NOWADAYS 
 
 GEORGEA.HIBBARD
 
 Bought at. 
 
 8ERTRAND 
 
 140 Pacific A 
 LONG BEACH 
 r.Ai I pn B w i
 
 "STANDING HAND IN HAND." 
 
 [See page 49.]
 
 NOWADAYS 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES 
 
 BY GEORGE A. HIBBARD 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 IDUNA. AND OTHER STORIES " ETC.. ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 1893
 
 Copyright, 1893, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 NOWADAYS I 
 
 " THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET IN LIFE " . 37 
 
 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 63 
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY" I0 5 
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 153 
 
 A FLIRT o 
 
 2046112
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 STANDING HAND IN HAND" . . . Frontispiece. 
 
 EDITH HAD DRAWN THE CURTAIN 
 
 ABOUT HER" Facing p. 72 
 
 THE ROOM HAD BECOME QUITE 
 
 DARK" " 198 
 
 BOTH WERE SILENT FOR A MO 
 MENT " . " 266
 
 NOWADAYS
 
 NOWADAYS 
 
 Nowadays. 
 
 As Philip Santvoord steps out of the door 
 way he glances at the old butler, who, after 
 giving him his hat and stick, stands with 
 one hand on the outer door-knob, in an at 
 titude of perfect deference, yet without los 
 ing that severe look which shows that such 
 as he grow old with increasing doubt and 
 live mainly to state objections. He had 
 been in the house in the time of Philip s 
 father. He was as much an inheritance as 
 the "Juno" Madeira, and as incrusted with 
 fine old habitudes as the bottles of that 
 incomparable wine with incremental dust, 
 and in such an old family servant certain 
 inward reservations semi-openly expressed, 
 as to the doings of Philip s generation in 
 general and Philip s doings in particular, 
 were only natural and to be expected.
 
 4 NOWADAYS 
 
 "The flowers will be sent as I directed ?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr Philip." 
 
 " And Wilson is to be here with the cart 
 at half-past five not five, mind." 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Philip." 
 
 A great deal might happen, as Santvoord 
 knew, before afternoon, a great deal of vital 
 importance to him, but that was no reason 
 why any one nowadays should bother 
 himself by disarranging the programme of 
 his day, 
 
 Philip paused for a moment and then 
 added, "That will be all." 
 
 The old butler, disapprobation in every 
 line of his face, turned and shut the door 
 with a moderate bang, which sounded like 
 a well-bred ban upon all modern devices. 
 
 As Philip walked with quick but unhur 
 ried tread along the cross - street his lips 
 just moved, and he hummed to himself the 
 latest plaintive melody that had been wafted 
 across the world from some London music 
 hall. A score of things awaited his at 
 tention downtown ; he had every reason to 
 walk with a heavy heart and bent brow , but 
 still he hummed and whistled the simple
 
 NOWADAYS 5 
 
 air, as pretty and as common as the little 
 singer who had first given it success at 
 "The Empire" or "The Alhambra," with 
 the aspect of a man who had not a care in 
 the world. Is it not to-day nowadays 
 when no obtruding thought should distract, 
 no intruding memory weaken ; when the 
 present is the focus of so much that there 
 is no time for regret or apprehension ? And 
 so Santvoord walked briskly along the nar 
 row side-street, filled with the animation of 
 the late-stirring city life, cheerfully, almost 
 gayly, ready to meet what the day had in 
 store for him like the school-master of 
 Lynn when he confronted the jury that was 
 to give him life or death, " equal to either 
 fortune." 
 
 It might certainly be thought a trifle agi 
 tating to begin the day with the conscious 
 ness that before nightfall one may be either 
 a pauper or a millionnaire, with the chances 
 largely in favor of the former. And this 
 was the predicament in which Santvoord 
 found himself ; this the prospect he was 
 compelled to face on this particular morn 
 ing. Yet it all seemed to him in the regular
 
 6 NOWADAYS 
 
 order of things, for none more thoroughly 
 than he lived the life of his time, when all 
 is possible and anything probable if it be 
 only sufficiently strange and sudden -and 
 when such change as might come to him he 
 felt would be strictly "all in the day s work" 
 of the day of to day. 
 
 For the clay was a part of these strange 
 days -in which we live, and the exact mo 
 ment in which he was living and breathing 
 and having his being was a small fraction 
 of that most marvellous of all time the 
 time that we know as nowadays. 
 
 Nowadays. 
 
 Nowadays, when the world spins so very 
 rapidly down the " grooves of time " that a 
 strange vertigo makes us light-headed ; now 
 adays, when the beliefs, the hopes, the fears 
 that have brought us so far are cast by the 
 roadside as impedimenta in the on -rush; 
 nowadays, when we have "changed all that, 1 
 and change is but the beginning of change. 
 Nowadays, when the clash of battle is the 
 loudest, the contest the fiercest, the weap 
 ons of longest range and keenest edge ; 
 when gunpowder seems slow and dynamite
 
 NOWADAYS 7 
 
 almost ineffective, when heroism abides al 
 though chivalry is gone, when sacrifice ex 
 ists although policy controls. Nowadays, 
 when the pace is so great that to stumble 
 is to be overrun, but when failure yesterday 
 may be success to-day or at latest to-mor 
 row. Nowadays, which is like all other 
 days and yet so unlike any. Nowadays, 
 when every day works wonders the sight 
 of which would have made Prospero break 
 his staff and " drown " his book deeper 
 "than did ever plummet sound." 
 
 Nowadays. 
 
 Nowadays, when nothing is so distant 
 that it may not touch you; nothing, however 
 close, so near that you can wholly under 
 stand its consequences. Nowadays, when 
 the difficulties of a South American republic 
 can convulse European money centres, can 
 embarrass the American financial world, and 
 can on this morning send Philip Santvoord, 
 an American citizen, resident in this city of 
 New York, running up the stairs leading to 
 that iron chalet on stilts known as the 
 Street station of the Sixth Avenue " ele 
 vated " at quicker pace than he would have
 
 8 NOWADAYS 
 
 used if there had been no such trouble ; for 
 so remote, so near, so quick are causes, so 
 widespread, so ramified their consequences 
 nowadays. 
 
 If in nothing else, Santvoord differed 
 from most of his contemporaries in this 
 he thought very little about himself; he 
 hardly ever had time. He had always 
 lived too thoroughly the complex life of 
 nowadays was too much a part of the 
 time to recognize how characteristic he 
 really was ; for to be so completely ab 
 sorbed in a thing, so assimilated with all 
 around, is to lose self-consciousness, to be 
 come insensible, as it were, of one s own 
 identity. Therefore he did not recognize 
 anything exceptional in his position this 
 morning, considering it, if he gave it exact 
 thought at all, only something uncomforta 
 ble, something slightly disturbing, yet nat 
 ural and quite as it ought to be. How 
 could it, all things considered, possibly be 
 otherwise when, with all else, the desires, 
 demands, needs of nowadays beset and pos 
 sess men as did the devils of old, inexora 
 ble imps that no exorcism can cast out ?
 
 NOWADAYS Q 
 
 Had not his inheritance the fortune old 
 Santvoord had derived from his lazy-going 
 China trade, and which had once looked so 
 magnificent become, in comparison with 
 the wealth of nowadays, something really 
 inconsiderable ? And would he not be rec 
 reant to the faith and duty of his order if 
 he did not take the field and seek to win as 
 others all about him were doing ? 
 
 Rushing along in mid-air, the crowded 
 glittering street below, the empty, glowing 
 sky above, with stretches of unequal roofs 
 on either side leading the eye to a horizon 
 jagged with towers and chimneys, or now 
 shut in between walls that blocked the 
 view, it seemed to Santvoord, as it has 
 seemed to others even less imaginative, 
 that he was being lightly borne through 
 space, in a magical realization in practical 
 nowadays of the flying carpet of Schehere- 
 zade s tale. Glancing about the car, he 
 nodded to three or four men whom he 
 knew, noticing, as he did this, more than 
 one wrinkled brow and thoughtful, absent 
 look. A panic was imminent. Before the 
 gas had blazed or the electric lights had
 
 10 NOWADAYS 
 
 shone the evening previous, the news of 
 the turn in affairs had been flashed up 
 town. It had been an anxious day, the 
 market had been unsteady, and there had 
 been a shiver of apprehension. At night, 
 hotel corridors had been crowded with 
 curious or excited men ; wise " I-told-you- 
 so s," were frequent in all the clubs. This 
 morning the excitement had the quiet of 
 intensity, and men were hastening " down 
 town " with the aspect of reserves hurried 
 on to a doubtful battle-field. 
 
 The evident but suppressed agitation of 
 those about him was assuring to Santvoord. 
 He felt as the duellist might when he sees 
 his adversary tremble as he comes on the 
 ground. These whom he knew in the car, 
 or such as these, were to be his adversaries ; 
 and to one of his instincts, his training, his 
 time to one living nowadays to whom 
 the philosophy of him of Malmesbury, that 
 life is warfare, seems practically true any 
 sign of weakness in humanity, which to him 
 existed only to be overcome, gave a certain 
 stringent pleasure. He himself felt no fear, 
 no point of alarm touched him, no shade of
 
 NOWADAYS II 
 
 apprehension stole over any faculty ; there 
 was a strain of exhilaration rather exhila 
 ration such as is sometimes given by the 
 spur of keen pain. He might have to give 
 up everything, even the city he loved so well 
 the city that held no secrets from him, 
 that he knew with knowledge so inwrought 
 in his nature as to seem almost instinct ; 
 the knowledge the Indian has of the prairie, 
 the Arab of the desert ; the knowledge that 
 only the long-dweller in a city can obtain of 
 the peopled wilderness it in one sense is. 
 He might have to give up the costly appli 
 ances of this incongruous modern life 
 that life in which the vestiges of yesterday 
 and the aspects of to-day are so strangely 
 mingled in one mass of anomalousness ; he 
 might be compelled to yield up all consid 
 erable place in the harlequin existence of 
 nowadays, when the world, counting by its 
 centuries, will soon pass from its " teens," 
 and, with the exultant joy of a young prod 
 igal, at last come into full possession of 
 its own, stand ready for a " good time," 
 but still rather appalled by the thought of 
 grave responsibilities and great possibilities.
 
 12 NOWADAYS 
 
 " Bleecker !" called the conductor. 
 
 The shout startled him. He must soon 
 leave the train. 
 
 And Madeleine ? With all the force with 
 which a thought that we have striven to 
 disregard and keep down finally asserts it 
 self, with all the confused arrearage of 
 doubt, dismay, and conjecture with which 
 such a thought at last arises, the idea of 
 Madeleine Verschoyle suddenly arose in 
 his mind, and filled it to the exclusion of 
 all else. He thought of her as he had seen 
 her at the opera the night before. The 
 party with which she came had entered 
 late, and as she slowly advanced to the 
 front of the box before unoccupied the 
 only break and vacancy in the whole glit 
 tering tier he, turning with many another, 
 saw her, and for the thousandth time 
 thought how noticeable if not beautiful 
 she was ; for there was nothing accus 
 tomed in her aspect ; only a beholder with 
 all modern perceptions, informed by all 
 modern acquirement, could really realize 
 her loveliness. To the un-illuminati of the 
 time her face was illegible, her grace mere
 
 NOWADAYS 13 
 
 motion. She was often thought " plain " 
 by those who "seeing, could not see." 
 The subtle charm, the quick look of sud 
 den and complete apprehension, the man 
 ner woven in finest tissue, its warp of 
 natural tendencies, its woof spun from the 
 world s best experiences these in her were 
 as nothing to most, but Santvoord had rec 
 ognized her at once for what she was, an 
 heiress "of all the ages," and in full pos 
 session of her freehold. She was as thor 
 oughly a creature of the day as he was 
 himself, and he knew it. She announced 
 that she was modern, and she rejoiced 
 in it. 
 
 When Santvoord for the first time met 
 her and took her in to dinner, she had al 
 lowed him to ask questions, while she only 
 gave answers the safer opening, a sort of 
 queen s gambit in the game, all things con 
 sidered ; but as she rose she turned swiftly 
 upon him, and without prelude or provoca 
 tion said, simply, 
 
 " I wish you would come and see me." 
 
 And now they were engaged. 
 
 It had been " announced " for some time,
 
 14 NOWADAYS 
 
 and had received society s fullest approval ; 
 for was he not one whose position was un 
 exceptionable and whose prospects were 
 excellent ? 
 
 Loss, failure, ruin, might very well mean 
 the annulment of their betrothal ; for Sant- 
 voord, if he indulged in illusions about 
 anything, certainly entertained none about 
 himself. He had never looked upon the 
 engagement in any other than a very practi 
 cal way. He never thought that Madeleine 
 cared for him with any of the absorbing, un 
 reasoning fervor of the lovelorn maiden of 
 unmitigated romance. She had too many in 
 terests in her busy life to make that possible. 
 She was no simple Marguerite, who might 
 make answer that she had " time enough " 
 to think of him ; indeed, he doubted if she 
 lost any time in such weak and unbecoming 
 way. She was a very modern young person, 
 living in a time when everything has suf 
 fered extension but the twenty-four hours, 
 when there is twice as much of everything 
 except the time in which everything must 
 be done, and she could hardly be expected 
 to waste in sentiment what should be em-
 
 NOWADAYS 15 
 
 ployed upon society. So Santvoord had 
 thought in the enforced rapidity even of 
 thought nowadays, but he really had no 
 more attempted to comprehend the exact 
 state of her feeling as to him than he had 
 to analyze his for her. Facts are the things 
 nowadays and it was a fact that they 
 were engaged. Would any reasonable per 
 son think of going beyond that of dragging 
 in wholly unnecessary considerations in the 
 way of feelings and fancies when there was 
 the undisputed fact itself ? Certainly not 
 nowadays. Why was she really marrying 
 him ? In the rare and brief interviews their 
 busy lives permitted they had talked but lit 
 tle of what might be called sentimentality. 
 There was so much of substance in their 
 daily existence, so much of actual and vivid 
 interest ready at hand for their discussion, 
 that they had usually parted in a hurried, 
 surprised fashion, allowing little time for any 
 expression of emotional superfluities. It al 
 most seemed as if they were astonished to 
 find themselves in any such position, and as 
 if it made them, what neither had ever been 
 before, a little shy and awkward.
 
 1 6 NOWADAYS 
 
 As he looked back upon it now, it seemed 
 to him that there had been, after all, an un 
 satisfying poverty in their relations, a " thin 
 ness," a lack of " tone," something wanting. 
 He glanced out of the window impatiently, 
 as one looks quickly around when thought 
 annoys. How the signs of the shops and 
 offices were crowded on the walls ! He felt 
 that it would have been better if he, if she, 
 had not taken everything so much as a mat 
 ter of course. And then he stared along the 
 car. But could it have been helped ? What 
 else would have been possible nowadays ? 
 In a week or less it all probably would be 
 ended, and so what did it matter ? She had 
 undoubtedly said " yes " so promptly when 
 he had so abruptly asked the question over 
 which so many coyly, doubtfully hesitate, 
 for the reason that he was so plainly " suit 
 able " ; but now should his suitableness be 
 ended there would be no reason why the af 
 fair should go on. Strange that what had 
 been hitherto satisfactory should suddenly 
 appear so incomplete ! Perhaps she had 
 only consented to marry him because her 
 father had wished her to do so, for that such
 
 NOWADAYS 17 
 
 was the paternal desire had been very clear 
 to Santvoord from the first. Old Verschoyle, 
 as every one knew, was " temporarily em 
 barrassed." But there had never been a 
 time within the memory of the oldest diner- 
 out when Verschoyle had not been " tem 
 porarily embarrassed " in such embarrass 
 ment, however, as did not interfere with his 
 consumption of viand or vintage, with his 
 country house or his city house, his mem 
 bership of the best clubs, or even the main 
 tenance of a very creditable racing -stable. 
 His was one of those remarkable existences 
 in which ways and means seem wholly in 
 commensurate with conditions and results, 
 one of those who nowadays appear to pos 
 sess some substitute for that old horn of 
 plenty which its owner could fill at will with 
 whatever he desired. But everybody knew 
 that with Verschoyle s death there would 
 come an end of all these good things 
 
 o o 
 
 And none understood better than the old 
 man himself how fearfully near that formi 
 dable end always was. What was to become 
 of Madeleine ? She had various aunts, es 
 timable maiden ladies, living in a small
 
 IS NOWADAYS 
 
 Georgian town, but would it be possible 
 for this radiant creature to lead other than 
 the modish life to which she had always 
 been accustomed ? Verschoyle would cer 
 tainly have thought it no more possible for 
 her to so change existence than for himself ; 
 and what, concluded Santvoord, as the train 
 swung around a sharp corner and almost 
 seemed to graze the crumbling edge of the 
 blackened building, could be more natural 
 than the arrangement of the match by this 
 highly presentable sinner, this upper-world 
 ling of threescore of the marriage of his 
 only child to his " dear young friend Sant 
 voord," who could now and then so easily 
 let him into a " good thing," and whose 
 methods were so thoroughly the masculine 
 complement of his daughter s modes ? And 
 so, he thought, his fortune and his lady-love 
 might be taken from him together. Some 
 Sir Marmaduke, riding away on a " milk- 
 white steed," and bidding farewell at once 
 to his ancestral acres and a somewhat lach 
 rymose Lady Alice, might excite interest if 
 not respect ; but Philip Santvoord hurrying 
 downtown on the " elevated," uncertain
 
 NOWADAYS 19 
 
 whether he may not lose a fortune sufficient 
 to have reinstated any Sir Marmaduke and 
 have bought out the adjoining estate of Lady 
 Alice s noble father, doubtful whether Mad 
 eleine Verschoyle would be constant to him, 
 is really a very matter-of-fact figure. But 
 such is the unfairness of fate, such the lot 
 of those who live nowadays, when even ro 
 mance, as Halleck sings, is not what it was. 
 
 " Gone are the plumes and pennons gay 
 
 Of young Romance; 
 There linger but her ruins gray, 
 And broken lance. 
 
 " Tis a new world no more to maid, 
 Warrior, or bard is homage paid; 
 The bay-tree s, laurel s, myrtle s shade 
 
 Men s thoughts resign ; 
 Heaven placed us here to vote and trade, 
 Twin tasks divine " 
 
 " Rector !" shouted the conductor. 
 
 As Santvoord hurried up Broadway to 
 the " Street " so great that, like the king 
 of France, it requires no title the drays, 
 the carts, the lighter business wagons, the 
 stages, rumbled, rattled, toiled, or dashed 
 over the pavement as usual ; the crowd on
 
 20 NOWADAYS 
 
 the sidewalk was no denser, no more hur 
 ried, than on other mornings. Broadway, 
 that avenue that leads to a continent, was 
 unchanged and, as always, ugly, bristling, 
 inspiriting. But the scant street itself 
 highway to success, thoroughfare to failure 
 wore an uncommon aspect. Messenger- 
 boys run in and out, through agitated hun 
 dreds -, clerks with anxious, almost fright 
 ened look hasten up and down and across 
 the narrow way ; the continuous clatter of 
 telegraph instruments, as the rattle of in 
 fantry fire in the contest after the skirmish- 
 line has been driven in, can almost be heard 
 on the sidewalk. Men can hardly avoid col 
 lision in their haste. Some meet, stop, and, 
 while speaking with one another, are pushed 
 apart by hurrying numbers, or are driven 
 to the gutter, where a broken sentence is 
 finished, or perhaps, in subdued whispers, 
 some eager question put. The great de 
 sire is for information ; knowledge of any 
 thing, everything, that can in the remotest 
 way indicate how things are going ; even 
 the drifting straws of gossip that can show 
 how the wind that may be a squall, that
 
 NOWADAYS 21 
 
 may be a tornado is blowing are eagerly 
 caught up, and minute by minute from all 
 over the world pour in " cables " giving 
 orders, asking questions, bearing advice, 
 admonition, injunction ; offering support, 
 withdrawing aid ; carrying hope, creating 
 despair. News from Threadneedle Street, 
 reports from the Bourse, the funds falling, 
 rentes going down. There is excitement the 
 world over ; in dark Hamburg counting- 
 rooms, in hot Calcutta banks, the effects 
 of the financial shock have been felt, and 
 everywhere the outcome of this day is await 
 ed anxiously, for nowadays the peoples of 
 the earth are bound together by golden ties, 
 and what ambition, faith, fanaticism, or the 
 theories of men have failed to accomplish, 
 the need or greed of gain has done, and the 
 world is now really united in the great Fed 
 eration of Trade. With the opening of the 
 Exchange more would be known; the test 
 of actual transaction might prove much. 
 As the time approaches, the steps of the 
 building are crowded, the street in front 
 almost blocked. Along the sidewalk, up 
 and down, are looser clusters and groups
 
 22 NOWADAYS 
 
 of excited men. It is a strange gathering. 
 Only nowadays can its like be seen ; so 
 many so moved by such really sordid mo 
 tives, uninfluenced for one instant by the 
 slightest consideration of the general weal 
 or woe ; a struggling, agitated mass, each 
 stirred only by his own self - interest ; a 
 throng without the significance evident and 
 felt when thousands pulsate to the beat of 
 some single thought, some dominant idea, 
 when assemblages of men have the impres- 
 siveness of Niagara. It is little if anything 
 more than a well-dressed rabble. But what 
 matter ? A crusade never created anything, 
 it only destroyed. Philanthropy never built 
 a city or a railroad. It is "business" that 
 does the business, and " business " is the 
 business nowadays. 
 
 Perplexing, bewildering nowadays ! 
 
 As Santvoord sits at his table in his 
 rooms in the Universal Trust Building the 
 noises from without can only be heard as a 
 distant murmur. While he tears open de 
 spatches and glances at letters, he loses for 
 the moment acute consciousness of what at 
 least is a crisis important to him.
 
 NOWADAYS 23 
 
 And now the hour of opening had come 
 and passed. Every one is selling, selling, 
 madly, wildly, and prices are going down. 
 If this continues all is lost, and panic, and 
 all that panic entails, must follow. Men set 
 their teeth and wait, uncertain what the next 
 minute may bring ; while all of them pray 
 for the hour when strife must cease, and 
 there may be chance to count the loss or 
 gain. A point is touched below any the 
 most imbittered " bear " had imagined pos 
 sible, and consternation drives all in rout 
 before it. Margins that were thought more 
 than ample have been swallowed up, and a 
 second line of defence has in many cases 
 been lost. Philip feels that all is over. 
 The last call has strained every resource, 
 and the next will find him helpless. There 
 is nothing further he can do. Matters have 
 passed beyond his control; only a sudden 
 rise can save him. He feels that it would 
 be a relief to lock the door, let the storm 
 rage, and not receive news of its progress 
 until all was over and decided. 
 
 In a large breakfast-room in an uptown
 
 24 NOWADAYS 
 
 house a young girl sat facing an old man. 
 Although different in age, in the face of each 
 was the same expression of indefinite dissat 
 isfaction, of very definite restlessness the 
 lines with which the present makes its sign- 
 manual upon its own. 
 
 The old man threw down the paper at 
 which he had just glanced ; it fell upon 
 others that he had already cast aside. 
 
 "It looks ominous," he said, "but it 
 may be only a scare, a flurry, after all." 
 
 " Why should we distress ourselves ?" 
 asked the girl, carelessly. " What have we 
 to do with the stock-market ?" 
 
 "No one," answered Verschoyle, "is so 
 high or so low that he can affect to disre 
 gard what happens there not nowadays." 
 
 " Nowadays !" half exclaimed Madeleine, 
 contemptuously. " Your fetich." 
 
 "Yes, nowadays," interrupted Verschoyle ; 
 " and no one worships the fetich more de 
 voutly than yourself. Don t you boast that 
 you live only in the present, with the pres 
 ent, and for the present ?" 
 
 " I don t think I ever made it a boast," 
 said the girl, quietly.
 
 NOWADAYS 25 
 
 " But you have said it," he replied, rather 
 petulantly; "and it is a good thing that 
 you have felt it. If you had been other 
 than you are, I would not have felt so se 
 cure about you. You know my position." 
 
 "We have always been in a position, " 
 said the girl. " I suppose we shall find 
 enough to eat. Pretty much every one 
 does." 
 
 " Eat !" exclaimed Verschoyle, impatient 
 ly. " Eat ! There are appetites sharper 
 than hunger nowadays ; needs, necessaries 
 of life, more to such as you and I than food 
 and drink. Eat ! As if luxuries were not 
 your necessities! You one of the most 
 artificial creatures that ever existed a 
 young woman of to-day !" 
 
 " I wonder if I am ?" said the girl. 
 
 " You ? You d die from want if you 
 couldn t have what wealth gives. That is 
 the reason why I was in favor of this en 
 gagement with young Santvoord. It had to 
 be. Noblesse oblige. A weak motto. We ve 
 a better, truer, stronger: The times compel. 
 I ve always lived up to it and lived by it, 
 and so have you and Santvoord. Every-
 
 26 NOWADAYS 
 
 body said he was rich -, not so rich as some, 
 but rich enough to keep you from what 
 would be destitution to you. I thought it 
 was for the best , but now 
 
 " Now ?" said Madeleine, quickly looking 
 up. " What do you mean?" 
 
 " Mean ?" said the old man, fretfully. " I 
 mean that he would not let well enough 
 alone , that, like all the rest of us, he has 
 been trying it on in stocks, and is likely to 
 be hard hit, even if he does not lose all he 
 has. I heard all about it at the club last 
 night, and if there is a panic to-day 
 
 The girl did not notice that her father 
 had not finished the sentence. She sat gaz 
 ing intently, vacantly, out of the window. 
 
 " What do you say to that ?" asked Ver- 
 schoyle. 
 
 " Is there anything for me to say ?" 
 
 " You cannot marry a poor man." 
 
 Madeleine did not speak. 
 
 " It is impossible for such as you nowa 
 days," said the father. 
 
 " What do you know about me ?" demand 
 ed the daughter, quickly. 
 
 " Enough to know that," he answered, in 
 slight astonishment. " \Vhat do you mean ?"
 
 NOWADAYS 27 
 
 " I mean," said the girl, " I have learned 
 a great deal in the last few weeks. You 
 have been too much occupied to know 
 much about me. We are all too much oc 
 cupied to know much about each other." 
 
 " Slightly heroic in manner," he remon 
 strated, " and altogether out of place." 
 
 " Nowadays," she added, rather scorn 
 fully. " But I am not heroic or melodra 
 matic." 
 
 "You are very strange this morning." 
 
 " I am not. I am myself. I can easily 
 understand that I may seem strange to you. 
 Absolutely you know nothing about me. 
 You cannot say what I would or what I 
 would not do." 
 
 " Would you marry Philip Santvoord with 
 out a penny ?" 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 " If you would," he said, " I would not 
 consent to it. I know too well the trouble, 
 the misery that would follow." 
 
 She was still silent. 
 
 " You," he continued " none of us, can 
 change a nature. You have the hunger 
 of to-day for all that to-day can give, and
 
 28 NOWADAYS 
 
 without wealth that hunger cannot be ap 
 peased." 
 
 " Philip," she suddenly asked, " is in 
 trouble ?" 
 
 " Unquestionably." 
 
 " He has not told me that he feared 
 trouble." 
 
 " Would such a one as he be apt to do so 
 nowadays ?" sneered the old man. 
 
 The girl arose as if to leave the room. 
 
 " You are going out ?" asked the father. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "True, I had forgotten. You must see 
 Mrs. Thirleston to-day. Her dinners begin 
 in a fortnight. As you have said, it is im 
 portant that you should be at the first; es 
 pecially if His Royal Highness is there, as 
 he surely will be if he comes to this country. 
 Give her my profoundest regards if you see 
 her." 
 
 " I will," said Madeleine, " if I see her." 
 
 " I was to give this to you, and to no one 
 else," said a servant evidently belonging to 
 a " smart " establishment, as he held out a 
 note to Santvoord.
 
 NOWADAYS 2g 
 
 With the first touch of nervousness that 
 he had shown, Santvoord tore open the en 
 velope and read the few hurried words writ 
 ten upon the enclosed card almost at a 
 glance. 
 
 " I am in the brougham in the street. If it is pos 
 sible for you to get away follow William, who will 
 bring you where I am. I want to see you as soon 
 as I can, please. M." 
 
 Madeleine wished to see him, and at 
 once. Why not do as she asked ? Per 
 haps it would be better that he should, let 
 what would come. He could accomplish 
 little by remaining ; things had passed be 
 yond his control. 
 
 Again in the street. The tumult is una 
 bated ; it is even intensified. Where such 
 interests contend, where such a tremendous 
 game is being played, no man, not even a 
 mere spectator, can stand near and not 
 catch something of the excitement of the 
 hour. The sidewalks are more crowded 
 than before. Human beings, too absorbed 
 to feel their existence, flow in currents and
 
 30 NOWADAYS 
 
 counter-currents, or eddy around some cen 
 tral point where some one of their kind pro 
 claims something anything. 
 
 Money and time. Here a group with 
 faces set in rigid lines stands silent, expect 
 ant, uncertain what the next minute may 
 bring. Time and money ! A moment, an 
 hour, hundreds or thousands or millions, as 
 may befit the particular needs. 
 
 Santvoord and the footman, with many a 
 sturdy push, struggle through the throng 
 and gain the quiet of the upper part of the 
 street. But the man does not stop here. 
 Pausing for a moment on the curbstone at 
 Broadway, he awaits a chance to make his 
 way through the flood of vehicles that strug 
 gle and crush along the pavement, and then, 
 followed closely by Santvoord, hurries quick 
 ly across. 
 
 In front of the great, grim church that 
 stands with fixed gaze looking down Wall 
 Street, threatening and admonitory in 
 front of that church that stands as Savona 
 rola might have stood, pausing before dec 
 lamation against the luxury and greed of 
 an older capital, Santvoord saw drawn up
 
 NOWADAYS 31 
 
 to the sidewalk an accurately equipped 
 brougham which he recognized as the Ver- 
 schoyle carriage. 
 
 Just beyond the high iron fence, within 
 the church -yard, was Madeleine herself. 
 Without speaking, he walked with her down 
 one of the gravel-paths that run among the 
 sallow grave-stones. 
 
 " Do you think that what I have done is 
 strange ?" she asked, when the din of the 
 street was slightly diminished by the dis 
 tance. 
 
 " Yes no," answered Santvoord, hesitat 
 ingly. 
 
