare of the footlights, 
 no longer had power to disturb her illusion ; they 
 seejned themselves an illusion, and only the story 
 was real. And when the moment came that she 
 stood before the mighty audience they were to her 
 no longer a hostile and opposing presence, with 
 which she must struggle in hopeless contest, but 
 a vast reservoir of human sympathy, aiding her, 
 supporting her, comprehending her, supplying her 
 with life and inspiration, and responding a thou- 
 sand-fold to every chord she touched. As her voice 
 floated out and abroad from her lips, it seemed to 
 owe its enchanted sweetness and resonance, not to 
 her, but to its echo in the hearts of her listeners. 
 Whence, then, had come this marvellous change 
 in the mutual relations between her audience and 
 herself? She was conscious only of the joy of 
 unrestrained expression ; the audience, only of the 
 delight of ear and eye; and Geoffrey Bellingham, 
 sitting with folded arms and charmed pulses in the 
 midst of the assemblage, had no suspicion that any 
 part of this triumph of harmony and beauty was due 
 to him. His eyes and all his senses were turned 
 toward her, but how should he imagine that amid the 
 crowd of that great amphitheatre her glances were 
 conscious of no face but his, and that all the stupen- 
 dous magnetism of their silence and their applause
 
 SUCCESS AND GLORY. 165 
 
 was centred and concentrated in him ? He had even 
 forgotten that his marguerites were in her girdJe. 
 
 As has already been intimated, however, it would 
 be superfluous to give any account of this memora- 
 ble performance from the audience's point of view. 
 Competent judges, who attended many repetitions of 
 the opera, have declared that Mile. Marana never 
 afterward surpassed the standard of excellence she 
 attained on this first occasion. It was the topic of 
 the time, and the fame of it spread all over the 
 United States, and was spoken of next day in Lon- 
 don and Paris. The public, which is so inhuman 
 and tyrannical in its apathies and antipathies, is like 
 a child and a slave in its favoritism r.:ul 1 A ; liomage. 
 It idolized the incomparable Marana, and would have 
 built her a house of gold, with jewelled windows, if 
 she had demanded it. The unknown girl from the 
 upper reaches of the Hudson was crowned Queen of 
 New York for the sake of two or three hours' sweet 
 singing. 
 
 It% seldom that Adam, or even diviner Eve, in 
 the days of their youth, are wholly insensible to the 
 Avorghip of their fellow-creatures. They may say. 
 and believe, that flattery cannot make them alter 
 their own estimate of their merit ; nevertheless, the 
 eye that sees admiration in all other eyes involunta- 
 rily waxes brighter and more assured, and the pres- 
 ence before which others bow down, if it do not bear
 
 166 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 itself more commandingly, can at least scarcely avoid 
 a graceful condescension. Doubtless it is not the 
 merit, but the homage which the merit causes, that 
 creates the elation. And by and by the suggestion 
 will insinuate itself that there may, after all, be 
 something exceptional in the nature gifted with such 
 talents, apart from the talents themselves. From 
 this point it is not far to the conclusion that excep- 
 tional natures demand exceptional treatment and 
 consideration : should not be made accountable to 
 ordinary rules ; should be a law unto themselves. 
 No position is more susceptible than this of being 
 vindicated by plausible arguments ; and a poor argu- 
 ment warmed by good-will has always been worth a 
 dozen better ones chilled and torpid from the breath 
 of disinclination. 
 
 Now, Mile. Marana, though she could not estimate 
 the influence upon others of the personal quality of 
 her voice, could not help knowing that she sung in 
 tune and correctly ; but, inasmuch as many other 
 women could do this, she was forced to infer that 
 her being made Queen of New York must be 
 due to some personal quality as aforesaid. This 
 just persuasion gave her pleasure on more accounts 
 than one ; but one account was, that it seemed to 
 justify in some measure the deception which she was 
 maintaining before the world. Though still charge- 
 able with purloining Mai-ana's name, she might, per-
 
 SUCCESS AND GLORY. 167 
 
 haps, acquit her conscience of damaging that lady in 
 her musical reputation. If she were listened to with 
 as great favor as the genuine Russian diva would 
 have been, surely the latter could not complain of 
 any very great practical injury. On the contrary, 
 she would have earned an American renown without 
 being troubled to so much as open her lips. True, 
 renown was all she would earn ; but she had 
 voluntarily given up the offer of other emoluments, 
 before the false Marana had ever been thought of. 
 Of course, a lie is a lie, after every excuse has been 
 made for it ; yet there may be cause for congratulation 
 if a lie prove to contain no other mischief than the 
 simple invasion of a truth. 
 
 In this opinion she was, it need scarcely be said, 
 cordially supported by Hamilton Jocelyn and Madame 
 Bemax ; nor was her father disinclined to take an 
 optimistic view of the situation. The latter gen- 
 tleman, by the way, seemed to have taken a fresh 
 start in life since his troubles came to head, therein 
 following the example of many prominent citizens 
 of New York and other places, who, when other 
 sources of supply run dry, are accustomed to tap 
 with golden success the unfailing spring of Insolvency. 
 Mr. Randolph had taken rooms in a small but 
 elegant flat on Fifth avenue, and was living the 
 life of a rejuvenated bachelor and man about town. 
 The possession of a momentous secret flattered his
 
 168 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 sense of self-importance, incumbency of a 
 
 minor sinecure in the municipal government, Avhich 
 he had obtained through General Inigo's friendly 
 interest with the democratic mayor, enabled him to 
 assume the r,L* of one who is on confidential terms 
 .with statesmen. Ha had been at considerable pains 
 to devise ambiguous explanations of his possession 
 of ready money, and of the singular disappe;; 
 of his draighter : a;id had been somewhat disap- 
 pointed to discover that no one seemed to be a 
 that he had ever lacked the former or owned the 
 latter. 
 
 The world, Mr. Randolph thought, must be a 
 barbarously large as well as a reprehensibly inat- 
 tontive place, since it had failed to follow with 
 solicitude the course of his domestic concerns. 
 However, if there was neglect on one side of the 
 account, it was balanced by convenience on the 
 and the unsuspected father of the great prima donna 
 made a virtue of impunity. 
 
 He visited his daughter twice or thrice a week, 
 
 besides being present at her performances ; but it 
 
 '^d him a certain gratification to surround tlieir 
 
 with an elaborate net- work of secrecy and 
 
 in. ; as if he were an enamored Montague 
 
 > commune, at peril of their lives, with a 
 
 'apulet. There was evidently a vein of 
 
 romance in this old gentleman, which, had it been
 
 I 
 
 SUCCESS AND GLORY. 169 
 
 properly cultivated in due season, might have con- 
 siderably enlarged *his character. 
 
 To return, however, to the prima donna's 
 conscience : it would probably have subsided into a 
 condition of comfortable acquiescence in destiny, .had 
 it not been for the stimulus unconsciously applied 
 to it by a gentleman of her acquaintance. She 
 could never meet Geoffrey Bellingham without 
 wishing that Mile. Marana had never been born ; or, 
 at lea.^t, that she herself might have achieved her 
 fame in some straightforward and unencumbered way. 
 When a certain tender look and smile, very winning 
 in one whose features were naturally severe, came 
 into his face, the pleasure it gave her was marred by 
 the reflection, How would he look if he knew wjift 
 I am ? It is true that he believed her to be a woman 
 whose moral character was currently supposed to 
 be less immaculate than a good many aliases would 
 render that of Beatrix Randolph ; none the less she 
 felt, when in his presence, that her one actual ein was 
 more burdensome that all the vicarious naughtiness 
 of the unknown Russian. She told herself that 
 Geoffrey had perhaps made up his mind to condone 
 Marana's delinquencies, taking into account her 
 foreign training, her temptations, and the loose 
 standard of morals that prevailed in Europe ; but 
 that he never would forgive Beatrix for having 
 deliberately misled him, she, an American girl,
 
 170 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 brought up amid all the enlightenment and fastidious 
 rectitude of the great Republic. This was the 
 crumpled leaf in her bed of roses, and it chafed her 
 relentlessly. 
 
 But persons whose perception of their value 
 social, artistic, or other is on the way to beguile 
 them into making a golden calf of themselves in the 
 wilderness, may have reason to be grateful for the 
 implicit criticism of some severe-eyed young law- 
 giver, whose exhortations are none the less effective 
 because they happen to be the utterance of the silent 
 voice of character.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 HOW SHE WAS BETRAYED AND SLANDERED. 
 
 /~\NE forenoon, as Wallie Dinsuiore was seated in 
 ^-^ his study, with his slippered feet pointed toward 
 the fireplace, the newspaper across his knees, and the 
 African lemur munching a lump of sugar on his 
 shoulder, he heard the door-bell ring. He rubbed 
 his forehead between his eyes, and uncrossed and 
 recrossed his extended legs, by way of arousing 
 himself, for his serenity during the last half-hour 
 had been gradually verging toward the soporific 
 stage. A few moments afterward there was a knock 
 at the study -door, and Wallie, resting his chin on 
 the apex of a triangle made by his elbows and joined 
 hands, said, " Come in ! " 
 
 The visitor entered, and coming up to Wallie's 
 chair, took the paw of the lemur in his hand and 
 
 .shook it. The lemur chattered, and Wallie looked 
 
 >- 
 up. 
 
 " Hullo, Geoffrey," he said, " I was just thinking 
 about a cottage at Newport. Sit down and let me 
 tell you my idea. Have a cigarette, or a cigar? "
 
 172 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 " Have you any smoking-tobacco ? " returned 
 Geoffrey, taking a pipe from his pocket. 
 
 " I guess you'll find some Cavendish in the jar. 
 You know where the matches are," 
 
 Geoffrey supplied himself, and then drew a chair 
 to the other -side of the fireplace and smoked for 
 several minutes in silence. At length he said, 
 " Were you at the opera last night ? " 
 
 "No ; what was k^" 
 
 " 'Semiramide.'" 
 
 "Good?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Your theatre seems to suit her," Wallie remarked. 
 "By the way, there irmit js a column about last 
 night in the paper. Yes ; 'hers it is. ' No such 
 rendering cf the : : .3 of this part has ever' and 
 so '4- success.'" 
 
 ' ae can sing," replied 
 
 Wallirs v ' , ness that was his only form 
 
 ofemp: zzlesme!" 
 
 " If she's been through the wars, where are her 
 scars ? She looks fresh as a lily and sweet as new- 
 mown hay. Where's the cloven foot? " 
 
 "Tliereis none," said Geoffrey with a laconic 
 conviction. 
 
 " So I'm inclined to think ; and so I'm puzzled."
 
 BETRAYED AND SLANDERED. 173 
 
 " There will be stories about any woman," rejoined 
 Geoffrey ; " mostly lies." 
 
 " But some of the European stories about Mile. 
 Marana well, they would lead one to suppose that 
 she had changed her nature, and everything else 
 except her name, when she landed in this country." 
 
 " Well, since her name is the only thing she could 
 change, it follows . . . And our opinion should 
 be formed on what we see and know, not on hear- 
 say." 
 
 " You are only quoting what I said to you when 
 you didn't want to come to the dinner," said Wallie, 
 with a chuckle. " To be sure, I hadn't seen her 
 then." 
 
 "I thought you had seen her abroad." 
 
 " Well I mean I hadn't seen her before in 
 Xcw York." 
 
 " There has been nothing against her since she 
 came ? " 
 
 " No ; on the contrary, I think she has had the 
 opportunity of refusing several eligible offers ; and 
 she has done so, for all the world like a true Ameri- 
 can girl." 
 
 " Who were the men ? " 
 
 " That would be telling. Why do you ask ? " 
 
 As Geoffrey made no reply, but smoked with a 
 good deal of sternness, AVallie continued after a while, 
 " I suppose your wisdom-teeth are cut, young man ? "
 
 174 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 " She's a lady, and I wish her treated as such, 
 that's all ! " said Geoffrey. " What were you saying 
 about a cottage at Newport ? " 
 
 Before this topic could be gone into, the friends 
 were interrupted by the entrance of another caller 
 Mr. Alexander Randolph. 
 
 "Who the devil is he?" demanded Geoffrey, 
 knocking out his pipe. 
 
 " Never met him till this autumn. He won't hurt 
 you. Sit still." 
 
 "Ah good morning, Mr. Dinsmore," said Ran- 
 dolph, entering in state, with his gray eyebrows and 
 imperial ; " I can remain but a moment." Here he 
 caught sight of Bellingham. "Am I in the way?" 
 
 " In the way of making the acquaintance of Mr. 
 Belliugham Mr. Randolph," said Wallie. " Sit 
 down, gentlemen. Have a cigar, Mr. Randolph?" 
 
 " I thank you never before luncheon. To come 
 to the point at once I am of a committee of gentle- 
 men to extend a complimentary breakfast to General 
 Inigo, on the fourteenth of this month. Can we 
 count upon your attendance ? " 
 
 " The fourteenth? Let me see," said Wallie, open- 
 ing a drawer in his desk and taking out a memoran- 
 dum-book. "Yes, there seems to be nothing on that 
 day. Much obliged to you and the committee, Mr. 
 Randolph." 
 
 " The hour is one o'clock," said Randolph.
 
 BETEAYED AND SLANDERED. 175 
 
 " General Inigo deserves a breakfast," Wallie re- 
 marked. " He deserves three meals a day. He has 
 catered very well for us." 
 
 "That seems to be the general impression," said 
 Randolph, giving a twist to his eyebrow. 
 
 " We were just discussing the prima donna, " 
 Wallie continued. "You know her, of course, Mr. 
 Randolph?" 
 
 "I ah I have that is, slightly. I have 
 heard her sing ; I may have met her socially ; one 
 meets so many people, it is difficult to say." 
 
 He colored while he spoke, and seemed a good 
 deal confused. 
 
 " She's a very pretty woman, and seems to be as 
 virtuous as she is pretty, strange to say," the other 
 went on. " There's a discrepancy between her con- 
 duct and her history." 
 
 Mr. Randolph colored still more. 
 
 "I I'm an old-fashioned man, sir," he said, 
 whisking a silk handkerchief out of his coat-tail 
 pocket and passing it^ever his forehead. "In my 
 day we we took the virtue of a lady for granted ; 
 and I must say I of course, I have no right to be 
 the champion of this lady, sir, but " 
 
 He stopped, and Bellinghain said, " Any man 
 has a right to respect a woman he believes honest, 
 and to make others do so in his presence. If that's 
 old-fashioned, Mr. Randolph, count me in ! "
 
 176 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," returned the other. 
 
 He rose and put back his handkerchief in his 
 pocket. 
 
 "I must take leave of you, Mr. Dinsmore," he 
 added. "A man like myself has a great many 
 affairs on hand. We shall look for you on the four- 
 teenth, then. Good-morning ; good-morning, Mr. 
 ah Bellingham." 
 
 " I am more puzzled than ever," said Wallie, 
 when Randolph was gone. 
 
 "What now?" 
 
 " In the first place, he couldn't quite make up 
 his mind whether he'd met her or not ; then he got 
 flurried because I suggested there had been stories 
 about her ; and, finally, he took to flight rather than 
 discuss her any more. Now, if he doesn't know 
 her, why should he flare up so about her? and if he 
 does know her, why does he pretend he doesn't?" 
 
 "He's an old-fashioned " began Geoffrey. 
 
 " That's gammon," interrupted Wallie, " and you 
 know it ! The fall of man is ah older fashion 
 than Mr. Randolph. Did any sane man, young or 
 old, ever get into a state of mind because the cor- 
 rectness of an opera-singer he didn't know was called 
 in question ? I can't make it out unless he means 
 to marry her ! " 
 
 This speculation was received by Geoffrey in dead 
 silence, and for a considerable time neither of the
 
 BETRAYED AND SLANDERED. 177 
 
 men said anything. At last the question' of the 
 cottage at Newport was brought up once more, and 
 canvassed until they parted. 
 
 Bellingham walked slowly toward Madison square, 
 with Mr. Randolph (among other things) on his 
 mind. Still meditating, he turned up Fifth avenue, 
 and before long found himself opposite Mile. Ma- 
 rana's hotel. It occurred to him that he had never 
 yet called on her in her own apartments, and he re- 
 solved to repair that neglect. Accordingly he went 
 to the office and inquired if she were in. The clerk 
 glanced at the key-board, and said "Yes" abstract- 
 edly. Bellingham got into the elevator, and went 
 up. 
 
 The passage-way, after the bright sunlight of the 
 street, seemed rather dark. Not knowing which way 
 the numbers ran, he remained for a moment where the 
 elevator left him. Just then a door was opened on 
 the right, a gentleman came out, and advanced 
 along the passage toward him. When about ten 
 paces distant, -he stopped, turned back, and departed 
 hastily in the opposite direction. But Bellingham 
 had recognized him ; it was Mr. Randolph. 
 
 The incident made little impression on him, how- 
 ever. He turned to the leff , looking for the number, 
 but finding he was going the wrong way, he retraced 
 his steps, and presently found himself standing be- 
 fore the door from which Mr. Randolph had just
 
 178 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 issued. It bore Mile. Marana's number. He 
 knocked, and Madame Bemax opened to him. On 
 his inquiring whether the prima donna were en- 
 gaged, the lady said she would see. So he walked 
 in, and stood by the window, and in a few minutes 
 Mile. Marana appeared. She greeted him with such 
 evidently spontaneous pleasure that any slight mis- 
 giving he may have felt was immediately dissipated. 
 
 "I began to think you were never going to come," 
 she said. 
 
 "I'm so much out of the way of making calls, 
 that I'm surprised to find myself here. You have a 
 great many callers ? " 
 
 " Well, a good many come, but I see very few 
 only old friends. And, of course," she added, " as 
 I was never in New York before, that is the same as 
 saying I see hardly any one." 
 
 "I met a man lately who knows you, I think, 
 Mr. Randolph." 
 
 " Mr. Randolph ? " she pronounced the name in a 
 v changed tone, and blushed. 
 
 "Alexander Randolph," he repeated, looking at 
 her. 
 
 She dropped her eyes. "I believe I have 
 heard his name," she said. 
 
 Bellingham said no more, he felt dismayed and 
 bewildered. Undoubtedly there was some un- 
 pleasant mystery about this fellow Randolph. " Heard
 
 BETRAYED AND SLANDERED. 179 
 
 his name," indeed ! Had not the man been in her 
 company five minutes ago ? 
 
 " I saw you at the opera last night," remarked the 
 prima donna, recovering herself. Bellingham merely 
 nodded. " Were you disappointed?" she asked, fal- 
 teringly. 
 
 " No, I was like the rest of the audience," he re- 
 plied in a dry tone. 
 
 "You are not like the rest of the audience to me," 
 she said. "Ever since the first night. I have sung 
 to you. I wouldn't tell you, only I thought you 
 knew it ! " 
 
 "I know nothing about you," returned Belling- 
 ham, roughly. 
 
 " You speak as if you didn't care to know any- 
 thing," she said, holding up her head. 
 
 Bellingham controlled his rising temper. . A 
 weaker man would have protected himself by irony 
 or sarcasm, but he said exactly what he thought. 
 " I care more about what concerns you," he said, 
 "than about anything else. But I will not look 
 away when I am being deceived. You and this 
 Randolph are both pretending to be strangers to each 
 other. I saw him come out of this room just before 
 I came into it. Do you deny that he was here ? " 
 
 " He was here," answered she, turning pale. 
 
 " There is only one other question : are you going 
 to many him ? "
 
 180 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 This was so unexpected that she laughed. It was 
 a nervous, almost hysterical laugh, it is true ; but 
 Bellingham naturally did not understand it. "I am 
 not going to marry Mr. Randolph," said the prima 
 donna, with a heart-broken sense of humor. 
 
 "And you will not tell me what your relations 
 are with him?" 
 
 " No ; they are very peculiar relations," she re- 
 plied lightly,- for she was getting desperate. "You 
 must think what j^ou please, think the worst you 
 can, it makes no difference. I will tell you 
 nothing ! " 
 
 Bellingham gazed at her fixedly. "I cannot 
 believe that you are a wicked woman," he ex- 
 claimed at length. "I don't know how to believe 
 it ! Why did you deceive me ? I was ready to 
 take it for granted that you were like other 
 women on the stage. But you made me believe 
 you were pure and innocent. No woman ever acted 
 innocence before as you have done it. You look 
 like innocence incarnate at this moment at the 
 actual moment you are admitting. . . . TVhat 
 is it you want? I would have asked you to marry 
 me as soon as I had persuaded myself you loved 
 me. I loved you with all my heart and soul. Did 
 you merely intend to lead me on, and then refuse 
 me, like a common flirt? Or would you have mar- 
 ried me, and still kept up your relations with
 
 BETRAYED AND SLANDERED. 181 
 
 well, I can't talk about it ! There is always some 
 motive even in the lightest wickedness ; but I can 
 see none in yours and yours is not light ! " 
 
 Mile. Marana was standing erect, twisting her 
 lace handkerchief between her hands, her face pale, 
 her eyes wide open, tearless, full of restless light. 
 She never looked at him ; it seemed physically im- 
 possible for her to do so. 
 
 "I have never been spoken to like this," she said, 
 in a faint, panting voice ; "will you leave me, please ? 
 will you leave me ? " 
 
 Bcllingham moved to depart ; but he stopped, and 
 turned back. 
 
 " I have always meant never to be unjust to any 
 human being," said he. "It is possible that the 
 very love I felt for you may have made me unjust 
 to you. If you can tell me that there is nothing 
 disgraceful in this secret of yours tell me, for 
 God's sake ! Are you what you seem, or something 
 else?" 
 
 " I am not what I seem ! " she cried out passion- 
 ately ; and now she looked at him with a blaze of 
 fierceness in her eyes. "You have doubted me, and 
 that is enough ; I will never explain I will never, 
 forgive you ! If you are a man, do not stand there ; 
 go out ! " 
 
 Bellingham was shaken to the bottom of his soul. 
 The voice and manner with which her every word
 
 182 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 was uttered seemed lo contradict the purport of the 
 words themselves. Even yet he could not but be- 
 lieve her innocent. But there was nothing further 
 for him to do or say. He went out. 
 
 He descended the stairs slowly and emerged into 
 the street. It was the middle of the day ; the avenue 
 was comparatively deserted. A few carriages were 
 taking their occupants home to luncheon. Belling- 
 ham stood on the curbstone, looking up and do\vn, 
 and vaguely wondering, what he should do next. 
 By and by it struck him that it would not make 
 much difference which way he went. In 110 place 
 in the world could he find what he had lost. It was 
 nowhere ; it had been annihilated. All that had 
 made life delightful was gone from him, and he was 
 left ironically behind. He had never really, possessed 
 it, even; it was a mirage a phantom, which he 
 had tried to grasp, and it had vanished. But the 
 strangest part of the business almost ludicrous 
 was, that he remained behind, standing here, alive 
 and well, in the sunshine on Fifth avenue ! 
 
 He sauntered leisurely northward, toward the 
 Park. Two or three times he passed some one he 
 knew, and returned their greeting with a nod. But 
 all the while he saw that lithe, erect figure, with her 
 palej lovely face, her eyes bright with pain or an- 
 ger, her white hands twisting her handkerchief. 
 Could it be that she was depraved, false, heartless?
 
 BETRAYED AND SLANDERED. 183 
 
 Every stern word he had spoken had been echoed, 
 as it were, by the exquisite sensitiveness of her 
 beauty. If she were false, would she not have been 
 true at that last moment, when nothing more was 
 to be gained by deception, when to be sincere was 
 essential to the enjoyment of the triumph her false- 
 hood had gained her? 
 
 He reached the Park ; there was still a vivid 
 greenness in the grass, though the trees were rich 
 with the splendor of autumn. He wandered along 
 the curving paths, feeling no pleasure, but pain, in 
 the quiet beauty that surrounded him. Keeping to 
 the left, where there seemed to be fewer saunterers 
 like himself, he found himself at last near the ex- 
 treme northern limit. He ascended a little hill, and 
 on its summit, beneath the golden shade of a group 
 of trees, there was a space of leaf-strewn turf, 
 on which he 4flung himself down. The rumble of 
 the horse-cars on the avenue came faintly to his 
 ears, and now and then the voices or laughter of 
 people passing at a distance ; the shadow of passing 
 clouds drifted over him, and ever and anon a golden 
 leaf detached itself from a bough above his head, 
 and floated wavering earthward. But no one dis- 
 turbed him, though he lay there all the after- 
 noon, sometimes with his face buried on his arms, 
 sometimes supporting his head upon his hand. He 
 wondered what she had been doing since they
 
 184 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 parted. Had she been laughing over his discom- 
 fiture, and planning fresh enterprises? It was not 
 possible ! 
 
 The sun went down, and the shadows of ^wilight 
 rose. Bellinghara looked toward the east, and saw 
 the disk of the moon mount above the horizon, 
 until the whole round sphere swung aloft, orange 
 against the violet background. The evening was 
 mild and still, but the lethargy which had fallen 
 upon Bellingham began to be dispelled ; he became 
 restless and anxious. He could no longer stay where 
 he was ; he descended the little hill, crossed over to 
 the avenue, and, still going north-westward, came to 
 the bank of the Hudson. The bank was high and 
 steep ; he clambered down it, and found the remains 
 of a decayed wooden pier, jutting out into the 
 water. Upon the end of this he sat down, and the 
 silent current swept and eddied past his feet. The 
 sound F a clock striking somewhere caught his ear. 
 This was the hour for her to arrive at the theatre. 
 A little while longer and she would be upon the 
 stage. Would she look toward his seat, expecting 
 to see him there? No, she would never expect him 
 again ! Would she miss him ? 
 
 More than another hour passed away, and BeL- 
 lingham sat so still that one might have fancied he 
 was asleep. But he was not asleep, he was think- 
 ing ; and now his thoughts were becoming clearer
 
 BETRAYED AND SLANDERED. 185 
 
 
 
 and more consecutive than they had heretofore 
 been. The moon had now soared high aloft, and 
 stood silvery bright above the sliding reaches of 
 the river. 
 
 All at once Bellingham sprang to his feet. He 
 pulled out his watch ; there was yet time. He 
 began hurriedly to climb the bank. 
 
 It had been borne in upon him, he knew not how, 
 with a sudden, overwhelming conviction, that she 
 was not guilty, but pure and true ; that the mystery 
 was an innocent one ; that all would be well, if he 
 could but see her and speak to her. It was possible 
 for him to reach the theatre before she left it, but he 
 must use diligence. He was somewhat faint from 
 lack of nourishment during the day, but he ran on 
 until he came to a station of the elevated railway. 
 He entered a train, and was off. His heart was 
 light and hopeful. 
 
 The train halted at a station near the: rear of 
 the theatre. As he got out, he saw that the per- 
 formance was over, and the audience had dis- 
 persed. But she would not have left yet. No ; 
 there was her carriage waiting for her at the stage- 
 door. 
 
 He ran down the iron staircase, but, as he reached 
 the bottom, he stopped. Mile. Marana came out of 
 the stage-door, leaning upon the arm of a man, 
 of Mr. Randolph. Mrs. Bemax followed, but
 
 186 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 entered the carriage first. Randolph appeared to 
 exchange a few words with the prima donna; 
 then she turned and put her foot on the carriage 
 step. 
 
 But, as if swayed by a sudden and incontrollable 
 impulse, she turned again, and threw her arms about 
 Randolph's neck, and kissed him again and again. 
 Bellingham saw this, and then he faced about, and 
 mounted the iron stairs once more, while a mocking 
 voice in his heart seemed to ask, " Are you satisfied 
 now?"
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WHAT CONSEQUENCES ENSUED. 
 
 A DAY or two afterward, the architect of the new 
 -*-*- opera-house, discovering that nothing in the 
 way of business required his immediate attention in 
 New York, came to the conclusion that he would do 
 well to go away from it for a while. Since he be- 
 gan to practise his profession he had never had a 
 deliberate vacation. But a man who had just de- 
 signed and built a new opera-house, the best in the 
 world, could afford to take a rest, even were there 
 no other ground for doing so. Bellingham, at all 
 events, packed his trunk and took passage on the 
 "Arizona," bound for the Old World. 
 
 His departure was unexpected, and was known to 
 but few, until after it had taken place. He had no 
 idea (as he told Wallie Dinsmorc) how long he 
 should be absent. He did not inform his friend 
 though the reader, from whom no secrets have been 
 hidden, already knows it as to the true cause of 
 his going ; but Wallie, who was naturally observant 
 and endowed with much sagacity, may have partly
 
 188 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 divined it. Bellingham felt certain that his return 
 to New York would not happen while Mile. Marana 
 remained in that city. If her engagement were 
 prolonged, so would his travels be. Were she to 
 become a chronic New York institution he would 
 ultimately set up his head-quarters elsewhere. This 
 determination was not the result of ordinary weak- 
 ness, for Bellingham would have suffered pain for a 
 good end ; but no good end could be served by being 
 brought in contact with a woman possessed of a 
 unique power to make him miserable. It is not 
 ordinarily difficult to distinguish between good and 
 evil ; but it was not easy for Bellingham to reconcile 
 the character which his own eyes and ears assured 
 him Mile. Marana bore with the pure and exquisite 
 womanhood which, nevertheless, appeared to be hers. 
 He felt, moreover, that it would be dangerous for 
 him to meditate too much on this grievous anomaly ; 
 to do so might result in bringing about a sinister 
 revolution in his own character. The moral behavior 
 of the best of mankind is much more liable to dis- 
 turbance than is the moral conviction of even very 
 indifferent persons. A murderer may (and doubtless 
 has ere now) preached a moving sermon against the 
 degradation of homicide ; and Bellingham, if too 
 sorely tempted, might have ended by accepting as 
 good for himself what was hostile both to God and 
 to human society. This admission may lower him
 
 WHAT CONSEQUENCES ENSUED. 189 
 
 in the eyes of some people. But Bellingham did 
 not belong to their category. 
 
 So he crossed the ocean, and, instead of occupying 
 himself, as he should have done, with investigating 
 the monuments of architecture of ancient and mediaeval 
 times, or in conversing with Mr. Ruskin and Norman 
 Shaw, he stepped aside from familiar thoroughfares 
 and made a number of little pedestrian journeys to 
 places which nobody ever heard of. His associates, 
 when he had any, were the people of roadsides and 
 village inns, who knew him not, and whose names 
 no one will ever know. The American exodus was 
 over for the season, and his acquaintance with two 
 or three of the Continental languages enabled him to 
 pass without remark among the nations who spoke 
 them. We need not concern ourselves about the 
 particulars of his itinerary, which will probably never 
 be followed by any other traveller. It is enough to 
 say that, as the winter advanced, instead of taking 
 refuge in Naples, Algiers, or Egypt, he recollected 
 a certain week spent ashore during his seafaring days, 
 sixteen or seventeen years ago, and betook himself 
 to an ancient, abandoned, lovely little town on the 
 southern coast of Ireland. 
 
 It was one of the loveliest, least known, and 
 most secluded retreats in Europe. The gray and 
 ruinous houses were overgrown with soft green moss, 
 the steep and narrow streets were made beautiful
 
 190 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 with tender rims of grass. The warm breezes brought 
 hither by the Gulf Stream gave to December and 
 January the gentle geniality of an English spring. 
 The sparse inhabitants were a far-descended race of 
 fishermen, still bearing in their dark complexions 
 and vigorous forms the traces of their handsome 
 Spanish ancestry. Beneath the windows of the 
 ancient town the blue expanse of a landlocked bay 
 gave back the changing hues of sky and cloud ; and 
 without, the hectoring surges of the great Atlantic 
 dashed themselves against the tall black cliffs of the 
 lofty coast. Through the clear softness of the at- 
 mosphere common objects seemed to be endowed with 
 a subdued richness of color unknown elsewhere. 
 The blue jacket of the fisherman, steering his boat in 
 the bay, glowed like an amethyst ; the age-darkened 
 crimson of an old woman's petticoat looked like a 
 ruby in the sunshine. The forms of many of the 
 houses were quaint and strange with mullioned 
 windows projecting from their fronts, and dark 
 archways opening into inner courts. On the op- 
 posite side of the bay, fronting the gray amphitheatre 
 of the town, stood the ruins of an antique castle ; 
 but, from its moss-covered battlements, from which 
 of old cross-bowmen shot their bolts, and the sheen 
 of mediaeval shield and helmet glanced in the sun, 
 from these historic walls might still be heard, 
 morning and evening, the martial call and rever-
 
 WHAT CONSEQUENCES ENSUED. 191 
 
 beration of trumpet and drum. At such a distance, 
 and subdued by such surroundings, the sound of 
 these warlike instruments seemed rather to be the 
 ghostly realization of the spectator's fancy than the 
 veritable reveille and tattoo of modern soldiers. 
 One half expected to see march forth a train of 
 knights in coats-of-mail, instead of a brisk squad 
 of red-coated British regulars. Nevertheless, the 
 Queen of England had established a detachment of 
 her defenders here, presumably to keep the fish in 
 order, and to see that the pigs and hens paid their 
 taxes. But, however abstractly incongruous, these 
 nineteenth-century warriors were practically harm- 
 less and picturesque. The magic of their environ- 
 ment overpowered them. 
 
 At the inn, in addition to a most engaging land- 
 lady with a couple of extremely pretty daughters, 
 Bellingham encountered, to his agreeable surprise, 
 an American artist, Helwise by name, whom he had 
 known years ago in New York. This lonely man 
 of genius was, it appeared, in the habit of spending 
 the winter months here, transferring to canvas the 
 matchless wealth of color and character which met 
 him at every turn. He was of a grave, kindly, 
 meditative nature, but brimming over, in certain 
 moods, with wit and philosophy, and the fruits of 
 years of penetrating and amused observation of human 
 character and life. Bellingham and he suited each
 
 192 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 other well, and were soon conversing with the 
 frankness and cordiality of a friendship long in 
 abeyance but never forgotten. Bellingham inquired 
 whether there were any other countrymen of theirs 
 in the town. 
 
 " It is like the region Irving tells of in ' The 
 Adalantado of the Seven Cities,' " Helwise replied ; 
 M it has been lost for ages, and nobody knows where 
 it is except myself. That is, such was the case 
 until about three weeks ago. But, last month, two 
 mysterious strangers made their appearance, and 
 have betrayed some symptoms of intending to stay. 
 I should have had them expelled (for I consider this 
 place to be my peculiar and inalienable property) 
 had I not found them entertaining as a study, and 
 admirably disposed to keep themselves to themselves. 
 I have never spoken to the lady at all." 
 " Oh ! Husband and wife are they ? " 
 " Apparently, that is just what they are not. No ; 
 I don't mean to insinuate and I don't believe 
 that they ought to be. I should suppose they might 
 be brother and sister, only they are of different 
 nationalities. The man is evidently an American, 
 and the lady, though she speaks English perfectly 
 well, evidently is not. She is probably four or five 
 years older than he, and has a certain air of experi- 
 ence. She is decidedly handsome, and has what they 
 call distinguished manners ; that is, she makes you
 
 WHAT CONSEQUENCES ENSUED. 193 
 
 perceive that they are manners, though very good 
 ones. She had rented that large house on the top 
 of the hill." 
 
 "She, or they?". 
 
 " She. He has his room here, and turns up 
 every night at ten o'clock. They spend the day 
 together ; he is undoubtedly in love with her, and 
 she seems to be anything but indifferent to him. 
 You see, it isn't an ordinary affair. Here they are, 
 buried from the world beyond discovery, and they 
 might live as they liked ; and yet they or she at 
 any rate prefer to conduct themselves in this 
 anomalous fashion. There is some mystery in it, 
 my dear Geoffrey, some deep, dark, inscrutable 
 mystery ! They are known respectively as Mr. 
 Edwardes and Mrs. Peters, but I have an idea they 
 call each other something else. One theory of mine 
 about them was, that she was a younger sister of 
 his mother ; his father, you know, might have 
 married a foreign woman. In that case, she would 
 be his aunt, and the mystery would be solved ; 
 but, as I said before, they are plainly in love, and 
 nephews and aunts neither fall in love nor marry, 
 so far as my experience goes. Come, you are fresh 
 from the States ; can you guess ? " 
 
 "I guess not," said Bcllingham ; and the conver- 
 sation took another turn. 
 