 " I think it is," said Madeleine. " It cer 
 tainly is the last thing in the world that I 
 should have thought I would do." 
 
 Philip did not speak. 
 
 "I heard that you were in trouble," she 
 continued, " and I came." 
 
 He glanced at her in quick surprise. 
 
 " I knew that you would be surprised," 
 she went on ; "I am surprised myself. It 
 is not what I should think any one of us 
 would do nowadays." 
 
 Nowadays.
 
 32 NOWADAYS 
 
 He knew that in the great room of the 
 not-distant building men were already shout 
 ing in contest, in conflict strenuous almost 
 as actual warfare. He knew that on that 
 field men animated only by the one passion 
 for gain, with firm, set mouths and rigid 
 brows, were struggling in such absorbing 
 intensity of strife that consciousness of time, 
 space, life, of everything but gain, gain, was 
 lost. And all this hardly more than a block 
 away, while here, as a child s fingers might 
 part and play with the gray hair of age, the 
 wind shook and dallied with the sere grass 
 es of autumn growing limply around the 
 gravestones, and the mild sunlight fell 
 through the thinning leaves of the trees as 
 if in smiling benediction upon those who 
 knew no contention in their rest. No 
 graveyard upon a country hill -side was 
 more peaceful. 
 
 Confused, conflicting nowadays. 
 
 " I wanted to tell you that I was sorry," 
 continued Madeleine. " We have never, I 
 think, known each other very well, and I 
 thought that you might not know " and 
 she, the girl whom hitherto no embarrass-
 
 NOWADAYS 33 
 
 ment could discomfit, no surprise startle, 
 hesitated " that I was sorry." 
 
 " Thank you," said Philip, simply. " Then 
 you really care ?" 
 
 " Why, do you not know now ?" and she 
 looked quickly up. 
 
 " I did not know. How could I ?" he an 
 swered. " I will know now. I could not 
 bear to doubt it. And, Madeleine " 
 
 " I think," she interrupted, " that I have 
 wanted to tell you a long time that I 
 cared ;" and as she turned quickly away 
 she did not see the light of gladness that 
 shone in his eyes. 
 
 "And," he said, "even if everything else 
 went, there would still be " 
 
 " Everything, I hope," she interrupted 
 again, and she held out her hand, which he 
 seized and held in both his. 
 
 " Madeleine," he almost whispered. 
 
 "I think," she said it was a strange 
 waywardness, for she would not let him 
 speak now " that we have been living in 
 some strange mistake. We all do nowadays. 
 And we like every one else we have tak 
 en too much for granted. We allowed other 
 3
 
 34 NOWADAYS 
 
 thoughts, other interests miserable little 
 transient things to drive out the great real 
 ones. We acted" and she laughed gayly 
 " as if we were afraid that caring would 
 be a bore to us. We shirked what was se 
 rious as if it were going to be troublesome, 
 as we all do nowadays. It needed some 
 thing big to show us ourselves our real 
 true selves." 
 
 They had just made the circuit of the 
 graveyard, and now stood before the church 
 door, the massive tower rising high above 
 them. 
 
 " But, Madeleine" 
 
 " Let us go in," she said, quickly. 
 
 There was hardly any one in the church. 
 The roar of the outside world came to them 
 now as only a deep, soothing murmur. Sant- 
 voord at first hardly realized where he was. 
 Then the softened light, the gentle stillness, 
 the hallowed influences of the place, the only 
 half-felt consciousness of the amazing rapt 
 ure which was so deep that it even now had 
 a touch of fear all these humbled him into 
 wondering thankfulness, thrilled him with 
 strange elation.
 
 NOWADAYS 35 
 
 She let him take her hand again as they 
 sat side by side in the nearest pew. 
 
 " We will make no more mistakes," he 
 said. 
 
 " No," she said, and sank to her knees 
 and hid her face in her hands. 
 
 And all this is possible, for is it not 
 nowadays ? 
 
 Nowadays.
 
 THERE S NOTHING HALF SO 
 SWEET IN LIFE"
 
 " THERE S NOTHING HALF SO SWEET 
 IN LIFE" 
 
 The building could hardly be said to be 
 specialized by anything except excessive 
 newness, although it might be readily de 
 scribed generically as one of the very fin 
 est specimens of the severest type of Neo- 
 American municipal architecture on the 
 continent. The most malignant political 
 opponent of the party in power shrank 
 abashed by its austerity, angularity, and 
 general air of being for what it was in 
 tended and for nothing else, from proffer 
 ing any charge of jobbery. It stood in 
 and of itself an apparently perfect refuta 
 tion of any such suspicion. All over it 
 told of retrenchment and reform in its 
 trim, clean brick-work ; in its scant stone 
 trimmings, placed, it would seem, rather for 
 the purpose of reminding the beholder that
 
 40 "THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET" 
 
 costly and useless ornament had been rigor 
 ously excluded than for any adorning qual 
 ity of their own ; in every fold of the great 
 zinc cornice, rising high above the actual 
 roof and protruding far over the street 
 everywhere it bore indications that the most 
 direct attainment of the end in view had 
 been sought, not at any price by any means, 
 but rather at the smallest price for which 
 any one had been found willing to contract. 
 The weather, too, might have seemed to 
 the wildly imaginative something contracted 
 for by the city s government something, 
 however, that had not been so successful a 
 bargain as the building for it was a miser 
 ably poor affair, a mere " scamped job." It 
 ran through all the changes from rain to 
 hail and sleet to snow and back again ; it 
 melted ; it froze ; it exhausted its whole 
 repertory, and through all variations the 
 wind now whistled, now howled, a dismal 
 accompaniment. St. Patrick a pleasant 
 immortality to him must, in addition to 
 his other estimable qualities, have been a 
 saint of singular unselfishness and self-ab 
 negation, for certainly only a being without
 
 " THERE S NOTHING HALF SO SWEET 41 
 
 a particle of the self-seeking spirit would 
 have consented to take the lyth of March 
 generally about the most unpleasant day 
 in the year for his own. With true Irish 
 carelessness he must have accepted what 
 none other in the calendar could be brought 
 to consider. It was a perfect St. Patrick s 
 day in the evening, and the landscape 
 the moon, having risen as the hours ad 
 vanced, shone dimly through the thin clouds 
 resembled nothing so much as a poor 
 wash-drawing in some black pigment ; the 
 street-lamps and glowing windows appear 
 ing like pin punctures in the paper through 
 which the light struck brightly. Out of 
 doors it was rawly cold, but in the great 
 bare room in the particular building already 
 mentioned, up the broad, easy steps, and 
 beyond the double doors, the huge stove 
 seemed fairly to quiver in its circumambient 
 heat, to tremble in such ripples about its 
 ornamented crest that you might have been 
 justified in forgetting that it was a solid 
 thing at all, and easily pardonable in im 
 agining that it was impalpable it looked 
 so like such a monster as some ironmonger
 
 42 "THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET" 
 
 who had dined too heavily might be likely 
 to encounter in a nightmare. The high, bar 
 ren room was not unpleasing, though hardly 
 inviting, being one degree less unattractive 
 than the waiting-room of some large railway- 
 station, which, indeed, with its long, wooden 
 seats and inrailed office, it somewhat re 
 sembled. It had but two occupants. Well 
 within the immediate and torrid neighbor 
 hood of the stove the untutored savage 
 would have imagined it the presiding deity 
 of the place and instantly prostrated him 
 self before the inrailed idol sat a man 
 tipped back in his chair, with his hands 
 clasped behind his head, and his feet on 
 the shining brass barrier that was intended 
 to prevent the incautious from burning them 
 selves. Another, younger and evidently of 
 less consideration, stood at a high desk 
 writing vigorously. 
 
 " Wouldn t ha had such a quiet day if 
 twant such a bad one," said the man at the 
 stove, as a stronger gust of wind than usual 
 surged against the pane. 
 
 His companion nodded acquiescently and 
 turned to what looked like the ordinary
 
 "THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET" 43 
 
 ledger of the ordinary clerk. But if you 
 had glanced over his shoulder you would 
 have been a little surprised if you had only 
 expected to behold the commonplace en 
 tries of ordinary mercantile transactions, 
 for the building was known as Station- 
 House Number i of that Precinct, and 
 the book open on the desk was the " blot 
 ter" bearing enumeration of malefactions 
 and crimes blacker than the ink that in 
 harsh, dry phrase recorded them. On 
 these pages were kept an account of man s 
 debit with evil, and on each leaf appeared 
 an entry of a life s bankruptcy. With the 
 pitiless, business-like brevity of an invoice, 
 men, women, and children were described 
 and despatched whither ? It seemed as if 
 in that devil s day-book no form of man s 
 baseness lacked mention ; as if humanity 
 at no stage of its downfall lacked unworthy 
 representation, for from the vagrant woman- 
 child to the drunken beldam, from the 
 thieving boy to the murderous madman 
 all were there. 
 
 The decent, trim, regulated aspect of the 
 place affected you almost with a sense of
 
 44 " THERE s NOTHING HALF so SWEET 
 
 uncomfortable unnaturalness when you knew 
 where you really were, admirable though it 
 might be in itself and pleasing in any other 
 connection. What in a hospital would have 
 unqualifiedly won your praise, here seemed 
 incongruous. There was a cold-blooded, 
 matter-of-fact acceptance of evil conditions, 
 and a practical, painstaking preparedness 
 for it that was almost repulsive. It did not 
 seem, despite the humanitarian, that those 
 walls intended to restrain the assassin and 
 the robber should be finished with the spot 
 less plaster and the unstained wainscot of a 
 museum ; that these floors, across which re 
 luctant criminals had been dragged, should 
 be swept and tended like those of a public 
 library. 
 
 The man by the stove he was in the 
 undress uniform of his shirt - sleeves 
 stretched his strong arms and expanded 
 to the full his capacious chest. He did 
 not look a particularly sympathetic person ; 
 his experiences could hardly have been 
 such as to render him particularly suscep 
 tible to pity, though his face was not bad, 
 only somewhat coarse and heavy. He
 
 "THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET" 45 
 
 was evidently about to address another 
 remark to his companion, when one of the 
 doors of the main entrance opened slowly. 
 A round head from which the hat had 
 been removed, covered with tight -curling 
 black hair, was thrust cautiously in, and 
 the bright black eyes in the fresh, good- 
 humored, boyish face glanced quickly about 
 the room. 
 
 " Be the rules sthricht," said the new 
 arrival with a strong Irish accent, "agin 
 comin in ?" 
 
 He had addressed the man at the desk, 
 but receiving no answer he apparently 
 took silence for consent, if not invitation, 
 and pushing the door a little open, he ad 
 vanced confidently a step further, still re 
 taining, however, his hold upon the big 
 bronze door-knob. He was a young fellow 
 of about twenty-two or -three, with that 
 peculiar look of intrepid alertness that a 
 young Irishman more than any one else 
 possesses, the fact that he was an Irish 
 man being discoverable at a glance. The 
 perfection of his physical condition was 
 clearly shown by his firm skin, now red-
 
 46 "THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET" 
 
 dened by the wind and rain. Though he 
 was rather under the medium height, it 
 was evident that his well-formed limbs 
 were vigorous and sinewy. His legs were 
 covered with tight corduroy, worn and 
 shiny, and around his throat was loosely 
 knotted a bright - colored handkerchief. 
 Nowise abashed by the forbidding morose- 
 ness of the two occupants of the place, 
 he again looked easily around, and then 
 glanced for an instant out of the still open 
 door. 
 
 " The invitation s not as pressin as some 
 ye give," he said, " but I ll not stand on 
 ceremony with ye, an just step in." 
 
 " What d you want here ?" asked the 
 man at the desk, seeing that the other dis 
 dained to speak. 
 
 " What would a man be wantin here ? 
 Yer company, d ye think ?" 
 
 " Ye ll get nothin else, an too much of 
 that if ye don t clear out," answered the 
 other, who was evidently a compatriot, but 
 one of longer residence in America. 
 
 "Ain t this the station-house?" asked the 
 young fellow aggrievedly.
 
 "THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET" 47 
 
 " Ye ll find out that it is." 
 
 " Thin I d loike to know av it s not here 
 that a gintleman that s timporarily out o 
 imployment and consequintly not possessin 
 the wealth av a railway Crasus can find ac 
 commodation for the night." 
 
 For all response, the man addressed 
 jerked his chin out sharply. 
 
 " It s here I ve been given to understand 
 that the government good luck to it, an 
 may it nade a voter whin I am meself a 
 citizen provides lodgins for thim that calls 
 for thim in a quiet, paceable manner ; an 
 that bein so, considerin the circumstances 
 I have mintioned, I d ask the favor of a 
 room. The place is not iligant, but dacent, 
 an I make no question." 
 
 " Come in and shut that door," growled 
 the officer at the stove. 
 
 " An I would, but I m not alone," replied 
 the applicant. " Would ye have me shuttin 
 the door in the face of a lady ?" 
 
 Dropping his feet to the floor, the police 
 man who had last spoken turned to gaze at 
 the intruder in wonder. 
 
 " I ll bid her, with yer lave, to come in,"
 
 48 "THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET" 
 
 said the young man ; then turning he called 
 into the outer darkness, " Norah, Norah, 
 me dear, ye may come up." 
 
 He held the heavy door full open, and a 
 young woman came in with a rush, the wind 
 forcing her skirt as well as the light shawl 
 which she held over her head into bulging 
 folds. She was not more than eighteen, 
 and as she stood brushing the rain from 
 her hair that fell shaggily over her fore 
 head she was with her frank, unpreten 
 tious beauty a sufficiently charming picture. 
 Plainly, tidily clad as she was, there was 
 evident in her dress that self-respecting 
 coquetry that a pretty woman in any sta 
 tion always finds means to exhibit in any 
 material, and her face, beside its prettiness, 
 was honest, wholesome, and intelligent. She 
 glanced timidly from one of the strangers 
 to the other, and then moving closer to her 
 companion she took his hand in her own. 
 
 " Me wife," announced the young Irish 
 man proudly. " Mrs. Moichel Casey." 
 
 She dropped a little courtesy to each of 
 the officers first to the "door-keeper" be 
 hind the desk, and then, in some way divin-
 
 "THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET" 49 
 
 ing that the other was of higher rank, she 
 turned and bobbed a deeper one to him. 
 Standing hand in hand, she with a certain 
 blushing diffidence and he with an air of 
 careless confidence that had nothing about 
 it of impudent assurance ; both young and 
 evidently free from all conscious or pur 
 poseful evil, they were a strange pair for 
 that sin-haunted place. 
 
 Accustomed as the burly captain was to 
 all the varying degrees and complexities of 
 human malefaction, this unexpected appari 
 tion of insouciant innocence astonished and 
 confused him ; even the door-keeper pre 
 pared to listen, for he carefully wiped his 
 pen and placed it in the little iron rack. In 
 that place a murder of the most atrocious 
 character would hardly have caused a stir 
 of interest, but this was certainly some 
 thing new. Whining vagrants who had al 
 ready appeared as criminals had been seen 
 there by the score; decrepit age, vicious 
 indulgence, imbecile ignorance, all at one 
 time or another had been given shelter 
 beneath that roof; but always, in all who 
 had applied for such protection, clearly and 
 4
 
 50 "THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET" 
 
 plainly could be seen adequate cause for 
 such appeal. 
 
 " I know," continued Mr. Casey, " that 
 the place is respectable though the com 
 pany is bad, an I do not hesitate to bring 
 me wife here." 
 
 " Mike," whispered the young woman re- 
 monstratingly, " the gintlemen moight think 
 that ye meant thim." 
 
 " Hush, me darlin ," he answered ; " sure 
 they ll see I mane that it s the company 
 they kape." 
 
 As the old police-captain looked more 
 closely at him, his experienced eye detected 
 that the natural gayety of the youngster s 
 nature and nation was very slightly but still 
 artificially heightened. 
 
 " An this, thin, is the station-house," he 
 continued. " I niver before saw the inside 
 of it whin I go out of that door may I in 
 ter it for the last toime but many of me 
 frinds, I make no shame to say, is inti 
 mately acquainted with it. Norah, me gurl, 
 it s your work, that it is. Whin ye have 
 shinin before ye two bright eyes, it s little 
 that the sparkle of a single glass 11 attract
 
 " THERE S NOTHING HALF SO SWEET 51 
 
 ye. I ve been a sober lad, gintlemen, iver 
 since the toime I see me gurl. I ll not say 
 much o what I was before, but I was young 
 thin and wild. The divil may he be sus- 
 pinded by his own tail so as all the harm he 
 can do will be in the reach av his hoofs 
 was strong in me, an though his riverence 
 did the best that he could for combattin 
 him, it was no avail. That was in the ould 
 country ,- for I was born in the county Sligo 
 before I came here." 
 
 " You re a west-of-Ireland man," said the 
 policeman. 
 
 "That an no other," answered Casey, 
 who had at first looked from one to the 
 other of the officers, but now addressed 
 his remarks exclusively to the captain. 
 He was a middle-aged man, and not at 
 all the kind of a person whose thoughts, 
 a word, a voice, a face, would easily start 
 down the wreck-strewn road of memory. 
 But, for some reason, at the moment 
 some force cracked the slowly -harden 
 ing heart-crust. Perhaps it was the influ 
 ences of the day, for no true Irishman feels 
 quite the same on the iyth of March as on
 
 52 " THERE S NOTHING HALF SO SWEET 
 
 any other day of the year, especially if he 
 has been born on the troubled and troub 
 lous island. And the captain had been 
 born there long, long before; in resurgent 
 strength he remembered suddenly and with 
 out apparent cause the rude cabin almost 
 lost in the landscape so small, so shape 
 less, so like in color to the soil around it that 
 it might readily have been taken for some 
 accidental elevation of the earth ; he re 
 membered the swarming children, the mis 
 cellaneous animals ; he recollected many a 
 homely detail and many a trivial fact; and 
 then, his thoughts taking erratic bound, he 
 recalled how, when he was between child 
 hood and boyhood, he had watched the 
 glowing sunset, with the smoke curling thin 
 ly and bluely up against it, over in the west, 
 whither he had been told that the friends, 
 neighbors, and relatives whom he had seen 
 depart, singly and in families, were gone, 
 and he had wondered if the skies were 
 always as bright in the daytimes of that 
 other and wonderful world. 
 
 " It s there I lived till a year this very 
 toime, sor. But it was not there that I first
 
 "THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET" 53 
 
 saw Norah. It was here in America while 
 the feelin of loneliness was still on me, that 
 I found her here in America where I d 
 come to make me fortune where I ex 
 pected to pick up goold, an where I found 
 a jew l. The fortune 11 come. When ye ve 
 got love in yer heart, there s no room for 
 fear or even for hope, an all waitin s a joke, 
 seein you don t wait for that. Ah, but it s 
 a hard toime we had. The ould folks were 
 agin me from the furst ; but Norah, from, 
 the swate day whin she called me an impu 
 dent thafe that no dacent gurl would spake 
 with, never deserted me." 
 
 " Mike," said his pretty companion, " the 
 gintlemen may not be carin to hear all 
 this." 
 
 "If I wear your patience as smooth as me 
 corduroys, perhaps, sor, ye ll remember the 
 toime yerself whin yer heart could make the 
 journey from yer throat to yer boots and 
 back agin quicker than ye d say the saint s 
 howly name, jist at the distant sight of a 
 thrim shape." 
 
 He paused as if for an answer, but re 
 ceiving no response, unless the quick con-
 
 54 "THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET" 
 
 traction of his chief listener s shaggy eye 
 brows might be considered one, he con 
 tinued : 
 
 " They were agin me, an the since of the 
 situation was with thim, I ll confiss. What 
 a gurl loike Norah Roach could want with 
 a useless crayture loike Mike Casey no one 
 coulcl see. I ll grant that; I ve felt loike 
 breakin me own head for its presumption 
 in thinkin av it. But a gurl, sor, should 
 be let to have her own way. The Lord s 
 given her those bright eyes for somethin , 
 an she can see farther into a human heart 
 than father or mother, whose sight s oft a bit 
 blurred with age. An Norah looked into 
 my heart, an seem her own image there 
 came back, as well she moight, to her own 
 lookin -glass to take another peep." 
 
 "Mike," said the girl, "it was on yer 
 bended knees that ye besought me to listen 
 to ye." 
 
 " Sure the more easy that I might kiss 
 yer little hand, seem yer lips was not al 
 lowed me thin." 
 
 A blush no faint, incipient flush, but a 
 heavy, honest wave of color crimsoned
 
 "THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET" 55 
 
 the girl s face as she pettishly withdrew her 
 hand from his. 
 
 " They were agin me from the first, for 
 they had in their minds a great marriage for 
 her a man who owned siven dump-wagons 
 and eighteen horses. But she d niver look 
 at him, even with his velvet waistcoat and 
 goolden chain. If he had been a crayture 
 av any sperit as it was there was nothin 
 I could do with him. I have been acquaint 
 ed with men," continued Mr. Casey, reflect 
 ively, " who would not fight sober, but I 
 niver saw a man but him that would not 
 fight drunk. There was nothin to do with 
 him at all. The ould folks was agin me ; 
 the praste was agin me ; all was agin me -, 
 me own past was even agin meself. I had 
 only me love for Norah to spake for me, an 
 I made the most of me single frind. Whin 
 she d jump out av the cabin window on 
 the summer nights and mate me by the 
 willows on the bank av the canal, she saw 
 I loved her and she trusted me God bless 
 her !" and his hand now sought hers 
 " an here we are in spite of all with love 
 in our hearts."
 
 5& " THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET" 
 
 It could hardly have been the day alone 
 that affected the listener, for he thought 
 now how he himself had once stood in al 
 most the same situation, when he with his 
 young wife, who had since died, had landed 
 at Castle Garden with only the money for 
 the day s support about him ; and long as it 
 was ago a daughter was now teaching in 
 the public school a block away he lived 
 again in that old time. 
 
 " What happened ?" he asked, in a gentler 
 tone than the door-keeper had ever before 
 heard. 
 
 " Little enough. Norah would not go 
 agin the expriss wishes of the ould people, 
 an so she sid at last that she d marry the 
 man on a certain day fixed." 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " Well, she sid so." 
 
 " How comes it then that " 
 
 " Oh, that s what s botherin ye, is it ? 
 Don t ye see if the pore gurl was ready an 
 \villin to do what they wished she couldn t 
 do more." 
 
 " Certainly not, but" 
 
 " If the marriage could not take place, 
 she bein ready, small blame to her."
 
 " THERE S NOTHING HALF SO SWEET 57 
 
 "But" 
 
 " If the man niver came, how could she 
 be marryin him ? An he niver came, thrust 
 me for that. Some of the b yes got hold 
 av him an fixed him illigantly, an thin to 
 make the matter more sure, they nailed up 
 his doors and windows till the fiend himself 
 could niver have got out. Shure how could 
 she marry him, an she so dutiful to her pa 
 rents ?" 
 
 The captain smiled grimly. 
 
 " So thin, havin done all in her power to 
 plaze the family, she just shlipped out av 
 the same window to plaze me, an I may 
 make bowld to say to plaze herself." 
 
 "Rafferty," said the captain, turning to 
 the man at the desk, " we can lodge these 
 people for the night ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "Take the fools, then, and do what you 
 can for them." Rafferty, followed by his 
 charges, started for the door, through which 
 they all disappeared, with a short scrape of 
 the foot and nod of the head from Casey 
 and another courtesy from the young wife. 
 For a moment the sound of their steps could
 
 58 " THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET " 
 
 be heard on the hard floor as they sought 
 the inner recesses of the building, and then 
 the silence of the room was only broken 
 by the ticking of the big clock and the oc 
 casional splutter of the electric light. 
 
 Presently, however, the voices of some 
 persons advancing rapidly along the corri 
 dor reached the room, and the door leading 
 to the regions beyond was thrown hurriedly 
 open. Rafferty and the young man entered 
 in animated discussion. 
 
 " Let me spake to him," said Casey, ex 
 citedly. " Ye cannot kape me from spakin 
 to him." Then stepping briskly across the 
 intervening space, he again stood before the 
 astonished officer at the stove. 
 
 " Jist a little look here wan side, if ye 
 plaze," he said, persuasively. 
 
 With a docility such as the door-keeper 
 had never witnessed the puissant and dread 
 ed captain of the First Precinct allowed him 
 self to be led into a corner, and consented, 
 at first carelessly, to glance at and then to 
 read carefully a small bit of paper that Casey 
 drew from an inner pocket and held before
 
 " THERE S NOTHING HALF SO SWEET 59 
 
 his eyes. The subordinate, who was watch 
 ing the scene with absorbing interest, saw 
 his superior look quickly at the young fel 
 low, and then, after a laugh that ended 
 somewhat abruptly, turn from him and walk 
 across the room. 
 
 " Rafferty," he said, as he wheeled about, 
 " take these people and treat them, as near 
 as we are able, as if they were in the best 
 hotel in town. D ye understand ? break 
 every rule we ve got if they want it." 
 
 Speechless in his wonder, the obedient 
 Rafferty led his now triumphant opponent 
 through the same door by which they had 
 entered. 
 
 The clock ticked on, and the light, after 
 passing through a sputtering and purple 
 eclipse, shone forth steadily for some time. 
 After a while Rafferty again returned. As 
 he entered he glanced at the officer he had 
 left behind, and found that he had resumed 
 that attitude at the rail that he must have 
 adopted with his citizenship. Crossing the 
 floor silently, the door-keeper sought his 
 former place at the desk and prepared to 
 go on with his work. Hardly, however, had
 
 60 " THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET" 
 
 he taken up his pen when he was startled 
 by an unwonted sound. He looked up as 
 tounded. Could it be true ? In all the 
 years of his experience in the place he had 
 never known such a thing. His superior 
 was actually singing. At first low and 
 doubtingly, and then louder and more sure 
 ly, in hoarse, cracked voice, he was hum 
 ming to himself the refrain of some song. 
 The listening man at last, with fresh amaze 
 ment, caught the words of the rudely ren 
 dered melody : 
 
 " But there s nothing half so sweet in life 
 As love s young dream." 
 
 It was so the words ran. 
 
 Rising, the elder policeman went to the 
 window, against which the rain had begun 
 to beat violently, and, drumming on the 
 pane with his fingers, proceeded to whistle 
 the simple air. 
 
 " Rafferty," he said, suddenly turning to 
 his subordinate, " all the fools in the world 
 aren t dead yet." 
 
 Rafferty looked dubiously at his pen. 
 
 " What do you suppose those two young 
 idiots have done ?"
 
 " THERE S NOTHING HALF so SWEET " 61 
 
 Rafferty s imagination was unequal to the 
 demand made upon it. 
 
 " By ," began the captain, and then sud 
 denly stopped short. " They were only mar 
 ried this afternoon. That was the certificate 
 he showed me. They are on their wedding- 
 trip, do you hear ? and the first night of it 
 they re spending in the station-house." 
 
 Rafferty gazed at his superior as if he 
 had expected him to laugh, and was sur 
 prised to find that he did not. 
 
 Turning again and looking out into the 
 darkness of the night, the captain hummed 
 once more between his teeth, in a voice as 
 hoarse as that of the rising wind, 
 
 "No, there s nothing half so sweet in life 
 As love s young dream."
 
 A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS"
 
 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 
 
 Two o clock in the morning, 
 January i, 189-. 
 
 As this journal will never be seen by 
 other eyes than mine, I shall write with 
 more than the autobiographic frankness of 
 Benvenuto Cellini, of Jean Jacques Rous 
 seau, of Anthony Trollope. I will not be 
 guilty of that highly-praised form of hypoc 
 risy, that senseless aberration, that is called 
 modesty. I possess unusual, even strange 
 ly exceptional, mental powers. I have al 
 ways found that I could easily comprehend 
 the natures of all persons whom I have 
 really known, understanding their every ac 
 tion and often anticipating their very words, 
 and I can only think that what I compre 
 hend I must contain, and that, therefore, 
 mine must exceed all other intelligences. I 
 do not know that I should make any boast
 
 66 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " 
 
 of this, for, in truth, the intellects of those 
 I have encountered and I have met many 
 of the most famous and respected men of 
 my day have not been of a nature to ex 
 cite my admiration. Sooner or later I have 
 discovered the idiosyncratic derangement 
 marring the symmetry of the mind. Every 
 where I have found men possessed of some 
 mental defect, guilty of some unreason 
 mastered by love, driven by hate, embit 
 tered by envy, deluded by vanity, sunken 
 in superstition, restless with ambition, eager 
 in faction. I view with amazement and 
 horror the state of mankind. The world, 
 seen beneath the calm, clear light of pure 
 reason, appears to me to be suffering from 
 universal dementia. But why use a palli 
 ating word ? Why not recognize the fact 
 in strong, familiar English ? The world is 
 mad. 
 
 I do not wonder that I am what is called 
 a successful man. I do not wonder that I 
 am envied, flattered, feared. My only as 
 tonishment is that I have not accomplished 
 more not acquired unprecedented power 
 not won unexampled wealth. I know that
 
 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 67 
 
 I possess wide influence and a great fort 
 une, but with my exceptional abilities I 
 should have done more. I am so strong 
 and mankind is so weak. I am so practical 
 and all others so visionary. I am so sensi 
 ble and the rest so irrational. Search, try 
 as I will, I can find no inexplicable desires, 
 no unreasoning prejudices, no such ignorant 
 credulity as I have discovered in all with 
 whom I have been brought in contact. I 
 can discern no such eccentric offshoots 
 from concentric self. 
 
 I am aware that I have much, in a mate 
 rial way, that has been and is of great as 
 sistance to me. I have always been very 
 rich, receiving a large fortune from my 
 mother my father s first wife. This I 
 have nearly doubled, so careful have I 
 been in its investment and expenditure. 
 My half-brother, Edward, has often re 
 monstrated with me about the time and 
 thought I give to every dollar I spend, say 
 ing that I already had more money than I 
 wanted. 
 
 "You are so rich," he has said, almost 
 contemptuously, in his strange, impulsive
 
 68 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " 
 
 fashion, " that you might squander a penny 
 or two now and then." 
 
 " What do you call rich?" I asked, trying, 
 as I always do, to bring him directly to the 
 facts of the case ; " can any one be too 
 rich?" 
 
 "He is rich," he answered instantly, "who 
 need only work for fame." 
 
 I shook my head sadly, for I wished him 
 to understand that I disapproved of such 
 false, misleading generalities. I am always 
 deeply grieved when I find him so fanciful, 
 so inaccurate, so deluded. 
 
 I have entered public life and have held 
 several important offices. I did not do this 
 from any foolish, unpractical ideas, such as 
 I often find in young and inexperienced 
 men. I took up politics as I would any 
 ordinary business enterprise. I found mis 
 management, corruption, and ignorance on 
 every hand. As a citizen as a member of 
 this joint-stock company bearing the name 
 of the United States I thought that it 
 would be wise for me a large holder of its 
 stock to look into the conduct of its affairs. 
 I might in so acting serve as an example
 
 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " &9 
 
 for others. Such examples are, indeed, sadly 
 needed. My friends, when by chance they 
 speak of public matters, allude to those 
 occupying official position as a gentleman 
 might to the steward on his estate as a 
 person something above a servant, possibly 
 a very worthy being, but certainly not an 
 equal. And I wish to say here that I firmly 
 believe that the aristocracy of America is 
 the most careless and luxurious that has 
 ever existed since society took form, for it 
 is the only one that has been unwilling to 
 exert itself to the extent of undertaking the 
 hitherto honorable occupation of governing 
 a right for which other aristocracies have 
 given battle and consented to pay others 
 to do it. 
 
 When long ago I told Edward what I in 
 tended to do, he merely laughed at me. 
 
 " Why should you trouble yourself about 
 this patch-work of a country ? Politics, they 
 say, is a game, and success in American 
 political life depends, as it does in our na 
 tional poker, only on luck and bluffing. " 
 
 I did not attempt to answer him. Per 
 haps it would have been better had I al-
 
 70 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 
 
 ways argued each point, and at any cost of 
 time and labor brought him to see reason. 
 I fear I have humored him too much. 
 
 I am not greatly liked. At this, however, 
 I am not in the least astonished. Any one 
 so evidently superior as myself must neces 
 sarily be exceedingly unpopular. My posi 
 tion and reputation are in themselves awing, 
 and my manner is not one of familiar gayety. 
 The fact is, I must confess, not displeasing 
 to me. I am not sorry that the meaning 
 less jest halts on the tongue and the heed 
 less laugh is stilled at my approach. It is 
 part of the homage involuntarily paid to 
 my great mental elevation. I am aware 
 that people even avoid me. This, too, is 
 only natural. What can vain trifling have 
 in common with serious purpose ? At a 
 ball, whither I had unwillingly gone, I 
 heard one young girl speak some words to 
 another that I think as clearly as anything 
 express the feeling with which I am re 
 garded. 
 
 "Your great man is too ponderous," she 
 said, ignorant of the fact that I was close 
 behind her, " like the pious yEneas and the
 
 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 71 
 
 blameless king of the race of Mentor and 
 of Imlac. He has all the dulness of a calm 
 and all the terrors of a tempest. I would 
 as soon talk agnosticism to the Archbishop 
 of Canterbury or nihilism to the Czar of 
 Russia as address an average society re 
 mark to him." 
 
 Such, in brief statement, is a summing up 
 of my character, possession, and position as 
 I stand on this winter s night at the begin 
 ning of another January. As this period 
 returns I always endeavor to strike a trial 
 balance, as it were, with myself ; and now, 
 having reviewed my present situation, I 
 feel competent to enter upon these coin 
 ing months. 
 
 To-night we have, as it is called, seen the 
 old year out and the new year in a pro 
 ceeding apparently necessitating much ri 
 diculous and inane frivolity. Edward, my 
 half-brother, was, as he always is on such 
 occasions, the chief promoter of the even 
 ing s levity, most ably assisted by Edith, 
 who, I must say, brought unfailing help to 
 the execution of any proposed and prepos 
 terous plan. At dinner there were only
 
 72 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " 
 
 Edward, Edith, her father, and one or two 
 others ; but during the evening many friends 
 came in, and when the clock struck twelve 
 we formed a goodly company. We all stood 
 silent while the last stroke trembled away, 
 and the pealing of the city s bells came to 
 us through the open window, now loud, now 
 low, on the bitter winter wind. Edith had 
 drawn the curtain about her as a protection 
 against the cold and stood listening. I saw 
 Edward look at her. Was it a revelation? 
 Edith blushed quickly, deeply, and looked 
 down. Could he for an instant think of 
 asking her to marry him? Would she for 
 an instant entertain the idea ? Remember 
 ing his poverty and hers, it would hardly 
 seem probable. Still, I know too well the 
 real imbecility of this boasted winner in the 
 "competitive examination" of evolution 
 man to believe it impossible. My position 
 may, indeed, become difficult and perplex 
 ing. 
 
 January 9, 189-. 
 
 To-day Edward regularly took up his res 
 idence in my house. Since the loss of his 
 money the loss ! rather the absurd and
 
 EDITH HAU DKAWN THE CURTAIN AHOUT HER.
 
 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS 73 
 
 criminal surrender of his fortune to the 
 creditors of the firm in whose bankruptcy 
 he was legally only partially involved 
 since that time we have had much talk as 
 to where he had better go, and finally I 
 asked him to live with me until something 
 could be definitely arranged as to his fut 
 ure. Our conferences have necessitated 
 his constant presence in the house, and I 
 have recently seen more of him than I have 
 at any time since we were boys. I have 
 watched him closely, and I have discov 
 ered, among other things, that his atten 
 tions to Edith are greater than the mere 
 exigencies of society demand. I fear that 
 in his impulsive, unthinking way he has 
 allowed himself to fall in love with her, as 
 it is called a phrase that on its face shows 
 that humanity at large has some remote 
 appreciation of the undesirable and lower 
 ing nature of the condition, for it directly 
 implies that the state is not voluntarily 
 entered upon, but that the unfortunate has 
 heedlessly stumbled or "fallen" into it. 
 
 A stronger contrast than the one exist 
 ing between my own character and that of
 
 74 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 
 
 my half-brother could not well be found. 
 My calm, equable temperament has always 
 been sharply opposed to his wild, extrava 
 gant, enthusiastic nature. His passionate 
 joys and griefs have always been wholly 
 inexplicable to me, but now at last I fear 
 I have learned the true, sad cause. Even 
 when we were boys when we were little 
 more than children I remember that I 
 was often amazed at his want of self-con 
 trol. I recollect that when I was about 
 twelve years old and he several years 
 younger I was astounded at the wild ex 
 cess of his grief at a very trivial incident. 
 A litter of puppies that we owned together 
 was one day accidentally destroyed. For 
 a whole day Edward refused to eat, and it 
 was a week before he recovered his accus 
 tomed gayety. Through the contempt I 
 felt for such weakness, even at that early 
 age, I am sure I was strengthened in that 
 moderation for which I have always been 
 celebrated. Remembering his extravagant 
 conduct on that occasion, I cannot but feel 
 that if any sorrow should come to him now 
 when years have brought him no greater
 
 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " 75 
 
 power of self-command, but rather greater 
 laxity of will, the result might indeed be 
 lamentable. 
 
 January 17, 189-. 
 
 Since Edward has been living with me I 
 have followed his movements closely, and 
 discovered much to cause me uneasiness, 
 even alarm. He spends a great part of 
 the day with Edith a waste of time he 
 clearly cannot afford. They talk, they 
 walk, they read, they paint together. I can 
 no longer doubt that he will soon, if he 
 has not done it already, ask her to become 
 his wife. Whether she would consent I can 
 not now say. She is not an unusually silly 
 girl, and I think would hardly commit the 
 inexcusable folly of accepting a man who 
 is absolutely a pauper. I cannot, indeed, 
 believe that she could become the victim of 
 that strange and fantastic madness that is 
 named love. I cannot think it possible, 
 but every day my confidence in the ration 
 ality of all around me becomes less and 
 less. 
 
 I have always believed that a marriage
 
 76 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 
 
 between Edith and myself would fulfil ev 
 ery reasonable requirement. She is young, 
 handsome, of excellent family. I am a man 
 of settled habits, established reputation, and 
 above all, large wealth. 
 
 January 22, 189-. 
 
 To-day I had a long talk with Edward 
 about his future. I have often, since the 
 loss of his money, pointed out to him that 
 it would be necessary for him to do some 
 thing towards his own support. I must 
 confess that he has always, and much to 
 my surprise, readily acceded to what I have 
 said. 
 
 For some time I have been looking for 
 some suitable occupation for him, and yester 
 day I made up my mind to offer him a subor 
 dinate position in a mill in which I have 
 a large interest. I laid my proposition be 
 fore him this afternoon, and to my utter 
 amazement found that he was unwilling to 
 accept it. 
 
 He told me that he was determined to 
 become an artist. 
 
 For an instant I was too astonished even
 
 U A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 77 
 
 to answer, but quickly realizing that I must 
 at once turn him from his folly, I told him 
 plainly what I thought. While he was in 
 possession of his fortune, he was at liberty, 
 I said, to amuse himself with any unre- 
 munerative occupation he saw fit, but now, 
 I pointed out, his altered circumstances 
 necessitated real, practical, strenuous exer 
 tion. 
 
 " I can support myself," he replied. " I 
 may even say more. I believe that I can 
 make myself known." 
 
 I told him that this was merely visionary, 
 or at best problematical that a certainty 
 is as much better than a hope, as a fact is 
 better than a doubt. 
 
 "A certainty," he answered, losing him 
 self in one of his constantly recurring fits 
 of blind enthusiasm, " has always been the 
 enemy of success. Genius is courage. I 
 might lead the life of a torpid fool in your 
 little spinning village, eat enough and drink 
 enough, and in time, when the senses were 
 through with me, die and be buried. Would 
 one state differ materially from another 
 would it matter whether I were above
 
 78 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 
 
 ground or below ? Would that dull accu 
 mulation of scarce animate years be worth 
 an instant of struggling, hoping, fearing, 
 despairing existence ? Living is striving, 
 and striving is living. I would rather, at 
 any time, live under the inspiring influence 
 of a glorious possibility than under the 
 deadening depression of a tame assur 
 ance." 
 
 I argued with him, but to no purpose. 
 This strange infatuation has taken strong 
 possession of him, a possession too firm to 
 be shaken by words. He must be tried by 
 incisive fact before he can realize his folly. 
 
 This new freak will probably cause me 
 much trouble and expense. He says he 
 would rather starve in a garret than give 
 up this the cherished purpose of his life. 
 He protests that he never will accept a 
 penny from me. I wish I could have some 
 faith in the strength of his resolution. 
 
 January 26, 189-. 
 
 I am very much disappointed in Edward. 
 Putting my desk in order to-day, I found a 
 note written to him that had, in some way,
 
 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " 79 
 
 gotten among my papers. On the back of 
 it were scrawled some rhyming lines. 
 
 [A number of verses, evidently the ones 
 mentioned, were found in the journal, upon 
 a loose note such as is described, and are 
 here inserted. ED.] 
 
 Dreaming, although it is day, 
 Drowsily stretched on the grass ; 
 
 Letting my wits run away ; 
 Letting realities pass. 
 
 Drowsily stretched on the grass ; 
 
 Building up castles in air ; 
 Letting realities pass ; 
 
 Free from the turmoil and care. 
 Building up castles in air ; 
 
 Lazily lying at rest ; 
 Free from the turmoil and care ; 
 
 Wasting my time, they protest. 
 Lazily lying at rest ; 
 
 Blinking away at the sun ; 
 Wasting my time, they protest, 
 
 Since there s so much to be done. 
 Blinking away at the sun ; 
 
 I wish them luck on their way. 
 Since there s so much to be done, 
 
 I shall have nothing to say.
 
 So " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " 
 
 I wish them luck on their way. 
 
 If they but leave me to dream, 
 I shall have nothing to say, 
 
 False though the vision may seem. 
 
 If they but leave me to dream, 
 
 Dreaming that you could love me ; 
 
 False though the vision may seem ; 
 Dreaming what never can be. 
 
 Dreaming that you could love me ; 
 
 Dreaming, although it is day ; 
 Dreaming what never can be ; 
 
 Letting my wits run away. 
 
 Could anything be more preposterous, 
 more wantonly reckless, more heedless of 
 all obligation ? I did not expect to find 
 the firmness of purpose, the recognition of 
 practical considerations, that are part of a 
 strong character; but I certainly did not 
 expect to discover such a shameless repu 
 diation of all the duties of life. 
 
 February 2, 189-. 
 
 My mind is made up. Reason demands 
 that I should ask Edith to marry me. I 
 must do this, if for nothing else, in order to 
 save Edward and herself. I cannot but
 
 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " 8l 
 
 think that my duty to my kind, and the 
 dictates of that natural religion of human 
 ity that teaches us how much we owe to 
 those who are to come after us the great 
 positive belief command me to do all in 
 my power to prevent their union. 1 firmly 
 believe that her reason is mastered by that 
 strange frenzy love. If I do not quickly 
 interfere, she may fulfil the promise that I 
 believe she has already made to Edward 
 and become his wife. 
 
 To-day I took the first step towards the 
 accomplishment of my purpose. I went to 
 her father, an aged clergyman, who had 
 been one of my father s most intimate 
 friends, and asked his consent to address 
 his daughter. He received me with evident 
 constraint. I have always suspected that 
 he disliked me. 
 
 " She is a good girl," he said, " and I 
 trust her fully. If you obtain her consent 
 you shall have mine." 
 
 " My dear sir," I answered, " I want more 
 than your consent. I want I fear I need 
 your assistance." 
 
 " I am not one to advise a girl in a mat- 
 6
 
 82 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 
 
 ter of this sort. The free, natural, unre 
 strained impulse is the best guide." 
 
 " But," I almost interrupted, " this is not 
 merely what is called an affair of the heart. 
 I am a serious, practical man. I am very 
 rich. I can give your daughter all that she 
 desires. In short, every conclusion of com 
 mon-sense must tell you that I am the 
 proper husband for her." 
 
 "I know," he replied, reluctantly, "that 
 you offer every worldly advantage, and for 
 her sake I am doing what I never did for 
 myself. I am remembering purely worldly 
 things. She has known you all her life. If 
 she can love you I shall be glad that so 
 many of the good things of this life should 
 be hers." 
 
 " What has this thing that you call love 
 to do with it ?" I asked, almost impatiently. 
 " I can do for her what few others could 
 ever hope to do. If she married Edward, 
 for example, as I sometimes suspect she 
 thinks of doing, she would be subjected to 
 a life of self-denial and perhaps even of 
 physical discomfort. It is our duty to save 
 her from herself."
 
 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " 83 
 
 " I am glad you have spoken of your 
 brother," he quickly replied. " I have, in 
 deed, sometimes thought that her heart was 
 given to him, and, unfortunate as such a 
 marriage would be in a worldly way, if she 
 really loves him I cannot, I dare not, op 
 pose it." 
 
 " Why not ?" I asked, hardly concealing 
 my disgust at such absurd sentimentality. 
 
 " I might be responsible for her future un- 
 happiness even for her eternal misery. A 
 single error may harden the conscience and 
 work irremediable evil to the soul." 
 
 " Do you wish your daughter," I asked, 
 with some warmth, " to give up the real ad 
 vantages I offer her for an absurd fancy ?" 
 
 " Love is God speaking in the world, and 
 none dare disobey His behests," he replied, 
 solemnly. " Self-seeking and avarice, like all 
 other vices, once admitted to the heart, turn 
 traitors and let in their allies. It is only 
 by watchful resistance that we can hope to 
 save ourselves to attain the glories of the 
 life to come." 
 
 "And would you renounce the present, 
 the actual, the almost tangible good for
 
 84 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " 
 
 the vague blessings of a problematical fut 
 ure?" 
 
 " Like Kant, I give up imperfect knowl 
 edge in order to make room for perfect be 
 lief." 
 
 I did not argue with him. I have his 
 permission to urge my suit with the daugh 
 ter. That is all I sought. I hope that she 
 may be more reasonable than the father. 
 
 February 6, iSg- 
 
 I become more and more anxious about 
 Edward. At times he is moody and de 
 jected to an unusual degree, and again he 
 is unnaturally, feverishly exhilarated. When 
 Edith is not present he seems to lose all in 
 terest in what is going on, and only on her 
 reappearance does he exhibit any signs of 
 real attention. 
 
 February 15, 189-. 
 I have spoken to Edith at last. 
 I drove out with a large party to skate 
 on a lake which lies near the town, and 
 in the afternoon I told her what I have 
 for a long time purposed to tell her. It 
 happened in this wise. After an hour or
 
 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " 85 
 
 so on the ice Edith, I noticed, became tired 
 and seated herself on a rock on the shore 
 from which the snow had been blown by the 
 wind. I paused at her side, and the rest 
 soon passed on. The sun was just sinking 
 over the brim of the valley, and the shad 
 ows of the hills fell long and dark over the 
 snow-covered country. Gleams caught from 
 the flaming sky shone on the ice, and a thin 
 new moon hung low before us. A perfect 
 stillness was over all, broken only now and 
 then by the faint, far-away laughter of the 
 skaters taking one more turn before depart 
 ure. I do not note these facts for the rea 
 son that they had any such effect upon me 
 as I have found described in some of the 
 few romances that curiosity has led me to 
 read, but rather for the purpose of record 
 ing that I was entirely free from such ex 
 traneous influences. I was as calm and 
 collected as if I had been buying a ticket 
 at the dullest and dreariest railway-station 
 in the country. 
 
 We were alone. The time had come. I 
 determined to make one last, logical appeal 
 to her reason.
 
 86 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 
 
 " I have," I began, " a proposition to make 
 to you, and I ask your earnest consideration 
 of it." 
 
 She turned her eyes, which had been 
 fixed on a light that had just twinkled into 
 being on the opposite shore, in astonish 
 ment upon me. 
 
 " I wish to ask you," I continued, " to 
 marry me. Do not answer at once. You 
 will, I am sure, on reflection find that for 
 every reason it would be wise for you to do 
 so. I am not old or ill-looking, and I cer 
 tainly have distinguished position and im 
 mense wealth." 
 
 She seemed to regard me with steadily 
 increasing apprehension almost with ter 
 ror and when I paused she shrank from 
 me and answered hurriedly, 
 
 " I must ask you not to say this to me. 
 I cannot listen to you." 
 
 "Why not?" I asked. 
 
 " I thought you knew You should know. 
 I am engaged to your brother." 
 
 Although I was not in the least surprised 
 at this announcement, I did not reply at 
 once.
 
 U A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 87 
 
 " That need not necessarily make any 
 difference," I said, finally. " It is not now 
 too late to correct the mistake you have 
 made. I imagine that you have acted from 
 impulse. I believe that upon reconsidera 
 tion you will readily see the error into which 
 you have fallen. You will realize how ab 
 surd, how insane, such a marriage would 
 be. You will probably tell me that you love 
 him. I make an appeal to your better rea 
 son. Try and free yourself, at least for the 
 moment, from this misleading fancy. Is it 
 wise to throw away all that I have to offer 
 wealth, position, power for a transitory 
 whim ? Is it not better, wiser on the whole, 
 that you should at once break this unrea 
 sonable engagement and marry me ?" 
 
 She again looked far away at the light on 
 the opposite shore. 
 
 " Do not speak to me," she said, sudden 
 ly. " You do not remember who you are 
 who I am." 
 
 " Is this reason ?" I asked, patiently. 
 
 11 No," she answered, " it is not reason. 
 It is something beyond reason. Honor 
 transcends reason. I am engaged to marry
 
 88 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " 
 
 your brother. You have no right to speak 
 to me I, none to listen to you." 
 
 I need make no comment on this strange 
 interview. Poor thing, so blind, so weak, 
 so unreasoning. I can only pity, I cannot 
 blame her. 
 
 February 17, 189-. 
 
 Edith s mother has heard of my proposal 
 for her daughter s hand, and is doing all 
 she can to aid me. If it were not for nu 
 merous proofs of mental weakness that I 
 have discovered in this maternal being, I 
 should believe that she was a person of un 
 common sense. As it is, I must conclude 
 that this is only an accidental and unusual 
 manifestation of rationality. 
 
 March 3, 189-. 
 
 I saw Edith again to-day. She was much 
 quieter and apparently less unsettled in her 
 mind. 
 
 My position is certainly perplexing. Not 
 for a moment can I believe that I should 
 consent to her marriage with Edward. If 
 for no other reason, it would be my duty to 
 break off the engagement on account of his
 
 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " 89 
 
 unhappy state of mind. As yet with an in 
 finite cunning he has managed to conceal 
 his infirmity from every one but myself, and 
 I hesitate to reveal what has hitherto been 
 unsuspected. I shall let all go on as it is 
 until I am compelled to act. Rather, how 
 ever, than have her marry one who is insane, 
 I will tell the truth. 
 
 March 8, 189-. 
 
 I am rarely at a loss how to act under 
 any given circumstances indeed, I can rec 
 ollect no occasion on which I was not able 
 promptly and effectively to meet the exi 
 gencies of the moment. I am glad that I 
 have the clearness of mind to perceive in 
 stantly the proper course to pursue, and 
 the strength of mind to act in accordance 
 with my perceptions. I am especially glad 
 at this present time, for if I had not this 
 power of instantaneous decision, I should 
 not have known how to carry myself in the 
 scene through which I have just passed. 
 
 I received a note from Edith this morning, 
 asking me to see her, as there was some 
 thing important about which she wished to 
 speak to me. I did not quite like to be dis-
 
 9 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " 
 
 turbed. My agent was making his month 
 ly report, and it is excessively annoying to be 
 interrupted when busy. I supposed that she 
 wanted to tell me that she had concluded 
 to accept me as her husband, an announce 
 ment that could as well be made at any other 
 time ; but, on the chance that she really had 
 something urgent to say to me, I dismissed 
 the man and hurried across the lawn to her 
 house. As I entered the room I saw that 
 she was greatly agitated. She paced the 
 floor excitedly, and I noticed that her in 
 tertwined ringers worked nervously. After 
 a moment of hesitation she came and stood 
 close beside me. 
 
 " I do not want any one to hear," she al 
 most whispered. " Come with me." 
 
 She was dressed to go out, and without a 
 remonstrance I followed her through the 
 hall to the gravel walk before the house. 
 It was a raw, cold March day, and the 
 black branches writhed under a strong wind 
 against a heavy, slaty sky. 
 
 " Come," she commanded. 
 
 I followed her to the street. 
 
 " I can tell you better here," she said. 
 "We shall be alone and not alone."
 
 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 9* 
 
 I did not understand her. 
 
 " You did me the honor to ask me to be 
 come your wife," she continued. " I con 
 sent." 
 
 "I think," I replied, "that it will not be 
 necessary for me to express my gratifica 
 tion. I must say, however, that I believe 
 that you have decided for the best." 
 
 Still, she did not pause or offer to turn 
 around. I could not understand why so sim 
 ple an announcement should be made in so 
 melodramatic a manner, and, impatient to 
 return to my work, I suggested that, as the 
 day was so unpleasant, it might be wise to 
 defer our walk until another time. 
 
 " I have not told you all," she answered, 
 with a strange mingling of terror and de 
 spair. " Cannot you spare me a few mo 
 ments of your valuable time ?" 
 
 I told her that I was very much occupied, 
 but if she had anything really of impor 
 tance to tell me, I could listen to her with 
 out any very great inconvenience. 
 
 " I think the subject is one to which you 
 will be willing to give your attention," she 
 answered, contemptuously, " I wish to speak 
 of money."
 
 Q2 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " 
 
 " Ah !" I exclaimed, delighted to find her 
 so rational. " This is indeed a pleasant 
 surprise. I cannot, at the moment, give you 
 all the detailed information that you would 
 undoubtedly wish in regard to my fortune ; 
 but I will at once have an exact statement 
 drawn up and laid before you 
 
 " No," she cried, the growing scorn in her 
 voice displacing the last trace of fear. "You 
 cannot understand me. How could I ex 
 pect that you would ? I wish you to do 
 something for me something unusual 
 something " she paused. " I wish you to 
 give me some money." 
 
 "Why?" I asked, with a calmness that 
 I felt must have some effect, excited as 
 she was. 
 
 " I cannot tell you." 
 
 " In a money transaction " I began. 
 
 " If you trust me to the extent of asking 
 me to become your wife, cannot you trust 
 me in this ?" 
 
 " It may be for the very reason that you 
 are to become my wife that I now wish to 
 know." 
 
 I saw that the reasonableness of this
 
 93 
 
 made some impression on her. She walked 
 for a few moments without speaking, her 
 eyes fixed on the wet and shining pave 
 ment, for the rain had begun to fall in fine 
 particles which the wind blew coldly in our 
 faces. 
 
 " Suppose that there are reasons " she 
 began, hesitatingly, "reasons involving oth 
 ers, that make it inexpedient, impossible 
 even, for me to speak." 
 
 " I cannot think," I answered, " that I 
 should be acting judiciously in giving you, 
 an inexperienced girl, money without know 
 ing what you intend to do with it." 
 
 " If you do not give it to me only twelve 
 hundred dollars," she said, with sudden 
 fierceness, " I withdraw my promise." 
 
 " Is this wise ?" I asked. 
 
 " I must have the money," she exclaimed. 
 " Give it to me. How can you care for me 
 enough to marry me if you are willing to see 
 me suffer ?" 
 
 " This is irrelevant," I answered. 
 
 " Must I tell you ?" 
 
 "Would not that be the simpler and wiser 
 way ?"
 
 " If I must do it " she began, and then 
 breaking off. " You are a man of honor " 
 
 " I believe I may say," I corrected her, 
 " that I am a man of sense." 
 
 " You are a wise man a great one, some 
 say you will see that what I tell you must 
 be kept a secret. I want it for my brother. 
 He has been led away he has been weak 
 he has," she said, coming closer to me, 
 " forged !" 
 
 In the street as we were, she buried her 
 face in her hands. 
 
 " And you wish this money in order that 
 the crime may be condoned ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Do you not think that it would be far 
 better if the law were allowed to take its 
 course ? He " 
 
 " It would kill my father." 
 
 " Undoubtedly such a disgraceful affair 
 must cause much pain, but, after all, would 
 it not be best that he should be placed 
 where he can do no further harm ?" 
 
 " Save him this once," she cried, " and 
 you will save him forever." 
 
 " Possibly," I answered, " possibly."
 
 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 95 
 
 " Give me the money," she said, with 
 an intensity of which I did not think her 
 capable. "It is a matter of bargain and 
 sale. I will have my price." 
 
 I consented. I may have done wrong, 
 but I consented. 
 
 That the end justifies the means, is one of 
 the soundest deductions of perfect wisdom. 
 In its deep import it far exceeds in value 
 any other sentence in which the world has 
 summed up its experiences. If I have made 
 an error in judgment it will be the first, and 
 indeed if I have I possess this consolation : 
 I have been led to it by no unworthy influ 
 ence. I have done as I have because it has 
 seemed to me most judicious. 
 
 April 5, 189-. 
 
 Since Edith has promised to become my 
 wife I have noticed a change in her man 
 ner to me. She still treats me with what 
 appears to be utter loathing, but neverthe 
 less with a certain painful deference. She 
 is silent, listless, sad. She speaks as if she 
 were repeating a lesson, and will hardly for 
 an instant look at me. Our engagement is
 
 96 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 
 
 not yet announced, but it will be in a day 
 or two. I am glad that all has come out so 
 satisfactorily. If the world would be guided 
 by the commonest of common sense how 
 different life would be. 
 
 April 7, 189-. 
 
 On the whole, I do not know whether to 
 be glad or sorry that a mind of such an un 
 common order has been given to me. I do 
 not know whether to be thankful or regret 
 ful that the sequential action of natural 
 forces has given me abilities of such a kind 
 as to remove me even from all sympathy 
 with my fellow-men. 
 
 I seem possessed of the limitless intelli 
 gence that apprehends all of the calm, 
 pure reason that permits no stain of doubt 
 the utter consummation and perfection of 
 intellectual power. I feel as the keeper of 
 a mad-house must often feel. Like him I 
 must always be on my guard, lest I forget 
 the afflictions of others and lose my temper 
 at their unreasonableness. I must manage, 
 cajole, and deceive. 
 
 I am weary. 
 
 Sustain me, divine reason that reason
 
 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 97 
 
 that dwelt in the brain of Plato and, in 
 other mode, guided the understanding of 
 his great opposite, Aristotle ; that reason 
 that fled the madman of Macedonia at the 
 temple in the Egyptian sands, but accom 
 panied that sanest of men, the Roman con 
 queror, from the Rhone to the Tagus ; that 
 reason that remained with Socrates even 
 in his last hour, but in later time deserted 
 the arch-cynic of Ferney at the supreme 
 moment ; that inexplicable power that led 
 Kepler to his mighty laws and Newton to 
 his grandest truth, and in our own day 
 stirred the systematizing intellect of Dar 
 win ; that element in the gray matter of 
 the brain that drove the steam through the 
 throbbing piston, that set the first type side 
 by side beneath the groaning press, that 
 sent electricity along the trembling wire ; 
 that ineffable quality that brings order out 
 of chaos, and points the way through the wil 
 dernesses of sophistication divine reason, 
 may your saving grace ever remain with me, 
 and may I always be blessed with your sus 
 taining presence. Keep and protect me 
 from all noxious influences, but chiefly pro- 
 7
 
 QS "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 
 
 tect me from myself, lest in some moment 
 of weakness I forget your wondrous name 
 and go hopelessly astray. 
 
 April ii, 189-. 
 
 I have just had a terrible interview with 
 Edward. His madness, which has hitherto 
 been apparently harmless, has assumed a 
 new and violent aspect. I am much dis 
 turbed by this new development and hardly 
 know what to do. 
 
 The immediate cause of Edward s excite 
 ment was the announcement of my engage 
 ment to Edith. He came to me as I sat 
 in the library, and demanded in agitated 
 tones if what he had heard was true. 
 
 I told him briefly and calmly that it was. 
 
 " It is not her fault," he exclaimed; "they 
 have forced her to it. I have not been 
 allowed to see her for days. They have 
 driven her into this hateful bargain." 
 
 " On the contrary," I answered, " all has 
 been done with her full consent ; indeed, at 
 her own request. You will soon see, I hope, 
 that everything is better as it is. You are 
 very poor. I am very rich. There can be 
 no doubt as to the wisdom of her choice."
 
 "A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS" 99 
 
 He replied wildly, in furious, almost inco 
 herent words. I waited patiently until he 
 paused. 
 