 That afternoon the friends walked out together,
 
 194 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 and Helwise exhibited to his companion, with a 
 humorous pride of proprietorship, the innumerable 
 points of beauty in the town and neighborhood. 
 As they clambered up and down the craggy streets 
 the artist kept exchanging playful and good-hu- 
 mored greetings with the peasant inhabitants ; for 
 he knew them all, and had bought their old hats and 
 shawls and petticoats and household goods, partly 
 and ostensibly as properties for his pictures, and 
 partly and largely as disguised charity to their 
 owners ; and he was loved and honored by them 
 all. At length they emerged on a sort of terrace, 
 a level breadth of turf a couple of acres in extent, 
 with an antique stone balustrade along the front, 
 and overshadowed by a double belt of venerable 
 elms. They seated themselves on the balustrade, 
 and looked out across the enchanting panorama of 
 town and bay, and the castle and the bare hills be- 
 yond. A mellow sunshine streamed across the 
 grass, and the air was as mild as May. A fishing- 
 smack was rounding the headland from the offing, 
 and a little knot of fishermen were watching its ap- 
 proach from the wharf. 
 
 Suddenly Helwise, who had been looking toward 
 the southern approach to the terrace, said in a low 
 voice, " There come the mysteries. Now you can 
 judge for yourself." 
 
 Bellingham turned his eyes in the direction iiidi-
 
 WHAT CONSEQUENCES ENSUED. 195 
 
 cated, and saw a man and woman approaching 
 slowly, side by side. They seemed to be conversing 
 intermittently, and, as they walked, her shoulder 
 occasionally brushed his arm, and their glances con- 
 stantly met. The man seemed to be under twenty- 
 five years of age ; he was tall and of active and of 
 rather slender build, and as he approached, Belling- 
 ham noticed that his features were of a bold and 
 striking cast, with bright and somewhat intolerant 
 eyes. His expression, at the present moment, was 
 troubled and gloomy ; he frequently looked on the 
 ground and struck the pebbles from his path with a 
 stick. He would speak a few sentences at a time, 
 energetically and rapidly ; then relapse into a moody 
 silence, responding by a shake of the head or other 
 brief gesture to the discourse of his companion. 
 The latter was a woman whose aspect (if the distinc- 
 tion be permissible) was younger than her looks. 
 Her face and figure were youthful, but her bearing 
 and gestures were mature. Her features were of a 
 clear paleness, regular in outline, and of remarkable 
 beauty. Something in her aspect enchained Bel- 
 lingham's regard ; she did not resemble any woman 
 he had seen, and yet she reminded him, in some 
 intangible, elusive way, of a woman whom he wished 
 to forget. She was different, different at every 
 point ; and yet, if he turned away and glanced at 
 her from the corner of his eye, there was an inde-
 
 196 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 scribable likeness. Was it the way she had of slowly 
 lifting her chin ? Was it the slope of her shoulders ? 
 Was it in the way the soft hair grew on the nape of 
 her white neck? Was it in the smile that lighted 
 her eyes before it touched her lips ? It was all of 
 these things it was none of them ! After a min- 
 ute, Bellingham forcibly dismissed the question from 
 his mind. Of what earthly consequence was it? 
 Here were a good-looking woman and an enamored 
 young man, a common sight enough. They 
 seemed to be in love with each other, as Helwise 
 had said ; but, while the gentleman had evidently 
 lost his head, the lady was entirely self-possessed. 
 She appeared to be amused, superficially, at some 
 extravagance or perversity in her companion, but 
 there was an underlying sadness or anxiety percep- 
 tible when her face was at rest. She had the air of 
 trying to make him take some step, or comprehend 
 something, which he refused to do or understand. 
 As they passed, the young man glanced for a 
 moment toward Helwise, and nodded recognition. 
 The lady did not turn, nor evince consciousness of 
 the presence of any third party. They slowly trav- 
 ersed the length of the terrace, and disappeared 
 through the gateway at the farther end. 
 
 " She knows how to dress," remarked Bellingham. 
 
 " And how to walk," added Helwise. " She must 
 have learned that on the stage."
 
 WHAT CONSEQUENCES ENSUED. 197 
 
 "An actress, then, you think?" 
 
 "Yea; or an opera-singer, perhaps. Well, what 
 do you think is the matter ? " 
 
 "He hasn't money enough, maybe," said Belling- 
 
 i ham ; " or perhaps she likes him too well to marry 
 
 him. A woman like that knows that an ounce of 
 
 imagination is worth a pound of reality both to 
 
 her and to him ! " 
 
 " You have studied women since I knew you 
 last," remarked Helwise with a smile. 
 
 "If I have," replied Geoffrey, ".they have only 
 taught me to disbelieve the little I ever thought I 
 knew. Come, let us be moving." 
 
 That night Bellingham dreamt vividly of Mile. 
 Marana, and his dream awakened him before dawn, 
 in great distress of mind. He imagined that he was 
 walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, which, on this 
 occasion, extended from the roof of the opera-house 
 in New York to the parapet of the terrace where he 
 had sat with Helwise that afternoon. The bridge 
 was unfinished, and he was obliged to make the 
 transit on a series of precarious planks, irregularly 
 disposed. When midway across the Atlantic, whose 
 angry roar reached his ears from the immeasurable 
 depth beneath, he saw, walking before him, the 
 figure of a woman, in whom he at once recog- 
 nized Mile. Marana. He hastened to overtake her, 
 for she seemed in imminent danger of falling. Just
 
 198 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 as he was on the point of reaching her, however, 
 the plank on which he stood gave way, and at the 
 same moment she whom he had meant to save 
 tottered and fell. He closed his eyes for an instant ; 
 then he felt his arm seized by some one from behind, 
 and, looking round, he found himself standing on 
 the stage of the opera-house, with Marana herself 
 before him, in the costume of Marguerite, with a 
 bunch of daisies in her girdle. He heard the ap- 
 plause of the audience, like the roar of the sea, and 
 perceived that the performance was going forward, 
 and that he, instead of being properly attired, was 
 in his every-day dress. It came across his mind 
 also that the figure he had mistaken for Marana was 
 Mephistopheles, disguised to mislead him. He 
 looked at Marguerite; her face was deadly pale ; 
 she said below her breath, " You did not believe in 
 me ; do you know who " Her voice died away ; 
 the lights were suddenly extinguished, and in the 
 silence and darkness Bellingham awoke. 
 
 Too much disturbed to sleep again for the 
 dream, grotesquely extravagant though it was, had 
 seemed absolutely real to him he got up, lit a 
 pipe, and sat smoking at his window, watching the 
 dawn slowly illuminate the eastern sky. 
 
 He took an early breakfast and went for a solitary 
 walk along the coast, and, from the summit of a 
 lofty headland, saw a great ocean steamer pass west-
 
 WHAT CONSEQUENCES ENSUED. 199 
 
 ward through the gray sea. She was bound for 
 New York. As he watched her dimmish and vanish 
 in the distance, till only a faint plume of smoke re- 
 mained on the far horizon, for the first time since 
 his journey began he was conscious of an urgent 
 longing to return, to return at once. The un- 
 finished question in his dream kept ringing in his 
 ears ; it assumed a momentous importance ; he must 
 know what it meant. He laughed at his own 
 absurdity, but the longing remained. At last he 
 returned to the inn. 
 
 He found Helwise painting in the room he used 
 as a studio ; he was in his shirt-sleeves, slippers 
 down at the heel were on his feet, and he wore an 
 old straw hat to shade, his eyes from the light. He 
 was whistling softly to himself, and would turn his 
 head on one side after putting a touch on the canvas. 
 
 "Did you hear any noise last night?" he asked, 
 after they had chatted for a while. 
 
 " I had a bad dream. What was it ? " 
 
 " That young fellow who calls himself Edwardes. 
 His room is next to mine. He came in a little later 
 than usual last night, and by and by I fancied I 
 heard him crying. I was debating whether I ought 
 to go in and see what was the matter, when he 
 knocked at my door. He looked badly cut up ; I 
 made him sit down and gave him some whiskey and 
 a cigarette. He seems to be in a scrape."
 
 200 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 " Did he explain the mystery ? " 
 
 "Well, he talked somewhat. He fell in love 
 with this woman in Moscow. From what he said I 
 judge she is an actress, or a singer, as we were 
 saying yesterday. She is a public character of some 
 kind, and has had adventures before this. She took 
 a great fancy to him ; so he says, and I believe 
 him. But it seems to have been somewhat as you 
 suggested : she liked him too well to let him have 
 his way. She wouldn't risk a disillusionment ; 
 perhaps her heart had never been touched before. 
 She would not marry him, either; for that matter, 
 I suppose the one thing is about the same to her as 
 the other. But she did an odd thing, she offered 
 to suspend her career (whatever it is) and be with 
 him as long as he wished ; and she appears to have 
 given up some important pecuniary advantages to do 
 so. He accepted her offer, thinking no doubt that 
 she would capitulate in due time, in the meanwhile 
 taking care that she should lose nothing in the way 
 of money. He represented himself to her as inex- 
 haustibly wealthy, and she took him at his word. 
 But the fact is, after he had spent a hundred thou- 
 sand or so, and ruined his father and sister (as he 
 tells me), there was no more left. He Avas ashamed 
 to confess this to her, and it is only within the last 
 few days, when he had got down to his last fifty- 
 pound note, that she found it out."
 
 WHAT CONSEQUENCES ENSUED. 201 
 
 "And now she means to shake him, is that it?" 
 said Belli ngham. 
 
 " Well, apparently not. She seems to have plenty 
 of money herself, and she has made him a proposi- 
 tion which does her credit. She has proposed to 
 marry him and pay back the money that he has 
 spent on her. I have begun to fall in love with her 
 myself! And I may do it, if she'll have me; for 
 Mr. Edwardes' pride, as he calls it, would not allow 
 him to accept her proposal, and hence his misery, 
 which, at one time last night, assumed quite a 
 suicidal complexion ; but I remonstrated with him, 
 and he felt a little better this morning." 
 
 While they were sitting there, the door was 
 suddenly opened, and in came young Mr. Edwardes 
 himself, in a state of great excitement. He had a 
 newspaper in his hand. 
 
 " Did you know what was in this paper ? " 
 demanded he, striding up to Helwise. 
 
 " What one generally finds in a New York Sunday 
 paper, two weeks old," returned Helwise, tipping 
 back his hat, and looking up at him. " This is Mr. 
 Bellingham, Mr. Edwardes." 
 
 The latter looked at the architect, and seemed 
 to hesitate whether or not to proceed ; but the 
 emotion by which he was possessed was too much 
 for him ; he went on. " It says here," he ex- 
 claimed, holding the paper toward Helwise, with
 
 202 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 his finger on the paragraph," that here, read it 
 yourself ! " 
 
 Helwise took the paper and read : " Mile. Marana, 
 the great Russian prima donna, who has endeared 
 herself to all New Yorkers during the past season by 
 her charming behavior as well as by her unrivalled 
 musical powers, will next month bring to a close 
 the most successful engagement ever known in this 
 city. Mile. Marana has lately been in delicate 
 health. To those of thousands of her friends and 
 admirers, we add our own cordial hopes that she may 
 return to us next spring with renewed strength and 
 energy. Meanwhile we shall not look upon her 
 like again." 
 
 "Is that the paragraph you mean ?" asked Helwise, 
 looking up. " What's the trouble with it ? " 
 
 " Only that there's no such person as Mile. 
 Marana in New York, nor ever was, that's 
 all ! " cried out the young gentleman, in a violent 
 tone. 
 
 " You're mistaken, sir," put in Bellingham. " I'm 
 personally acquainted with Mile. Marana, and have 
 heard her sing in New York this season a score of 
 times." 
 
 "You heard an impostor, then!" returned the 
 other angrily. " I know what I'm talking about. 
 Good God ! don't I know who the Marana is ? " 
 
 "Keep your coat on, young man," said Helwise,
 
 WHAT CONSEQUENCES ENSUED. 203 
 
 with a quiet laugh. "Possibly you are mistaken, 
 instead of Mr. Bellingham." 
 
 " "Well, I beg your pardon, gentlemen," said 
 Edwardes, putting a restraint on himself, and speak- 
 ing in an agitated voice. "If you only knew, you 
 would pardon me. But look here, sir, Mr. Bell- 
 ingham, I'll tell you. I met Mile. Marana in 
 Moscow last summer ; she well, the truth is, she's 
 the lady who is here with me now. She had an 
 engagement with a fellow named Inigo to sing this 
 season in New York, for four thousand dollars a 
 night, and she gave it up because I asked her. I 
 guess there isn't more than one Marana in this world ! 
 There's only one woman alive who could sing any- 
 where near her, and that's my own sister, whom I 
 ruined and disgraced, by George ! " Here, in spite 
 of his struggles to prevent them, tears forced them- 
 selves into the young gentleman's eyes, and he sat 
 down and hid his face in his hands. " And now, to 
 think," he cried out, starting up again and walking 
 to and fro in the room, " to think, after all she's 
 done for me, that scoundrel Inigo should trump up 
 an impostor to take her place ! By George, I'll 
 bring him to book, if I live another fortnight ! " 
 
 "You are making a singular accusation, Mr. 
 Edwardes," said Bellingham, sternly. " Will you 
 vouch for its accuracy?" 
 
 "Yes, I will vouch for it, Mr. Bellingham," re-
 
 204 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 turned the other, facing him ; " and my name is not 
 Edwardes. I've had enough of this humbug. 
 There's my card, sir." 
 
 Bellingham took the card. "Edward Randolph," 
 he read, and paused. He looked at the young man 
 curiously. 
 
 " May I ask your father's name ? " he said at 
 length. 
 
 " Alexander Randolph," Edward replied. 
 
 " A tall man, about fifty-five, with gray mustache 
 and imperial?" 
 
 " That's the man ! Do you know him ? " 
 
 "I have met him. You had better go home and 
 look after him," said 'Bellingham, gravely, "and get 
 your Mile. Maranato go with you." 
 
 Bellingham left for Liverpool the same evening, 
 and took passage for New York two 'days later. 
 Edward Randolph and Mile. Marana sailed the same 
 day on another steamer ; and they all arrived at 
 their destination within ten days afterward.
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO HER IN THE MEANWHILE. 
 
 TTAMILTOX JOCELYN was an intelligent 
 man, who could put two and two together. 
 He had observed with anxiety the progress of the 
 acquaintance between Bellingham and the prima 
 donna and was casting about in his mind how to 
 put a stop to it, when Bellingham suddenly dis- 
 appeared. He would have inferred that he must 
 have proposed to mademoiselle and been refused, 
 had not the latter's aspect plainly showed that she 
 was suffering quite as much as Bellingham could 
 be supposed to be. Jocelyn's acuteness was not 
 of a fine enough order to enable him to hit upon 
 the real explanation. But the fact that appre- 
 hension on that score was removed was patent 
 enough, and contented him for the present. The 
 episode also admonished him that it was full time he 
 himself took a leading and a winning hand in the 
 game. 
 
 It cannot be affirmed that he had laid any definite 
 scheme for the capture of the young diva ; such a 
 thing is hardly practicable in the conditions of
 
 206 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 modern society ; too many incalculable elements are 
 involved. But he had taken pains to arm himself 
 with all the advantages at his command. In the first 
 place he had placed her under an apparent debt of 
 gratitude. It was he who had revealed her exist- 
 ence to Inigo, and brought about her engagement. 
 It was he who had smoothed the way for her, at- 
 tended to the details of her establishment and con- 
 stituted himself her honorary business agent. That 
 he was also an honorable agent it was not open to 
 her to doubt ; his proceedings must have appeared to 
 her in the light of disinterested zeal ; and she must 
 have been strengthened in this view by the consid- 
 eration that her refusal of his offer of marriage 
 might, with some men, have led to very different 
 behavior. He was returning her good for evil, and 
 she owed him more than she could ever repay. 
 
 This was not all ; he stood to her somewhat in 
 the place of a defender and a refuge. Her father 
 being placed hors de combat by the conditions of 
 her operatic existence, it was Jocelyn who acted as 
 the medium between her and the world ; who ex- 
 plained to her the perils she was to encounter, and 
 supplied her with advice and encouragement as to 
 her conduct. He led her on to refer to him in all 
 difficulties and dilemmas ; to look at him as her lay 
 confessor ; to confide unreservedly in his discretion 
 and affection. Given this situation, and taking into
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO HER. 207 
 
 consideration, moreover, those personal fascinations 
 which Mr. Jocelyn could not but be aware that he 
 possessed, it will be seen that he was not without 
 grounds for anticipating a favorable issue. Fortune, 
 too, seemed inclined to take up Jocelyn's cause, if 
 there be truth in the proverb that many a heart is 
 caught in the rebound. The diva's disastrous part- 
 ing with Bellingham had paralyzed, so to say, the 
 nicety of her discrimination ; one man was much the 
 same to her as another, since none of them could 
 give her what she had lost. Besides, the strong stimu- 
 lus of a true love, being suddenly withdrawn, leaves a 
 craving the pain of which one strives instinctively to 
 assuage by means of the first anodyne that comes to 
 hand. For a certain time after Bellingham's de- 
 parture the prima donna was in a frame of mind 
 that might have led to unhappy consequences. Her 
 moral outlook no longer commanded its customary 
 horizon. She seemed to be hurrying confusedly 
 along toward no goal in particular, surrounded by a 
 medley of persons and things with which she felt 
 no sympathy, yet which constituted, such as they 
 were, her whole world. What was she to do? To 
 live, one must take or feign an interest in something. 
 Music was much, but the wound in her heart was 
 still too fresh for music to be everything. She 
 needed human countenance and association. "Who, 
 then, should be her associates? Who else could
 
 208 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 they be but the men and women whom she met and 
 spoke with every day? There were scores of fash- 
 ionable and wealthy young fellows like Mr. Witman ; 
 there were dozens of so-called prominent men like 
 Mr. Knight, the politician ; there were newspaper 
 reporters, English aristocrats, not to mention the 
 retinue of bassos, tenors, and baritones of the oper- 
 atic stage. It would be only too easy for her to be 
 on the best of terms with any or all of these people, 
 but what would be the result ? In several cases she 
 had already discovered by experiment what the re- 
 sult was. She had been subjected to a more or less 
 gracefully disguised insult and had passionately re- 
 sented it ; and the memory of these insults stayed 
 with her like stains upon her soul, the mere knowl- 
 edge that they had occurred affecting her like a sin. 
 But what was the use of being so sensitive ? Nobody 
 else seemed to mind such things. Madame Bemax 
 smilingly declared that they were a matter of course ; 
 that ladies in the profession never allowed such af- 
 fairs to annoy them ; that they were considered a 
 compliment, and that the recipients of such compli- 
 ments were objects of envy to others. And so far 
 as the prima donna had investigated the grounds 
 of these assertions for herself, it must be confessed that 
 she found more evidence than was agreeable in their 
 support. Young persons, on the threshold of ex- 
 perience, generalize recklessly, and the prima don-
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO HER. 209 
 
 na began to ask herself whether she were the only 
 person in the world who believed that goodness was 
 anything more than a theory ; apd, if so, whether it 
 were more likely that she, or all the rest of the 
 world, was mistaken? Alas! even her sage and 
 mentor, the faithful Jocelyn himself, would take 
 her hand and pat it soothingly, and vow that sho 
 took things too seriously "too much au pied de 
 la lettre, you know, my dear girl ! " She sometimes 
 wondered whether he realized what it actually was 
 that so seriously affected her. She could not tell 
 him in so many words. Did he know? He had 
 recommended Madame Bemax as a person to be 
 implicitly depended on. Nevertheless, after due 
 reflection, the prima donna generally came to the 
 conclusion that poor Mr. Jocelyn was a rather 
 innocent, unsuspecting old gentleman, who knew not 
 half so much about the perversity of things as she 
 herself did ! 
 