 "I can, of course," I said, "understand 
 that you think that you have suffered an in 
 jury in being deprived of Edith. I should 
 be willing to make up to you in any way 
 I can your loss. What " 
 
 I do not think I ever saw a person so 
 completely submerged in the tumultuous 
 floods of unrestrained passion. He would 
 not listen to me. In action and in word he 
 was indeed a maniac. 
 
 I feared even for my personal safety. 
 
 " Stop !" he cried, " this is too much. I 
 have endured your insults long enough. I 
 have suffered long enough through your cold 
 and supercilious nature. I know what acts 
 you are willing to commit in the name of rea 
 son. I have heard your cant. I know your 
 calculating selfishness, your stolid cruelty, 
 your unbounded meanness. I know your 
 heart, untouched by humanizing sympathy 
 incapable of love, unequal even to hate. I 
 know you. I know you as you really are. I 
 will do all that I can to prevent this mar 
 riage."
 
 100 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS 
 
 I grieve for him. It distresses me to 
 see so fine an organism as the human 
 mind so thoroughly ruined. 
 
 April 13, 189-. 
 
 I have determined what to do. I have 
 sent for a celebrated physician a special 
 ist, an alienist who will give his opinion 
 about Edward and tell me whether it is 
 quite safe to allow him such absolute liberty. 
 
 April 15, 189-. 
 
 To-night Dr. Varley dined with Edward 
 and myself. I thought that during the din 
 ner the physician would have an opportu 
 nity of studying my brother s case. It is 
 best that Edward should not know that he 
 is the object of our solicitude, for that would 
 only excite him the more. The talk this 
 evening, as I expected, was unrestrained, 
 and the doctor had every opportunity of 
 noting Edward s mental failings. My broth 
 er was as extravagant and irrational as he 
 always is, and what he said presented a 
 strange contrast to my simple, logical dis 
 course. 
 
 I saw Dr. Varley glance from one to the
 
 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS II 
 
 other of us with evident and constantly 
 growing interest. In the course of the 
 evening I drew him aside and asked him 
 what conclusion he had reached. 
 
 " This recent trouble," he answered, hes 
 itatingly, " of which you tell me has cer 
 tainly had its effect upon him." 
 
 He glanced sharply at me. That he 
 wished to spare my feelings and withhold 
 his opinion until he had further opportu 
 nity for examination was evident. 
 
 April 1 6, 189-. 
 
 How can I write what has happened ? 
 My hand trembles so violently that I can 
 hardly hold my pen. Just now Edward 
 desired to see me. I received him as 
 usual in the library. His voice when he 
 first spoke was hoarse with passion, and 
 I could with difficulty understand what he 
 said. 
 
 " At last I know the truth," he exclaimed. 
 " It came to me after our last meeting, and 
 since then suspicion has changed to assur 
 ance. I should pity you, but I cannot. I 
 have only remained in your house to watch
 
 102 " A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS " 
 
 over her, over you to save her, to save 
 you. Give her up, and I will be silent. 
 Keep to your purpose, and I will denounce 
 you to this man whom you yourself have 
 brought here and who seems blindly igno 
 rant of " 
 
 He must in his raving madness have at 
 tacked me, for the next thing that I remem 
 ber was seeing him lying on the floor pale 
 and still, with the blood trickling from a 
 wound in his head. In defending myself 
 I must have unconsciously done him some 
 injury. 
 
 I hurriedly summoned the servants, and 
 saying that Mr. Edward had met with an 
 accident, sent one of them for Dr. Varley. 
 
 The physician is now with him. 
 
 Strange strange and sad that the swift, 
 strong, sure action of the brain should ever 
 be so weakened. Pitiful that this wonder 
 ful mechanism should ever go so wofully 
 awry and, as in the breaking of powerful 
 machinery, work death and destruction. 
 
 It is a warm spring evening. My win 
 dow is open. I hear people on the veran 
 da. They are talking. What do they say ?
 
 IO3 
 
 How strangely sensitive to sound I am. 
 Their voices, distant as they are, come to 
 me with great distinctness. 
 
 They have moved, and I can hear even 
 more clearly. 
 
 Some one says that Edward is not seri 
 ously hurt. 
 
 Now they say what ? That I attacked 
 my brother and sought to kill him that I 
 am the madman, and 
 
 [This journal having come into my pos 
 session, I have thought that I might vent 
 ure to publish portions of it. It is very 
 long. As there is much in it that does 
 not bear upon the history of these three 
 lives I have omitted many things, but I 
 think I have retained enough absolutely 
 unaltered to maintain a consecutive nar 
 rative. ED.]
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY"
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 " that affable familiar ghost." 
 
 Shakespeare s Sonnets, Ixxxvi. 
 
 "And you have all that any one could 
 wish," said the guest after a dinner that 
 could only become a memory and never an 
 indigestion. 
 
 " Possibly," murmured the host, mourn 
 fully. " Possibly." 
 
 " You should be the happiest man on 
 earth," continued the guest. 
 
 " Ah !" sighed Mr. Chisholm, the host, 
 looking his friend sadly in the face. "You 
 little know the trials of a man to whom 
 money is no object at all." 
 
 " No," admitted his companion. " I do 
 not. I would willingly, I think, undergo 
 them. The amount of moral discipline to 
 be derived therefrom must be very great. 
 They must be irksome, but improving."
 
 loS "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 " You do not approach appreciation of 
 my meaning," answered Mr. Chisholm, dis 
 mally. " With only your millions you can 
 still be a comparatively contented man. 
 But pause beware." 
 
 " You alarm me." 
 
 "Do not let them increase. You can 
 still long for something that money can 
 buy, and hope in time to call it yours. I 
 cannot. With my absolutely unlimited 
 means there is nothing purchasable that 
 I cannot obtain. Man, however, is so made 
 that he must always wish for something 
 more. I can only wish for what money 
 can never bring me, and therefore my case 
 is hopeless." 
 
 " It is very sad," said the friend. 
 
 " If I can t talk freely to you my oldest 
 friend a friend as long ago as when gold 
 was over two hundred and fifty," said Mr. 
 Chisholm, impulsively, " I can t to any 
 one. My trouble is largely of a family 
 nature." 
 
 " Indeed," responded the friend in a 
 tone that could readily melt into one of 
 deep commiseration, but would not be en-
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 109 
 
 tirely inconsistent with one of genial de 
 preciation. 
 
 " I have apparently everything that the 
 heart of man can desire." Mr. Chisholm 
 glanced across the broad terrace, down the 
 smooth-coated lawns, to the river, where 
 the dark outline of his trim steam-yacht 
 stood sharply against the broad waters 
 purpling beneath a sunset sky. " But I 
 am wretched. All is spoiled for me by 
 one miserable fact." 
 
 " Yes," softly murmured the guest. 
 
 " I have no false pride and no false 
 shame. I know that an American is only 
 a person who has forgotten that he is some 
 thing else. I know that as an American I 
 am no more expected to have a pedigree 
 than a Spanish grandee is necessarily ex 
 pected to have a fortune. I am troubled 
 purely on aesthetic grounds. I miss above 
 all those appurtenances that are only to 
 be had in any real perfection by inheri 
 tance. Mine is no vulgar discontent." He 
 paused for a moment. " I have the finest 
 place in the country. But there is no 
 mystery, no suggestion about it. It is
 
 no "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 new. It is crude as a fact and down 
 right as a dollar. I saw the first stone 
 of the foundation laid and the last Bougue- 
 reau hung. Everything about me is new. 
 I myself am also new. I ve too much the 
 crudity and crispness of a fresh greenback. 
 I am unable to escape from it. I seem 
 condemned to a world where everything 
 is freshly polished and there are no cor 
 ners off. I have bought several baronial 
 halls in England, three or four chateaux in 
 France all places where I need not have 
 feared to find the varnish sticky. But it 
 was no use. I couldn t stand the contrast. 
 I did not correlate, so to speak, with the 
 Van Dyck portraits, and was utterly thrown 
 into the background by a crusader s armor. 
 I had at last to give up. It is extremely 
 unpleasant for a man to feel himself put 
 down at his own fireside by a piece of his 
 own furniture." 
 
 " Excessively disagreeable, I should im 
 agine," said the friend. 
 
 " And so I always come back here, where 
 there isn t even a candle-snuffer to humili 
 ate me."
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY 
 
 " The finest modern villa residence in 
 the world." 
 
 " There it is again," said Mr. Chisholm, 
 in despair. "Villa residence! It might be 
 a stucco house with a tin fountain in the 
 front yard. Villa residence ! I ll burn it 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " My dear friend," said the guest, anx 
 iously, "restrain yourself. You are ex 
 cited." 
 
 "Who wouldn t be excited? All has 
 been done that money can do, and the 
 thing s a failure. I haven t even a haunted 
 room in it." 
 
 " A haunted room," repeated the friend, 
 slowly. "You think that you would be 
 satisfied with a haunted room ?" 
 
 " I am quite sure," answered Mr. Chis 
 holm, "that I could get on with that. It 
 would be extremely grateful to me to have 
 ghostly footfalls on the terrace and hollow 
 groans on the front stairs, but I could be 
 happy if I only had a haunted room." 
 
 " It might," said the friend, blowing a 
 cloud of cigar smoke into what seemed to 
 Mr. Chisholm s excited imagination a toler-
 
 ii2 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 ably accurate representation of a trunkless 
 head with snaky locks, - ; it might perhaps 
 be managed." 
 
 " No," ejaculated Mr. Chisholm in awed 
 surprise. 
 
 " I think that really it might be ar 
 ranged." 
 
 " Do that," cried the host, bringing his 
 closed hand down on the table with a bang 
 that made the gold service rattle, " and I ll 
 never forget it." 
 
 " I should not be in the least surprised," 
 answered the friend. " One can never tell 
 what may come of introducing a ghost into 
 the house." 
 
 " Do not trifle with me," said Mr. Chis 
 holm, with deep feeling. " If you do not 
 really think that it can be done, tell me at 
 once. Do not keep me in suspense." 
 
 " But" 
 
 " Do not think of the cost," interrupted 
 Mr. Chisholm, excitedly. " In a matter of 
 this importance the expense should not be 
 considered. Besides, a ghost is a fancy 
 article and should command a fancy price." 
 
 " It isn t so much," responded the friend,
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY 113 
 
 " the cost of the original article as the duty 
 that makes them so high. It has always 
 been the policy of our government to pro 
 tect and encourage the production of native 
 ghosts, but hitherto such endeavors have 
 met with very slight success. There have 
 been a few produced in New England 
 witches and the like and the negroes in 
 the South have some crude, savage, clumsy 
 apparitions , but that is all. It is a fatal 
 mistake. The American people will never 
 be able to turn out really good, original 
 ghosts until there is a popular demand, and 
 the only way to create that demand is to 
 educate the popular taste by the importa 
 tion of really excellent examples. Take off 
 the duty on ghosts, I say, and in a few 
 years the American-made spectre can chal 
 lenge any world." 
 
 "I ll send to Europe for a ghost imme 
 diately," exclaimed Mr. Chisholm. 
 
 " You need hardly go to that trouble," 
 answered the friend, reflectively. " I know 
 a man who keeps a little shop downtown 
 and imports a low class of ghosts. Per 
 haps he might have something really good.
 
 H4 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 At least it would be worth your while to 
 try him." 
 
 "Why doesn t he bring over the best 
 quality ?" 
 
 " There is absolutely no call for the best. 
 The most of his customers are mediums, 
 and they are satisfied with a very poor line 
 of goods." 
 
 " Do you think he is a responsible party 
 could be trusted not to put you off with 
 a modern imitation ? 
 
 " I have always understood that he was a 
 very worthy and respectable person. His 
 father was in the business before him, and 
 I myself have had some dealings with the 
 son that gave me perfect satisfaction. I am 
 sure that he could get you a nice, respect 
 able family ghost on comparatively easy 
 terms. He keeps an agent in Europe, and 
 I have no doubt that he often picks up a 
 good thing very cheap." 
 
 " Where does most of his stock come 
 from ?" 
 
 " I believe that it is largely gathered on 
 the Continent. The old families are break 
 ing up, sales occurring every day, and I
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY" us 
 
 understand that a good judge of the article 
 a man that knows a ghost when he sees 
 one can sometimes get surprisingly good 
 bargains. Latterly some English ghosts 
 have come into the market, but they are 
 rare as yet." 
 
 " I should want the very best." 
 
 " Then I unhesitatingly advise you to 
 get an English one. There is nothing like 
 an English ghost for quality and design." 
 
 " I hope," continued Mr. Chisholm, anx 
 iously, " that there will be no failure. It is 
 rather important for me to have the blue- 
 room haunted just now. I ll tell you all 
 about it." 
 
 He drew his chair closer to his compan 
 ion and coughed slightly. 
 
 " You know," he began, " that when we 
 were on the other side there was a young 
 Englishman the Duke of Westendington 
 rather attentive to my girl. It was all in 
 the newspapers, and you must have seen it. 
 Well, he s coming over here to get my con 
 sent to marry her." 
 
 " I congratulate you," said the friend. 
 
 "On the whole I suppose you may do
 
 Il6 GUILTY SIR GUY " 
 
 that," answered Mr. Chisholm. " But I 
 have had a great deal of trouble about this 
 matter. I supposed at first that all dukes 
 were alike, but I soon found out my mis 
 take. They vary. They vary just as much 
 as other things. One duke may be very in 
 significant in comparison with another. It 
 is very hard for a stranger to distinguish 
 these nice shades of difference. Finally, 
 however, I hit upon a way of setting all 
 doubt at rest." 
 
 " Yes," said the friend, with interest. 
 
 " We met a duke as soon as we got over 
 there, but I was suspicious of him from the 
 first. He might be all right and again he 
 mightn t. There was no sort of certainty 
 about it." 
 
 " What was the matter with him ?" asked 
 the friend. 
 
 " I learned that his character was univer 
 sally respected, and that his reputation was 
 absolutely unimpeachable. I was very much 
 disappointed, for I liked the young fellow 
 exceedingly. But I had to let him go." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I couldn t be sure of him. I didn t
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 117 
 
 know just what his standing might be. You 
 see he had never asserted himself. A duke 
 of irreproachable life and with an unstained 
 reputation was something to look upon with 
 suspicion. Why, my dear friend, he might 
 have been afraid to be anything else. Sim 
 eon Chisholm was too sharp to be fooled 
 that way. I gave him up. I was at first 
 discouraged, but quickly I was given new 
 hope. I came upon Westendington. He 
 was everything that I could possibly desire. 
 None but the real thing could have gone 
 through what he had and kept out of Port 
 land. I made the most particular inquiries. 
 I was charmed with all that I learned. He 
 was conceded on all sides to be the most 
 consummate blackguard that the peerage 
 had ever produced. He had repeatedly 
 been discovered cheating at cards he had 
 hocussed a race-horse had brought about 
 three divorces had been horsewhipped at 
 least a dozen times. I took him to my 
 arms at once." 
 
 ""Of course you will give your consent?" 
 " Why, certainly. It wouldn t do to miss 
 such a chance as that."
 
 118 " GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 " But" 
 
 "True," answered Mr. Chisholm. "I 
 haven t told you why I want the ghost 
 Well, when I was in England he asked us 
 down, with a lot of other people, to Fevers- 
 leigh Castle, and a fine old place I under 
 stand it is. I didn t go. I should have 
 stood out like a restoration. I believe that 
 he has a very fine and mysterious ghost 
 there. I didn t ask him about it, though I 
 should have liked to do so. I felt a cer 
 tain delicacy about intruding upon family 
 matters. Now he is coming here, and I 
 don t want to be behind in anything. As 
 it is, I confess I am distressed, humiliated. 
 I haven t even a dog that howls a warning, 
 or a raven to croak calamity." 
 
 " It is awkward," admitted the friend. 
 
 Mr. Chisholm took a sip of the wine 
 bought from a semi-royal family at a wholly 
 royal price, and glanced at the scene of cul 
 tivated loveliness that lay before him. 
 
 "We ll see about this matter to-morrow." 
 
 It was about eleven o clock the next 
 morning when Mr. Chisholm and his friend
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY 119 
 
 turned out of the great thoroughfare, where 
 the traffic of the city flowed steadily and tu- 
 multuously along, into a quiet and seclud 
 ed court. The atmosphere which would 
 have, perhaps, been invigorating in the trop 
 ics or the stoke-hole of an ocean-steamer 
 suddenly became cool in the shadow of tall 
 buildings, and the din was stilled to a low 
 murmur. 
 
 " I should not think," remarked Mr. Chis- 
 holm, "that this was exactly the place for a 
 lively business." 
 
 " Well, you see," answered his friend, " the 
 business is not exactly what you would call 
 lively. I have advised a place farther up 
 town, with a ghost against a black velvet 
 background in each plate -glass window 
 wringing its hands or tearing its shroud. 
 That would attract attention. However, 
 this man seems only to take a sort of virtu 
 oso-like interest, and does not care for the 
 worry and anxiety of anything so exten 
 sive." 
 
 " It is a great pity," answered Mr. Chis- 
 holm ; "with a little capital and go it might, 
 I imagine, be made a very good thing."
 
 120 " GUILTY SIR GUY " 
 
 " I have always thought* so myself. Why, 
 only a little thing that I suggested the other 
 day, if skilfully worked, might bring a mint 
 of money. The trade is always longing for 
 new ways to advertise. What could be bet 
 ter than to start out a procession of ghosts 
 through the streets to deliver little papier- 
 mache tomb-stones, with a taking descrip 
 tion printed on them of the goods to be 
 puffed ? Or a very neat thing might be 
 got up in imitation coffin-plates." 
 
 " Bogle, " said Mr. Chisholm, pointing to 
 a sign over a shop-door ; " that must be 
 the place. Yes, Andrew Bogle, Importer 
 and Dealer in Foreign and Domestic Spir 
 its. " 
 
 It was a dark little shop between two 
 huge warehouses, and the green mould and 
 crumbling brick showed that the sun rarely 
 had a chance at it. Glancing in at the 
 dirty, narrow-paned window, Mr. Chisholm 
 beheld some broken looking-glasses, a pile 
 of chains, and a large old hall-clock. 
 
 " Something supernatural about every one 
 of them," whispered the friend. 
 
 As they approached the door they felt
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 121 
 
 the deadly oppression of the miasmatic and 
 stifling air, broken only now and then by 
 sudden ice-cold draughts that chilled the 
 marrow in their bones. Entering the shop, 
 Mr. Chisholm noticed on one side of the 
 narrow threshold a heavy beam with a hook 
 in it, and on the other a curiously marked 
 plank. He determined to ask their use. 
 The room was low, dark, and dingy, but the 
 man who stood behind the counter appeared 
 a perfect picture of bright, smiling, content 
 ed jollity. 
 
 " Is that the person ?" asked Mr. Chis 
 holm, doubtfully. 
 
 " Yes," answered the friend. 
 
 " Do you really think he is quite to be 
 trusted ? I don t see the shadow of any 
 mystery, any sickly wanness, even any dead 
 ly flickering of the eye." 
 
 " A man must have a strong constitution 
 or he would break down in this business," 
 said the friend. 
 
 "Bless my soul !" cried Mr. Chisholm, in 
 great astonishment. " Why ?" 
 
 " He has to live so largely with ghosts 
 a most confined life and then the night-
 
 i22 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 work is very hard. Ghosts, on the whole, 
 prefer the most unhealthy places, and the 
 conditions under which it is often necessary 
 to keep them undermine the strongest sys 
 tems. One must be beyond all malarial 
 influence or else one cannot with safety 
 take proper care of the spectres that haunt 
 donjon keeps, willow-walks, and the like. 
 One must be able to bear the close, impure 
 air of unopened rooms such as is necessary 
 for the proper preservation of ghosts that 
 affect secret chambers, vaults, and tombs. 
 If you will look at this man closely you 
 will see that the insalubrious nature of his 
 employment has already begun to tell upon 
 him." 
 
 " It is then absolutely necessary to pre 
 serve ghosts in their own atmospheres ?" 
 
 " Absolutely. If it were otherwise they 
 would become so hale, hearty, and substan 
 tial that no one would look at them at any 
 price. The sanitary arrangements always 
 have to be very imperfect." 
 
 During this conversation, which had been 
 carefully carried on in a low tone, the pro 
 prietor of the establishment stood smiling 
 and rubbing: his hands.
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 123 
 
 " Well, gentlemen," he said, in a jovial 
 voice, "what can I do for you?" 
 
 " Mr. Chisholm began the friend. 
 " By the way, you remember me ?" 
 
 "Perfectly, sir, perfectly," answered the 
 shopman. " You bought, about two months 
 ago, a spectral hound for your country-place, 
 to scare away the tramps. I sincerely hope 
 that it gives satisfaction." 
 
 " It worked perfectly at first, but I am 
 afraid that they are getting rather too ac 
 customed to it." 
 
 " I ve heard the same complaint from 
 other parties," answered the man, " and I ll 
 tell you what I ll do. I ll give you a liberal 
 allowance for the hound, and let you have 
 one of our headless horsemen, of which we 
 sell a great many to people going into the 
 city in the winter, or leaving their coun 
 try-places in the summer to go to Europe. 
 They have been found most efficacious." 
 
 " I ll think about it and let you know, but 
 I ve brought a friend who wants a quiet 
 family ghost for himself. I told him that 
 you would be sure to have just the thing." 
 
 " I flatter myself," replied the dealer,
 
 124 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 with some severity, " that the establish 
 ment is too well known to require any puff 
 ing on my part. We can furnish anything, 
 from a brownie to amuse the children to a 
 cavalcade of mediaeval knights for the in 
 struction of the adult all warranted and 
 the best in the market." 
 
 " Mr. Chisholm is furnishing a new house, 
 and wishes a ghost for the blue-room." 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed the man, and his face 
 shone with gratification. " Who has not 
 heard of Mr. Chisholm ! This is indeed a 
 commission that gives me great pleasure. 
 What you wish is not intended strictly for 
 use. You desire merely an ornament a 
 superfluous but aristocratic appendage." 
 
 " Exactly," answered Mr. Chisholm. 
 
 " This excites the artist in me," exclaimed 
 the shopman. " Is your house of any par 
 ticular style or time ? I would not like to 
 commit an anachronism." 
 
 " Composite American," replied Mr. Chis 
 holm. 
 
 " Then we are quite unrestricted." 
 
 " Absolutely." 
 
 " If you will just step into the dark
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 125 
 
 room," said the man, "I will show you 
 some choice things." 
 
 "Before you go," observed Mr. Chis- 
 holm, " will you kindly tell me what these 
 are ?" 
 
 He pointed to the beam and plank by 
 the door. 
 
 "This," answered the dealer, running 
 his hand affectionately along the rough 
 board, "goes with a ghost that I can show 
 you. This is the beam he hung himself on, 
 and from which in the ghostly state he ap 
 pears suspended. The effect as a whole 
 is singularly awful. We had the walls torn 
 down and the rafter brought away." 
 
 "Wouldn t any other do as well?" 
 
 " We try to be accurate in the slightest 
 detail. Now, here was a case where we 
 tried to get along without the real thing, 
 but it would not work. This," he con 
 tinued, caressing the plank, "belongs to 
 an apparition that wails over a blood-spot. 
 You see the spot there. When the ghost was 
 sent over they thoughtlessly omitted to pack 
 up the blot with it. The consequence was 
 that the ghost was practically useless. We
 
 i26 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 tried it over a crushed -strawberry stain, 
 but couldn t get a wail out of it. We were 
 compelled at a great expense to procure 
 the original spot. His Serene Highness, 
 the former owner in whose family the spec 
 tre had been for centuries knew that he 
 had us in a tight place and put up the 
 price." 
 
 "Really," said Mr. Chisholm, "this is 
 extremely interesting." 
 
 " We see a good many queer things in 
 our business, as you may imagine," said 
 the man. " But will you just step this 
 way ?" 
 
 He opened a door between two large 
 safes, one of which was marked "CEtin- 
 ger s Essences," and the other "Lucretius s 
 Superficial Films." 
 
 Mr. Chisholm started violently as a large 
 rocking-chair that stood behind the counter 
 began, apparently without visible cause, to 
 rock violently. 
 
 " That," said the dealer, noticing the 
 sudden movement on the part of his cus 
 tomer and following the direction of his 
 gaze, " is the only American ghost that I
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY 127 
 
 have in stock. It s an old lady who rocked 
 herself to death in colonial Massachusetts. 
 No one will have her on account of her un 
 pleasant habit of predicting the direst evils 
 on every possible occasion. It is annoying 
 and even alarming when you are not accus 
 tomed to her. She minds the shop when I 
 step out for a minute, and lets me know 
 if a customer comes in." 
 
 Motioning Mr. Chisholtn to precede him, 
 the shopman held open the door. The 
 two customers entered a low, dimly-lighted 
 hall at the end of which was a hanging of 
 dark cloth that evidently concealed some 
 opening. They had not taken more than 
 two or three steps when they were startled 
 into a sudden halt by a slow succession of 
 blood-curdling groans. Their tongues clave 
 to the roofs of their mouths, and their 
 knees trembled under them. 
 
 "Pardon me a moment," said the dealer, 
 and suddenly disappeared. 
 
 With blanched faces Mr. Chisholm and 
 his friend gazed one at the other. The 
 groans were not repeated, and almost im 
 mediately the proprietor of the place stood 
 beside them.
 
 128 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 " It s only that old idiot from Vampire 
 Hall," said the man, impatiently. " He s 
 very old and garrulous, and I cannot always 
 restrain him. He once frightened a very val 
 uable but new customer into a convulsion." 
 
 "Could you could you," asked Mr. 
 Chisholm, uneasily, " manage not to leave 
 us again ? I am afraid that I might acci 
 dentally do some harm." 
 
 " Not the least danger, sir," answered 
 the man, confidently. " Our goods are not 
 exactly perishable. Why, you walked slap 
 through a ghost a minute ago and didn t 
 know it." 
 
 Mr. Chisholm involuntarily jumped. 
 
 " Will you step in here and take a seat ?" 
 continued the shopman, drawing back the 
 curtain, and pointing into a large, barren 
 room. 
 
 The visitors disposed themselves in two 
 stiff-backed chairs, and their conductor sud 
 denly turned out the single gas-jet that had 
 dimly lit the place. 
 
 " What did you do that for?" asked Mr. 
 Chisholm, sharply. 
 
 " You couldn t possibly judge of the
 
 " GUILTY SIR GUY 129 
 
 goods by that light. Some of the shades 
 are very illusive." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Chisholm, discontent 
 edly. 
 
 " As I understand, you want a simple 
 ghost that will appear at regular intervals 
 and at a certain place. You don t want 
 anything erratic or fancy. You wouldn t 
 like one that would burn its hand on the 
 furniture or predict your own death ?" 
 
 " No," answered Mr. Chisholm, hurried 
 ly ; "I don t think that I should care for 
 that kind." 
 
 " So I imagined," continued the man. 
 " The first apparition that I am going to 
 show you is very old. So old that I doubt 
 if you will like it. You will wish some 
 thing lighter and less severe." 
 
 Gradually the darkness at one end of the 
 room seemed to lose its density, and slow 
 ly, as if from a central point, a cold, wan 
 light spread and spread sufficiently to ena 
 ble a tall, spectral form to be seen. What 
 teeth Mr. Chisholm still possessed chat 
 tered violently, and here and there a hair 
 stood erect upon his head. He saw the fig- 
 9
 
 130 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 ure of a monk with cowl drawn forward 
 over the face, barefooted, and with a pil 
 grim s staff. Slowly the apparition moved 
 along, but at the third step paused and, 
 throwing back his hood, gazed fixedly at 
 Mr. Chisholm with eyes that were now cold 
 and fishy, and now burned like molten glass. 
 
 Under the steady look Mr. Chisholm 
 trembled in every limb. 
 
 " We got him from a monastery in Spain," 
 said the merchant, glibly, " and he is so 
 very ancient that really there is no record 
 of his particular grievance. As his tongue 
 is cut out, he cannot inform us himself." 
 
 " I think," murmured the millionnaire, 
 " that I should prefer one that could speak. 
 It might be more companionable." 
 
 " I hardly thought this would suit you. 
 Still, it is in very severe good taste. I ll 
 show you next a German spectre that might 
 take your fancy." 
 
 The dealer clapped his hands, and the 
 monk vanished with a suddenness that 
 made Mr. Chisholm wink. With the de 
 spatch of a " lightning - change artist " a 
 shadowy crusader in vaporous armor ap-
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 131 
 
 peared. Mingling the sustained tone of a 
 hoarse bassoon and the plaintive tremolo 
 of an unlatched gate, the spectre uttered a 
 few words in a language that neither of the 
 visitors understood. 
 
 " It s Old German," explained the owner. 
 " He says, I did not kill him. I did not 
 kill him. " 
 
 " Doubtless," said Mr. Chisholm, with a 
 great assumption of ease, " some unhappy 
 being who in life was unjustly accused of 
 crime." 
 
 " No. Not at all. That would be quite 
 in the style of a modern ghost, but these 
 veritable antiques are quite different. They 
 are not troubled with the morbid sen 
 sitiveness of a later time. I happen to 
 know this ghost s history. His lament is 
 that he fell himself into the oil in which he 
 was about to boil his enemy." 
 
 "Take him away," cried Mr. Chisholm, 
 in unconcealed disgust. " I wouldn t have 
 such a thing about the house." 
 
 " Shall I show you next," asked the man, 
 " a German polter-geist, a Scotch wraith, an 
 Irish banshee, or a Dutch spook ?"
 
 132 "GUILTY SIR GUY 
 
 " Don t you think that I had better have 
 one that speaks English ?" 
 
 " I was about to suggest it myself." 
 
 With a low wail, that for an instant 
 stopped the beating of Mr. Chisholm s 
 heart, a slight, shadowy figure of a woman 
 floated into view. Her delicate young face 
 was as the face of one distraught with 
 grief, and as she moved along she wrung 
 her hands. As she grew more distinct, it 
 could be seen that she was dressed in 
 widow s weeds, which made her counte 
 nance appear pale and waxen. 
 
 " She murdered her husband," observed 
 the shopman. "Listen." 
 
 "The color of it! The color of it!" 
 moaned the spectre. 
 
 "Ah !" cried Mr. Chisholm, with a strange 
 creeping of the flesh. " Can can she mean 
 the blood ?" 
 
 "No, no," said the shopman, "not in the 
 least. She finds that black is not becoin- 
 ing." 
 
 " I do not think I care for her either," ob 
 served the millionnaire with some decision. 
 
 " Business is not very good in July, and
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY i 33 
 
 I have not as many varieties as I should 
 like to show you. I have sent away a good 
 many of my best examples to the country 
 for the summer, to gain pallor and weakness 
 in various quiet and unfrequented grave 
 yards. Still, I believe I can supply you with 
 what you want. Would you like to see the 
 Horror of Ghoul Hall, or the shrouded 
 skeleton from Goblin Chase ? Or would 
 you care to have a look at Lady Bleightly s 
 ghost, that only appears thrice in a century 
 and then generally reduces the beholder to 
 a gibbering idiot? Ah yes I have it 
 now. Sir Guy de Varquier, a nice, gentle 
 manly apparition of the very highest dis 
 tinction." 
 
 " There is nothing unpleasant about 
 him ?" 
 
 " Very subdued, and calculated to satisfy 
 the most fastidious. He is very anxious 
 that his former abode should be kept secret 
 a matter of family pride." 
 
 " Bring him on," said Mr. Chisholm, re 
 signedly. 
 
 A sickly, dull red glow shone in the dark 
 ness which had been allowed to gather, and
 
 134 GUILTY SIR GUY 
 
 as it increased there appeared the dim 
 figure of a man in a dress of the time of 
 the "Merry Monarch." In his right hand 
 he held aloft a wine-glass, and from the 
 ruby liquid that it contained there streamed 
 a flood of heavy crimson light. 
 
 " Drink drink drink !" moaned the 
 ghost. 
 
 " He does not seem unamiable," ob 
 served Mr. Chisholm. "What was his dif 
 ficulty ?" 
 
 " Ask him," replied the dealer. 
 
 " Sir Guy de Varquier," began Mr. Chis 
 holm, unsteadily, and with evident uncer 
 tainty as to the proper mode of address, it 
 being the first time that he had ever spoken 
 to a ghost, " what" 
 
 "Beg pardon," answered the spectre, ab 
 ruptly, " we don t pronounce it that way at 
 home. We pronounce it Veryqueer." 
 
 " I am sure," said Mr. Chisholm, politely, 
 " I did not mean to hurt your feelings." 
 
 " Hurt my feelings !" repeated the ghost, 
 in some surprise. " Why, I m an English 
 man." 
 
 " Might I ask," continued Mr. Chisholm,
 
 " GUILTY SIR GUY 135 
 
 anxious to change the subject, " why you 
 carry this wine-glass ?" 
 
 " That is what makes me unique. There 
 is absolutely no other ghost who carries a 
 wine-glass. I am called Guilty Sir Guy. " 
 
 The spectre paused expectantly, but Mr. 
 Chisholm could only ask clumsily, 
 
 Why ?" 
 
 " You have never heard of me ?" said the 
 ghost, in evident astonishment. " But I 
 forget your misfortune. Still, I have haunt 
 ed several Americans who have been stop 
 ping at our place. Indeed, it was from an 
 American that I first got the idea of coming 
 to the States." 
 
 " Yes ?" said Mr. Chisholm, question- 
 ingly. 
 
 " He offered to take me starring in my 
 own car through the country. His idea was 
 to give Hamlet, and make the ghost the 
 leading part." 
 
 " You did not accept ?" 
 
 " No. A De Varquier an actor ! Never. 
 I am perfectly aware that persons who ap 
 pear nightly upon the stage are now re 
 ceived by the very best people, but I have
 
 136 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 no sympathy or patience with the levelling 
 tendencies of the times." 
 
 The ghost sighed deeply. 
 
 " It may appear strange to you that I 
 should be willing to let myself out in this 
 way like a green-grocer for the evening. I 
 would not do it if I could help myself. It 
 is a hard necessity, and my pride revolts at 
 it, but the fact is my tomb is very much out 
 of repair. Something must be done or I 
 sha n t have a place to lay my shade. A 
 ghost can t always be on the the haunt. 
 However, my good friend Mr. Bogle has 
 promised that the thing shall be done as 
 quietly as possible ; and as, at my next place, 
 I shall, of course, assume a new name, it 
 may not be so bad. Besides, so many of 
 the aristocracy have taken to dabbling in 
 trade, I do not feel this step so much as I 
 otherwise might. I have a great deal of 
 leisure our place being shut up most of 
 the time, I have only to be on hand for the 
 shooting and Christmas so I thought I 
 might just as well profit by it." 
 
 There was a short pause, during which 
 Mr. Chisholm vainly tried to think of some 
 thing to say.
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 137 
 
 "As you may imagine," continued the 
 ghost, " I am extremely anxious that this 
 step of mine should be kept quite secret. 
 As an old member of the family I naturally 
 have its honor at heart. The honor of most 
 ancient families depends vipon its members 
 doing nothing. If what I am doing were 
 known, I fear the moral effect upon the 
 present head of the house. I alone have 
 influence enough to keep him from dis 
 gracing the rank he holds. You have no 
 idea of the hours that I have haunted him, 
 trying to make him realize the duties he 
 owes to his order. I am quite sure that 
 he considers me a prodigious bore. I may 
 even say that I believe that he hates the 
 very sight of me." 
 
 " But the story," suggested Mr. Chis- 
 holm. 
 
 "Ah, yes, to be sure, the story," said the 
 apparition/ " I loved the beautiful heiress 
 of the Cholmondeley-Chichester-Chortes- 
 ques. She was betrothed to another. I 
 swore that I would kill that other and drink 
 the bride s health in his blood on the day 
 of my marriage. I did what I swore I
 
 138 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 would do. At the feast held in celebration 
 of our union the butler produced a decanter 
 containing my rival s heart s blood, which 
 I had carefully collected and preserved for 
 the occasion. It looked like a fair kind of 
 claret. I arose. The glass touched my 
 lips. I took one sip and fell down dead." 
 
 11 Horrible," cried Mr. Chisholm. 
 
 " That is the story," said the spectre, 
 blandly. 
 
 " Yes," observed Mr. Chisholm. 
 
 " But it isn t true." 
 
 " Not true ?" 
 
 " Bless you, hardly a word of it. I don t 
 mind telling you the truth, since the story 
 might prejudice you against me. As a 
 general thing, however, I prefer to keep up 
 the mystery. Now, just to show you out of 
 what beginnings these things grow. All 
 there was of this was that I forgot my 
 speech, blushed and that is the way pos 
 terity serves up the incident." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it," said Mr. 
 Chisholm. " I hope that I may be able to 
 make it worth your while to remain with 
 me."
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY 139 
 
 " If the house is dark and the work light 
 I think it might be arranged. You will 
 find me very easy to get on with. I can 
 readily accustom myself to new surround 
 ings. You will notice, for example, that 
 my language is quite modern, and I fear 
 even that I have picked up a few Amer 
 icanisms. But what can you expect when 
 you are compelled to associate with spirits 
 that only dematerialized yesterday? Why, 
 last week the ghost of a man who had struck 
 a bonanza had the impudence to leave his 
 epitaph on me. However, Mr. Bogle, my 
 agent, will inform you of my terms. I 
 never transact business myself." 
 
 The glass fell to the floor and, the liquid 
 losing its luminous quality, the ghost dis 
 appeared. 
 
 " I ll take him," said Mr. Chisholm, final 
 ly. "All things considered, the terms are 
 quite reasonable." 
 
 "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. But before 
 you go I should like to show you a real 
 curiosity. The very ghost mentioned by 
 Pliny the Younger, that appeared to the phi 
 losopher Athenodorus. If you have time "
 
 MO "GUILTY SIR GUY 
 
 " Not to-day," said Mr. Chisholm. " I m 
 really in quite a hurry." 
 
 " Some time when you are passing, then," 
 said the dealer, bowing at the door-sill. 
 
 Two persons sat upon the terrace over 
 looking the vast grounds of Mr. Chisholm s 
 summer home. The moon had risen far 
 enough to light the wide spaces of lawn 
 and glisten in a broad band over the great, 
 dark, silently flowing river. It was very 
 beautiful, but the two could see nothing of 
 this. They were seated at a spot where 
 if they had looked they could have discerned 
 only the end of a brick wall and a huge 
 earthen jar containing a spreading cactus. 
 It is hardly necessary to say that they were 
 lovers. It is, however, advisable to state 
 that one was Angelina Chisholm and the 
 other the Duke of Westendington, and that 
 the paternal consent to their marriage had 
 only been given an hour before. 
 
 " And now," said Angelina, joyfully, " I 
 can call you by your first name. That is," 
 she added, doubtfully, "if dukes have first 
 names."
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY 14* 
 
 " Oh," replied her lover, cheerfully, " I. 
 have several. Indeed, I do not know but 
 that I have rather a large assortment. I 
 am called Edward Albert Arthur Lionel " 
 
 " I shall call you Lionel," announced 
 Angelina with decision. 
 
 " Why ?" he asked, with all the compla 
 cent assurance of a lover that, whatever 
 the answer may be, it will assuredly be 
 right. 
 
 " It is so nice and dukely," she answered, 
 adoringly. 
 
 There was a short pause. 
 
 " At last," he exclaimed, " I can escape 
 the life of deception I have been compelled 
 to lead so long. At last I can be myself." 
 
 " Yes," she answered, sympathizingly ; 
 " you need not pretend to be a Avicked 
 villain and a vulgar ruffian any longer. 
 You can be your own good, upright, ex 
 emplary self." 
 
 There was a short pause. 
 
 "When I heard of poor Chippendale s 
 fate that your father would have nothing 
 to do with him on account of his excellent 
 reputation I was in despair. I knew that,
 
 142 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 if anything, I was more objectionably good 
 than he, and the terrible thought came to 
 me that if Mr. Chisholm were to know the 
 truth he would distrust me and his doors 
 would be closed to me forever. It was 
 some time before I made up my mind. But, 
 my resolution once taken, I acted immedi 
 ately. I managed to have tales of my utter 
 moral depravity, every one of them false, 
 brought to your father s ears. I managed 
 to make him believe that I was the most 
 abandoned scoundrel in the kingdom, and 
 then happiness I obtained his permis 
 sion to see you." 
 
 There was a short pause. 
 
 " But after that why why did you remain 
 silent so long?" 
 
 " There was a terrible reason. I was 
 not free. I could not speak of my love 
 until I was sure of one thing. The family 
 curse 
 
 He sprang to his feet and paced the 
 terrace nervously, while she shrank trem 
 bling into the corner. 
 
 " Even now we may not escape it. I 
 think I have arranged all, but I may be
 
 " GUILTY SIR GUY " M3 
 
 mistaken. The curse that has blighted so 
 many of the marriages of my family for 
 it was especially pronounced on marriages 
 may yet descend and involve us. Are 
 you willing to trust me ?" 
 
 " I am ! I am !" she cried. 
 
 There was a long pause. 
 
 " To-night," she said, as they parted, 
 " you are to sleep in the haunted chamber. 
 If " she hesitated, " if the ghost should be 
 disappointing or shouldn t happen to ap 
 pear at all, I hope you will not mention it 
 to papa. He is very sensitive about this 
 and might be displeased." 
 
 " Never," he exclaimed, " will I tell him 
 what did not happen." 
 
 There was a short pause. 
 
 It was midnight in the blue-room. 
 
 It would be quite proper to add that the 
 clock had just gone twelve and that the 
 candle had expired with a sickly flicker. 
 But then it would not be true. The fact 
 was that the big clock on the stairway, after 
 striking twelve as clocks sometimes do at 
 midnight, had just finished playing one of
 
 144 "GUILTY SIR GUY 
 
 Waldteufel s waltzes, and the electric light 
 shone brilliantly. 
 
 The Duke, who was sitting by the window 
 smoking, suddenly heard a voice at his 
 elbow. 
 
 "Turn down that light." 
 
 His cigar fell from his trembling hand. 
 
 " Why ?" he asked, turning round, but 
 seeing no one. 
 
 " I can t appear. I can t even see you," 
 the voice replied. " I can stand a candle 
 or a gas-burner or two, but this electric 
 light literally puts me out." 
 
 " You have come to haunt me ?" 
 
 " I grieve exceedingly to thrust myself 
 upon you, but really I am not my own 
 master. I am only fulfilling my duty. That 
 is what I am here to do. It is very un 
 pleasant for me to frighten people out of 
 their wits." 
 
 " Then you are very frightful ?" 
 
 " I would undoubtedly terrify you very 
 much. But if you refuse to turn out the 
 light, why, I have done my part, and 
 
 The Duke felt that the ghost had shrug 
 ged its shoulders.
 
 " GUILTY SIR GUY 145 
 
 " I really must, though," he said to him 
 self resignedly, as he thought of Angelina s 
 warning and remembered that Mr. Chis- 
 holm might question him in the morning. 
 
 " It would really," said the spectral voice 
 give me great pain to make you imbecile 
 through fear." 
 
 " I must see you," answered the Duke, 
 " so draw it as mild as you can." 
 
 He touched a button and the room sud 
 denly became perfectly dark. The ruby 
 light appeared. The spectre was slowly 
 shadowed forth. 
 
 "Drink, drink " the ghost began, and 
 then suddenly paused in evident embarrass 
 ment. 
 
 " What," said the Duke, straightening 
 himself up and taking a step forward 
 " what are you doing here ?" 
 
 The ghost coughed nervously. 
 
 " You see " it began. 
 
 " Now this won t do at all," continued 
 the Duke, angrily. " Why are you over 
 here ? I thought I left you at Feversleigh 
 Castle where you belong." 
 
 " I imagined that, you being away and 
 
 10
 
 146 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 nothing needed, I might just run over to 
 see the country. I " 
 
 " Nonsense. I know better. I have 
 heard the whole story. You have sneaked 
 off here in your own interest. And after 
 all you have said about noblesse oblige? 
 I say it is disgraceful." 
 
 " Believe me," said the now thoroughly 
 humiliated spectre, " all I have done was 
 for what I thought was the best." 
 
 " This marriage is everything in the world 
 to me, and you have opposed it." 
 
 " Such a mesalliance." 
 
 " Better than misery." 
 
 " I cannot think that I should be doing 
 my duty to consent," replied the spectre, 
 critically. " Good-fortune has brought me 
 here, and if this marriage takes place I 
 shall, however painful it may be for me to 
 do so, pronounce the family curse." 
 
 The Duke sank trembling on his knees. 
 
 " I must," said the ghost, now again him 
 self and seeing his way out of an awkward 
 predicament, "uphold the dignity of the 
 family at any cost." 
 
 " No, no," gasped the terrified man in
 
 " GUILTY SIR GUY " M7 
 
 hardly articulate tones, cold drops of per 
 spiration starting out upon his forehead. 
 
 " I really must," replied the ghost. " I 
 had to do it when the third duke married 
 Peggy Thistlecraft, the actress, and you know 
 how unpleasant all that turned out." 
 
 " Spare me spare me," moaned the un 
 happy young man. 
 
 " But an American," continued the ghost 
 pettishly. " I know that they are rather the 
 thing just now ; but, after all, that is but an 
 other sign of the degeneracy of the times. 
 These Americans are destroying everything." 
 
 " You take all hope from me." 
 
 " Oh, you ll get over this little thing. 
 You think you won t, but you will, and, 
 what is more, you will be particularly 
 obliged to me for keeping you from mak 
 ing a fool of yourself." 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " You d better have it over the first thing 
 in the morning and take the noon train for 
 town." 
 
 " Rather than bring the curse on another 
 I will consent." 
 
 " Any one else would have done it
 
 148 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 months ago," answered the ghost with that 
 perfect freedom that family intercourse per 
 mits. 
 
 "And now if you please," said the Duke, 
 " could you leave me alone ? I find your 
 presence disturbing." 
 
 "A good many other people have also 
 found it so," murmured the ghost, grimly. 
 
 " Leave me." 
 
 "I think that when you are fortunate 
 enough to have me here, and when you have 
 just profited by my advice, it might be wiser 
 to listen to me further. My moral support, 
 at least " 
 
 The Duke turned on the light, and the 
 spectre was lost in its strong, clear efful 
 gence. 
 
 " It is very painful to me," said the 
 Duke, after his interview with Mr. Chisholm 
 had lasted for some time, "to make the 
 announcement to you that I am compelled 
 to make. But the family curse 
 
 Mr. Chisholm visibly shuddered. 
 
 " You have heard of it," said the Duke. 
 
 " Yes," whispered the millionnaire.
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY 149 
 
 " It would be launched at once." 
 
 " Horrible." 
 
 " I thought that I had managed to es 
 cape it. I thought that, the marriage once 
 accomplished, all might go well ; but last 
 night, in the blue-room 
 
 " In the what ?" demanded Mr. Chis- 
 holm. 
 
 " In the blue-room the spirit of an an 
 cestor appeared to me." 
 
 "The spirit of your ancestor! The spirit 
 of fiddle-sticks," ejaculated Mr. Chisholm. 
 
 " And threatened to utter the " 
 
 " Threatened to utter it, did he ? I ll see 
 about his flinging curses around loose." 
 
 " Beware. Do not provoke an unknown 
 power." 
 
 " An unknown power indeed ! Only too 
 well known. Why, that ghost is my own 
 particular property, and a precious bad 
 bargain he is too the first that I ever 
 made. I was always suspicious of him 
 from the first he seemed altogether too 
 anxious to conceal his antecedents and 
 so I put a clever young man of mine on 
 the track. He has just reported to me
 
 150 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 this morning, and I only just now learned 
 that this ghost came from Feversleigh 
 Castle. But that is not all. With the 
 assistance of our English lawyers, he has 
 made a discovery that I believe will put 
 a new face on this matter." 
 
 Mr. Chisholm touched a bell and the 
 clever young man appeared. 
 
 " You found that the ghost of Fevers 
 leigh Castle, known as Guilty Sir Guy, 
 was not Sir Guy after all ?" 
 
 The clever young man bowed. 
 
 " No !" cried the Duke. " Who then ?" 
 
 " The family butler," answered the clever 
 young man at a sign from Mr. Chisholm. 
 " He is compelled to go about offering a 
 glass of the wine that he kept for his own 
 use during life to every member of the family 
 in each generation. The generally accredit 
 ed story has, after the manner of all myths 
 and legends, grown slowly up from this 
 beginning." 
 
 " Wonderful !" exclaimed the Duke. " But 
 how did it happen ?" 
 
 " They were changed at death." 
 
 "The butler and Sir Guy?"
 
 "GUILTY SIR GUY 151 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And this is an utter impostor ?" 
 
 " Utter." 
 
 "At last," cried the Duke, "I am free. 
 I must," he continued, in wild delight, "see 
 the true ghost Sir Guy himself and get 
 his consent. Of course he ll give it. No 
 one but a low upstart would take advan 
 tage of his position. Of course he ll give 
 his consent." 
 
 And of course the true ghost did con 
 sent. 
 
 As the Duke and his young wife were 
 passing through the portrait-gallery on the 
 first night of their arrival at Feversleigh 
 Castle, they saw coming toward them the 
 figure of a tall, graceful man in a costume 
 that De Grammont might have worn. His 
 face was long and sad, but a reckless mirth- 
 fulness shone in his long, narrow eyes. 
 
 " My children," he said, in a soft, low 
 voice, " be not afraid. I come not for 
 harm, but rather for your good." 
 
 Angelina trembled within the encircling 
 arm of the Duke.
 
 i52 "GUILTY SIR GUY" 
 
 " Do not fear, pretty one," continued the 
 spectre in the same silky tones. " There 
 is no curse. It is but the invention of that 
 lying varlet that did usurp my place, and 
 who, methinks, did somewhat overdo the 
 matter. In truth, he did come to regard 
 his tales, uttered after the manner of his 
 kind, as absolute verities." 
 
 " No curse ?" cried the Duke. 
 
 " Young sir, no. I myself, after all, am 
 but an honorary ghost attached to the fam 
 ily as one of some consideration and dis 
 tinction, until by murder, suicide, or some 
 other peccadillo we are entitled to one. 
 This place that low-born villain did take 
 from me. But I am brought to my own 
 again, even as was his blessed Majesty, and 
 all may now be well." 
 
 " How nice!" said Angelina. 
 
 " Od sfish !" murmured the spectre; "if 
 my royal master King Charles could but 
 have seen these Americans !"
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 Felix Oldys let the book rest upon his 
 knee, with one long, thin finger upon the 
 page he had finished. 
 
 " Know then," so ran the words he had 
 just read, " that there are tragedies greater 
 than those that end in death. The extinc 
 tion of something that cometh from one in 
 finite and seeketh another, and which, while 
 it lasts, is both invisible and impalpable, is 
 a wonderful and terrible spectacle ; but in 
 itself it is a happening of but little moment. 
 It only signifies, that is that was before. 
 Wherefore is this lamentable : Man is given 
 here but little time to live and in that time 
 works much evil. Is not this rather the 
 grievous thing, that life should continue, and 
 that the harm, as is the nature of harm, 
 should be without end ? Tragedy lies more 
 often in the continuance of life than in its
 
 156 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 surcease. Therefore, I enjoin you, call not 
 a man s death a tragedy, for, if he had lived, 
 you know not what evil might have been 
 wrought. In truth, were I to write a trage 
 dy wherewith to delight the judicious, for 
 catastrophe I would take a birth, which is 
 the beginning of life." 
 
 He glanced out of the open window be 
 side which he sat. 
 
 It is noon. Each shadow is reduced to 
 its minimum. Since sunrise the encroach 
 ing light has been conquering, overrunning 
 the country, and now its empire has reached 
 its ultimate extent. It is noon; it is also 
 the year s meridian, for it is July. There is 
 not a cloud in the intense, firm sky, and the 
 heat has grown until the shadeless country 
 seems almost incandescent. The day is 
 perfect ; it is even arrogant in its perfec 
 tion. There is the unsympathetic barren 
 ness of consummation, the vacuity of ab 
 solute satisfaction. No country could be 
 fairer, and in no other time could this be 
 more fair. Looking as Felix Oldys did 
 from the window of his library, his eyes 
 fell upon a wide and grateful scene. From
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 157 
 
 the sweep of the drive-way about the house, 
 the ground descends in almost terraced reg 
 ularity to a small lake; the incline of the 
 valley is so gentle that, though its depth is 
 not great, its opposite slope appears blue 
 and hazy near the rim. The landscape, 
 in its unclulant prettiness, seems in the 
 distance a carefully laid out garden, the 
 smooth roads appearing like paths and 
 the regular fields almost like flower-beds. 
 If ever rebellious nature has been tamed, 
 trained, domesticated, almost humanized, 
 it is here. No money, no labor, no thought 
 has been spared, and the whole region is a 
 marvel in its way. Indeed, it is famous 
 throughout the country, and is regarded al 
 most with a certain awe as an Elysium of 
 landscape-gardening into which humanity is 
 translated after having achieved the apothe 
 osis of riches. The house commanding this 
 view is an irregular structure of rough, dark 
 stone, built in such fashion that its outlines 
 follow the contour of the hill upon which it 
 is placed, thus giving it a solidity of aspect 
 that is not without impressiveness. It is 
 very large. There is a high, dim hall, with
 
 158 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 a stairway for which a famous sculptor 
 designed the balustrade ; there are long, 
 shadowy, gilded drawing-rooms, with ceil 
 ings painted by a great artist ; there is an 
 impressive leather-decked dining-room and 
 a gay little silk-hung breakfast-room ; there 
 is a huge conservatory constantly replen 
 ished with orchids from the distant green 
 houses that glitter in the light like the 
 palaces of a fairy tale ; there are wide- 
 spreading stables in which are housed 
 equine perfection in various forms, from 
 the nimble polo pony to the stately carriage 
 horse; there are big, adjacent buildings in 
 which are ranged all vehicles of contempo 
 rary or habitual use, from the highest, light 
 est cart to the heaviest, most resplendent, 
 and imposing of coaches. The grounds are 
 a fit setting for the house. There are broad 
 lawns dotted with beds as intricate in de 
 sign and as harmonious in combination of 
 color as the finest rugs of Teheran ; there 
 are endless walks, sharp-edged and kept 
 by the gardeners from all blemish of fallen 
 leaf or twig, in which you might lose 
 yourself alone ; there are trimmed and
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE I5Q 
 
 tortured groves with cunningly contrived 
 windings in which you assuredly would lose 
 yourself with another. 
 
 On the whole, it is very costly and very 
 charming. 
 
 The melancholy words Felix Oldys had 
 read hung persistently in his mind. 
 
 In his youth, because of his cadaverous 
 appearance and the listless, mournful ex 
 pression of his intelligent, high-bred face, 
 Oldys had been called the Anatomy of 
 Melancholy. There was another reason, 
 moreover, that justified the appellation. In 
 him, as in old Burton s famous volume, was 
 great store of odd bits of forgotten wit and 
 wisdom, gathered from the crusted phrases 
 of dead and long-gone writers writers often 
 like the writer of the book he had just laid 
 down, utterly unknown save to bibloma- 
 niacal fame. It was a very small volume 
 by a certain Sir Geoffrey de Blacquiere, 
 written with a substrain of melancholy that 
 one might have been surprised to find or 
 not find in the production of a frequenter 
 of the Court of the Restoration. In 
 significant though it might be, it was very
 
 160 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 valuable, for it was supposed to be unique. 
 It contained, in the very dissertation that 
 Oldys had just read, " Upon the Quitting of 
 this Doleful Habitation," the only printed 
 account realistic in detail of a scandal 
 about a very great personage, and, having 
 been rigorously suppressed, this copy was 
 the only one, so far as known, that had 
 escaped destruction. It was bound with 
 all the art of a Grolier or a Roger Payne, 
 and was a volume in every way worthy of a 
 place in Oldys s great library. It had been 
 bidden in for him at a recent sale at the 
 Hotel Drouot, at a price that had caused his 
 French competitors to stare at the prodi 
 gality of this American millionnaire, as their 
 forefathers had at the extravagance of some 
 English " milor." 
 
 As Oldys put down the book, he had, at 
 first, thought only of the sombre meaning 
 of the passage ; but gradually the mournful 
 cadence of the words grew stronger, and 
 he lost the significance of the sense in the 
 sadness of the sound. 
 
 The perfect silence was oppressive the 
 silence of a great house the more notice-
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 161 
 
 able, perhaps, because one almost insensi 
 bly listens for something of the stifled stir 
 of life in the huge, unpeopled rooms. 
 
 Felix Oldys drew out his watch, opened 
 it, and looked at it. Replacing it, he picked 
 up his book and settled himself anew in his 
 chair preparatory to its further perusal. 
 Hardly, however, had he raised it from his 
 knee when he. let it fall from his powerless 
 hand. 
 
 A woman s quick, wild, piercing shriek 
 rang through the house. 
 
 Starting to his feet, he listened breath 
 lessly, motionlessly. In the distance he 
 heard the noise of hastening steps, a con 
 fused tumult of voices. Then, again, there 
 was perfect stillness. He had hardly time 
 to recover from the inevitable inactivity 
 of sudden amazement, and to take half a 
 dozen steps towards the door, when it was 
 suddenly thrown open, and a man in the 
 dress of a house-servant stood before him. 
 
 " What is it, Jarvis ?" Oldys had time to 
 ask before the man could collect himself 
 sufficiently to speak. 
 
 "Mr. Daryl has been brought home dead,
 
 I&2 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 sir," answered Jarvis, stammering in his ex 
 citement. " The horse he was trying over 
 the gate of the stable-yard fell with him 
 and killed him. And Miss Annette 
 
 But Oldys had hurried past him out of 
 the room. 
 
 The light is as intense, the heat as great, 
 as it was an hour ago when Oldys sat in the 
 library. There is not a distinct, severable 
 sound to be heard ; only the dull, mysterious 
 hum of a hot summer day as, almost unno- 
 ticeably, it rises unbrokenly in soft mono 
 tone. There is something grandly restful, 
 powerfully peaceful, in the time. Not even 
 a leaf stirs. Everything is at rest a lethar 
 gic rest ; the world seems sunk in narcotic 
 torpidity. 
 
 Suddenly a man appeared at the door 
 of the house, crossed the veranda, rested 
 his hands upon the heavy railing, and gazed 
 intently down the driveway. It was only 
 an hour since Oldys had let fall his book 
 to gaze upon that same landscape, but he 
 looked years older ; it was only an hour, but 
 it was an hour such as had never come to
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 163 
 
 him before. He gazed anxiously down upon 
 the country, where the white roads showed 
 among the green fields almost as distinctly 
 as a chalk mark shows on the cloth of a 
 billiard-table. No moving thing was visible. 
 He shook his head in impatient gesture, his 
 eyebrows were drawn together angrily, but 
 under the stiff white moustache his lips 
 twitched tremulously, weakly. 
 
 " God grant they find him," he muttered, 
 unconsciously. 
 
 He is tall and thin ; in appearance he is 
 commanding, even imposing. He is dressed 
 in the light, loose garb of summer, and his 
 clothes are worn with the ease and grace 
 that mark him as belonging to that small 
 class who are pre-eminently clothes-wearing 
 creatures. In his youth he was hardly 
 good-looking ; in his old age, as sometimes 
 happens with men of intellectual life, he 
 has become exceedingly handsome. Over 
 his fine old sunburned face is cast a look 
 of grievous apprehension, almost terror. 
 You cannot help feeling that it is an un 
 usual expression. There are some faces 
 on which sorrow seems to sit naturally;
 
 164 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 others on which it appears incongruous, 
 and as an unfitting and unwonted garment 
 suddenly put on. Felix Oldys s counte 
 nance had never at any time of his life, 
 when in repose, expressed much of any 
 thing except a mocking but not ill-natured 
 scepticism. Now, when he is an old man, 
 real trouble has for the first time suddenly 
 found him. From his father and mother 
 both of whom had died when he was too 
 young to remember either he had inherited 
 fortunes which had enabled him to escape 
 from every evitable annoyance, and an easy 
 going and unambitious disposition that kept 
 him from creating embittering ills for him 
 self. He had married and had lost his 
 wife, but the bliss of the holy state had not 
 been so ecstatic that solitude was unmiti 
 gated misery. His satisfaction in himself 
 had been absolute, and he had always 
 thought that he was freed from those hu 
 man ties that are both the joy and the mis 
 ery of most. He had never imposed high 
 standards upon any one or expected to find 
 them imposed by others, and the leniency 
 with which he regarded the world he had
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 165 
 
 only thought it fair to extend to himself. 
 He had always been told that he was a self 
 ish man, and as he never contradicted any 
 one not even himself he had always be 
 lieved it to be so. After his wife s death, 
 when he discovered that there was still 
 enough left in the world to make his life 
 quite as enjoyable as it had been before, 
 he became more than ever convinced that 
 he was a selfish, perhaps an unfeeling per 
 son. Now, it is with more than a shock 
 of surprise it is with something of the 
 sense of revelation, that he finds that, as 
 he stands there in the blazing sunlight, 
 there is some one very necessary to his 
 happiness. 
 