 To other critics it might have seemed that Jocelyn's 
 conduct in this respect did not redound to his credit. 
 If he honestly loved the young lady, and hoped to 
 marry her, why did he seek to dull her sensitive- 
 ness to evil ? Why did he put her under the influence 
 of a woman like Mrs. Bemax? Why did he obtain 
 the means for gratifying his taste for fine wines and 
 luxurious living by appropriating the fourth or fifth 
 part of her earnings? Was this the way a man
 
 210 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 would treat the woman he desired to make his wife ? 
 Might it not be conceivable that he cherished some 
 sort of grudge against her for having rejected his 
 previous overtures, and was aiming to salve his 
 wounded self-esteem by matching his mature cunning 
 against her innocence? 
 
 In this world, where so many unpleasant things 
 occur, it is the part of wisdom and charity not to 
 believe too resolutely in the evil which has not 
 reached practical consummation. We may, therefore, 
 give Jocelyn the benefit of every doubt appertaining 
 to his conduct. Very likely, like a thousand other 
 men in similar positions, he did not himself know 
 exactly what he wanted. To return to our earlier 
 simile, he liked to hold strong cards, and, even if 
 he forbore to take the trick, to feel that he might do 
 so if he chose. But there is a magnetism in such 
 affairs which affects the experimenter as much in 
 one way, as it does the victim in another ; he is 
 mastered most when he fancies himself most the 
 master. Jocelyn had never practised control of 
 anything in himself, except the expression of his face 
 and the tones of his voice ; he merely had impulses 
 and tendencies, which were generally more or less 
 selfish, and which he never thought of restraining or 
 correcting, but, at most, he would disguise them in 
 respectable habiliments ; he had no faculty of sys- 
 tematized thought and reflection ; his object was to
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO HER. 211 
 
 slip through life easily and lightly, rewarded by 
 little patters of applause ; he had the insanity of 
 conventions ; that is, he most wished to do what- 
 ever most people did. He was a first-rate fellow, 
 just the man to take your arm up Fifth avenue on 
 Sunday morning, and to have down to supper at 
 Delmonico's, after the theatre. He won't take 
 offence at anything you can say to him, and he can 
 put you up to all sorts of points. 
 
 After Bellingham was gone, and had left a clear 
 field for him, Jocelyn insensibly began to draw 
 nearer to the object of his attentions. He talked to 
 her a great deal about her profession, about the 
 prerogatives of genius, and the peculiar privileges 
 permitted to the artistic, and especially to the musi- 
 cal temperament. He launched into philosophical 
 speculations about the constitution of society, and 
 demonstrated what a gigantic tyranny the marriage 
 covenant was as at present administered. The time 
 would come, he declared, when we should look back 
 upon such a state of things with wonder mingled with 
 disgust. Consider the immense number of divorces 
 and scandals that were coming to light in all degrees 
 of the social scale ; what were they but the blind 
 and inarticulate protest of the individual against the 
 selfish injustice of the majority? What was the 
 remedy for these abuses ? Did it not lie in the hands 
 of the superior persons in the world, of those who
 
 212 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 could see through the show of things, who were 
 clear-headed, and possessed the courage of their 
 convictions ? Let them lead the way. Doubtless 
 they would be pursued by the sneers and slanders of 
 fools and bigots ; but fools and bigots had ever been 
 the foes of progress and enlightenment. We, who 
 take broader and profounder views, can afford to 
 disregard their clamor. We (said Jocelyn, taking 
 tb&prima donna's hand in his, and stroking it gently) 
 can set them the example of courage and indepen- 
 dence, which will sooner or later be followed. It is 
 not merely our privilege, but our duty, and it would 
 be base for us to shrink from it. 
 
 The prima donna withdrew her hand as unobtru- 
 sively as she could, and asked her mentor what 
 objection there was to marriage, if people loved 
 each other? He replied, that if they loved each 
 other, what was the use of marriage ? She rejoined, 
 that for two persons to love each other, was for 
 them to feel that they must belong to each other for- 
 ever ; and that marriage was simply their open 
 declaration, before God and man, of the existence of 
 this feeling in their hearts. To make such a declara- 
 tion was, she conceived, a natural and inevitable 
 impulse ; and it was natural and expedient that it 
 should be made according to certain forms, the 
 gradual outcome of tradition and custom. Therefore, 
 she thought marriage was not so much an injustice of
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO HER. 213 
 
 society to the individual, as a demand made by the 
 individual that society be the witness and a voucher 
 of his covenant. But Jocelyn hereupon pointed out 
 that a covenant always implied a binding promise, 
 involving penalties if it were broken ; that this, again, 
 implied distrust in the power of pure love to hold its 
 own, and that any outside pressure brought to bear 
 upon a passion essentially so freo as love, must tend 
 to promote the very reaction and revolt which it pro- 
 fessed to guard against. She made answer that the 
 covenant of marriage was not a bondage, and had not 
 that effect upon the parties to it ; but that to make 
 one's happiness known to others endowed it with a 
 reality and substance which were else wanting to it ; 
 that every person one met tacitly or explicitly con- 
 firmed it, reechoed it, and assured it, and that the 
 wedded state would consequently lose half its delight 
 and security if it existed, for example, between two 
 persons on a desert island, debarred from ever com- 
 municating the fact of their mutual relation to others. 
 Jocelyn here changed his ground (the better to 
 convey his meaning) and put it to his interlocutor 
 whether a large percentage of marriages were not 
 notoriously unhappy ; and, this being admitted, 
 whether it were not thereby demonstrated that a great 
 many marriages were a mistake ? She answered that 
 even if all marriages which had ever occurred were 
 mistakes, that would not prove that marriage itself
 
 214 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 was a mistake, but only that the wedded partners 
 had been mistaken in each other. Upon his main- 
 taining that every institution must be judged by its 
 practical application, she rejoined that if there were 
 no such thing as love, there was an end to all argu- 
 ment about it. He said that love did unquestionably 
 exist, and that it was the strongest and most endur- 
 ing passion of the human heart ; but that it by no 
 means followed that we could always love the same 
 person with equal fervor. Life was growth, and 
 love, which was the essence of life, must therefore be 
 subject to growth likewise. As we developed, as 
 our minds and capacities expanded, we put aside the 
 things of our less mature time, and embraced the 
 interests and the loves corresponding to our larger 
 sphere. There was one love for childhood, another 
 for youth, another for the prime of life. The greater 
 a person's inherent scope and energy, the finer his 
 organization, the more often would he find it 
 necessary to change the object of his affections. To 
 do so was not in opposition to true morality, but 
 in obedience to it ; but society, consulting solely its 
 own selfish convenience, had artificially and arbi- 
 trarily made such acts criminal, and had thereby 
 bewildered and mortally injured myriads of innocent 
 human beings. To this the prima donna replied 
 that love could grow illimitably, without danger of 
 ever outgrowing its object. The need was, not of
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO HER. 215 
 
 more to love, but to love more. God, who was 
 love itself, loved the meanest of His creatures ; and 
 what God loved, that, surely, is not unworthy the 
 affection of the most richly endowed of mankind. 
 As Jocelyn did not immediately confute this argu- 
 ment, the prima donna arose, and gently intimated 
 that it was necessary for her to be alone, in order 
 to prepare for the evening's performance. 
 
 Jocelyn ought to have known the futility of argu- 
 ing with a woman about a subject in which the 
 emotions are mainly involved. Even if he had 
 demonstrated his proposition and obtained her assent 
 to it, he would not have been a bit nearer his goal. 
 A woman overpowered by passion will act in direct 
 opposition to the most elementary dictates of reason ; 
 and the same woman will not swerve a hairs-breadth 
 from the path of rectitude, if the most unanswerable 
 logical demonstration do not tally with her emotional 
 prepossession. The fatal flaw in Jocelyn's syllogism 
 was Jocelyn himself. Man may sometimes be led 
 by the intellect, but woman only by the heart and 
 by curiosity. 
 
 After the above discussion, it became vaguely 
 apparent to Jocelyn that the prima donna was 
 drifting away from him. She parried his attempts 
 at familiar intercourse gently but effectively. He 
 had, in fact, done her a service against his own inter- 
 est* ; he h;id ;:ss:-t;><l her to formulate her instinctive
 
 216 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 recoil from the view which he sought to inculcate. 
 It was incumbent upon him, therefore, to take some 
 practical step. The close of the season was at hand. 
 While he was racking his brains as to what he 
 should do, accident came opportunely to his aid. 
 As he was walking about one evening behind the 
 scenes, while the opera was in progress, a carpenter, 
 who was tinkering a defective joint in the scenery 
 up somewhere in the wings, let fall a chisel, which 
 struck Jocelyn on the head, inflicting a superficial 
 but alarming-looking wound along the right side 
 of his forehead. He staggered and fell, and blood 
 streamed down his face. A surgeon was sent for, 
 and meanwhile Jocelyn was removed into the prima 
 donna's dressing-room. Just then the prima 
 donna, warm and palpitating from her scene, came 
 in with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes, the 
 thunder of applause still sounding in her ears. 
 * Jocelyn's ghastly aspect filled her with compas- 
 sion and tenderness. She knelt down beside him, 
 where he lay upon the sofa, dipped her handkerchief 
 in water, and, with soft murmurs of sympathy and 
 ruth, washed the blood away from his wound. He 
 recognized his good luck, and lay still for a time, 
 apparently in the dead faint that precedes dissolution. 
 But, watching his opportunity when they were left 
 alone for a few minutes, he faltered out an entreaty 
 to be lifted to a sitting position, and when she
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO HER. 217 
 
 clasped her strong young arms about him, to accom- 
 plish his desire, she found herself unawares entangled 
 in his embrace, and before she could extricate her- 
 self, she felt his lips on her cheek. 
 
 She placed him in the attitude he wished, and 
 then got slowly and wearily to her feet, her face 
 pale and her eyes dark. 
 
 "So," she said, with a perceptible intonation of 
 contempt, "I was not mistaken !" 
 
 "Forgive me, Beatrix," he sighed out, still affect- 
 ing to be overcome by weakness. "I could not help 
 it. Darling girl, I love you so ! I can fight against 
 it no longer." 
 
 "I might have known that you were like the 
 others or worse," said she; "but I could not 
 believe it till now. I shall never be mistaken 
 again." 
 
 " O Beatrix ! have you no pity ? no considera- 
 tion for for my condition? Heaven knows how I 
 have struggled ! Take off this bandage," he contin- 
 ued, querulously, snatching away the handkerchief 
 from his forehead. "Let me bleed to death ; I will 
 not live without you ! " 
 
 " It will take you a long time to bleed to death, 
 Mr. Jocelyn," returned she, quietly. "I shall not 
 be able to wait for you. Perhaps Madame Bemax 
 will. Shall I call her?" 
 
 " You shall not speak to me in that tone ! " ex-
 
 218 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 claimed Jocelyn, raising himself on his <*ouch in real 
 or feigned passion. " 1 have not deserved it ! Have 
 I not done everything for you ? Have you forgotten 
 what you owe me ? " 
 
 " You cannot have forgotten that I long since told 
 you I could never marry you ; so how could you 
 expect that I would pay you what I owe with my- 
 self?" 
 
 " I am not a man to make cold-blooded calcula- 
 tions ! " cried he, getting- impulsively on his legs. 
 " If you had any heart you would understand . . . 
 Beatrix," he went on, suddenly changing his tone 
 and attempting to seize her hands, "I do not ask an 
 irrevocable compact I do not hope that you can 
 love me always. You will go on, I know, and leave 
 me behind. But, oh ! my dearest one, would you 
 regret, in the future that is before you, and which 
 my poor aid will have helped you to enjoy will 
 you regret, then, having made a man who loves you 
 insanely having made him, for a little while only, 
 the happiest of human beings ? You may be loved 
 by younger men than I, and handsomer, and richer ; 
 but never " 
 
 "Mr. Jocelyn," she interposed, with a manner 
 that indicated a lamentable hardening of her once 
 sweet and gracious nature, "if you would look at 
 yourself in that glass, you would understand why I 
 appear so unsympathetic. Even a prima donna,
 
 WHAT HAPPENED TO HER. 219 
 
 who holds herself at the beck and call of every good- 
 looking fellow who happens to take a fancy to her 
 even I cannot listen to you until you have washed 
 your face. Perhaps you had better not use ray 
 washstand, people are so censorious, and your 
 sensibilities are so delicate ; but if you will go to 
 your own place, and get yourself in presentable con- 
 dition, then you may come to-morrow, and we will 
 talk over your proposal as quietly as our passion will 
 admit. I will ask my father and General Inigo to 
 be present as witnesses, and to offer suggestions ; 
 for you are so young and impulsive that perhaps I 
 might otherwise get the better of you. I think I 
 hear some one coming," she added, laying her hand 
 upon the door-latch ; " perhaps it would be pleas- 
 anter for you to go out of your own accord, instead 
 of waiting to be assisted ! " 
 
 Jocelyn departed, feeling sore, outside and in. 
 But he fancied he knew a way to make the primn 
 donna regret his dismissal.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 "TO BE HONEST, AS THIS WORLD GOES." 
 
 . WALLIE DINSMORE had been indulg- 
 ing in a good deal of casuistry of late, owing 
 to a desire to reconcile his theory that human beings 
 ought to help one another, with his temperamental 
 aversion to being mixed up in other people's affairs. 
 He might have evaded the difficulty by handing over 
 the matter which troubled him to Mrs. Cadwalader ; 
 but that would only have been an indirect way of 
 forcing his own hand. He smoked a great number 
 of cigars, seated in his study-chair, and incidentally 
 tried to stare his great white owl out of countenance ; 
 but he hesitated still. 
 
 One morning, while thus occupied, he heard a 
 carriage stop at the door, and a card was brought 
 up to him. Contrary to his usual custom in such 
 cases, he jumped up, tossed his cigar into the fire, 
 gave a pull to his collar and a jerk to his coat, 
 and bade the servant conduct Mademoiselle Marana 
 upstairs. 
 
 By the time she appeared, he had recovered his 
 genial serenity. He shook hands with her with
 
 "TO BE HONEST." 221 
 
 a quiet cordiality of a man constantly in the 
 habit of receiving famous prime donne in his 
 private sitting-room, and at the same time gave the 
 servant a look which intimated that he would be not 
 at home while this visitor remained. 
 
 '* You come in good season," said he ; " the owl 
 and I have just been talking about you." 
 
 "I did not ask for Mrs. Dinsmore," began the 
 prima donna. 
 
 "Well, I know," interposed Wallie. "I have 
 often tried to persuade her that the morning is 
 the proper time to receive calls ; but she is still 
 wedded to her superstitions. You must try to put 
 up with me. I believe I should make a pretty 
 good aunt." 
 
 The lady felt the kindness with which he endeav- 
 ered to put her at her ease, and a faint color dawned 
 in her cheeks. He went on : 
 
 " I see by the papers that you are soon to leave 
 us. It must be pleasant to you to feel how much 
 respect and regard, as well as renown, you have won 
 since you came here. I hope it may soon bring you 
 back to us." 
 
 "Do you respect me, Mr. Dinsmore?" demanded 
 she, fixing her eyes on him. 
 
 " You were an enigma to me at first," he replied 
 immediately, "but I respected you involuntarily, 
 even before I knew that I was right in doing so."
 
 222 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 He met her look as he spoke, and she felt that he 
 spoke what he meant. 
 
 " I came to ask you ... to help me respect 
 myself," she said, with a pause between. "Did 
 you know that I was an actress as well as a 
 singer?" 
 
 " I knew what you refer to the first moment we 
 met," answered he, with a friendly smile. "I had 
 seen Mile. Marana abroad." 
 
 She did not need to ask him whether he had kept 
 her secret. Between persons of a certain order of 
 integrity assurances of such a kind are superfluous. 
 She breathed a sigh of relief. He had known, and 
 yet had not withheld his respect, the respect of a 
 gentleman. Her sad heart began to take a little 
 courage. 
 
 "I think I know your father, Mr. Randolph," he 
 resumed, with the slightest accent of interrogation. 
 "You must not think me a Paul Pry; but Mr. 
 Randolph is a gentleman of the old school, not a 
 good dissimulator ; and he accidentally betrayed 
 himself to me one day without knowing it. Perhaps 
 I ought to have confessed to him ; but I am a 
 wretchedly undecided mortal about such things, and 
 I have been debating for the last month what I had 
 better do. More than a month ; in fact, ever since 
 Geoffrey BeUingham went away." 
 
 As he carelessly uttered the last words his glance
 
 " TO BE HONEST." 223 
 
 passed over her. She did not move an eyelid. 
 Her breath stopped for a few moments, but that 
 could not be seen. 
 