 " On such a morning too," he murmured, 
 with that feeling that we all have had that 
 grief is doubly grievous, that it is unbear 
 able in its unnaturalness, on some glorious, 
 brilliant summer day. 
 
 The calm - faced, insensitive country is 
 maddening to him in its stolidity. He 
 glances at the terrace below him. The 
 light cane lounging-chairs on the veranda 
 are in groups, as if continuing the care-
 
 166 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 less conversation or perhaps the light con 
 fidences of their last occupants , a riding- 
 crop hangs from the stiff leaves of a cactus ; 
 two tennis rackets lean against a table, 
 upon which lies a woman s glove. Every 
 where, startling and almost voiceful to 
 him, are indications of the thoughtless, un 
 troubled life of the past of yesterday of 
 the hour before. 
 
 " In the midst of life," he said, gently, 
 recalling words he had caught at some -fu 
 neral to which he had unwillingly gone, 
 reluctant always to recognize trouble, and 
 regarding it as he might some common ob 
 trusive upstart who has forced a half-ac 
 quaintance. 
 
 Another glance at the distant road, and 
 with lingering step he turned toward the 
 door and entered the house. 
 
 In the comparative obscurity near the 
 stairway was a group of servants. His own 
 man Jarvis stood rather in advance of the 
 rest, and, as Oldys crossed the hall, ventured 
 to address him. 
 
 " Is he better, sir ?" the man asked, hesi 
 tatingly, and in the low voice of respectful 
 sympathy.
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 167 
 
 His companions ceased their whispered 
 talk and listened for the answer. 
 
 " No, Jarvis, no," replied Oldys, absent 
 ly, and hardly raising his head. " He is still 
 unconscious." 
 
 " It s awful, sir," said Jarvis, stepping 
 back. 
 
 As Oldys mounted the stairs his feet fell 
 heavily and slowly on the sounding wood , 
 the elastic step, the erect carriage of an 
 hour before were gone. Well he knew the 
 scene that awaited him above ; three times 
 he had made the journey from which he 
 was now returning, only to find all practically 
 unchanged. Could he come back to it again 
 without the desired tidings ? But Felix Ol 
 dys learned, as he had learned that day an 
 other thing equally surprising to him, that he 
 was a brave man ; and without visible hesi 
 tation he opened a door in the upper corri 
 dor and entered a large, darkened room. 
 
 On the bed lies a young man, His 
 coat is off; his waistcoat is unbuttoned 
 and hangs loosely ; he wears white riding- 
 breeches and shining riding-boots , his 
 shirt is widely open at the collar, showing
 
 I6S IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 his short, thick white neck and a little of 
 the smooth skin of his chest. In his face is 
 the apathy of absolute insensibility. That 
 he is a glorious human creature is evident. 
 He is neither tall nor short ; neither un 
 wieldy nor slight ; his head is small, but 
 finely shaped the perfectly proportioned 
 head of the true athlete ; his features are 
 singularly regular the line from the first 
 crisp curl on the forehead down the brow 
 and nose curving only slightly and in deli 
 cate but unfrigid purity. Bloodless, almost 
 absolutely white as his face now is, it might 
 more properly seem the face of some win 
 ner in a Nemoean game, almost living still 
 in the perfect marble of the complete time 
 before rascal intelligence like a hump backed 
 Richard had so entirely usurped the throne, 
 and when physical beauty was held as 
 worthy of honor as brains. By his side, 
 holding one of his hands, sits a young girl. 
 If she had been reared with disadvan 
 tageous surroundings and beneath un- 
 favoring influences, if she had grown up 
 in poverty and ignorance, she might have 
 been ugly ; but, born to great fortune and
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE l<>9 
 
 high position, living all her life in the re 
 fining environment that wealth and posi 
 tion generally create, she has to a high 
 degree that artificial attractiveness that in 
 our modern eyes is often more desirable 
 than a more regular but less expressive 
 loveliness. We have not yet found a word 
 to describe exactly the quality that we 
 prize so much. Sometimes we call it " dis 
 tinction " ; sometimes, in attempted expla 
 nation, we use the word " interesting " ; 
 sometimes all that we can find to say is 
 that the possessor of this mysterious qual 
 ity is " nice-looking." One positive, un 
 deniable beauty, however, she has her 
 dark eyes, which are wide, deep, glorious ; 
 vivid with expression of unthinking, un 
 hesitating impulsiveness ; intense with as 
 surance of power for self-forgetting, self-sac 
 rificing devotion. 
 
 She looked up as Oldys entered. 
 
 Her face has hardly more color in it 
 than the face on which her eyes had been 
 fixed, and a strand of her dark hair which 
 had broken loose and fallen over her shoul 
 der seems almost to heighten her paleness.
 
 17 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 " Can t you see him, father ?" she asked 
 in a low, hard voice a voice dry, des 
 iccated as if all tears had been wrung 
 from it. 
 
 " Not yet," answered Oldys as he wearily 
 seated himself. 
 
 " But he must come soon." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " If they can only find him if they can 
 only find him !" moaned the girl. 
 
 " He must surely be at home at this 
 time," replied her father, with the weak 
 assurance of one who speaks only to pacify, 
 and without positive belief in what he says. 
 
 " And when he comes do you think he 
 can help him ?" continued the girl, with all 
 the unreasoning absurdity of that grief so 
 desperate that even the sound of the words, 
 in which it is impossible that there can be 
 any real comfort, seems to afford relief. 
 
 " I understand," said Oldys, as if trying 
 to prove to himself that nothing could be 
 so very bad when he could talk so calmly 
 and collectedly, "that he is considered a 
 very skilful man quite remarkable, in 
 deed."
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE I?l 
 
 "Can t you hear wheels?" she asked 
 again, suddenly looking up. 
 
 Oldys turned towards the window, with 
 the impulse that always leads us to look 
 in the direction from which we expect to 
 hear any sound, and listened attentively. 
 
 After a motionless moment he shook his 
 head. 
 
 " No," he answered, sadly. 
 
 The scarce-stirring air, heavy with the 
 perfume of the heated fields, slightly dis 
 placed the light curtains, causing a gently- 
 lapping sound and allowing a flickering 
 light to play over the floor. 
 
 "And this is my honeymoon !" cried the 
 girl in a rebellious voice, " and I was so 
 happy, happy unconsciously, unhesitat 
 ingly happy. Is that all that joy is 
 something so that we may feel grief the 
 more ? It is wrong to trouble any one so 
 happy as I have been it is cruel. I might 
 have been spared because I was so happy. 
 Does God see so much happiness on earth 
 that he dared destroy mine ?" 
 
 "Annette," said Oldys, "you cannot 
 know what you say. You frighten me ; 
 you harm yourself."
 
 172 IN THE M.IDST OF LIFF. 
 
 " It is right that I should rebel," she 
 went on unheeding her father, her voice 
 now rising, now falling, until it might have 
 seemed to any one too distant to distin 
 guish her words that she was crooning 
 some wild, irregular dirge. " Life is not 
 given to us as a bribe. God may expect 
 gratitude, but not blindness. Such a death 
 as this is outrage only an exercise of 
 pitiless power. But I will not believe that 
 he will die," she cried, " that he will die 
 and that I shall live. He taught me how 
 to live and now he is dead. Before I knew 
 him I knew nothing ; I breathed, I moved, 
 I lay down and I rose up. I called it liv 
 ing, but I did not live. Then he came and 
 all was changed. The most trivial things 
 of life meant more, the commonest aspects 
 of the world gained beauty. It was as if 
 my senses had been given new power ; as 
 if new senses had been created fit for 
 other worlds, and given to me because I 
 had more to feel." 
 
 She looked at Oldys and then again 
 at the stricken man struck down in his 
 youth and strength and comeliness a
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 173 
 
 comeliness, a consummate physical fair 
 ness that hardly seemed native to our 
 cramped times, but rather something fresh 
 ly, freely, grandly pagan. 
 
 " Before," she continued, " I should have 
 been unworthy even to mourn him, for to 
 mourn rightly we must know what we have 
 lost, and now 
 
 " Annette," said Oldys, " such raving is 
 senseless." 
 
 " I loved him I loved him," she re 
 peated with increasing vehemence, " and 
 he loved me. Sometimes I almost doubted 
 if it could be so, but he loved me. He 
 saw me, beautiful as he was, and did not 
 find me ugly; with all his goodness and 
 nobility he did not think me despicable. 
 He found me worthy of his love and I am 
 satisfied. He may die, but he shall live in 
 my heart, my thoughts ; and while reason is 
 left to me not even a remorseless God can 
 take him from me. I 
 
 "Annette," said Oldys, at last interrupt 
 ing with a tone of some firmness the wild 
 onrush of her undirected exclamations, 
 " you must calm yourself. You will lose 
 your mind or make me lose mine."
 
 174 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 The girl looked up quickly. 
 
 " Do you not hear something ?" she said, 
 sharply. 
 
 Oldys rose, and going to the window drew 
 aside the curtain and looked out ; but, after 
 standing an instant in rigid attention, he 
 shook his head and turned slowly away from 
 the light. 
 
 " I do," she insisted, holding up her hand. 
 " I can hear wheels." 
 
 She was not mistaken. Turning again 
 in anxious expectation, Oldys almost imme 
 diately caught the rattle of wheels on the 
 hard road, and soon the quick hoof-beats 
 of a horse almost at full gallop. 
 
 "Go! Go !" commanded the girl. "Bring 
 him here." 
 
 As Oldys emerged from the house he saw 
 a horse black with sweat, spotted with foam, 
 and a high-swung cart in which were seated 
 two men, start out from behind the clump 
 of trees that concealed the lodge and ad 
 vance rapidly up the avenue. As the driver 
 drew up before the steps with a strong, sud 
 den pull that nearly threw the powerful ani 
 mal on his haunches, a man stood up, who,
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 1/5 
 
 even before the vehicle had come to a per 
 fect stand-still, had picked up a small leather 
 bag and sprung nimbly over the wheel. 
 
 " Thank God, Doctor, that you are here," 
 said Oldys, seizing the new-comer by the 
 hand. 
 
 "An accident, sir?" asked the physician 
 in quick, nervous tones, as Oldys hurried 
 him into the house. 
 
 " My son-in-law, Mr. Daryl, was thrown 
 from his horse an hour ago," answered 
 Oldys. " He has been unconscious ever 
 since." 
 
 " It is serious, then," and the doctor spoke 
 with an intonation that plainly showed that 
 he had expected to find only some trifling 
 injury that apprehension had magnified. 
 
 " Serious !" repeated Oldys, almost 
 shocked. " It is death." 
 
 He had tried rigorously to maintain his 
 composure, but with the last word his voice 
 broke. 
 
 " Doctor," he continued, as they has 
 tened through the hall, "you may have two 
 lives dependent upon you. It would kill 
 her my daughter."
 
 176 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 " I understand," said the physician, bow 
 ing his head gravely. " It was their honey 
 moon." 
 
 "They were married only three months 
 ago." 
 
 They had reached the door of the room 
 in which the injured man lay. 
 
 " She is with him now," said Oldys, soft 
 ly. " She has not left him." 
 
 The doctor nodded shortly. 
 
 He was scarcely a significant, though cer 
 tainly not an insignificant looking man. 
 Young, hardly yet with foot upon the pla 
 teau of middle age, he was still slightly bald 
 and decidedly inclined to stoutness. His 
 face, though common in type, was intelli 
 gent in expression, and the quickness of his 
 motions suggested a certain quickness of 
 mind. A poor country practitioner, he was 
 evidently somewhat awed by his surround 
 ings, and this sudden call to a new scene 
 and unusual responsibilities had clearly dis 
 turbed him. 
 
 " I have telegraphed to town," said Oldys, 
 as they paused before the door, " to Doctor 
 Tisdale, to come on a special train if nec 
 essary."
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 177 
 
 The young physician bowed with a quick 
 expression of disappointment. It was clear 
 that he was half fearful of undertaking the 
 duties so unexpectedly placed upon him, 
 but it was equally evident that he desired 
 that this chance of distinguishing himself 
 should not be lost. 
 
 " We will hope," he said, "that we shall 
 not need his aid." 
 
 Annette glanced up as the two men en 
 tered the room. 
 
 " Doctor Stilphin," said Oldys, in the low 
 tone in which he had before spoken to his 
 daughter, 
 
 Annette looked questioning! y at the man 
 upon whom so much so much that seemed 
 absolutely vital to her depended. That his 
 appearance did not wholly satisfy her was 
 evident, for a quick look, that would per 
 haps have been simply one of impatience 
 under ordinary circumstances, but which 
 the excitement of the moment raised to an 
 intensity almost expressing dislike, swept 
 across her face. 
 
 Stilphin stepped to the window and drew 
 back one of the curtains , the excluded light
 
 178 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 rioted in with unchecked license. As it hap 
 pened, the clear, strong rays fell upon the 
 bed, revealing Daryl s perfect head and 
 body. The power of his beauty had always 
 been remarkable, for it was of that attrac 
 tive, appealing character in which there is 
 still no loss of manly characteristics, and its 
 effect upon Stilphin was now evident and 
 instantaneous. He looked at the man ly 
 ing before him with sympathetic attention 
 and quickened interest. 
 
 Suddenly, as if the light had some reviv 
 ing power, the indescribable evidence of a 
 struggling and returning consciousness ap 
 peared in the face. Though there was no 
 absolute return of color, there seemed to 
 come a mysterious, indeterminate change of 
 hue over the pallid skin. Daryl raised his 
 hand weakly, unsteadily, to his head, and 
 breathed more easily and naturally , then 
 he slowly opened his eyes. With a quick 
 cry Annette sprang to her feet and bent 
 over him. Daryl seemed to recognize her 
 and smiled faintly only with a quick loos 
 ening of the lips, but still with something 
 of the sweetness of expression that so easily 
 won men s favor and women s hearts.
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 179 
 
 " You are not dead," she almost whis 
 pered in wonder and in awe. 
 
 The smile, if it could be called a smile, 
 appeared again ; quick and fleeting as be 
 fore, but now a little more clearly marked. 
 Still he did not speak. 
 
 " If you will let me see," said Stilphin, 
 gently. 
 
 Annette stepped slowly away. 
 
 Bending down, the doctor, with the deft 
 ness of skill and the despatch of experi 
 ence, commenced the usual medical exami 
 nation. Feeling here, listening there, and 
 all the time watching the dull, staring eyes 
 in the white face, he went on with his work, 
 the girl following his every motion in ago 
 nized expectation, in unrelieved apprehen 
 sion. 
 
 The doctor s ear, close to the mouth of 
 the injured man, caught a low, sibilant 
 sound. It was so slight that no one but 
 he. placed as he was, could hear it. With 
 the instinctive discretion that makes a phy 
 sician a diplomat, he did not appear to no 
 tice it; still, in quick recognition of the 
 fact that Daryl wished to speak to him he
 
 iSo IN THE MIDST OF LIVE 
 
 nodded his head quickly. He felt, rather 
 than saw, that the struggling lips again 
 moved. He bent lower. In his position 
 Stilphin could hear the sound of the slight 
 est respiration, the least articulation ; listen 
 ing eagerly, he first distinguished a syllable, 
 then a word, finally a broken sentence. 
 
 " A mo a moment alone," whispered 
 Daryl, in what might have seemed only a 
 long-drawn breathing. 
 
 "Mrs. Daryl," said Stilphin, with an air 
 of greater confidence than he had hitherto 
 shown, "you need rest. You had better 
 leave us." 
 
 " I have not left him," she answered, 
 firmly. "I will not leave him now." 
 
 "Annette," remonstrated Oldys. 
 
 " Let me stay with him while he lives," 
 she continued, her voice changing from a 
 tone of disdainful decision to one of abject 
 supplication. " He may die in the next 
 moment he maybe dying now. Let me 
 stay and " 
 
 Daryl turned his head in her direction, 
 took her right hand in his and raised it to 
 his lips, then let it fall with a look that 
 was almost a dismissal and a farewell.
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 iSl 
 
 The girl turned slowly away, tears filling 
 her eyes for the first time. 
 
 " You too had best go," said Stilphin to 
 Oldys. " You are most needed by your 
 daughter." 
 
 Oldys did not hesitate , his real interest 
 was with his child. He stepped beside 
 Annette, as she cast one quick, backward 
 look at Daryl to see if he might not yet re 
 call her banishment, and together they left 
 the room. As the door closed Stilphin re 
 sumed his former attitude, leaning anxiously 
 over the still motionless man. Almost as if 
 breaking away from some restraining phys 
 ical grasp, Daryl seemed to free his intelli 
 gence from its obscurity. 
 
 "I have been hurt," he said, in a voice 
 grown stronger, but still weak and husky. 
 " Shall I live ?" 
 
 " I do not know," answered Stilphin after 
 an instant s hesitation. 
 
 " You can tell me," said Daryl, calmly. 
 " I can bear it." 
 
 The doctor did not answer. 
 
 " Then I am dying," continued Daryl, 
 now in almost his habitual tone. " I felt it
 
 182 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 with my first consciousness, and wished to 
 speak to you alone." 
 
 Stilphin bowed. 
 
 " I am in great pain," Daryl went on, " I 
 can hardly breathe, but there is something 
 I must do or have done before I die. You 
 can do more for me in aiding me in this 
 than in helping me to a few more hours of 
 life." 
 
 " My professional duty " 
 
 "A physician s duty is to his patient, 
 not to himself," interrupted Daryl, impa 
 tiently. " I tell you that you can help 
 me in other ways more than you can with 
 bandages or medicines." 
 
 Stilphin stood irresolute. 
 
 " There is little time left to me," Daryl 
 went on. A new quality had come into 
 his voice ; that strange, vibrant ring that 
 commands attention and obedience ; that 
 stress that, heard in battle, can rally a reg 
 iment or hold a forlorn hope to its pur 
 pose ; that intonation that, wherever men 
 are gathered, impresses and sways more 
 than rounded phrase or incontrovertible 
 logic ; that inflection that, coming in a love-
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 183 
 
 story, surely wins its way. "Will you do 
 what I wish ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Stilphin. He was young 
 inexperienced, obscure, and it was difficult 
 for him to assert himself even in his pro 
 fessional capacity. 
 
 " I may die at any minute," continued 
 Daryl , " no one else can do for me what I 
 must have done. I must trust you." 
 
 Daryl hesitated for a moment, looking up 
 almost beseechingly now at the doubtful 
 man before him. 
 
 " I only ask you to write a few lines," he 
 said. " See that they are sent to the ad 
 dress that I will give you, and keep all that 
 is done all that is written as secret as 
 you would, if you had it, the knowledge of 
 your own damnation." 
 
 The doctor did not move or speak. 
 
 " A physician is like a priest," said 
 Daryl , " what is told to him, what he 
 learns, is guarded as closely as anything 
 heard in the confessional." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Go to the table," commanded Daryl. 
 " There are paper and pen and ink. Write 
 as I tell you."
 
 184 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 Obediently as if under hypnotic influ 
 ence Stilphin walked to the writing-table 
 and seated himself before it. 
 
 The silence was for a moment unbroken 
 by the speech of either man ; a bee that 
 had strayed in from the gardens and that 
 now buzzed drowsily along an upper window- 
 pane made the only sound that could be 
 heard in the room. 
 
 "Isabel." 
 
 Daryl s voice, coining hesitatingly, faint 
 ly, seemed to linger and then be lost in 
 the stillness. Stilphin looked up, amazed, 
 fearful, doubtful as to what he should do. 
 
 "Write," commanded Daryl. 
 
 Stilphin bent over the paper and hastily 
 traced the name he had hardly heard. 
 
 " I am dying," continued Daryl, in hur 
 ried but resolute tone, the tone of one who 
 has much to do and but little time in which 
 to do it. " I have been unconscious for 
 hours. My first thought when I again 
 awoke to the world was of you, as my 
 first thought will be of you when I awake 
 if there is awaking in another." He 
 hesitated an instant, and then went on in a
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 185 
 
 voice now weaker, now stronger, now duller, 
 now clearer, now harshly mocking, now 
 despairing, but always steadfast, relentless, 
 inflexible. " I am dying, and I leave you 
 my curse and my blessing, my hatred and 
 my love. I have loved you ; I did not think 
 ever to say it, but I love you now. I 
 have always returned to you, and now it is 
 for the last time. You know how long I 
 have kept to my oath ; you have not even 
 heard from me since my engagement to 
 Annette Oldys. What led to that engage 
 ment you do not know. I made that mar 
 riage only that I might remain near you. 
 Nothing could have been more shamefully 
 dishonorable. I knew it ; still, I did not 
 hesitate. I had a name the world respected. 
 I was thought rich ; I was well-looking I 
 easily won the friendship of men, the love 
 of women. But no one knew the truth 
 not even you. In a few years I became 
 what ? A gambler not for the natural 
 excitement of play, but from the mere 
 desire to gain a liar, a cheat, a scoun 
 drel. Finally all was gone. I might be dis 
 graced. I loved you. I was hard-pressed,
 
 186 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 threatened, in danger. I knew that poverty 
 even more than disgrace would remove me 
 from you. I became engaged to Annette 
 Oldys. I was ruined and she was rich. As 
 one thinking only of gain I had approached 
 her, seeking only her money money that 
 would enable me to hold my position in my 
 world and remain near you. I at first 
 thought of her with indifference, almost 
 with pity. I had seen her a quiet, shy girl, 
 moving through life half fearful of herself 
 and others, timid and abashed by the con 
 sciousness of her immense wealth. I did not 
 know her then ; soon, however, I began to 
 understand what how much she really 
 is. I learned that she loved me ; learned 
 how such a one as she could love ; learned 
 for the first time what love really is. I 
 say she loved me ; she loved rather the being 
 she thought I was, as she now loves the being 
 she thinks I am for to her the vision and 
 the being are one. It may be through the 
 kindness of an all-foreseeing God that I 
 am to die. My death will pain her for a 
 time, but what she thinks me to be will al 
 ways live in her very heart and soul, and
 
 IN TPIE MIDST OF LIFE 187 
 
 she will be happy with that memory. If 
 I the I that I am had lived you know 
 what would have happened. I have not 
 seen you for months; what little of honor 
 there was left in me seemed, in her pres 
 ence, to return to me and bid me forget 
 you but I must have seen you soon. For 
 months I have been strong, fighting with 
 myself as I thought I had not the power 
 to fight for anything right ; but during the 
 last few days I have felt the old weakness 
 of purpose that always brought me back 
 to you. If I had lived I could not have 
 helped it. I should have gone back to 
 you you would have given me double 
 welcome, because my return would have 
 brought you two victims instead of one. 
 Annette would have known the truth about 
 me, and then she would really have lost me. 
 As it is, I shall die and she will never know, 
 and will be happy in that ignorance." 
 
 Daryl had hesitated frequently in his dic 
 tation, waiting for strength to go on ; now 
 he drew his hand feebly across his eyes and 
 the pause was long. 
 
 " I send this letter to the old address,"
 
 ISS IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 he continued at length and even more has 
 tily, as if fearful that his strength would not 
 permit him to finish. " I hope it will reach 
 you. I am too weak to write ; another has 
 written for me." He stopped and asked 
 abruptly, " What is your name ?" 
 
 " Stilphin," said the doctor. 
 
 " If you receive this letter," continued 
 Daryl, " and if, after a year, you have heard 
 nothing further, send a thousand dollars 
 five thousand what you will, to Doctor 
 Stilphin, at Barborough, in this State. You 
 will see that this is done so much you 
 can do for me." 
 
 Again Daryl paused. 
 
 " I could not die without letting you 
 know what I have done, what I have suf 
 fered for you. I do not expect that you 
 will love me the more for it or remember 
 me the longer, but the knowledge that I 
 now give you of my torture is my supremest 
 homage rny final tribute. I know best 
 what will please you, and I lay my agony 
 at your feet that you may exult in its mem 
 ory. I shall die. It will be for the best. 
 I shall die. You will forget me ; Annette
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 189 
 
 will remember me ; and I if thought is 
 possible shall think of you as I have al 
 ways thought of you, shall forget her as I 
 have always forgotten her." 
 
 His voice had greatly weakened, was 
 almost gone, and he fell back heavily. 
 
 " Seal it," he murmured. "Address it " 
 and his voice was so low that the doctor 
 bent over him to catch his words. Then 
 again he seemed for a moment to rally 
 and went on, "Bring it here under my 
 pillow and when I am dead " 
 
 As he uttered the last words all sem 
 blance of life \vas lost. Stilphin sprang to 
 the bed and again bent over him. 
 
 Although the shadows are pointing their 
 fingers towards the east beckoning, it 
 might almost seem, to the night the heat 
 is as great, the silence as absolute, as at 
 noon. The mass of sunlight on the floor, 
 however, is slightly yellower, and a single 
 bird with some sense of the approach of 
 evening has ventured from the drowsy grove 
 and now twitters near the open window. 
 To Oldys and Annette in the hall beyond
 
 IQO IN THE MIDST OF LIFE 
 
 the closed door behind which Daryl lies, 
 the time, short though it has been, has 
 seemed endless. Now and again they have 
 looked at each other with anxious eyes ; 
 now and again they have moved in sloth- 
 like action ; silent in expectation so in 
 tense as to make them appear almost stolid. 
 
 At last the door opens and Stilphin ap 
 pears upon the threshold. 
 
 " Is is he dead ?" asked Annette, almost 
 creeping forward from the place where she 
 had knelt beside her father, and speaking 
 as she might in the presence of some one 
 asleep. 
 
 " No," said the doctor, slowly. " He is 
 not dead. He will not die. He will 
 live." 
 
 By one of those seemingly causeless 
 actions of the mind, the words that Felix 
 Olclys had read that morning, haltingly 
 returned to him. " Know then that there 
 are tragedies greater than those that end 
 in death. . . . Man is given here but little 
 time to live and in that time works much 
 evil. Is not this rather the grievous thing,
 
 IN THE MIDST OF LIFE igi 
 
 that life should continue, and that the 
 harm, as is the nature of harm, should be 
 without end ? Tragedy lies more often in 
 the continuance of life than in its surcease. 
 Therefore, I enjoin you, call not a man s 
 death a tragedy, for, if he had lived, you 
 know not what evil might have been 
 wrought."
 
 A FLIRT
 
 A FLIRT 
 
 " How old are you?" 
 
 "Mrs. Tom" Wychbold took a small sip 
 of the tea that steamed in the Capo di 
 Monte cup, whereon was depicted Danae 
 and the Shower of Gold one of a set 
 that was her last extravagance and her 
 latest pride then glanced carelessly at the 
 person to whom the question was ad 
 dressed. 
 
 " Twenty-two." 
 
 Dinah Haye, biting off a piece of bread- 
 and-butter, met her gaze squarely. 
 
 " And when did you come out ?" 
 
 " When I was seventeen." 
 
 " Then it is five years since you were a 
 bud ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " How many men have proposed to you ?"
 
 I9 6 A FLIRT 
 
 " I should say ten or a dozen that is 
 out and out, you know." 
 
 " Say a dozen ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, you may safely say a dozen." 
 
 " How many times have you been en 
 gaged ?" 
 
 " Three times." 
 
 " The first ?" 
 
 " When I was seventeen." 
 
 " Before you came out ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The next ?" 
 
 " When I was nineteen, and again when 
 I was twenty." 
 
 " Why was the first broken ?" 
 
 " Because I was a perfect baby and didn t 
 know any more than to get into it." 
 
 " And the second ?" 
 
 " Because he was very nice and I was 
 horribly bored in the country, and well, 
 when I got to town I thought better of it." 
 
 " And the third ?" 
 
 " Because he was very rich and every 
 woman tried to marry him ; but when I 
 found I could, I really didn t want to do it." 
 
 " Dinah, you re a flirt."
 
 A FLIRT 197 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 " Dinah," said Mrs. Wychbold, as se 
 verely as it was possible for her ever to 
 say anything, "you are really a very shock 
 ing person." 
 
 " I am not sure about that." 
 
 "At least you acknowledge that you are 
 a coquette." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The animated and somewhat pointed 
 dialogue here recorded took place in Mrs. 
 Wychbold s pet withdrawing -room, where, 
 at five o clock, the arcana of afternoon-tea 
 always awaited the initiate, and where " Mrs. 
 Tom" and Dinah Haye her guest the 
 only votaries at that solemn ceremonial 
 on this occasion present, were seated. The 
 light had nearly disappeared from the dull 
 January sky, and the room had become quite 
 dark so dark that even the small lamp 
 burning under the kettle of hot water cast an 
 orange glow on the little table that bore the 
 tea-things. No sound but the gentle purr of 
 the escaping steam and the genial crackle of 
 the blazing wood broke the silence for a mo 
 ment, and then Mrs. Wychbold spoke again.
 
 I 98 A FLIRT 
 
 " Dinah," she asked, remonstrantly, " why 
 will you do this ?" 
 
 " Do what ?" 
 
 " Flirt." 
 
 " Why shouldn t I ?" 
 
 " I know," conceded " Mrs. Tom," " that 
 I shouldn t think, on general principles, any 
 more of a girl who wouldn t flirt a little, 
 on occasion than I should of a man who 
 wouldn t fight." 
 
 " Well then ?" Miss Haye observed. 
 
 " But you don t do it a little, you do it a 
 great deal all the time invariably." 
 
 " Suppose I do ?" 
 
 "There s sure to be trouble if not for 
 others, then serious harm to yourself if 
 you keep on." 
 
 " I don t know about that," answered 
 Dinah, stubbornly. 
 
 " It is sure to be so," urged " Mrs. Tom." 
 " I suppose," she added, " that you intend 
 to marry some day." 
 
 "I have," answered Miss Haye, "every 
 intention of entering upon the holy state 
 of matrimony indeed, I am going to take 
 particular care that I do."
 
 THE ROOM HAD BECOME QUITE DARK.
 
 A FLIRT 199 
 
 " But," said Mrs. Wychbold, triumphant 
 ly, " what man do you think will ever care 
 about marrying you when you ve been car 
 rying on throwing yourself away on the 
 dozens of others that you have ?" 
 