 "She has already learned some things, poor girl ! " 
 thought Wallie to himself. " Your main object in 
 entering the profession must be nearly achieved," he 
 presently continued, as she remained silent. 
 
 " You think it was only the object that justified 
 me ? " she said quickly. 
 
 "If I were you," he replied, "I would be myself 
 in future." 
 
 " But can I sing any more ? " 
 
 " Speaking for the public, I should say sing on 
 forever. You have gained a footing from which 
 nothing can dislodge you. You need no other 
 woman's reputation, and the public will easily forgive 
 you the ruse you have put upon them ; indeed, they 
 have nothing to forgive." 
 
 "I would rather you found fault with me than 
 made it easy for me," she said, with a tremor in her 
 voice. "There is no one else I can go to." 
 
 "I don't think you need a scolding," returned 
 Wallie, with his kindly smile. "The past is done 
 with . I can imagine you have had an uphill time of 
 it in many ways. But you have gone far to reha- 
 bilitate completely Mile. Marana's character, and I 
 should fancy she would be very reluctant to have it 
 known that she cannot claim the merit of the
 
 224 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 vindication. Another season you would probably be 
 free from vulgar annoyance, even were you to 
 continue your present disguise ; but, in your own 
 name, and with the outside protection which it 
 would enable you to command, you would be 
 perfectly secure. However, I shan't pretend to 
 advise you, Mademoiselle . . . Miss Eandolph. 
 In the first place, I am an interested party I want 
 you to go on singing for my own benefit; and, 
 furthermore, I cannot tell how far the pleasures of 
 the profession may seem to you to outweigh the 
 drawbacks or vice versa" 
 
 " It's the only thing I'm good for that's all," 
 said she, looking up at him. 
 
 " I wonder what Geoffrey would say to that ? " 
 thought "Wallie. " By Jove ! it's outrageous what 
 fools these boys and girls will be. They will they 
 seem to like it! Well, then, they deserve to have 
 their little miseries, do n't they? Of course they do ! 
 I wish I were" he checked himself and dropped 
 his eyes, which had dwelt too long upon her 
 loveliness. "Come, come," he said to himself, 
 severely, " this will never do ! Attend to your 
 business, old two-and-forty, and pay proper reverence 
 to your . . . daughter ! " 
 
 He got up and said aloud : 
 
 " Miss Randolph, I'm going to ask you a great 
 favor. I'm an old man, as I needn't tell you, and I
 
 "TO BE HONEST." 225 
 
 am a slave to my habits. Would you permit me to 
 smoke a cigarette? What small wits I have go 
 hopelessly wool-gathering if I don't keep them to- 
 gether with a little tobacco." 
 
 Miss Randolph smiled. 
 
 " My father always smoked," said she. " It would 
 make me feel at home." 
 
 " Dear me ! " thought Wallie, ruefully, " she 
 might have let me off as an elder brother ! But she 
 takes me at my own valuation bless her heart! 
 Xow let us see what can be done." 
 
 He lit his cigarette, and sent the smoke curling 
 through his nose. " Art is certainly a great resource," 
 he observed, "and a noble one. It has been said, 
 and it may be true, that it admits of no rivals. If 
 one's affections are unoccupied, one's human affec- 
 tions, I mean, and are likely to remain so, I dare 
 say one could not do better than to devote one's self 
 wholly to art. You feel, you say, that there is 
 nothing else you could possibly prefer to it; that 
 you were made for music and for nothing else?" 
 
 " Nothing else," she repeated in a husky voice, 
 feeling as if, with those words, she had surrendered 
 her last secret of hope of happiness. 
 
 " This will come out all right," thought Wallie to 
 himself, cheerfully ; ff if that ass Geoffrey were only 
 here it might be settled on the spot." Aloud he 
 said, " That being the case, I don't see how you
 
 226 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 could be more fortunately situated. With you, 
 circumstances, expediency, and inclination all pull 
 together. It was not so with a young friend of mine, 
 once, who showed remarkable talent for the stage. 
 She had got so fur as to make her debut, with every 
 prospect of success, when she was unlucky enough 
 to fall in love with and be fallen in love with by 
 a young gentleman of good family here, a lawyer. 
 You will hardly believe it, Miss Randolph ; you 
 are so differently constituted in every way from her," 
 continued Wallie, gravely ; "but when she discovered 
 that he would feel pained if she remained on the 
 stage she actually gave up her whole career ! And 
 they were married, and she has never been heard of 
 in a public way since. And she seems very happy 
 too ! But she could never have had the same single- 
 hearted devotion to art that you have." 
 
 "lean understand her being happy, though," 
 said Miss Randolph almost in a whisper. Then 
 Wallie's heart smote him that he had played upon 
 her. After all, what did he know about what had 
 occurred between her and Geoffrey? There may 
 have been a veritable tragedy, instead of an ordinary 
 lover's misunderstanding. As a matter of fact, he 
 had no suspicion of the tragi-comic mistake which 
 was the immediate cause of their separation. He 
 thought it probable that she had revealed her true 
 name to him, and supposed that they had differed on
 
 "TO BE HONEST." 227 
 
 the "public career " question, which he had just illus- 
 trated in his fable. 
 
 In order to give himself and her time for reflection, 
 he took up the conversation at another point. " In 
 the event of your accepting another engagement," 
 he said, " I suppose Inigo would be the fortunate 
 man ? " 
 
 " Nothing has been decided about that," she replied, 
 falling with a sense of relief into the business tone. 
 " I have been told that is, it seems that there may 
 be a difficulty I had not thought of a legal trouble. 
 This money that I have been receiving," she went 
 on after a pause, "has been paid, of course, to 
 Mademoiselle Marana. The agreement, according to 
 which it is paid, is signed by her that is, not by 
 me. So it seems that, legally, I am only her repre- 
 sentative her deputy, as it were ; and she can, if 
 she chooses, demand that I make over all the money 
 to her. But, of course, all the money, or most of it, 
 has been paid away for to my father f so, you see, 
 there would be trouble." 
 
 " Humph ! " ejaculated Wallie, taking a pinch of 
 his mustache between his thumb and forefinger. 
 He meditated for a while, staring at the owl, which 
 silently returned his gaze. " Who is your lawyer ? " 
 he inquired, at length. 
 
 " I haven't any.'' 
 
 " Was it Inigo who ? "
 
 228 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 " No he I don't know whether it had oc- 
 curred to him." The truth was, that Hamilton 
 Jocelyn, in requital of the injury to his feelings, had 
 written the prirna donna, a letter, in which he had 
 advanced the above suggestion ; and he had further 
 announced that it was his purpose immediately to 
 acquaint the real Marana with the position of affairs, 
 and to offer her his services in the event of a prose- 
 cution. It is doubtful whether he really contem- 
 plated any action of the kind ; but it would not have 
 softened the unloveliness of his present sensations 
 could he have known that Beatrix was not in the least 
 surprised or shocked at the position he had taken. 
 It seemed to her quite in keeping with his character. 
 
 " She might give you some annoyance," "Wallie 
 admitted, after further consultation with the owl, 
 " but I'm by no means sure she could obtain a 
 verdict. I imagine she must have written to Inigo, 
 definitely withdrawing from the engagement, and 
 hence his substitution of you. Was that the way 
 of it?" 
 
 " Yes ; and I believe she paid the forfeit." 
 
 " Then I don't think you need worry. There can, 
 at any rate, be no doubt that you have done the 
 singing, and, as singing is paid nowadays, four 
 thousand dollars a night is none too much for it." 
 
 "It was three thousand the first month, and thirtv- 
 three hundred afterward," put in the prima donna.
 
 "TO BE HONEST." 229 
 
 "Inigo certainly told me, when he returned from 
 Europe last June, that he had got Marana for four 
 thousand a night," Wallie affirmed. " But probably 
 he took advantage of your being a debutante to cut 
 it down." 
 
 "Mr. Jocelyn that is, I think not; I was told 
 that I received the same that she was to have had." 
 
 "Hamilton Jocelyn? Is he mixed up in this 
 affair?" inquired Wallie, with an air of dissat- 
 isfaction. 
 
 She had intended not to bring Jocelyn's name 
 into the conversation ; but, as it had slipped out, 
 she now thought it best to say, "It was he who 
 introduced me to General Inigo, and he has been 
 acting as my agent, paying me the money. And 
 he said," she added, wishing to do her enemy justice, 
 " that it was by his exertions that General Inigo was 
 persuaded to raise my salary after the first month." 
 
 Wallic threw away his cigarette and rubbed his 
 nose. "Well," he said, presently, "I dare say 
 Jocelyn knew what he was about. I should like to 
 hear what he has to say in Inigo 's presence. Im- 
 pressarios and agents are human, and need looking 
 after occasionally." 
 
 " What I thought was," she resumed, " that if it 
 should turn out I had no legal right to the money, I 
 should really have to make some more, whether I 
 liked it or not. It would have to be made in some
 
 230 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 way, you know ; and papa and there seems to be 
 no other way but for me to go on singing, if I can 
 get an engagement." 
 
 "As to that," said Wallie, smiling, "if I wanted 
 to make a fortune, I would turn impressario, and 
 make you my single investment. Let us assume, 
 for argument's sake, that from the pecuniary stand- 
 point you are perfectly free either to go on or not. 
 Now, of course, there are ways in which you might 
 cultivate music without keeping in opera. You 
 could sing at a church, or, when you felt in the 
 mood, at a private or public concert. But there is 
 something else in the profession besides the singing, 
 there is the audience. Do you know what I 
 mean ? " 
 
 " Yes," said she in a low voice. 
 
 "It is a magnificent stimulant," he continued; 
 "there is no other to compare with it in the world. 
 They say, when you have once felt the delight of it, 
 nothing is so difficult as to give it up. There is 
 nothing that you would exchange for it." 
 
 " That is not true ! " said she, lifting her head. 
 In a moment she added : " But I have felt that it 
 would be a great consolation." Wallie glanced up, 
 and she blushed. 
 
 He rose again from his chair, and took another 
 cigarette from the box on the low bookcase. Then 
 he went to another place for a match, which he
 
 "TO BE HONEST." 231 
 
 scratched underneath the mantel-piece. Then he lit 
 the cigarette and threw the burnt end of the match 
 in the fire, after having shaken it rapidly to and fro 
 to extinguish it. Sho watched him, half-absently, 
 thinking what a good fellow he was, how quiet, how 
 honest, how kind, how quick of apprehension. But, 
 through him, beyond him, in his place, she was 
 seeing another figure, which she never hoped to 
 behold again in reality. Oh, the perversity of 
 human affairs ! The goodness that we meet with is 
 not the goodness that we want ; the evil that happens 
 to us is not the punishment of our evil ! 
 
 Wallie glanced at her through the smoke of his 
 cigarette, with a sympathetic interest, half-sad, half- 
 humorous. The heavy fur-lined cloak that she wore 
 was thrown back on the chair ; her head leaned back- 
 ward, showing the white throat ; her richly-made, 
 close-fitting black dress revealed the lithe beauty of 
 her figure ; there was a soft dimness about her eyes ; 
 a little strand of bright hair had strayed across her 
 forehead. How mournful she looked ! how easily 
 she might be happy ; how gladly he would make her 
 so ! But those who have the good-will have not 
 the power ; and those who have the power . 
 " I hope to gracious," exclaimed Wallie to himself, 
 " that he is suffering the torments of the damned ! I 
 may have been a fool, in my time, but nothing 
 should ever have made me turn my back on a
 
 232 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 woman like that ! " And he reseated himself with a 
 resentful vehemence that drew a creaking remon- 
 strance from his arm-chair. 
 
 " Do you think, Miss Randolph," he asked, tr that 
 the time would ever come when you would prefer 
 the consolation to the thing it consoled you fo v ?" 
 
 "A consolation is only a consolation," she 
 replied, with a little smile. " But you must not 
 think that I am was meaning anything except in 
 a general way. I should only find it more tiresome 
 than usual to have nothing to do, now that I know 
 what it is to do something." 
 
 " Speaking in a general way, however, don't you 
 think it would be unwise to seek consolation, as 
 such, until one was quite certain, beyond the possi- 
 bility of a doubt, that consolation was the thing 
 one needed?" 
 
 " Oh, of course, there can be no doubt ! " she an- 
 swered. But there was in her tone, and in the sudden, 
 inquiring expansion of her eyes, a feeling less of 
 conviction than of misgiving and suspense, as if the 
 earnest emphasis with which he had spoken had led 
 her to suspect that he might know something of 
 great moment to her. He had no such knowledge ; 
 but he had a strong persuasion that she was the 
 victim of a misfortune that might be set right ; and 
 he perceived that the time was now come when he 
 might speak to her openly on the subject which had,
 
 "TO BE HONEST." 233 
 
 all along, been in both their minds. But, as he 
 opened his mouth to do so, there was a knock at the 
 door, and the servant came in with a letter. 
 
 "The messenger boy's waiting, sir," he said, "and 
 wants to know if there's an answer." 
 
 "Tell him," said Wallie, sternly, "to go to" 
 He stopped. The handwriting on the envelope had 
 caught his eye. "If you will excuse me?" he said, 
 glancing at his visitor, while he tore the letter open. 
 He took in the contents with a look. " No answer 
 I'll answer it in person," he said to the servant, 
 who withdrew. 
 
 "Miss Randolph," said Wallie, standing in front 
 of her, with the letter in his hand, and a peculiar 
 smile on his face, "this is from a friend of mine 
 whom you know. There's nothing in it that you 
 may not see ; will you read it ? " 
 
 She took the letter, saw the signature, let her 
 hand fall to her lap for a moment, then lifted it 
 again, and read as follows : 
 
 "DEAR WALLIE, I returned this morning. In Ireland 
 I met a young fellow named Randolph, with a lady, who 
 turned out to be Mile. Mai-ana. I didn't know what to 
 think, "but came on at once in order to warn her namesake 
 here. At the hotel I found Randolph and his father; it ap- 
 pears that the former and Marana had arrived a few hours 
 before me on another steamer. Our Marana went out this 
 morning, no one knows where. From something I hap- 
 pened to hear old Randolph say to his son, I begin to sus-
 
 234 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 pect I have made an astonishing and wicked blunder. I will 
 explain when I see you, which must be at once. The two 
 ladies must not meet at present, if we can help it. If you 
 get this in time, meet me here at one o'clock. 
 
 " G. BELLINGHAM." 
 
 " Shall we go to the hotel together? " said Wallie, 
 when she had read the letter. 
 
 " No. I cannot see him. Oh, my brother ! " 
 she pressed her hands over her face, and bent her 
 head down on the arm of the chair. 
 
 "I think," said Wallie, gently, after a pause, 
 " that Mrs. Dinsmore has just come in. I know 
 she'll want you to stay to lunch. Shall I tell her 
 you're here ? " 
 
 " Let me go to her," said Beatrix, rising suddenly, 
 and moving blindly toward the door. Wallie drew 
 her arm beneath his and led her out. Ten minutes 
 later he was on his way up-town.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HOW HER BROTHER WAS PUNISHED. 
 
 TTTHEN" Wallie reached the hotel he met Geof- 
 * frey in the vestibule. "You had better have 
 stayed at home and built my cottage for me," 
 remarked the former, as they shook hands. " You 
 don't do going-to-Europe well." 
 
 " I have something to tell " 
 
 " I know all about it. I've been chatting with 
 the lady the last hour. I'm disappointed in you. 
 You should have married her first, and she would 
 have left the stage of her own accord afterward." 
 
 " That was not the question. But how did you 
 know" 
 
 " That you wanted to marry her ? I am only mad 
 north-north-east. When the wind is in the south 
 . . . But she's too good for you." 
 
 " The point is, that she is the daughter " 
 
 " Great Scott ! Do you mean to say you didn't 
 know who she is ? " 
 
 K Did you ? " 
 
 "I? Of course ; I knew the other one, in the first 
 place. But didn't she tell you ?"
 
 236 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 " Do you suppose," said Geoffrey, gravely, " that 
 I would have gone to Europe if I had known that the 
 man whom I saw . . . that there was all that mys- 
 tery about, was her own father ? " 
 
 Wallie stared at his friend a moment, and then 
 laughed. " This is very sad," said he. " And, if 
 I'm not mistaken, you were with me that day when 
 Randolph came in, and gave himself away How- 
 ever ! What are you going to do ? '' 
 
 " The real Marana is here, or, rather, at the 
 Albemarle. I want to know what she is going to 
 do. She may decide to make trouble." 
 
 " There is one obstacle in her way, fortunately." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Well, it would be awkward for her to prosecute 
 the sister of her lover." 
 
 " He is her lover only in the sense that he wants 
 to marry her." 
 
 " What about that hundred thousand dollars he 
 got rid of? " 
 
 "It is as I say, nevertheless." And Geoffrey 
 gave his friend a synopsis of what Helwise had told 
 him on the subject. 
 
 " In that case there is all the more reason for her 
 to keep quiet," said Wallie. 
 
 "Then why did she come to America? " Geoffrey 
 inquired. 
 
 " Have you seen her on the subject?"
 
 PUNISHMENT. 237 
 
 " I have had no. opportunity yet." 
 
 "Well, leave it to me. You are not a diplomatist. 
 This young Randolph has got himself in a nice posi- 
 tion ! If Miss Beatrix was not his sister, or if 
 Marana were not his lady-love, he could take a hand 
 on one side or the other ; but, as it is, he's helpless 
 both ways. I should think he would feel tired. 
 What sort of a fellow is he?" 
 
 "He seemed well enough, the little I've seen of 
 him." 
 
 " I see ; you think of him as your future brother- 
 in-law," said Wallie, smiling. - "But don't be too 
 comfortable ! That young lady is not to be played 
 fast-and-loose with." 
 
 "Oh, I'm not comfortable!" said Geoffrey, 
 gloomily. 
 
 " Well, I won't hit you while you're down ; but if 
 you get up again, look out ! Where is this young 
 scamp ? " 
 
 " Upstairs, I believe, with his father." 
 
 " I'll have a hack at him, to begin with. You 
 may as well keep yourself to yourself until you hear 
 from me again. We can't afford any more blun- 
 ders." 
 
 He sent up his card, and was conducted to the 
 room where the Randolphs, father and son, were. 
 The latter was walking up and down the floor,
 
 238 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 while the former stood with his back to the fire, 
 looking as high-shouldered and dignified as possible. 
 
 "I am here," said Wallie, pleasantly, after the 
 formalities were over, " unofficially, on behalf of the 
 lady who has been singing the past season under the 
 name of Mile. Marana." 
 
 "Mr. Dinsmore," said Randolph, senior, twisting 
 his eyebrow sternly, "you are perhaps not aware 
 that the lady is under my especial charge." 
 
 "I have known for some months that she is your 
 daughter, Mr. Randolph ; but no one is aware that 
 she is under your especial charge." 
 
 " I do not understand you, sir ! " said Mr. Ran- 
 dolph, fiercely. 
 
 "You told me, several weeks ago, in the presence 
 of my friend Bellingham, who remembers it, that 
 you had but the slightest acquaintance with her. 
 And your charge of her has amounted to so little, 
 that she has to-day come to me, who had no right to 
 expect such an honor, for counsel and protection." 
 
 This was said quietly, but with a certain warmth 
 and emphasis that abashed Mr. Randolph a good 
 deal. He turned red, and opened his mouth once 
 or twice, as though to speak ; but no words came. 
 
 Hereupon Edward Randolph put in his oar. 
 " Whatever may have been my sister's position 
 before my arrival, sir," said he, " it's another thing 
 now. I'll look out for her ! "
 
 PUNISHMENT. 239 
 
 "If you do, it will be but a tardy return for the 
 services she has rendered you, during the last few 
 months," returned Wallie, with a peculiar brightness 
 in his gray eyes. 
 
 "I don't recognize your right to meddle in our 
 family affairs," cried Ed, angrily. 
 
 " Your family affairs are likely to be public 
 property before long. I intend, for the sake of 
 Miss Randolph, to prevent it, if possible," said 
 Wallie, composedly. 
 
 "Perhaps Mr. Dinsmore will explain himself," 
 suggested Randolph, senior, in a less defiant tone. 
 
 " I wish to find out from you, before resorting to 
 other means, whether Mile. Marana means to take 
 measures to assert any rights she may believe herself 
 to have in this matter," answered Wallifc, fixing his 
 eyes on Ed. 
 
 Ed looked at his father, but made no reply. 
 
 " And in case she does," Wallie resumed, " I wish 
 to know whether you, Mr. Edward, intend to act 
 with her or against her ? " 
 
 " He will act against her, I will answer for 
 that ! " put in Randolph, senior, with decision. 
 
 " I prefer to answer for myself, sir ! " retorted 
 Ed, frowning upon his parent. 
 
 "Answer for yourself, sir?" repeated the older 
 gentleman, excitedly. " You'll have enough to 
 answer for, then, I can assure you ! You will have
 
 240 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 to answer for the fortune that you have dissipated, 
 sir, a fortune which belonged to you no more 
 than it does to this gentleman here present. Where 
 would you be, I should like to know, if your sister 
 your sister, who had never before been out of her 
 father's house had not paid your dissolute debts 
 with the money which she earned with her own 
 hands voice, I mean, sir? How is a good-for- 
 nothing fellow who robs his father of money to spend 
 on a loose woman, and lets himself be supported by 
 his sister " 
 
 " Father, Mile. Marana is not " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, sir ! Never mind what Mile. 
 Marana is not : I, and everybody else, know what 
 she is ! And you stand there before me, a beggar, 
 without a cent in your pocket, except what your 
 mistress may have had the compassion to give you, 
 and tell me you will do as you please ! By the 
 Lord, sir " 
 
 " I will not permit any man alive to slander that 
 lady," called out young Mr. Randolph, in a white 
 heat of wrath. "She is a lady, every inch of her : 
 whoever says the contrary, lies ! You may revile 
 me all you like, I'll not say a word; though, as 
 Mr. Dinsmore here told you, you abandoned my 
 sister to the insults of all the blackguards in town, 
 for the sake of the money she was putting into your 
 pocket. Mr. Dinsmore," he added, turning to that
 
 _ PUNISHMENT. 241 
 
 personage, " you are a gentleman, and I'll speak to 
 you. ' You see how I stand, and you can't wish me 
 to feel more humiliated than I do. I love my sister 
 God knows it ! in spite of all the trouble I've 
 brought on her. She has replaced the money I 
 spent, and not a cent of it will I ever touch, if I 
 have to starve in the streets. But when I found, on 
 landing in New York to-day, that it was my sister 
 who had been taking Mile. Marana's place, I knew I 
 was done for ! The two women in this world whom 
 I love and honor, by George ! are set against each 
 other, and I, who would defend either of 'em with 
 my life, can do nothing ! After punishment like 
 that, it's not your shrieking and stamping that can 
 make me feel any worse ! " he said, looking his father 
 in the face. 
 
 At this point Wallie thought the time was come 
 to interpose. He had less sympathy with the father 
 than with the son, whose chief crime, after all, 
 seemed to be that he had lost his head and his sense 
 of personal responsibility for love's sake. It was no 
 more than justice that bath of them should be 
 arraigned for their behavior, and it was poetical 
 justice that the arraignment of each should come 
 from the other. But it had gone far enough, and 
 was not, in itself, agreeable for a third person to 
 listen to. 
 
 W I think the best thing to do," he said, " is to go
 
 242 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 to Mile. Marana at once, and learn how she feela 
 about it. The matter may, perhaps, be arranged 
 quietly. If you'll come with me, Mr. Edward, 
 we'll do what we can." 
 
 " All right," returned Ed, whose fit of rage had 
 left him in a very depressed and tractable state; 
 "I'll do whatever you advise." 
 
 " And I wash my hands of you, sir ! " exclaimed 
 Randolph, senior, to his son, as the latter moved 
 towards the door. But Ed took no notice of this 
 farewell shot, and he remained pretty much silent all 
 the way down to the Albemarle, where they pres- 
 ently found themselves in the private sitting-room of 
 Mrs. Peters, as she still preferred to call herself. 
 
 She had been sitting at the piano, but, as the 
 gentlemen entered, she rose and came to meet them. 
 
 "I have the memory of meeting you before," she 
 said to Wallie, as she gave him her hand, whose 
 softness contrasted with the bright hardness of the 
 jewelled rings she wore. She looked at Ed, but 
 made no remark to him. 
 
 " I had given up the hope of seeing you this 
 season, Diva," observed Wallie, with a smile. 
 " You drove General Inigo to his wit's end." 
 
 "That would be farther than I would like to go 
 myself," she replied, quietly. " I think he did not 
 stay long there himself." Her beautiful face was 
 calm and quite impenetrable. If she meant mis-
 
 PUNISHMENT, 243 
 
 chief, she meant it very deep down. She did not 
 smile, but neither was there any sign of suppressed 
 anger in her tranquil bearing. 
 
 " It is my fortune to be well acquainted with the 
 lady who has been singing here in your stead," said 
 AVallie, who perceived that it would be useless to 
 beat about the bush with a woman of her calibre 
 and temperament. " As she is the sister of your 
 friend, Mr. Randolph, I hope to see you friends 
 with her also." 
 
 " It is my way to keep the things of business apart 
 from the things of friendship," returned Marana, 
 with the slow distinctness that marked her utterance 
 of English. "Edward," she continued-, turning to 
 that unhappy young man, " M. Dinsmore has your 
 confidence? he knows of your foolishness, yes?" 
 
 "He's all right," asserted the youth, with a heavy 
 sigh. 
 
 "Be so good, then, mon cher, to go downstairs, 
 a little, and smoke your cigar. It is not three who 
 are company," said she, with a certain aroma of 
 tenderness in her tone, which (Wallie fancied) was 
 more involuntary than conscious. 
 
 "Now, monsieur," she continued, when they were 
 alone, " after fifteen minutes I await General Inigo. 
 Up till that I am all yours." And she leaned 
 back in her chair and rested one hand within the 
 other in her lap.
 
 244 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 "The General will, no doubt, answer for himself, 
 that is not my affair," said Wallie. "But I 
 should like to know whether you perceive any dis- 
 tinction between his accountability and that of this 
 young lady ? " 
 
 "You would say, it is his fault, but only her 
 misfortune." 
 
 " To tell you the truth, Diva, the fault seems to 
 me to lie between all three of you, but less belongs 
 to her than to either Inigo or you." 
 
 "It is not I who apportion the fault, monsieur; 
 but if I say the truth shall be known, then the 
 affair must turn out as it will." 
 
 " But you know that the only one to suffer would 
 be the sister of Mr. Randolph." 
 
 A slight movement of the underlids of Marana's 
 eyes showed that she appreciated the significance of 
 Wallie's paraphrase for her rival. " In our profes- 
 sion, monsieur," she said, shrugging one shoulder 
 and looking aside, " we have the necessity to each 
 defend himself, without regard of person." 
 
 " There are two reasons why people fight, one 
 to inflict injury, and the other, to get some advan- 
 tage for themselves. Is yours the first?" 
 
 " Why should you assume it, monsieur?" inquired 
 the Russian. 
 
 " Because, in this case, there is no advantage to 
 be derived. And, besides, though I can imagine
 
 PUNISHMENT. 245 
 
 Mademoiselle Marana wishing to crush a rival, I 
 cannot imagine her condescending to make a ques- 
 tion of money." 
 
 " I had begun to think that M. Dinsmore was too 
 truthful to make any compliments," said Marana, 
 with a leisurely smile that enhanced the. beauty of 
 her face. 
 
 " There may be more respect in what one leaves 
 unsaid, than " 
 
 "Ah! I comprehend that. also. But consider 
 it ; if I have spent all my life in trying to sing well, 
 and then I find that some one has borrowed my 
 name, so that her singing is thought to be mine, 
 then all that I have done in my life is for nothing. 
 We singers, monsieur, have only our voice ; when 
 that is still there is no more of us. If it is taken 
 from us we have nothing left. We put into it all 
 our souls and our hearts, and we work many years, 
 it is work and not play, monsieur, and we 
 have many hard things, many struggles, sometimes 
 we lose everything that other persons love, even love 
 itself. Well, you see, I would more gladly give to 
 some lady all the money that I have earned in my life, 
 and my jewels, and my dresses, than I would permit 
 that, when she sings, the audience should say, f That 
 is Marana ! ' " 
 
 Wallie looked down, and made no answer. 
 
 "You have reminded me," she went on, after a
 
 246 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 few moments, " that this lady is the sister of Edward. 
 Yes, he has very often told me of her ; and that we 
 were a little alike, poor boy, he means of one 
 aspect, one presentment ; as for the rest, he knows 
 of me only what I have been to him. My other 
 history was not of interest to him ; perhaps he would 
 not believe it, even if I told it to him ; but, at least, 
 he asked me to be his wife, and though I said no, it 
 was not because I feared that he might cease to love 
 me because of what he might afterwards come to 
 know. You may laugh at it, monsieur, but I think 
 he would still love me, notwithstanding all of it." 
 
 There was something noble and touching in the 
 way Marana said this. Wallie did not feel at all in- 
 clined to laugh, and his face perhaps showed it. 
 ' "I said no," she resumed; "but later, when I 
 found what he had done, I said yes, so that I might 
 help to make right, and also because it is pleasant 
 for a singer like me to think that she can give some- 
 thing to her husband in return for being his wife. 
 But then lie would not ; in that he was like other 
 men, who wish in every way to be the master. But 
 yet, monsieur, there is time to think again," she 
 added, suddenly altering her tone, and looking at 
 him keenly ; " a woman has much power over the 
 man who loves her, if she will use it ! " 
 
 " I do not doubt it at all," said Wallie, meeting 
 her look.
 
 PUNISHMENT. 247 
 
 " Do you think I would have power to make him 
 say, ' "Well, she is my sister ; but she has done what 
 was not just. You shall treat her as if she were 
 any other woman, and I will say nothing. I will 
 help you'?" continued the Russian, with a subtle 
 smile. 
 
 "I really believe you might," Wallie answered. 
 " But I can't conceive that you would care to have 
 him do it, or care for him if he did do it." 
 
 " Ah ! but with us singers it can be different," re- 
 joined Marana, bending upon him a gaze of dark, 
 ambiguous brilliancy. " It is much for us to know, 
 and to prove it to the world, that we are loved be- 
 yond measure ; yes, beyond honor. It is a triumph, 
 and we love triumphs, ah ! who knows how dearly ? 
 Men do all they can to ruin us, monsieur, and the 
 world laughs and gives us no mercy. Do you not 
 think it might be sweet to make one man your slave, 
 so that he would do your bidding in all things, and 
 worship you ? " 
 
 " Are you so much in need of a triumph of that 
 kind ? " demanded Wallie. Now, whether he so in- 
 tended it or not, Marana evidently interpreted the 
 question as a covert but bitter satire. She gave a 
 little soft laugh, and arose. 
 
 " At last, then, we understand each other ! " she 
 said. "It is much easier so, is it not? You are 
 too clever for me, M. Dinsmore ; you are not a
 
 248 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 man to be deceived. Yes, in this world, as the 
 French say, il faut accepter les hommes pour ce 
 qu'ils sont des moyens I We singers, especially, 
 must use all things for our protection or profit. 
 Tiens . . . drole! Did you think, for your 
 part, you should persuade me to forgive Ma'm'selle 
 Randolph because I make a fool of her brother? 
 Bah ! I am a business woman. Business is not 
 sentiment, I think ! Enfin, m'sieu', I have enjoyed 
 very much the honor of your visit ; foi de Marana, 
 vous etes ambassadeur parfaitement accompli! 
 But your little Ma'm'selle Randolph has a future 
 already happy in the protection of a man like you ; 
 she will not grudge me the little that belongs to 
 the true Marana ! AM revoir, cher ami! " And, 
 laughing once more, she gave him her hand with a 
 free gesture; and Wallie bowed over it, with a 
 mingling of admiration and vexation such as he was 
 seldom kindled to. He had recognized his mistake 
 the moment after it was irrevocable. 
 
 "Well?" said Ed, getting up, with a haggard 
 face, from his chair in the smoking-room, as Wallie 
 entered. 
 
 "Well," responded Wallie, "there is no doubt 
 about one thing, she is the Great Marana ! I 
 think you may as well come with me and see your 
 sister."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 HOW THEY WERE LOST IN THE STORM. 
 
 Ip ROM the Albemarle to Wallie's house was not a 
 long distance ; but it had begun to snow, and 
 the keen northerly wind drove the flakes straight 
 into the faces of the pedestrians, and afforded Wallie 
 a good excuse for keeping his mouth shut, or open- 
 ing it only for monosyllabic answers to the questions 
 which Ed, from time to time, addressed to him. 
 With all his pains, he had undoubtedly bungled 
 the interview with the Russian Star, just at the 
 juncture, too, when he was beginning to entertain 
 the best hopes of success. How swiftly and effec- 
 tively she had turned the tables upon him ! What 
 terrible versatility and self-command she had ! With 
 \yhat a wicked roguishness had she fired that parting 
 taunt at him about his motive in espousing her 
 rival's cause! "At any rate, I'm glad I let her 
 have the last word!" said Wallie to himself; but 
 that was somewhat cold comfort. 
 
 He left Ed in the drawing-room, and went to find 
 Mrs. Cadwalader and Beatrix. He sent the latter 
 to her brother, and remained in conference with the 
 former.
 
 250 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 Beatrix came softly into the drawing-room, and 
 saw Edward standing near the farther end of it, 
 with his back toward her. She paused, and 
 remained motionless, gazing at him. Her heart 
 went out toward him, and yet she shrank from him. 
 She wished to be in full sympathy with him, but 
 Marana seemed to stand between them. For when 
 she had learned, from Geoffrey's letter to AVallie, 
 that Marana was Ed's companion, she had been 
 forced to the conclusion that the relation between 
 them must be an unlawful one ; and the circumstance 
 that Maraiia, rather than any other woman, should 
 be the person holding this position, had affected her 
 with a peculiar horror. There seemed to be some- 
 thing wantonly repugnant in it. She might have 
 prevented herself from definitely realizing the fact 
 had a stranger to herself been involved ; but, 
 Marana ! she had lived under her name, and occu- 
 pied her place so long, as to make her feel that she 
 was in some way personally mixed up in the catas- 
 trophe. 
 
 In a few moments Ed turned round and saw his 
 sister. 
 
 The personal magnetism of eye to eye with those 
 who are really dear to each other overcomes, for 
 the time being, all scruples and recoilings. When, 
 therefore, her brother gave a glad start, and stepped 
 toward Beatrix with an inarticulate exclamation of
 
 HOW THEY WERE LOST, ETC. 251 
 
 affection, she forgot everything except that he was 
 her brother, with whom she had spent her childhood, 
 who had cut his initials on the banister of the old 
 staircase, whose white roses she had worn on her 
 bosom until within the last few months, by whose 
 side she had ridden, and in whose company she had 
 ransacked the woods : she found herself with her 
 arms round his neck, kissing him, smiling with wet 
 cheeks, and murmuring, "Dear Ed! dear, darling 
 boy ! Oh, I am so glad to have you again ! " 
 
 " How well you are looking, sis ! " he said at 
 length, taking her by the elbows, and looking at 
 her. She was, indeed, beautifully dressed, and her 
 face was rosy with the emotion of the moment, and, 
 passion aside, he cared more for her than for any 
 one else ; but he had not the eyes to discern the 
 traces of fatigue and anxiety on her face ; it takes a 
 lover to do that. When a man looks at his sister, 
 he thinks of the past ; when he looks at his mistress, 
 he thinks of the present and the future. 
 
 " Why, but you're a great swell now, aren't you ? " 
 Ed continued, laughingly. His temperament varied 
 quickly, and without any moral reason, between 
 extremes of depression and joviality. " I had no 
 idea my little sis was going to come out on the top 
 of the heap, this way. I always said nobody could 
 beat you singing, though ; and nobody can, though 
 Vera is perfect in her way, too."
 
 252 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 " Vera?" she repeated, glancing up quickly. 
 
 " That's her name Vera Marana. Ah, my dear, 
 I've got a heap to tell you about her ! By the way," 
 he said, laughing, " people here, I suppose, think you 
 know more about Marana than any one else. Well, 
 you do look a little like her, that's what first made 
 me look at her. But I want you to know her ; I'm 
 certain you'd take to each other ! She's the dearest 
 woman in the world, and as generous and good as 
 she is lovely." 
 