 "Dozens?" responded Dinah, critically; 
 " that s liberal, even lavish ; but I pass it 
 by, knowing as I do the usual luxuriance 
 of your descriptions. I maintain, however, 
 that many a man of sense will be very glad 
 to marry me in spite of all that perhaps 
 even because of all that." 
 
 " Merciful heavens !" cried Mrs. Wych 
 bold, dismayed by such ample confidence 
 and such utter degeneracy, "what do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 " I mean, my dear Constance," said Miss 
 Haye, calmly, " that I have come, through 
 time and experience, to know something 
 about the world and, what is more, the 
 men who live in it, and I assure you that 
 any one who succeeds in winning my smiles 
 I believe that is quite the sanctified 
 phrase will do something of which he may 
 be proud. I mean that I have discrimi 
 nation, powers of comparison have, in
 
 200 A FLIRT 
 
 short, a standard, which no girl who has 
 not gone through what I have, can possi 
 bly possess. Now, I tell you, men of sense 
 have sense enough to realize this that is, 
 nice men, men who are worth while and 
 they therefore find me more attractive, more 
 satisfactory, than the pretty, petty little 
 prude who came out yesterday, and who 
 would receive another, to whom they would 
 hardly take the trouble to nod in their 
 club, as well as she would them. Don t you 
 suppose that they want their worth recog 
 nized ? I m an expert, and my approba 
 tion means appraisal at their own valua 
 tion. That s the reason that they would 
 rather have me care for them than any 
 mere bud or guarded hot-house blossom 
 who will fall in love with the first idiot who 
 comes along." 
 
 " And you think that men like a flirt ?" 
 " I think they that is, those who are 
 worth anything like women who can un 
 derstand and appreciate them, and that, I 
 am sure, few of your rigidly reserved and 
 rigorously respected damsels, who have 
 never talked unchaperoned to any man ex-
 
 A FLIRT 201 
 
 cept their own brothers, can ever do." 
 She spoke with a certain fiery vigor, and 
 then breaking for a moment into low laugh 
 ter at her own earnestness, she added, 
 " Besides, the day of the aughty Imo- 
 gene has gone by." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked Mrs. 
 Wychbold. 
 
 " I mean that nowadays men don t want 
 to think of women as if they were enshrined 
 saints or pedestalled goddesses. I don t 
 know whether we or they have changed, 
 or whether it is that we as a race have 
 lived in the world so long that we don t 
 feel such strangers to one another. I don t 
 know what a parfait knight or a preux 
 chevalier" 1 may have felt, but I know that 
 any man of this, of our generation, would 
 vote a woman a bore who, after years of 
 devotion, would only drop him a flower 
 from some lofty battlement or, after sea 
 sons of attention, would only concede to 
 him the right to kiss the pink nail on her 
 little finger ; he would ride or walk away 
 with a shrug of his shoulders and have 
 nothing more to do with her. Our men
 
 202 A FLIRT 
 
 may have been spoiled I don t know ; but 
 we ve got to take them as we find them, or 
 not take them at all." 
 
 " Dinah," said Mrs. Wychbold, " you 
 shock me very much." 
 
 " I know," Dinah went on with some bit 
 terness, " there are a great many old la 
 dies who don t think me nice ; a number 
 of very sweetly inoffensive girls who don t 
 consider me proper ; some very worthy 
 mothers of families who would be glad to 
 call me not respectable, but I cannot help 
 it, for I cannot help my education or my 
 age. I " and again she laughed her soft, 
 sweet, indulgent laugh, "I am a. product" 
 
 "I am glad, Dinah," said Mrs. Wych 
 bold, " to know so accurately what you 
 are. I was always a little doubtful." 
 
 " I never could have existed at any other 
 time," went on Miss Haye ; " there wasn t 
 any place for me. I should have scandal 
 ized your mother and horrified your grand 
 mother, while you you love me, don t you, 
 Constance, dear ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered "Mrs. Tom," reluc 
 tantly. " I m afraid that I do."
 
 A FLIRT 203 
 
 " That s because we re of the same day 
 speak the same language, or rather the 
 same dialect, and are influenced by nearly 
 the same motives, modistes, and men for, 
 my dear Mrs. Tom, " said Dinah, with sud 
 denly assumed formality, "you know that 
 they say you are fast too." 
 
 " I know it," admitted Mrs. Wychbold, 
 " although I could never understand why." 
 
 " What chance would there be for me if 
 I were not what I am ?" continued Miss 
 Haye with greater seriousness. " Every 
 one has to be pronounced to-day to be 
 prominent ; one must be characteristic, even 
 if one hasn t character and I am only 
 a little more pronounced, more character 
 istic, than another have all the points 
 of my class, so to speak. You they 
 may think the class deplorable, but I m 
 really not so much to blame if I do belong 
 to it. I always had to fight my own bat 
 tles. I never have had chances but those 
 I made myself, and if people think that 
 an American girl with the blood of a self- 
 made American father in her veins and 
 the spirit of a nervous American mother
 
 204 A FLIRT 
 
 in her heart is not going to be ambitious, 
 isn t going to try and get on, they shut 
 their eyes on all the teachings of science 
 and absolutely disregard the great doctrine 
 of heredity. Oh, if I were Cynthia Leigh, 
 for example, with her pale, pretty eyes, her 
 dull yellow hair, her pink-and-white com 
 plexion, and her many, many millions, I 
 don t know but what I might have been 
 as ignorant, as helpless, as as respected 
 as she ; but I have had to trust to the at 
 tractiveness of my own brown eyes you 
 know you always said that I had honest 
 eyes and so, naturally, I have made the 
 most of my few advantages. I may have 
 pushed and I may have struggled 
 strange that what is considered a merit in 
 an American man is something for condem 
 nation in an American girl but I will tell 
 you one thing, Constance Wychbold, and 
 that is that I never have had a bit of a 
 flirtation I hate the word as much as any 
 one when I didn t put some of my heart 
 in it, mistakenly though it may have been. 
 And I will tell you another thing, and that 
 is that a girl never can know anything
 
 A FLIRT 205 
 
 about a man if she doesn t flirt with 
 him." 
 
 " But," asked Mrs. Wychbold, " is it dig 
 nified, is it self-respecting ?" 
 
 " Dignified ?" cried Miss Haye, her fresh, 
 strong, young voice becoming in tone still 
 more elevated. "With their dignity and 
 self-respect women have managed to lose 
 the position they ought really to hold. 
 Nature never intended that things should 
 be managed the way they are. Why, Con 
 stance, I was reading in a book the other 
 day that the reason why masculinity among 
 the birds of the air, the beasts of the field, 
 and the fishes of the sea gets itself up 
 so regardless is simply to find favor with 
 the dear, darling femininities of their own 
 kind. Now, how is it with us ? Are not 
 we the ones to array ourselves in the most 
 gorgeous habiliments merely that we may 
 gratify and attract our fellow-men ? Is this 
 right ? Are not the purposes of an all-wise 
 and provident nature clearly perverted ? 
 And how has this happened ? It has hap 
 pened because woman has tacitly yielded 
 up her right of selection, and merely
 
 206 A FLIRT 
 
 taken her place in the ranks of those to 
 be chosen from." Miss Haye paused to 
 laugh at her own eagerness. You blame 
 me, and yet you see I refer to nature. I 
 do more consciously, and perhaps more 
 conscientiously, what all my little sisters 
 are doing more or less blindly ; for, after 
 all, every sensible person knows that women 
 make love just as much as men only per 
 haps in another way." 
 
 " Oh, Dinah !" remonstrated " Mrs. 
 Tom." 
 
 " You cannot deny," continued Miss 
 Haye, " that you let Tom Wychbold know 
 that you thought he was charming long be 
 fore he offered you his heart and hand." 
 
 " Yes, I know," interrupted " Mrs. Tom," 
 " but I never made love to him." 
 
 " La Rochefoucauld omitted to remark," 
 said Miss Haye, sententiously, " that the 
 woman who permits a man to make love 
 to her is after her own fashion making 
 love to him." 
 
 Mrs. Wychbold carefully deposited her 
 cup on the table, and then sank back in 
 her chair softly laughing.
 
 A FLIRT 207 
 
 " Dinah," she said, " I never saw you 
 excited. Why, you are actually angry." 
 
 " It is the accumulated indignation of 
 years," answered Miss Haye, speaking 
 again with her low, sweet, mocking drawl. 
 " But didn t you say something about the 
 cards for the dinner-table ?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Mrs. Wychbold, " won t 
 you write them ? I m so frozen that I m 
 going to hug the fire. I could envy the 
 fate of a martyr at the stake." 
 
 Miss Haye sat down before " Mrs. 
 Tom s" inlaid unbusiness-like desk with 
 a very business-like air. 
 
 " Who s coming ?" she demanded, with 
 doubtful English, but purposeful energy. 
 
 " Ruth Redmond and Harold," said 
 Mrs. Wychbold. 
 
 " Yes," said Dinah as she wrote. 
 
 " Frank Nesbitt." 
 
 " I do dislike him," commented Miss 
 Haye. 
 
 " I am sorry my guest isn t happy in 
 pleasing you," responded "Mrs. Tom"; 
 "but between ourselves I don t like him 
 very much myself."
 
 208 A FLIRT 
 
 " I don t care for that instructive kind 
 of man," said Dinah, " and then he does 
 fancy himself such a lot." 
 
 " But you know he is very intellectual, 
 and Cynthia and he will get on capitally." 
 
 " Poor lamb," said Miss Haye ; " she ll 
 drink of the troubled waters of his elo 
 quence and think it is a divine draught." 
 
 " She s old enough to look out for her 
 self." 
 
 " Yes, she s old enough," answered Miss 
 Haye, "but she s exactly the kind I ve 
 been talking about : she doesn t know her 
 self or anybody else. She s just the sort 
 that some wolf will gobble up, millions and 
 all or millions and nothing." 
 
 " I hope you ll get on together," said 
 " Mrs. Tom," anxiously. 
 
 "Oh," responded Miss Haye, "she ll 
 think I m horrid and unladylike and 
 all the rest ; but I don t believe we ll quite 
 tear each other s eyes out. You know that 
 I couldn t afford to run the risk of losing 
 mine." 
 
 " She comes on the five-thirty train," 
 said Mrs. Wychbold, glancing at the clock.
 
 A FLIRT 20g 
 
 " I hope she ll be in time for dinner at 
 half-past seven." 
 
 " Next," added Miss Haye, and she 
 again disposed herself for further calli 
 graphic efforts. 
 
 " Milnes Desborough," said Mrs. Wych- 
 bold. 
 
 As Dinah wrote this name on the small 
 bit of card-board before her she bent her 
 head very low over the table. Certainly 
 the night had shut in suddenly and the 
 room was really dark. 
 
 "I observe," said "Mrs. Tom," criti 
 cally, " that you do not say anything." 
 
 " Why," exclaimed Dinah, looking up 
 with an air of innocent unconsciousness 
 that would have utterly deceived a less 
 experienced person than her hostess; "is 
 there anything to say ?" 
 
 " No, not in the least," responded Mrs. 
 Wychbold, " certainly not. Only, Dinah, 
 I have met people, and I am convinced 
 you are one of them, the extent of whose 
 thoughts you cannot surely measure by the 
 abundance of their expression." 
 
 Miss Haye collected the cards, which she 
 14
 
 210 A FLIRT 
 
 had placed in a row before her, into a small 
 pack and shuffled them thoughtfully. 
 
 " I understand your insinuations, Con 
 stance," she said, "and scorn them. But 
 then, you know, what can you expect ? I m 
 only a flirt." 
 
 " I would tell you to be careful only 
 Milnes Desborough is old and experienced 
 enough in all conscience to look out for 
 himself, and, moreover, too busy a person 
 to think of such a trifling creature as your 
 self. There are some men who the world 
 seems to decide off-hand will get on, and 
 he is one of them. His fate is to marry 
 money and to become a public character. 
 I feel it just as much as does the rest of 
 the world." 
 
 " Now tell me all the others," commanded 
 Dinah, briefly. 
 
 Miss Haye rose a trifle languidly when 
 all the cards were written ; then, returning 
 to the fire and leaning her head against 
 the carved mantel, she looked curiously at 
 the blaze. 
 
 " I suppose Cynthia would be just the 
 sort of inoffensive person such a man would
 
 A FLIRT 211 
 
 admire ; he d think her so womanly, and 
 I, you know I m only womanish, and 
 that s so different." 
 
 Dinah hesitated. 
 
 "And she s so rich," she went on. 
 
 " It would be a very proper match in every 
 way," answered Mrs. Wychbold, decidedly. 
 
 Miss Haye drew her foot slowly along 
 the line of the hearth and then turned 
 quickly towards the door. 
 
 " I must go and dress," she said, " and 
 so, Constance, must you." 
 
 II 
 
 In one of the bow-windows of the An- 
 dros Club were seated two men ; the dusk 
 of the closing day permitting the dull fire 
 at the end of the cigarette of the one and 
 the cigar of the other to glow redly and 
 distinctly. 
 
 "Who, Harold," asked the older and 
 heavier of the two, knocking the ashes 
 from his cigar, " is this Miss Dinah Haye ?" 
 
 Redmond laughed. 
 
 "Why, Milnes," he said, "you don t say 
 she s here ?"
 
 212 A FLIRT 
 
 " Yes," answered Desborough, " at Mrs. 
 Tom s. " 
 
 " Well," said his companion, " she s a 
 young person who has flirted her way over 
 two continents and through five seasons, 
 and who 
 
 " I don t mean that, but who is she 
 where does she come from to whom does 
 she belong ?" 
 
 " She s the daughter of a man, dead now, 
 who in his time was one of the most promi 
 nent lawyers of Arapago. Lived well and 
 died poor. You know the kind a little 
 politics and a large house, a turn for specu 
 lation and a fancy for horseflesh. Dinah, 
 when she was a small child, romped through 
 the parlors of every watering-place hotel 
 in the country with the dress of a little 
 millionnairess ; but when her father dropped 
 off there wasn t even money enough to 
 keep her at the swell school where she 
 then was. However, things looked up a 
 bit afterwards ; the widow moved into a 
 small house, gathered up the odds and 
 ends, and there s been sufficient to send 
 the boy to college and keep Miss Dinah
 
 A FLIRT 213 
 
 scampering over the old world and the 
 new since she was seventeen." 
 
 " But " began Desborough. 
 
 " She s an institution," continued Red 
 mond, warming up to his subject. " Why, 
 at Homburg, when I was there two seasons 
 ago, she was the rage. They called her 
 Roulette, because, they said, you never 
 knew where she d stop ; but I as a com 
 patriot who d seen her like before, under 
 stood that she knew very well where to 
 stop and what she was about. I m not 
 sure but I was rather in love with her my 
 self, although we d been together a summer 
 at Narragansettwhen her dresses only came 
 to the top of her shoes and she was the 
 wildest little piece that ever looked like 
 a Yankee Greuze and talked as nearly as 
 she knew how like an American Gavroche. 
 To me even, who d been brought up with 
 that kind all my life, she was a revelation, 
 and a certain royal personage said that 
 although he thought it was no longer in 
 the power of America to surprise him, she 
 had done it." 
 
 " Then," said Desborough, " I have been
 
 214 A FLIRT 
 
 entertaining an angel unawares, for I sat 
 out three dances with her last night and 
 didn t realize her peculiar greatness." 
 
 " Three dances out ! That s more than I 
 ever saw her give the heaviest guardsman." 
 
 " Really !" responded Desborough, with 
 a visibly satisfied laugh; "you see I m not 
 quite a pensioner on the good - humor of 
 the gay world." 
 
 "But take care," went on Redmond. 
 " You must know she s the most danger 
 ous little flirt that ever stood on heels 
 two inches high." 
 
 " I don t think," answered his friend, 
 " that you need have any particular fear 
 about me. You know I m old -fogy and 
 old-fashioned, and she s not my style at 
 all. It was pleasant enough talking to 
 Miss Dinah while it lasted, but Heaven 
 defend me from a lifetime of it." 
 
 " I always liked the little girl," said Red 
 mond, reflectively, " and have never seen 
 any harm, but rather a lot of good in her, 
 even if she is the terror of all chaperons 
 with prim and proper charges, and of all 
 doting mammas with utterly hopeless hope-
 
 A FLIRT 215 
 
 fuls. They d rather see the Fiend himself 
 in a ball-room than Dinah Haye, though 
 why I m sure I can t understand, as she 
 would no more think of robbing a wall 
 flower of her occasional prey than she 
 would of stealing her stray cotillon fa 
 vor." 
 
 "I think," said Desborough, "I under 
 stand her perfectly the type of girl that 
 men consider good fun, but would never 
 dream of marrying." 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense !" ejaculated Red 
 mond. " There are enough who would have 
 liked and would like to marry her." 
 
 "You ll find men who will cross the 
 Atlantic in a small boat," answered Des 
 borough, " but the most still prefer the se 
 curity of the conventional Cunarder." Then 
 he continued, with a yawn, " But, as matri 
 mony s not my lay, I think I may go on 
 without any fear of burning my fingers, and 
 learn a little more about this manifestation 
 of nineteenth-century femininity." 
 
 " Milnes," answered Redmond, " I sup 
 pose that you ve all the principles and 
 prejudices that rightly belong to the scion
 
 2l6 A FLIRT 
 
 of so distinguished a New England family 
 -are thoroughly imbued with all the puri- 
 tanics, if you ll allow me the word but as 
 for myself I m married now and can speak 
 my mind I find the gentle trickle of small 
 talk which the average maiden of society 
 sees fit to inflict upon me rather thin. No, 
 my dear fellow, give me the much -abused 
 girl of the day, who knows her own mind 
 and the minds of others ; who can walk 
 along the brink of the steepest precipice 
 without losing her head, and who, indeed, 
 has coolness enough to hold out a helping 
 hand to you when she sees you are grow 
 ing dizzy give me the modern maiden, 
 the great, the glorious, the ever-free, such 
 as she is to-day hardly to be excelled in 
 the future certainly never equalled in the 
 past." 
 
 " My dear Harold," said Desborough, 
 "you are impassioned in your style, but 
 really, don t you think this is a subject 
 that you and I should have dropped long 
 ago ?" 
 
 "Not when you still sit out three dances," 
 answered Redmond.
 
 A FLIRT 217 
 
 " That " Desborough hesitated " that 
 was an exception." 
 
 " Of course it was," said his friend. " But 
 so is Dinah an exception an exception 
 among a lot of exceptions nothing quite 
 so perfect of the kind in the country." 
 
 "But the kind?" 
 
 " Believe me, there s a great deal to say 
 for the kind. Why, man, she and the great 
 many like her, that we have around us, are 
 only another instance of demand and sup- 
 ply. " 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Desbor 
 ough. 
 
 " Mean ?" said Redmond. " I mean that 
 we ask a great deal more of our girls than 
 did our daddies. We demand that they 
 shall meet us as human beings, with equal 
 knowledge, equal abilities, almost equal ex 
 periences. The mute, unquestioning ado 
 ration and obedience with which our grand 
 fathers were satisfied would bore us nearly 
 to death ; we want a woman who can under 
 stand our hopes, our fears, our pleasures, 
 and our pains who, as pretty as or prettier 
 even than her foremothers, has, besides,
 
 2l A FLIRT 
 
 intelligence, learning, wit, taste, and ten 
 thousand other things, the requirements of 
 an exacting generation. I tell you there s 
 a great call for fresh, strong, militant girl 
 hood just now, and you are demanding it 
 just as much as any one else. Proof: The 
 fact that you sat out three dances with 
 Dinah Haye, which you never would have 
 done with one of your offish, icy damsels, 
 even if she would let you." 
 
 " But dances are one thing and marriage 
 is another," remonstrated Desborough. 
 
 " Perhaps ; but think how highly absurd 
 for a man to marry a girl who would bore 
 him if he danced with her only half a doz 
 en times." 
 
 " Did you ever see Cynthia Leigh ?" 
 asked Desborough. 
 
 " Yes, often, and should have found her 
 charming in another and better world. 
 Here, she s really about as much use as, 
 say, a good statue of herself." 
 
 " I have always admired her very much." 
 
 " Of course you have. So have I so 
 have we all of us. It s the thing to do. 
 She is correct ; she is traditional ; she is
 
 A FLIRT 2lg 
 
 the highest ideal of which the past was ca 
 pable ; she is the ingenue] the undoubt 
 ed, well-authenticated ingenue ; but, Des- 
 borough " Redmond paused a moment 
 " we ve got, with a great many other good 
 things, a higher ideal in these our slan 
 dered days. We do not extol and exalt 
 the ignorance that understands nothing 
 and consequently fears nothing ; but rath 
 er, praise that bright, clear intelligence 
 that, knowing much, knows also when and 
 where to reflect, to hesitate, to pause, to 
 stop." 
 
 " You might shake the faith of somebody 
 else perhaps," said Desborough, smiling at 
 Redmond s vehemence, "but it takes more 
 than one or two generations to dilute the 
 old Puritan blood, and I shall continue to 
 believe in the meek and lowly maid. " 
 
 " All right," answered Redmond, goocl- 
 humoredly ; " she was good in her time and 
 her place ; indeed, her virtues are not for 
 gotten, but only included in the many mer 
 its of her modern substitute taken for 
 granted by this age that asks for 
 
 "Militant girlhood, " laughed Desbor-
 
 220 A FLIRT 
 
 ough, noting Redmond s pause and sup 
 plying him with his own expression. 
 
 " Yes, that s it, militant girlhood, " con 
 tinued Redmond, quickly. "If you want 
 the other thing, you ll have to go back to a 
 past when the world didn t experience so 
 many sensations to the square inch and the 
 round minute. I don t say that it wasn t 
 better, but it won t do now " ; then he added 
 laughingly, 
 
 " Oh, for old Saturn s reign of sugar-candy ! 
 Meantime I drink to your return in brandy." 
 
 The two men sat in silence for a moment. 
 
 " You dine at the Wychbold s ?" said Des- 
 borough at length. 
 
 " Yes ; don t you ?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Desborough, rising. 
 " Then I ll see you there ?" 
 
 Ill 
 
 The dinner had advanced several stages 
 had attained that point where, if at any 
 time in a dinner s course, the wine and the 
 wit should sparkle when Dinah turned 
 from her left-hand neighbor.
 
 A FLIRT 221 
 
 "I don t remember," said Desborough, 
 " that I have lately done anything that was 
 particularly good and noble." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " And yet I must," he went on, " or cer 
 tainly I shouldn t deserve such good-fort 
 une." 
 
 " What good-fortune ?" 
 
 " My being just here." 
 
 " I hope you are not disappointed," she 
 said. 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " For one reason, because you ought not 
 to be here." 
 
 " W 7 hat moral obligation," asked Desbor 
 ough, who had found himself consigned to 
 his present place with a feeling of supreme 
 satisfaction, " what particular rule is out 
 raged by my occupying this chair ?" 
 
 " The highest law known to society," an 
 swered Dinah, " the will of your hostess." 
 
 " But," said Desborough, with some be 
 wilderment, " I am duly billeted I found 
 my name at this place." 
 
 "Yes," answered Dinah, "but it s all 
 wrone:."
 
 222 A FLIRT 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " I mean," answered Dinah, smiling and 
 rolling a crumb of bread under her finger, 
 "that I slipped down before dinner and 
 changed the cards. I wonder if you will 
 forgive me ?" 
 
 " For what ?" 
 
 " For having taken upon myself to inter 
 fere to act the part of a guardian angel 
 when I wasn t sure that you wanted one." 
 
 "I think," Desborough answered, "that 
 you must have known that my own had 
 given me up as a bad job, and that you 
 wished to give me a chance. But where 
 should I have been?" he asked. "Ah, 
 yes, I see ; my place was intended for 
 Nesbitt." 
 
 " Of course," said Miss Haye ; " but I 
 can t bear him, and I wanted to talk to 
 you." 
 
 " Why," said Desborough, in surprise, " I 
 thought he was the gilded ornament that 
 crowned this particular social edifice the 
 pet of both the debutante and the dow 
 ager the amiable, the accomplished, the 
 wholly admirable."
 
 A FLIRT 223 
 
 "Oh, yes, but I cannot endure his tran 
 scendental poetry or his equally transcen 
 dental politics." 
 
 Desborough had always been thought a 
 sensible person, but he was not so exalt- 
 edly superhuman that he did not experi 
 ence a slight feeling of gratification at hear 
 ing Miss Haye speak in this impulsive and 
 decided fashion of a man whom he had in 
 his heart always despised. 
 
 " However," she continued, " I suppose 
 that is because I m not intellectual." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Desborough, laughing. 
 " Do you know I had not thought of that." 
 
 " Well," she went on, " I m not, and don t 
 pretend to be ; but if I were, I m sure I d 
 never let any one suspect it. Don t you 
 think there is such a lot of pose ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Desborough, thinking 
 of the many weary minutes during which 
 he had been obliged to submit to the pro 
 cess of having himself impressed. " I think 
 intellect is too often the last resort of weak 
 minds." 
 
 Miss Haye laughed gleefully. 
 
 Just as " Mrs. Tom " glanced up and
 
 224 A FLIRT 
 
 down the table with the all-enveloping look 
 of the hostess who is about to rise, Dinah 
 again turned to Desborough, with whom she 
 had not been talking for full five minutes. 
 
 "You are sure you are not sorry?" she 
 insisted. 
 
 " Perfectly," he replied. 
 
 " Because you know if you hadn t been 
 here you would have been somewhere else." 
 
 " Are you stating that as a physical fact, 
 or as a social truth ?" 
 
 " As a social truth," she answered, smil 
 ing; and following her glance he saw that 
 it rested on Miss Leigh. 
 
 No, he certainly was not sorry ; with Cyn 
 thia he knew that he should have been ex 
 pected to be "on parade," and he was con 
 sciously grateful to Dinah for permitting 
 him the luxury of airing his thoughts, in 
 what at best was but a " fatigue dress." 
 
 "And you are really going already?" he 
 said, as, standing, he pulled away her chair. 
 
 " Yes, thank you ; and I suppose that if 
 we are very good and patient you will join 
 us at last."
 
 A FLIRT 225 
 
 IV 
 
 The Wychbold carriage an exquisite lit 
 tle one-horse brougham that became " Mrs. 
 Tom " admirably was rapidly bowling 
 along the smooth, hard macadam road be 
 side the Park " meadows," where the snow 
 lay at the roots of the long grass as the 
 white sand lies about the flags that grow 
 along a beach. 
 
 " Do you think he really cares for her ?" 
 asked Dinah, drawing up the fur robe over 
 her face until only her eyes and her fore 
 head were visible. 
 
 " I don t know," answered Mrs. Wych 
 bold, blandly. " I m sure he never came to 
 the house so often before." 
 
 " But " began Dinah, her voice dulled 
 by the heavy folds of the voluminous cov 
 ering. 
 
 "Certainly," interrupted "Mrs. Tom," 
 " it s not to see me, and you cannot for an 
 instant imagine it s to see you. Besides, 
 nothing could be more natural ; a man of 
 his traditions would be sure to fancy such 
 a girl as Cynthia. Some men are so dull 
 15
 
 226 A FLIRT 
 
 about some things, and mistake primness 
 for profundity, insensibility for dignity, 
 and vanity for just pride. Remember, I 
 shouldn t talk to any one else in this way, 
 for I am really very fond of her and ap 
 preciate her fully but sometimes she does 
 exasperate me very much." 
 
 " And do you believe she thinks about 
 him ? " asked Miss Haye, still from the 
 depths of the thick robe. 
 
 " Not a bit," said " Mrs. Tom," decidedly 
 and contemptuously ; " she s too inexperi 
 encedtoo simple-minded, if you like to 
 see anything that isn t just thrust upon her 
 attention, and as Milnes Desborough does 
 not pose, she doesn t notice him. There 
 are some women who are only attracted by 
 affectations, who will only bite at the arti 
 ficial fly." 
 
 " And that is the reason she likes Nes- 
 bitt?" 
 
 " Exactly. She is taken by all his sil 
 liness and assumption, because they seem 
 like something she has been taught to be 
 lieve is intellectual and fine and elevated 
 and all the rest. She thinks she is listen-
 
 A FLIRT 227 
 
 ing to words of profoundest wisdom, not 
 knowing that it is all extracted from the 
 last reviews. She cannot understand that 
 the men who do anything haven t much time 
 to talk, and that when they do, they gener 
 ally say something of their own, even if it 
 is nonsense. I never could endure Frank 
 Nesbitt after I heard how he treated one 
 poor girl." 
 
 " What did he do ?" 
 
 " I learned it in a queer way, but I 
 know that the story is true. He was en 
 gaged to a very pretty young thing whom 
 he threw over at the end of three years, 
 because, as he told her, with great mag 
 nanimity, he could not bear the idea of her 
 enduring the life of poverty that must be 
 theirs if they married ; for you know he 
 hasn t a cent, and no more had she." 
 
 " I never heard anything of it." 
 
 " He never allowed the engagement to be 
 announced, and so when it was broken off 
 there was no talk. Oh, I never could trust 
 him. You know none of the men like 
 him." 
 
 " Yes," answered Dinah.
 
 228 A FLIRT 
 
 "Cynthia must not get interested in him 
 she shall not," asserted " Mrs. Tom." " Mar 
 riage is a very serious thing and I don t 
 see why you are always going and getting 
 into it." 
 
 "I ve not," Dinah observed; "but this 
 from you, who made a notorious love-match, 
 and to whom all society points as the one 
 perfect example of bliss in a brown-stone 
 cottage !" 
 
 " Dinah," said " Mrs. Tom," grasping 
 Miss Haye s hand beneath the fur wrap 
 pings, " you don t know all." 
 
 " What is it, Constance ?" asked Dinah 
 in surprise. 
 
 " I am perfectly miserable." 
 
 "Constance," cried Miss Haye, "tell me 
 immediately what you mean." 
 
 " I can t." 
 
 " Tell me all about it," said Dinah, gen 
 tly taking " Mrs. Tom s " left hand in both 
 of hers. " I saw that there was something 
 that troubled you, but I didn t like to ask." 
 
 " I wouldn t tell any one else in the 
 world but you," replied " Mrs. Tom "; " but 
 I feel that you will understand."
 
 A FLIRT 229 
 
 " Yes, dear," said Miss Haye. 
 