 "Good?" repeated Beatrix, whose face, during 
 this speech, had run through a gamut of expressions, 
 and now rested in bewilderment. 
 
 " Good ! I should think so. Do you imagine I'd 
 want you to know her if she wasn't everything a 
 lady should be, and a great deal more? You ought 
 to have heard the way I sailed into poor old dad, 
 just now, for calling her names. I guess he won't 
 do it again ! " 
 
 Beatrix clapped her hands together under her chin, 
 with a cry of almost hysteric joy, and instantly 
 embraced her brother again with all the added ardor 
 that can be given to affection by remorse. She had 
 wickedly wronged him by allowing herself to 
 imagine, even for a moment, that he, or anybody 
 connected with him, could ever be anything but 
 patterns of honesty and virtue. For fear of making 
 bad worse, she forbore to explain to him the cause
 
 HOW THEY WERE LOST, ETC. 253 
 
 of her sudden demonstrativeness ; he should be made 
 conscious of her repentance only by the tenderness 
 and observance which she would lavish upon him. 
 The thought came into her mind, also, that, by her 
 love for her brother, she could in some degree com- 
 pensate herself for the loss of her other love, for 
 she told herself that it was lost, and had been 
 repeating the statement with tenfold diligence ever 
 since learning that Geoffrey had returned to New 
 York. 
 
 Ed, who was never particularly observant of the 
 feelings of others, except when his own feelings 
 were bound up in them, passed over all this little 
 tumult of emotion without any suspicions, and, in 
 response to his sister's eagerly expressed interest in 
 the subject, talked about himself and his affairs to 
 the heart's content of both speaker and listener. He 
 no longer felt the humiliation and helplessness of his 
 position so keenly as an hour ago ; the companion- 
 ship of this sister, whom he had so recklessly impover- 
 ished, and to whose energy and genius he was under 
 such weighty obligations, insensibly began to put 
 him in better humor with himself and his prospects. 
 It is not difficult to take a reassuring view of our con- 
 duct, when our natural bias thereto is stimulated by 
 the sympathy of one who emphasizes the signifi- 
 cance of all the favorable features and brushes out 
 of sight all the ungainly ones. Ed gave his sister
 
 254 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 a picturesque and stirring account of his first meet- 
 ing with Marana, their mutual captivation, what 
 she had said, what he had answered, what she 
 had answered, and what he had said. He made it 
 appear plainly that his spending a hundred thousand 
 dollars was a proceeding rather meritorious and self- 
 sacrificing than otherwise, inasmuch as it would have 
 been unworthy a Randolph not to make a splendid 
 appearance in the eyes of the woman he loved, and 
 amidst such rivals as those with whom he had to con- 
 tend ; and, moreover (as he truly observed) , he him- 
 self was the worst off of any of the family, when the 
 money was gone. " And, of course," he added, " I 
 had no idea at what a rate I was going it ; I declare, 
 sis, I never was more floored than when dad wrote 
 me that we were ' ruined by my criminal extrava- 
 gance,' as he put it. Besides, we shouldn't have 
 been ruined at all if he hadn't gone blundering 
 down into Wall Street. That's the way the money 
 went, after all, and I can't help suspecting the old 
 gentleman is as much to blame as I am." 
 
 " Well, dear, that's all right now ; and I'm glad 
 the money was gone, since it gave me a chance to 
 help. But, O Ed ! do you think' Mile. Marana 
 minds much ? She can't think worse of me for doing 
 it in that way, I mean than I do of myself; 
 but what should we have done, you see, if I hadn't 
 done it ? "
 
 HOW THEY WERE LOST, ETC. 255 
 
 " I don't blame you a bit, sis, remember that ! " 
 her brother replied. " I'm proud of you ; there's 
 not another girl in the country who could succeed 
 as you have. And it's a great deal pleasanter for 
 me to come home and find the bills paid than if I'd 
 found you all living in the poorhouse which was 
 what I expected. All I'm sorry for is However," 
 he broke off, magnanimously, " that can't be helped. 
 It's only my luck ! " 
 
 " Dearest boy ! do tell me everything ! " 
 
 Ed heaved a sigh. The sense of his misfortunes, 
 dispelled for a time by the animation of his self-vin- 
 dication and. anecdotes, now returned upon him. 
 " I'm the most .unlucky devil alive, and there's no 
 use talking about it," he declared, despairingly. 
 
 " O Ed ! if you can be married, what greater 
 happiness could there be ? " said his sister, with a 
 suppressed sigh for her own unimportant misery. 
 
 " Exactly ! but we can't." 
 
 "Oh, you can ! Who says not? Don't ever let 
 anything prevent you ! " Beatrix exclaimed with great 
 energy. There is sometimes a bitter consolation in 
 urging upon others conduct which we would fain 
 embrace ourselves. "If you love a person, every- 
 thing is right and wise, except to let yourself be 
 parted from them. But that is almost wicked ! " 
 
 " What must be, must ! " responded Ed, in a still 
 more hopeless tone, but not without a secret hope
 
 256 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 that some method might be devised to escape the 
 inevitable. 
 
 Beatrix paused, thinking intently, and with in- 
 creasing agitation. 
 
 " I believe I know what you mean," she said at 
 last, with a deep undertone of sad affection in her 
 voice. "You think you ought not to marry her be- 
 cause I am your sister, that is, because I have 
 wronged her. O Ed, that is it ! You can't 
 deny it, dear. You would sacrifice all your hap- 
 piness so as not to seem to take her part against 
 me. I might have known that it could be nothing 
 less noble than that ; but it shall not be, you 
 must not dream of it ! When she knows how 
 sorry I am and she shall know everybody shall 
 know it ! I'll tell you how it shall be," she con- 
 tinued, springing up from the sofa on which they 
 were sitting together, and pacing up and down, 
 passing the fingers of one hand at intervals over her 
 forehead and hair. At length she stopped in front 
 of him. " To-morrow evening is my last perform- 
 ance," she said. "After it is over I will ask 
 General Inigo to tell the audience, or, perhaps, it 
 would be better if I went out and told them myself, 
 all the whole story : how I come to take her place, 
 and who I really am, and all ! After that she will 
 forgive me ; I'll make her forgive me for your sake ; 
 and then, Ed dear," she concluded, with a misty
 
 HOW THEY WERE LOST, ETC. 257 
 
 smile and a tremor of the lip, "you need not be 
 afraid to make her my sister ! " 
 
 " It's splendid of you to think of euch a thing, 
 dear little sis ! " exclaimed her brother, drawing her 
 down to him and kissing her. " But it would never 
 do to go to work in that way ; in the first place, it 
 might knock all your popularity on the head. The 
 public doesn't understand generous and elevated con- 
 duct as I do." 
 
 "No matter if they don't understand it. I have 
 already made up my mind to one tiling, I shall 
 never sing again on the stage after to-morrow." 
 
 " What a notion ! See if you don't." 
 
 "No, indeed. I had decided on that before 
 before I knew anything about your affairs, you dear 
 boy ! The debts are paid, and papa and I can live in 
 the old house again ; and that is all I ever meant to 
 do. Being on the stage is not pleasant in some ways ; 
 and, besides well, at any rate, I'm determined, 
 and when I am determined, I never change ; and 
 I will tell the audience so to-morrow night." 
 
 "No, no ! I tell you," cried Ed, becoming lively 
 again, " if singing won't do for you on the stage, 
 speechifying's out of the question. You'd be like 
 these women's-rights geese. There's no necessity 
 for it, either. If Vera knows that you wouldn't feel 
 hurt at my marrying her, I dare say she'd come 
 round all right. The only difficulty then would be,
 
 258 BEATRIX EANDOLPH. 
 
 that I should seem to be, in a certain way, dependent 
 on her. But I have been thinking, the last few days, 
 that I'd go into some profession, engineering, or 
 architecture, or something of that kind ; and then I 
 guess I could be making money enough, in a year or 
 two, to take the edge off the thing. I'm not a fool, 
 sis, though maybe I have acted rather like one." 
 
 "You are the dearest and best brother in the 
 world, "said Beatrix, with the gentleness of profound 
 conviction ; and on the heels of this moderate state- 
 ment "VVallie Dinsmore came into the room, and in- 
 vited Edward to sit down to a cold lunch with him. 
 "The ladies would not wait for us," he observed, 
 " and it would be foolhardy for us to Avait for dinner. 
 Of course, Miss Randolph and Mrs. Dinsmore will 
 pour out our beer for us." 
 
 Edward assented ; but Beatrix, after a moment's 
 hesitation, excused herself on some feminine plea, 
 and, refusing any escort or offer of a carriage, set out 
 on foot towards her home, as she had accustomed 
 herself to call it. The evening was now at hand, 
 though it lacked something of four o'clock. The 
 sidewalks were covered with a drifting layer of 
 white, and the flakes still swirled and dangled down- 
 ward from the obscure blankness overhead. As 
 Beatrix, walking briskly, approached Madison square, 
 the frigid glare of the electric lamp, from the sum- 
 mit of its immense mast, marked itself out on the
 
 THEY WERE LOST, ETC. 259 
 
 storm like a gigantic tent of light. Warmly wrapped 
 in her fur-lined cloak, Beatrix did not mind the 
 snow and wind ; they gave her a kind of pleasure ; 
 she felt strengthened and heartened by the robust 
 pungency of the atmosphere. It reminded her of 
 her winters in the old place far up the Hudson, 
 the days of frozen forests and gigantic snowballs, 
 and the long icicles hanging from the eaves on the 
 south-west corner. Well, her work was all but 
 done, and she might begin that life again as soon as 
 she pleased. But could that life ever begin again 
 for her ? After all the events and experiences of this 
 season could she, in a moment, become Beatrix Ran- 
 dolph once more? Had not the name of Marana 
 carried some spell with it, Avhose effects would never 
 leave her ? As she speculated thus , and her heart began 
 to sink again, she turned the corner of Fifth avenue, 
 and came into collision with a gentleman who was 
 proceeding swiftly in the opposite direction. 
 
 Her head was bent, her veil was over her eyes, 
 the air was full of snow and the confusing dazzle of 
 street lights ; it was impossible that she should know 
 who this man was ; and yet she did know at once, 
 and she even fancied that she had anticipated the 
 meeting a moment before it occurred. And, first, a 
 great wave of joy seemed to swell and murmur in her 
 heart ; and then she called to mind all manner of 
 unwelcome and crippling considerations, and drew
 
 260 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 herself together in a defensive attitude. Physically, 
 she stopped, breathing quickly, and removing one 
 hand from her muff to keep down her veil. She 
 thought that he would perhaps not recognize her. 
 But a man can recognize the woman he loves by a 
 glimpse of the movement of her shoulder, far off in 
 a crowd, nay, by the toss of the feather in her 
 hat. The magic of love consists mainly in its 
 stimulating us to use our senses ; and then we are 
 surprised to discover what a marvellous capacity and 
 keenness those senses have. The heavenly intelli- 
 gence of angels can only be the result of the depth 
 and ardor of their power to love. 
 
 " Mademoiselle " he began, and stopped, for 
 he had never called her by her real name, and 
 though he knew, now, what it was, it had no per- 
 sonal association with her in his mind. "I was 
 going to find you," he continued. 
 
 "I was not lost. So you have returned, Mr. 
 Bellingham ? " 
 
 "I must speak to you, Miss Randolph ! " 
 "Is it necessary, on this corner? A singer must 
 be careful of her throat, you know." 
 
 " Take my arm. I'll get a hack for you." 
 " Thank you ; I am doing very well." 
 She walked on, and he walked beside her. The 
 facilities for conversation were certainly not good, 
 even had the readiness been there. He was six or
 
 HOW THEY WERE LOST, ETC. 261 
 
 seven inches taller than she, and he was obliged to 
 stoop, and speak loud, in order to ensure her hearing 
 him, while he was in danger of missing or mis- 
 interpreting the muffled murmur of her replies. But 
 there was in Bellingham a great deal of constancy 
 and concentration of purpose. 
 
 " I don't expect you to forgive me," he said. 
 "Only understand that I run never forgive- myself. 
 Such a blunder should have been impossible to a 
 man who felt toward you as I did. If I had 1,-eni 
 worth your caring for, I should not have made it." 
 
 " It was natural ; you could not have done any- 
 thing else ; I do not blame you," said Beatrix, 
 through her veil. Geoffrey did not wholly catch 
 her words ; he understood her to say that such a 
 mistake was only to be expected of him ; and his 
 face fell. She perceived the change in him, and 
 faltered out, " I mean that I do forgive you ! " But 
 a Fifth-avenue stage, rattling by just then, drowned 
 this sentence altogether. 
 
 "I don't mean to persecute you," he remarked, 
 speaking in a monotonous tone, as they walked 
 onward side by side. "I didn't return from Europe 
 for that ; I merely wanted you to know. I used to 
 think that, whatever happened, I could always think 
 and act like a man who believed in goodness, and 
 purity. But I failed at the important moment, an-.l 
 you may be right, it was only natural in me.
 
 262 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 For a long time many years before I met you 
 I had nothing to do with women, and thought as 
 little as possible about them. You seemed to me, 
 when I first saw you, everything that I most wanted, 
 and, at the same time, everything that I most dis- 
 liked. It was the contradiction between what I felt 
 you were and what I thought you were. That began 
 with our first evening, and went on exaggerating 
 itself until the end. That's my story, Miss Ran- 
 dolph. After all it's only a long way of saying, f l 
 made a mistake, and beg your pardon.'" 
 
 Beatrix heard all this, and the more she heard the 
 more tormented she felt, and the faster she tried to 
 walk ; but the sidewalks were slippery, and, at last, 
 in crossing a street, her foot slipped, and she would 
 have fallen if Geoffrey had not caught her arm. 
 She stopped, pressing her hands, which were clasped 
 inside her muff, against her heart, and glancing this 
 way and that, like a bird that knows not which way 
 to fly. She was in just such a half-frantic, half- 
 hopeless mood as often prompts women to acts which 
 appear and perhaps really are insane. She 
 knew that on the passing moment depended proba- 
 bly the failure or success, the happiness or misery, 
 of her whole future life. She knew that everything 
 was going topsy-turvv, absurdly and gratuitously 
 wrong. And she felt paralyzed wholly unable to 
 utter a word to set everything right : a word would
 
 HOW THEY WERE LOST, ETC. 263 
 
 have done it. What prevented her? In part, per- 
 haps, the very urgency of her desire, which tripped 
 up its performance. But what appeared to be the 
 real obstacles were utterly trivial material accidents, 
 such as being in the open street, being buffeted by 
 the wind, being obstructed by her veil, 'being unable 
 to see the expression of Bellingham's face, because 
 it was in shadow. The more despicably small the 
 hindrances were, and the more out of proportion 
 with the thing they were hindering, the less could 
 Beatrix prevail against them. So it often seems to 
 be in this world : it is not only that the mountain in 
 labor brings forth a mouse, but that a mouse pre- 
 vents the bringing forth of a mountain. 
 
 Bellingham, also, was wretchedly aware that he 
 had ruined whatever little chance he may have had ; 
 that he had spoken baldly and perfunctorily, with a 
 frozen tongue, although his heart was on fire. He 
 could not help it : he could have died for her on the 
 spot, but he could not put into his voice or face as 
 much life as would have kept a gnat in motion. It 
 w;is all over. 
 
 " Will you stop this stage for me, please ? " Beatrix 
 had said, as another of those gorgeous vehicles came 
 swinging and lumbering along. 
 
 " With pleasure ! " Bellingham replied, not 
 ironically, but mechanically. The stage pulled up ; 
 he handed all he loved in the world up the step ; he
 
 264 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 saw her fall into a seat, and then, with a jerk and 
 a hoof-clatter, stage and all disappeared in the gloom 
 and snow. Bellingham remained for a few moments 
 in the middle of the road, like a policeman ; till, rec- 
 ollecting himself, he saw before him the hospitable 
 entrance of Delmonico's, and went in there.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE GREAT MARANA. 
 
 ri THE next night was the last of the opera season, 
 and the prima donna who had attained such un- 
 exampled popularity with the New York public was 
 to bid them farewell in the same character in which 
 she had made their acquaintance, the Gretchen 
 of Faust. She had intended to spend the day as 
 much as possible in solitude ; she wished to think, 
 to work into her mind and arrange the throng of ideas 
 that were crowding one another there ; to review what 
 was past, to contemplate what might be to conic. 
 But it all turned out differently. She was allowed 
 no repose from morning till night. There was a 
 multitude of petty matters to attend to, many people 
 to see ; at another time much of this might have 
 seemed to her of no little importance ; but now all 
 passed before her like a troublesome dream, and 
 when night came she could not have given a clear 
 account of anything that had happened. There had 
 been an unexpected and painful scene with Madame 
 Bemax, who had fallen into a sort of fren/y. ami 
 grasped the skirts of Beatrix's dress, and poured forth
 
 266 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 a long and revolting story about the wrongs she had 
 endured from Hamilton Jocelyn ; had ended by call- 
 ing herself a wretch, and declaring that unless 
 Beatrix pardoned her she would kill herself. Beatrix 
 pardoned her immediately, Avith only a confused un- 
 derstanding of what she was pardoning her for ; but 
 she could see that the woman was in great distress 
 of mind, and that was something she could sympa- 
 thize with. She had seen Ed and her father, and 
 Wallie Dinsmore ; there had been a great deal of 
 discussjon, and some disputing, ending, apparently, 
 in a sort of conditional reconciliation ; but she had 
 been unable to keep her attention fixed on the subject 
 long enough at a time to comprehend the bearings of 
 it. She had also seen Inigo, who was in an agitated 
 frame of mind, jumping up from his chair and sitting 
 down again twenty times, asking questions which he 
 tried to answer himself, talking about his reputation, 
 about his fidelity to his contracts, about his financial 
 liberality, and about Mile. Marana, whom he alter- 
 nately abused and praised, and between whom and 
 Beatrix he seemed anxious to bring about an inter- 
 view. Beatrix was willing, even desirous, that the 
 interview should take place ; but nothing of the sort 
 happened, and the inference was that Mile. Marana 
 must have declined. Altogether, the evening fell 
 ominously. But, as Beatrix drove to the theatre in 
 a covered sleigh, a kind of calmness, almost happi-
 
 THE ORE AT MAEANA. 267 
 
 ness, came over her. These regular meetings with 
 her audiences had grown to be an indescribable re- 
 source and support to her. They enabled her to 
 throw aside herself and her affairs ; to appeal from 
 the narrow and interested circle of her private friends 
 and enemies to the vast, impersonal, careless, good- 
 humored world of the public, who loved and ap- 
 plauded her artistic self, and knew and cared nothing 
 about her real thoughts and existence. How would 
 it be when this resource no longer remained to her? 
 She put that question aside ; and the porter at the 
 stage entrance, who attached great importance to the 
 smile of greeting he received each evening from the 
 Diva, reported on this occasion that the dear lady 
 had seemed to be in especially good spirits. More- 
 over she had slipped into his hand a snuff-box (he 
 was a Hanoverian, and took snuff), containing, not 
 snuff, but a fifty-dollar bank-note. 
 
 A few hours before the theatre opened Wallie 
 Dinsmore had met Geoffrey Bellingham in that 
 general rendezvous of American celebrities, the 
 corridor of the Fifth Avenue Hotel. 
 
 "I've been looking for you for the last twenty- 
 four hours," he said, " but tins is the last place I ex- 
 pected to see you in.' 1 
 
 " Maybe th::t's why I'm here." responded Geoffrey, 
 laconically. 
 
 "I wanted you to dine with me yesterday."
 
 268 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 " I went to Delmonico's." 
 
 " Europe has demoralized you." 
 
 "Perhaps. I saw Hamilton Jocelyn there, and 
 Inigo. That fellow's a scoundrel." 
 
 Inigo?" 
 
 " Jocelyn, Do you know what he has been doing ? 
 They had both of them been drinking, and it leaked 
 out. He has been defrauding Miss Randolph of a 
 part of her salary, about twenty-five or thirty 
 thousand dollars." 
 
 " Then the agreement was for four thousand ? " 
 
 " Inigo paid that to Jocelyn for her. Jocelyn 
 kept back part. It seems to have been a sort of ar- 
 rangement between Jocelyn and Inigo, I imagine 
 Inigo allowed it, to keep Jocelyn quiet. It was a 
 rascally transaction, as I told them ; the fellow ought 
 to be locked up. He's not to be found to-day, and 
 I expect he's cleared out." 
 
 " Very likely. That Madame Bemax seems to have 
 had something against him, too. But if this new 
 Marana can only be pacified, I shall be content to 
 let the rest go. Of course you will be at the opera 
 to-night ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " That's absurd ! You must come." 
 
 " No ; why should I? You have chosen to sup- 
 pose that there was something between Miss Ran- 
 dolph and me. I never .cared to undeceive you,
 
 TEE GREAT MARANA. 269 
 
 it would have been giving the affair too much im- 
 portance. But, whatever there might have been, 
 there is certainly nothing now, nor ever will be." 
 
 " If I was deceived, then I don't see why you 
 refuse to come to-night." 
 
 " I simply don't care to," said Bellingham, ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 AVallie looked at him, and decided that the wisest 
 course would be not to press him any further. They 
 parted, and Bellingham went to his rooms, lit a lamp, 
 and sat himself down to read. But when the hour 
 for the performance approached, he closed the book, 
 dressed himself, and drove to the theatre. He could 
 not resist this impulse. When he arrived the over- 
 ture was just concluding. " I shall not be able to 
 get a place," he said to himself; " it is just as well." 
 But when he presented himself at the ticket-office, 
 the clerk, who recognized him, remarked with a 
 smile, " Just one seat vacant, Mr. Bellingham, and 
 that is the one you used to occupy the first of the 
 season ; will you have it ? " It seemed like manifest 
 destiny. " All right," said Bellingham. He took 
 the ticket, entered the house, and sat down. As he 
 did so, the curtain rose. 
 
 The interval between this night and the one on 
 which he had last been here enabled him to draw u 
 comparison between the Gretchen of the debut and 
 this of the farewell. There was a sentimental feeling
 
 270 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 perceptible among the audience. The American 
 people are fond of sentiment, when managed dra- 
 matically ; and this, no doubt, had its effect on the 
 singer, and warmed and sweetened the music of her 
 voice. But, such accidents aside, it was evident that 
 she had improved, though precisely in what respect 
 Bellingham would have found it difficult to say. 
 Her manner was less exuberant, more concise and 
 true. She had learned her power and her resources, 
 and used them with full confidence and art. In her 
 singing, moreover, could be discerned, not the music 
 merely, but the human character which the poet 
 portrayed. When she was on the stage it was diffi- 
 cult to realize the separate existence of anything else ; 
 wherever she stood she was the centre and reason of 
 the scene. Every gesture and movement was an 
 enlightenment and a gratification. She was always 
 where she belonged ; each thing she did so nicely 
 fitted the occasion that the spectator fancied he had 
 known beforehand that it would so be done. " This 
 is what she was born for," said Bellingham to him- 
 self, with gloomy frankness. "I should only have 
 been in the way. I'm glad I came here, if only to 
 have made sure of that. Such a woman should no 
 more be monopolized and caged in domesticity than 
 a waterfall or a strain of music. The mischief of it 
 is that I did not recognize the fact before." 
 
 As he sat absorbed in her. and happy in spite of
 
 THE GREAT MARANA. 271 
 
 his unhappiness, he noticed that she carried in her 
 girdle a bunch of marguerites. The discovery gave 
 him a gradual start, so to say; he became only 
 slowly aware how much it surprised and affected 
 him. He had always provided her with a bunch of 
 them, whenever she sang in Faust, from the first day 
 onward.; often not without difficulty, for daisies do 
 not grow in northern meadows all the year 
 round. Had she,' during his absence, been procur- 
 ing them for herself ; or was this the first occasion 
 of her wearing them since he went away? The 
 former was much the more likely ; actresses be- 
 come accustomed to little particulars of the toilet, 
 and are not at ease without them. Nevertheless, 
 Bellingham could not banish the notion that the 
 latter alternative might be the true one. Did he 
 believe it because he wished it? Why should he 
 wish it? It was useless to torment himself with 
 such questions. In matters appertaining to Miss 
 Randolph he seemed to be swayed by an influence, 
 a fate, an attraction, almost independent of his own 
 will and reason. What could be more unreasonable 
 than to suppose that this bunch of marguerites was 
 a secret signal to him to come to her, to speak with 
 her, to be once more all that he had been to her 
 and more ? Had not that interview in last evening's 
 snow-storm put an end to all such anticipations? 
 But, again, was this the same woman who had van-
 
 272 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 ished from him in the 'bus on that occasion? With 
 so much difference in her surroundings, was there 
 none in her? Well, she had betrayed no conscious- 
 ness of his presence to-night. They had exchanged 
 no glance, as sometimes in the former days. After 
 all was said and done, however, Bellingham knew 
 that he should find himself behind the scenes, face to 
 face with her, before the night was over. 
 
 Inigo, by what he considered a bold stroke of 
 statesmanship, had placed one of the stage-boxes at 
 the disposal of Mile. Marana, known as Mrs. Peters. 
 "If she means to make a row," he argued, "treating 
 her gentlemanly won't make it worse ; and it may 
 just tone her down a little." But, whatever the 
 lady may have thought of the compliment, she 
 omitted to avail herself of the box. When the cur- 
 tain rose she had not arrived ; and the box remained 
 empty all the evening. This was of evil omen to 
 the peace and friendly feeling which General Inigo 
 was so solicitous to ensure. He resorted frequently 
 to the bar, though with no good effect on his 
 anxiety. " Now, what the blazes can she be up to, 
 eh?" he frequently asked himself and the elder 
 Randolph, as the hours passed away. He seemed 
 to think she was quite capable of coming into the 
 house with a nihilist bomb, by way of expressing 
 her dissatisfaction'. As for Ed, he knew as little 
 about her as any one else, though he had learned, be-
 
 THE GREAT MARANA. 273 
 
 fore coming down to the theatre, that she was not 
 in her rooms at the hotel. She had gone out, but 
 had not left word where she was going. 
 
 The audience seemed determined, on this night, 
 to surpass all previous demonstrations of enthusi- 
 asm. A cynic might have said that they had set 
 their hearts on reading, in the next morning's papers, 
 that the applause and floral tributes which greeted the 
 great singer on the eve of her departure from our 
 shores were such as to outdo anything hitherto ex- 
 perienced. The popular favorite was summoned in- 
 numerable times before the curtain ; and, at the 
 conclusion of the performance But before the 
 conclusion of the performance some events happened 
 which did not appear in the papers, but which it will 
 be necessary to relate. 
 
 As the curtain descended upon the last act but 
 one, General Inigo, who was in the side scenes, re- 
 ceived a card, which seemed to have upon him an 
 effect as of a strong charge of electricity. He ran 
 precipitately to the private door communicating be- 
 tween the house and the stage, where a lady 
 standing, much muffled up. She wore a black dress 
 and cloak, and her head and shoulders were envel- 
 oped in a white lace shawl. She let this fall open 
 as Inigo approached, and disclosed the features of 
 Vera Marnna. She laughed good-naturedly, and 
 gave him her hand, which he covered with kisses,
 
 274 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 while his eyes devoured her with astonishment and 
 interrogation. 
 
 "Well, M. Moses," said she, "what are you so 
 affectionate for ? Have you pardoned me ? " 
 
 " Pardoned ! Ah ! Diva ! By Jupiter ! Did 
 you just come ? " 
 
 " I was here from the first ; but not in the box 
 no ; one cannot hear there. I was away among the 
 common ones. It was necessary I should know 
 what she could do this young lady this other 
 self! Well, mon ami, you may compose yourself. 
 I have heard her, now I wish to see her speak to 
 her. Conduct me where she is, and then leave us. 
 Is any one with her ? " 
 
 " Only her brother. Shall I " 
 
 " _Z?i*en, bien! Lead on, mon vieux, I am in a 
 hurry." 
 
 When he had brought her to the door of Beatrix's 
 room she made him depart, and then knocked at the 
 door. It was opened by Ed. She made him a 
 gesture at once of greeting and of silence, and ad- 
 vanced into the room, which was filled with flowers. 
 Beatrix was reclining on her sofa, with a sad and 
 abstracted expression ; but as she raised her eyes, 
 and met those of her visitor, she sat erect, and the 
 next moment rose to her feet. " You are Marana ! " 
 she said, in an inward tone. The two women gazed 
 intently at each other, and there was silence for sev-
 
 THE GREAT MAEANA. 275 
 
 eral seconds. At last the visitor said, "I have 
 thought I was Marana until now. But now, mad- 
 emoiselle, the name is yours, by the right that you 
 have made it more honorable." 
 
 " Oh, no no !" the other murmured. 
 
 "Yes, yes, yes!" said Marana, with a smile, 
 which, however, was quickly lost in the gravity of 
 her reigning expression. " You have surprised me," 
 she continued, after a pause ; "I did not mean to for- 
 give you ! I was angry. But your voice has called 
 my heart out of my bosom ; there is no one who can 
 sing like you, no one, not even I ! " 
 
 The tone in which these words were uttered 
 dignified, but profoundly pathetic, as of a great 
 queen discrowning herself touched Beatrix to the 
 soul, and her eyes filled with tears. She shook her 
 head : but she could not speak. After all, there 
 was a ravishing sweetness in this praise, coming 
 from the one source in the world which there could 
 be no gainsaying. 
 
 " You two ought to pull in a team," put in Ed. 
 " No theatre standing would hold the audiences that 
 would come to hear you sing together ! " 
 
 Marana made a gesture of negation with her head. 
 "There shall never be but one Marana," she said 
 proudly, " and she shall be the greatest singer in the 
 world ! Behold her ! " she added, with a movement 
 of her eyes towards Beatrix. "As for me, I sing
 
 276 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 no more ! I have been your audience, Madem- 
 oiselle : I will never again have an audience of my 
 own ! " 
 
 " Do not say it ! you break my heart ! " cried 
 Beatrix ; and she glided forward, and took the 
 Russian impetuously in her arms. " Tell her, Ed," 
 she said, half turning to appeal to him, but not let- 
 ting Marana go. " It is I who shall sing no more ; I 
 did it only to help my father and him. This is the 
 last night. If you care for him, do not punisli his 
 sister. Be yourself again, and be my sister, too ! " 
 
 Marana drew her head back, and gazed for a 
 moment into the other's eyes. Then she kissed her 
 gravely on both cheeks, and disengaged herself. 
 "You believe, then, that I really love your 
 brother?" said she. 
 
 "Yes, indeed! How could you help it?" ex- 
 claimed Beatrix, warmly. 
 
 " And you, monsieur, what have you to say ? " con- 
 tinued the other, letting her eyes rest upon him with 
 a certain veiled intensity, the lids half drooped. 
 " Are you also of opinion that . . . you are not 
 indifferent to me ? " 
 
 "It would take a cleverer man than I am to see 
 through you, Vera," returned the young gentleman, 
 naively ; "but I <L>n't believe that I could be loving 
 you so much as I do, if you didn't love me back ! " 
 
 " But would you marry me, even? "
 
 THE GREAT MARANA. 277 
 
 Ed's face flushed, and his eyes sparkled. "Haven't 
 I shown that I would?" he demanded, between his 
 teeth. " Don't make game of me, Vera, unless you 
 mean to be kind afterwards ! " 
 
 She stood looking at him, her head a little bent to 
 the left, her arms hanging down on both sides of her 
 graceful figure. "^ mean to be kind to you, my 
 dear," she said, finally, in a low tone; "more kind 
 than you would think if you knew what I have some- 
 times been in my life." 
 
 "Ed, I am so glad," whispered Beatrix to him in 
 the little pause that followed ; but the whisper was 
 tremulous, for a sense of her own forlornness must 
 needs insinuate itself. "You won't forget me, will 
 you? because I love you too," she added. 
 
 But Ed, who was familiar with the expressions on 
 Marana's face, wore an anxious contraction on his 
 forehead ; he drew in his lips and held his breath. 
 
 "I had given up expecting love when I met you," 
 she continued, her bosom visibly rising and falling. 
 "I am not going to spoil it, now that it has come. 
 For that, also, you may partly thank your sister. 
 She has made me feel that it is good to be generous. 
 You have never known me. I showed you only the 
 best ; it was true, but it was not all. If I were 
 your wife you would haj'e to know all. I should not 
 mind for myself, but I should not like you to learn 
 that love is less lovely than it seems now at least,
 
 278 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 not from me. Yesterday you might have married me ; 
 but to-day no ! My memory will be pleasanter to 
 you than I should be after a while. We will say 
 good-by." She put out her left hand toward him 
 and smiled. " Good-by ! " 
 
 He covered his face with the back of his hand. 
 "I can't bear it ! " he said, in a broken voice. 
 
 Marana's inscrutable face quivered for a moment ; 
 she seemed to waver ; she swayed slightly toward 
 him as she stood ; her lips parted and her eyes shone. 
 But then, with a deep breath, she regained her self- 
 command. She looked at Beatrix, as much as to 
 say, "You must comfort him." Then she turned, 
 with a sweep of her black dress, moved to the door, 
 and opened it. Bellingham and Wallie Dinsmore 
 were just approaching. 
 
 "You are late, messieurs," exclaimed Marana, in 
 a gay tone. " I have been offering my homage ! " 
 
 Wallie looked from one to the other of the three, 
 quietly observant. Ed, with his face averted, was 
 putting on his overcoat and hat ; he then pulled the 
 brim of the latter over his eyes and went hastily out, 
 looking neither to the right nor left. Beatrix, with 
 one hand resting on the marble dressing-table, and 
 her eyes wide open, stood in a sort of trance. She 
 had not yet seen Bellingham. Wallie offered Ma- 
 rana his arm. 
 
 "Since you are going, Diva," he said, "permit
 
 THE GREAT MARANA. 279 
 
 me to escort YOU. You misunderstood me yesterday 
 morning. Whatever homage I have to offer shall 
 be paid to you." 
 
 Bellingham, thus abandoned to his own guidance, 
 strode up to Beatrix, who uttered a cry ; it seemed 
 to her as if he had suddenly started up out of the 
 floor. It had been his purpose to make a final ap- 
 peal to her, and no doubt his words would have been 
 eloquent and moving, and possibly they might have 
 gained him his object ; though he would have had to 
 contend against the incomprehensible doubts, hesita- 
 tions, perversity, and pride of a woman who loves 
 and knows that she is loved, and yet draws back for 
 the sake of something, Heaven knows what. But, 
 as it happened, not a syllable of Bellingham's appeal 
 was ever uttered. For, before he could open his 
 lips to begin, the bell rang which conveys the order 
 for the curtain to rise on the last act. So he, per- 
 ceiving that there was no time to lose, simply caught 
 Beatrix in his arms, met her eyes for an instant, and 
 kissed her. After that, it was too late for her to 
 draw back, even had she wished to. She went to 
 take her part on the stage, but she left a marguerite 
 in Bellingham's hand. 
 
 Such is the private history of that memorable la-: 
 night, the other details of which have been sufficiently 
 described in the journals of the period. Mrs. Peters 
 is understood to have sailed for Europe a day or two
 
 280 BEATRIX RANDOLPH. 
 
 later. Jocelyn disappeared, leaving unsavory traces 
 behind him. Mr. Randolph, senior, returned to his 
 place up the Hudson, where he is occasionally visited 
 by his married daughter. Ed entered the office of 
 the latter's husband, in the capacity of clerk, and is 
 doing well. As for Mile. Marana, the famous prima 
 donna, she has vanished as utterly as if she had never 
 had any existence. There are two or three persons 
 in New York who are believed to know something 
 about her ; there are perhaps a dozen who know 
 enough to look wise when the matter is broached in 
 their presence ; there are a hundred or two who have 
 heard a report to the effect that there were some 
 facts connected with . her engagement in this city 
 which' have never been fully explained ; but the great 
 mass of the public have never been at the pains to 
 entertain any misgivings on the subject. They con- 
 tent themselves with looking forward to the time 
 when that most faithful and enterprising of impres- 
 sarios, General Inigo, shall once more bring out, at 
 his new opera house, the Great Marana. 
 
 THE END.
 
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