 " I don t know how it could have hap 
 pened, but you know that we haven t got so 
 very much money that is, when you con 
 sider how awful our expenses are, and 
 though Tom has always been as liberal as 
 possible, I couldn t get on with what he 
 gave me. I d used up all my own income 
 and I began to get into debt. I couldn t 
 stop, and now what I owe is something 
 fearful and Tom doesn t know anything 
 about it." 
 
 " Constance !" 
 
 " I know it s frightful of me, I realize 
 that perfectly. I thought I would save and 
 pay it, but now it is so much that I can t 
 and I don t know what to do." 
 
 " Tell Tom." 
 
 " I can t." 
 
 " But, Constance, this is serious. The 
 money is nothing 
 
 " Nothing !" 
 
 " I perhaps might arrange all that," 
 mused Miss Haye. 
 
 "Oh, Dinah!" cried "Mrs. Tom," for 
 getting where she was and clutching wildly
 
 230 A FLIRT 
 
 at her friend, " if only you can find some 
 way to save me I ll think you re 
 
 " A horrid, fast flirt," laughed Dinah. 
 
 " The dearest, truest, best person on 
 earth." 
 
 "Don t," said Dinah, entreatingly ; "you d 
 never know it was I ; but, suppose I do 
 find a way, what will you do besides think 
 me all these impossible things ?" 
 
 " I ll promise you," answered " Mrs. 
 Tom," " never, never to be extravagant and 
 never to do anything like it again." 
 
 Miss Haye sat silent for a moment, gaz 
 ing intently across the swelling park lands 
 at the leafless trees, on the topmost branch 
 of the tallest of which a crow sat cawing 
 dismally. 
 
 " Constance," she said at length, " per 
 haps it s just as well that I as you say 
 understand." 
 
 Milnes Desborough paced slowly up 
 Alaska Avenue in the clear twilight that 
 had succeeded the bright winter day. 
 
 Hearing a rapid step, detecting a short, 
 sharp footfall, he looked quickly up and
 
 A FLIRT 2 3I 
 
 saw that Dinah Haye was before him, smil 
 ing and almost barring his way. 
 
 "You!" he exclaimed "out at this time!" 
 
 " Oh," she cried, " I am not afraid, and 
 the air is so exhilarating, so so drinkable 
 so tippleish and intoxicating !" 
 
 Desborough turned, and without much 
 thought of what he was doing walked be 
 side her down the street. 
 
 " By the way," he said, " your name is 
 Dinah Haye, is it not ?" 
 
 " Yes," she answered, " Dinah ! Is that a 
 name to give a white woman ?" 
 
 " I was not thinking of your first name, 
 but your last" 
 
 " Haye," she said. "I think it is a very 
 pretty name ; not aristocratic, perhaps, but 
 still distinguished." 
 
 They had reached the " Square " at which 
 the avenue ended, and now paused on the 
 curbstone. 
 
 " I don t see any use of walking further," 
 she said, abruptly. 
 
 " But" 
 
 "Oh, I wasn t going anywhere, and now 
 I want to go back."
 
 232 A FLIRT 
 
 A wild idea came to him at that moment. 
 Could it be that it was solely for the pur 
 pose of meeting him that she came out ? 
 
 " You will let me go back with you ?" he 
 said. " The club is up the avenue, and 
 I always stroll that way about this time." 
 
 " I know it," she answered briefly as they 
 turned together. 
 
 He would have liked very much to know 
 if what his flattered vanity had quietly 
 whispered to him was the truth, but he 
 could think of no method of discovery, 
 and he walked on in indolent enjoyment 
 of her companionship. 
 
 " I knew a young fellow once," he said, 
 "who had your name; indeed, I believe I 
 pulled him out of the water a year or two 
 ago at Nahant when a cramp caught him 
 and he was in rather a bad way. He s 
 now at Harvard, but he writes to me from 
 time to time I suppose to let me know 
 that he hasn t gone to the dogs yet." 
 
 " Oh !" she exclaimed, in her excitement 
 placing her hand on his arm. " I always 
 knew it was you, and I always wanted to 
 tell you, but just speaking about it seemed
 
 A FLIRT 233 
 
 so little after what you had done that I 
 never said anything and you saved his 
 life." 
 
 " Really," answered Desborough, " you 
 put it rather too picturesquely. I only 
 picked him out of a sea that was like 
 glass, when there were plenty about to do 
 it if I had not." 
 
 " But they didn t," she said, " and he 
 always told me that you saved him he 
 talked very often to me about you, saying 
 that you had always been so kind to him 
 and had done so much for him " 
 
 " I " began Desborough. 
 
 " And I have always thought that I 
 should so much like to see the man who 
 had done so much for Phil to talk with 
 him and tell him my gratitude. And now 
 that I have met him I can say nothing." 
 
 " Don t," said Desborough, impatiently, 
 " you will make me sorry I spoke. If I 
 had not been so luxuriously apathetic at 
 just that moment that I could not be held 
 responsible for anything I said, I certainly 
 should not have done it." 
 
 " But," she continued, noticing the ex-
 
 234 A FLIRT 
 
 pression of annoyance in his face, " you 
 know that I shall never forget." 
 
 " I hope," he said, fervently, " that you 
 will." 
 
 She did not speak at once. 
 
 " You re going to the Fenwick ball ?" 
 she said at length. 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " And you ?" 
 
 " Yes, I shall be here for that." 
 
 " Here for that !" he exclaimed in sur 
 prise ; "but I thought you were going to 
 stay a long time." 
 
 " So I have been here a long time, " 
 she replied, laughing. Then she added, 
 " And isn t it a week and a half until 
 then ?" 
 
 " A future and a fraction," he answered, 
 evasively. 
 
 " I shall hate to go," she said. " I love 
 Mrs. Tom and I love Andros." 
 
 "And they both have a very perceptible 
 predilection for you," he laughed. 
 
 The Wychbold house was not many blocks 
 from the " Square," and they were soon be 
 fore its door. 
 
 " Good-night," she said, holding out her
 
 A FLIRT 235 
 
 hand ; " for there is nothing at which we 
 meet until to-morrow." 
 
 "Good-night," he said, retaining her 
 unresisting fingers in his grasp. 
 
 " You really mustn t," she said, making, 
 however, no effort to liberate herself, "or 
 Mrs. Abernethy across the way may think 
 you are taking a rather lengthy adieu. 
 She disapproves of me as it is almost, 
 indeed, as much as you do." 
 
 She laughed hardly mirthfully, and 
 caught her hand abruptly away. 
 
 " How do you know I do not approve 
 of you ?" he asked, imperturbably. 
 
 " I feel it," she answered, " and I wonder 
 I do not hate you." 
 
 " You are very indulgent." 
 
 " I think I am but do you know I do 
 things on purpose to shock you ? I glory 
 in it." 
 
 " I am sorry to disappoint you," he an 
 swered, " in everything. But you don t. 
 I m not in the least shocked. You see 
 you are a sort of rule unto yourself, and 
 what in another " 
 
 " Might be reprehensible and improper
 
 23 A FLIRT 
 
 is nothing at all when I do it is forgotten 
 and passed over just because it is only I." 
 
 " You do not understand," he exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, I understand," she responded, in 
 dignantly. " Your explanation is very sat 
 isfactory highly so." 
 
 " But you are wrong." 
 
 "No, I am right," she went on, hotly. 
 " You think I do things that no one else 
 would do." 
 
 " No," he protested. 
 
 " Yes," she insisted, " and I do. I told 
 you I took particular satisfaction in horri 
 fying you. I am going to do it once more. 
 I came out this afternoon on purpose to 
 meet you." 
 
 " Did you ?" he demanded, eagerly. 
 
 " I know that you think I shouldn t have 
 done it ; and if I did, that I shouldn t have 
 told you should have kept it a secret as 
 if I was ashamed of it." 
 
 " But, really, did you ?" he asked, with 
 unusual earnestness. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, and as the servant 
 opened the door she vanished from his 
 sight.
 
 A FLIRT 237 
 
 Dinner had not been a very festive af 
 fair. As it had happened, the only ex 
 pected guest of the evening had given out 
 at the last moment, and the household had 
 dinner alone. On the whole, the evening 
 had been rather dismal. Between Dinah 
 and Cynthia Leigh there had arisen a dis 
 tant coldness. " Tom " Wychbold was evi 
 dently depressed; and even " Mrs. Tom," 
 who generally was only not equal to an 
 occasion when she was superior to it, sat 
 at the head of the table in unaccustomed 
 thoughtfulness. 
 
 At last the ordeal was over, but, when 
 the rest had withdrawn from the dining- 
 room, Wychbold did not, as he ordinarily 
 would have done, seek the seclusion of his 
 smoking-room ; instead, he hovered uneasily 
 about the drawing-room, where Miss Leigh 
 was trying the music, just sent her, of some 
 new composer whose name was chiefly made 
 of the last letters of the alphabet ; where 
 " Mrs. Tom " was writing notes, and where 
 Miss Haye was doing nothing.
 
 238 A FLIRT 
 
 " Oh !" he exclaimed at length, with a 
 very mechanical air of carelessness, " I wish 
 some one would come and see the way 
 they have framed the photograph of the 
 four-in-hand. I can t make up my mind 
 whether it s right or not." 
 
 He looked imploringly at Dinah, and she 
 jumped up promptly. 
 
 " I ll come," she said. " I m always only 
 too ready to give an opinion." 
 
 He led the way to his particular holy of 
 unholies, where the chief objects of still- 
 life were crops, spurs, and guns, and the 
 only occupant other than themselves was a 
 shaggy Skye terrier that came jumping to 
 meet them ; then he closed the door care 
 fully and mysteriously, and glanced around 
 at his companion. " I want, Dinah," he 
 said, " to speak to you alone for a mo 
 ment." 
 
 " Yes," she answered ; " you certainly 
 made it evident enough, and that s the 
 reason that I came." 
 
 " Of course I shouldn t speak to any one 
 else of this ; but you for you you know 
 you"
 
 A FLIRT 239 
 
 "Yes," Dinah interrupted, "I am differ 
 ent. I know I understand." 
 
 " How could you guess what I was going 
 to say ?" asked Wychbold in amazement. 
 
 " Strange, isn t it ?" said Miss Haye. 
 
 Wychbold again glanced around the room. 
 
 " Dinah, I ve been a fool." 
 
 " It would hardly be becoming in me not 
 to attempt at least to look decently sur 
 prised." 
 
 " There s no doubt about it, I ve made 
 an idiot of myself," continued Wychbold. 
 
 " As there are so many ways," observed 
 Miss Haye, critically, " in which a man can 
 make an idiot of himself, the fact that he 
 has doesn t carry very much information. 
 One expects that, and the only interest lies 
 in knowing how he has done it." 
 
 " Now, Dinah, don t be hard. I want 
 you to help me." 
 
 " I ve no doubt of it but what have you 
 been and done ? Come, tell the whole 
 truth, if you expect any aid from me." 
 
 " It all came from our going to Lake 
 Masaqua last summer. Constance went 
 wild about the country. She declared that
 
 240 A FLIRT 
 
 she would have a country place, and she 
 would not be satisfied until I promised 
 to buy one, which I did." 
 
 "That seems all smooth enough so far." 
 
 "Yes," groaned Wychbold, "but it isn t 
 all of it. She wanted to buy on Lake Mas- 
 aqua and I on Lake Samaqua. She said 
 that Lake Masaqua was the only, possible 
 spot that they would be putting railroads 
 and hotels at Lake Samaqua, and that it 
 would be horrid." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Well I went and bought on Lake 
 Samaqua, having confidence that it was the 
 best thing to do, and that it would come 
 out all right and have never told her any 
 thing about it, leaving her to think that the 
 place is Lake Masaqua." 
 
 "And how has it come out ?" 
 
 " All wrong. They re going to put up a 
 monster hotel at Samaqua, with a railway 
 running up behind it " and Tom held out 
 a small country newspaper to Miss Haye. 
 " And here is a letter offering me double 
 what I paid for our place." 
 
 " That hardly seems all wrong."
 
 A FLIRT 241 
 
 " Yes, but don t you see ? Constance 
 doesn t want the money, but wants the 
 place and the other is sold ; and it has 
 all turned out just as she said it would, 
 and with every one that she knows go 
 ing to Lake Masaqua this summer she ll be 
 wretched if she isn t there, and altogether 
 I m in a hole." 
 
 " I ll see what I can do," said Miss Haye. 
 
 " Really,"said Wychbold, delighted. " Will 
 you, really ? I know that if you try you can 
 settle it, and you must. Dinah," he con 
 tinued, effusively, " do whatever you like. 
 I trust you implicitly, and if there is any 
 thing I can ever do for you " 
 
 " You ll do it. Well perhaps some day 
 I may put you to the test," said Miss Haye, 
 turning to go. 
 
 " Dinah," said " Mrs. Tom," looking cu 
 riously at her friend, " what is the matter 
 with you ?" 
 
 The two were sitting before the fire. 
 
 " Why," cried Miss Haye, in affected 
 alarm, " do I show symptoms of anything 
 dangerous ?" 
 16
 
 242 A FLIRT 
 
 " Perhaps," answered Mrs. Wychbold, 
 gravely. 
 
 " Do not tell me," exclaimed Miss Haye, 
 " that it is croup, whooping-cough, or mea 
 sles. Anything befitting my years I could 
 endure, but those never." 
 
 " Yes," answered the other, slowly, " it 
 is something quite quite natural, even at 
 your age." 
 
 "You relieve me very much. What is it ?" 
 
 "Dinah," said "Mrs. Tom," slowly, "if 
 you were any one else I should say you 
 were in love." 
 
 Miss Haye s face became a shade 
 warmer in tint ; but as the fire had fallen 
 in at that moment and now cast a sudden 
 glow over the place, Mrs. Wychbold might 
 imagine it was only the coloring given it 
 by the quick flame. 
 
 " And why any one else ?" 
 
 " Because, really, I thought you had 
 quite got past all that sort of thing," said 
 " Mrs. Tom," " and that you had flirted 
 away all the heart there was in you when 
 you were quite a small child." 
 
 " My dear," answered Dinah, quickly and
 
 A FLIRT 243 
 
 evidently unreflectingly, " you don t display 
 your usual perspicacity. A woman s heart 
 is like a sponge : it may be squeezed dry 
 one week and yet be soaking the next." 
 
 " Mrs. Tom " laughed. 
 
 " And then," went on Miss Haye, eagerly, 
 " because it may have been full of water 
 any number of times, is there any reason 
 why it may not be overflowing with rich 
 wine at last." 
 
 " Dinah," said " Mrs. Tom," " you are 
 eloquent. Shall I consider that you are 
 speaking in your own defence ?" 
 
 " I, oh no why should I ?" answered Di 
 nah, a trifle sadly. " Every one knows me, 
 and no one would dream that I, who am 
 without fear if not without reproach, 
 would ever become a poor, sentimental, 
 maudlin creature." 
 
 " I am not sure," said " Mrs. Tom," 
 sagely shaking her head. 
 
 " But bless you, Constance, who could it 
 be ? Whom do you suspect ?" 
 
 " Never mind my suspicion. All that I 
 ask is," and she leaned and kissed Dinah 
 with unwonted tenderness, " that you may
 
 344 A FLIRT 
 
 not singe your wings, that you may not 
 break your heart at last, though it would 
 be only justice if you did." 
 
 " Nonsense," asserted Miss Haye, stout 
 ly. " I never broke anybody s heart, no one 
 ever took me seriously enough. I ve just 
 now and then nicked one a little bit and 
 that is all." 
 
 " Be careful," went on " Mrs. Tom." " I 
 wouldn t have anything happen to you, and 
 I hope that you may be as happy as well, 
 as you don t deserve, but really ought to 
 be." 
 
 "And you do not think," asked Dinah, 
 looking up for a moment and then letting 
 her head sink among the laces of "Mrs. 
 Tom s " frock, " that I am altogether hard 
 and wicked ?" 
 
 " No, dear," said " Mrs. Tom," placing 
 her hand on Dinah s head and feeling for 
 the instant strangely old and experienced, 
 " no, not a bit." 
 
 A sudden sob shook Dinah s pliant figure, 
 and the " Flirt " sank on the thick rug, 
 weeping bitterly.
 
 A FLIRT 245 
 
 VI 
 
 Celestine, " Mrs. Tom s " maid, entering 
 the room where Miss Haye lay on a long, 
 low couch reading her letters received by 
 the afternoon mail, approached with the 
 usual Gallic air of confidential mystery, and 
 gave her a card. 
 
 Sitting up with surprising alacrity, Dinah 
 took the oblong bit of paper. 
 
 " Mr. Desborough !" she exclaimed. " Are 
 you sure there is no mistake ? are you sure 
 it is not for Miss Leigh ?" 
 
 " There eez no meestake," announced 
 Celestine confidently. " He ask especially 
 for Miss Haye." 
 
 " Really ! said Dinah, staring with wide- 
 eyed astonishment at her informant. "Tell 
 Lupton to say that I ll be down directly." 
 
 As Dinah entered the great darkened 
 drawing-room, where the yellow and gold 
 chairs stood at such unamiable distances 
 from each other or were gathered in such 
 formal groups, Milnes Desborough rose 
 quickly from the remote corner in which 
 he had been sitting.
 
 246 A FLIRT 
 
 " Come into the library," she said, before 
 he had a chance to speak. "Uo you mind ? 
 I always feel in this place, when there isn t 
 a. party on, as if I were in an upholstered 
 Sahara." 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, she led 
 the way across the hall to a room where 
 the colors were darker and the decorations 
 more peaceful ; where the chairs were more 
 calculated for comfort and the crowded 
 objects seemed to induce confidence. 
 
 "You don t know how surprised and 
 honored I feel," she said, seating herself 
 near the fire and picking up a magazine to 
 shield her face from the heat. 
 
 Desborough turned his hat nervously in 
 his hands. 
 
 " Miss Haye," he said, " I have come to 
 see you for the reason that I want to tell 
 you something." 
 
 " Because I would " she said, laughing, 
 and with a certain scornful emphasis on 
 the last word. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, looking up, " be 
 cause you would understand. How did you 
 know ?"
 
 A FLIRT 2 47 
 
 "Oh," she answered, "that s why people 
 always come to see me, because I under 
 stand. It s my specialty. Go on." 
 
 " You may think it is strange my telling 
 you, but you will find that I ve a good 
 reason for it." 
 
 " Of course you wouldn t dream of tell 
 ing it to any one else?" she said. 
 
 " No," he replied, looking up question- 
 ingly. 
 
 " I thought so that again is something 
 of which I have a monopoly. But go on." 
 
 " You must have noticed, as every one 
 has, my evident interest in Miss Leigh." 
 
 "Yes," said Dinah, impatiently, while 
 her eyes suddenly shone with an angry 
 light. " Do you want to relate to me the 
 history of your love ?" 
 
 " It is most important to me you should 
 hear me," said Desborough, soothingly ; 
 " and though I may bore you horribly, I 
 beg as a favor you will listen." 
 
 Dinah did not answer. 
 
 " For a moment," he said, taking a paper 
 from his pocket, " to speak of something 
 else, I received a letter this morning. Will
 
 248 A FLIRT 
 
 you allow me to read you a paragraph 
 from it ?" 
 
 Dinah nodded indifferently. 
 
 " Dinah, dear Dinah, " read Desborough, 
 " the best sister a fellow ever had " 
 
 " It s from Phil," Dinah cried in astonish 
 ment. 
 
 " Yes," he answered. 
 
 " Give it to me," she commanded, bend 
 ing forward and reaching out her hand. 
 
 " You mustn t grab," he said, holding 
 the loosely scrawled sheet above his head ; 
 then, shoving back his chair, he read on : 
 " Dinah is in Andros. I hope that you ll 
 see her. If it hadn t been for her and you 
 I don t know what would have become of 
 me. She s regularly brought me up in the 
 way I should go, and the memory of the 
 sacrifices that she has made for me is 
 going to be the thing that will make some 
 thing of me in the end. I tell you I m 
 going to pay her back by hard work if I 
 can manage it. She ought to have every 
 thing, and I m going to see that she does. 
 Poor Di, it s lucky she s so pretty, for she 
 hasn t had as much as other girls. She s
 
 A FLIRT 249 
 
 pinched herself all these years to give me 
 a chance, and I wouldn t be here here at 
 college if the money to pay for it had not 
 come out of what she should have had for 
 her ball-dresses. " 
 
 " The outrageous boy !" cried Dinah, 
 "telling tales out of school like that! He 
 ought to know better." 
 
 " I am very thankful that he has," ob 
 served Desborough, carefully folding the 
 letter, but watching her all the time, " and 
 I only wish more could know what he has 
 written." 
 
 " Nothing but the exaggeration of the 
 very young," said Dinah, contemptuously. 
 
 " Hardly," replied Desborough. " But I 
 only read you this so that you might know 
 exactly what I know." 
 
 " Thank you," answered Dinah, with the 
 air of one who is somewhat puzzled. 
 
 " And now let me go on with my story," 
 he continued. " I have been said to be in 
 love with Miss Leigh." 
 
 Dinah did not speak. 
 
 " I shall not attempt to describe my 
 feelings," he added.
 
 25 A FLIRT 
 
 "Oh," she interrupted, "such analysis 
 must be extremely interesting please do 
 not omit anything." 
 
 " Of those I shall say nothing," he went 
 on, so intent upon his subject as to be al 
 most unmindful of her interruption, " be 
 cause I don t understand it all very well 
 myself. Every one seemed to think it was 
 natural that I should be in love with Miss 
 Leigh." 
 
 " Oh, yes," murmured Dinah, softly. 
 
 " And what seems reasonable to every 
 one, in time comes to seem more or less 
 reasonable to one s self I suppose. I must 
 believe that my admiration for Cynthia 
 Leigh was sincere." 
 
 Although he paused, Dinah said nothing. 
 
 " I sought," he continued, speaking after 
 the manner of one who, making a confes 
 sion, endeavors painfully to state the case 
 fairly who conscientiously seeks to leave 
 out nothing that may tell against him, in 
 every way to win Miss Leigh s favor." 
 
 Miss Haye studied the design in the rug 
 as if its involved characters were those of 
 some rare palimpsest which, if deciphered,
 
 A FLIRT 251 
 
 would yield secrets of inestimable value to 
 the human race. 
 
 " Yesterday, I asked Miss Leigh to marry 
 me," he said, finally and abruptly. 
 
 Neither spoke for a moment. 
 
 "And I suppose you have come to tell 
 me of your engagement," murmured Dinah, 
 still without change of attitude. 
 
 " No, indeed," he cried, amazedly. " Did 
 you think that the reason I am here ?" 
 
 " No what why then ?" asked Dinah, 
 looking up in quick astonishment. 
 
 " But she refused me," said Desborough, 
 almost laughing, "flatly, absolutely, irrev 
 ocably." 
 
 Dinah sprang to her feet with closed 
 hands and flashing eyes. 
 
 " Then," she cried, " for what possible 
 purpose have you 
 
 Before Dinah could finish the sentence 
 the library door was thrown open, and "Mrs. 
 Tom," hastily entering, quickly stopped as 
 her eyes fell on Milnes Desborough. 
 
 " Oh you here ?" she said, too much ab 
 sorbed and excited for more formal greet 
 ing.
 
 252 A FLIRT 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Tom, " he said, rising ; " al 
 though I m not quite sure about my pres 
 ence of mind, my presence of body is 
 unquestionable." 
 
 " Well," she went on hurriedly, " now 
 run along like a dear boy. I ve a great 
 deal to say to Dinah, and if you want to 
 see her she ll be at the ball to-night." 
 
 " But " began Desborough. 
 
 " No," said " Mrs. Tom," impatiently 
 stamping her foot ; " you must go now 
 immediately." 
 
 " Very well," responded Desborough, 
 making his way obediently towards the 
 door. " I go, but" 
 
 " Hurry !" commanded " Mrs. Tom," and, 
 as the door closed, she continued : " How 
 fortunate it wasn t a stranger! I had to 
 speak to you immediately. What do you 
 think has happened to me ?" 
 
 " I don t know, I m sure," said Miss 
 Haye, blankly and even indifferently. 
 
 " I cannot understand it. See !" and 
 "Mrs. Tom" held out for Miss Haye s in 
 spection a handful of letters which the 
 postman had just left.
 
 A FLIRT 253 
 
 "What are they?" 
 
 " All my bills receipted. What can it 
 mean ?" 
 
 " Oh, it s very simple," replied Miss 
 Haye. " I hope you will forgive me. I 
 was bold enough to take it upon myself 
 to pay them in your name." 
 
 " Pay them you !" exclaimed " Mrs. 
 Tom." 
 
 " That is exactly what I did !" 
 
 " Really !" exclaimed " Mrs. Tom," fairly 
 stunned by the information ; " but where 
 did you get the money ?" 
 
 " I borrowed it from Tom," laughed Di 
 nah, " and now you can pay me whenever 
 you like. I m not an exacting creditor. I 
 sha n t really press you for it unless Tom 
 comes at me, and I don t think he ll do 
 that." 
 
 " And he lent it to you ?" 
 
 "Of course. But then what I do doesn t 
 count. No one expects anything of me, 
 and so I can do everything." She spoke 
 with a certain sadness, but quickly went 
 on with greater brightness and animation : 
 " Imagine Cynthia Leigh borrowing money
 
 254 A FLIRT 
 
 from Tom. Oh, it makes all the difference 
 in the world what kind of a standard you re 
 expected to live up to, and I early made 
 mine low on purpose. So you see, Con 
 stance, there are times in this world when 
 it s just as well to be a little human and 
 horrid. " 
 
 Miss Haye slipped through the door 
 before "Mrs. Tom" could say anything 
 further. In the hall she nearly ran into 
 Tom Wychbold, who was coming from his 
 den. 
 
 " Dinah, Dinah !" he called. 
 
 " What is it ?" she asked, impatiently. 
 
 " How can I ever thank you ?" 
 
 " For what ?" she demanded. 
 
 "About fixing it up with Constance. 
 Only just now she said that it was such a 
 pity that we had that Masaqua place, as 
 no one really was going there, and that she 
 onl) wished she was out of it and had never 
 been foolish enough to get into it." 
 
 " And thereupon " said Dinah, severely. 
 
 " Thereupon I confessed like a man 
 and Constance said she was delighted, and 
 that I was very clever to have made so
 
 A FLIRT 255 
 
 much money, and everything was serene. 
 Dinah, you re an angel !" 
 
 "You are the first who has ever discov 
 ered it," replied Miss Haye ; and running 
 up the stairs two steps at a time, she en 
 tered her room, locked the door, and throw 
 ing herself on the divan she had just quitted, 
 buried her face in the pillow. 
 
 VII 
 
 " Mees Eh ! Mees Eh !" 
 
 It was Celestine s voice at the door, and 
 Dinah, who was fully dressed for the ball, 
 hastened to open it at her excited call. 
 
 " Mees Eh !" exclaimed the middle-aged 
 but vivacious tire-woman, her black eyes 
 snapping with excitement. 
 
 " Merciful heavens !" cried Dinah, realiz 
 ing that something unusual was the mat 
 ter, or otherwise " Mrs. Tom s " maid could 
 hardly have so far lost the dignified de 
 portment she considered proper in her po 
 sition. "Celestine, what has happened?" 
 
 "Nothing, Mees Eh," answered the agi 
 tated person ; " it is what is to happen." 
 
 "Yes, yes !" exclaimed Dinah.
 
 256 A FLIRT 
 
 " I come to you because you under 
 stand." 
 
 " Of course naturally," said Dinah, even 
 in her haste speaking somewhat scornfully ; 
 " it s only to be expected. My understand 
 ing is certainly something phenomenal 
 superhuman." 
 
 " Mrs. Wychbold, she what it is named 
 lose her head if she know." 
 
 " Well," said Dinah, impatiently. 
 
 " I just learn it from Josephine, Mees 
 Leigh s maid. I do not know that I do 
 right to tell but I am uncertain it is a 
 great responsibility, and I come to you be 
 cause you understand." 
 
 " Exactly I know all about that only 
 tell me what it is." 
 
 " Miss Leigh has given orders," said 
 Celestine, drawing nearer and finally speak 
 ing in French, in the hoarse whisper of 
 conspiracy, but with the volubility of keen 
 interest, " that all her trunks be packed 
 that Josephine be ready to accompany her 
 to-night. She will go to the ball, but she 
 will return. The gentleman, Mr. Nesbitt, 
 will meet her at the small gate in the Fen-
 
 A FLIRT 257 
 
 wick garden he will drive her here, where 
 Josephine and the luggage will await her, 
 and then " and Celestine waved her hands 
 with the palms outspread in a gesture 
 that seemed to imply that the remotest 
 depth of interstellar space would be the 
 most likely place in which to make search 
 for the fugitives. " It is in order," she went 
 on, "that Mrs. Wychbold may not know 
 that Miss Leigh may get away without ques 
 tion, that she is going to the ball." 
 
 Dinah sat down abruptly on the nearest 
 chair, staring blankly at her informant, 
 who beamed upon her with an air of uncon 
 scious importance and ineffable satisfac 
 tion. 
 
 " Really," said Dinah at length, with her 
 eyes even wider open than usual, and her 
 lips more than slightly parted. 
 
 "This very night in a short time," rat 
 tled off the maid. " It is necessary to act 
 at once." 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Haye. " What is to be 
 done ?" 
 
 " Yes, what ?" said the delighted maid. 
 
 " Mrs. Wychbold " began Dinah. 
 17
 
 258 A FLIRT 
 
 "Oh, no she must not be told," inter 
 rupted Celestine, quickly. " There would 
 be a storm a tempest. It must be ar 
 ranged quietly, so no one will know." 
 
 " It s like the little idiot," said Miss 
 Haye, talking to herself in her absorption, 
 and using English that might literally be 
 called nervous in her agitation. " Mary s 
 little lamb was an experienced black sheep 
 beside Cynthia Leigh. How can a girl be 
 such a lunatic, and with Nesbitt, too ? Some 
 one must stop her." 
 
 " What does Mees Eh think," demanded 
 the maid, impatiently. 
 
 " I don t think, Celestine. I don t know. 
 I must reflect," and running her ringers 
 through her hair, utterly forgetful of the 
 time and care spent in its arrangement, 
 Dinah sat silent in the attitude of deep 
 cogitation, while Celestine watched her ex 
 pectantly. 
 
 VIII 
 
 It was nearly twelve o clock, and the 
 neighborhood of the big Fenwick house re 
 sounded with the roll of hastening carriages,
 
 A FLIRT 259 
 
 and the darkness was broken by the fire 
 fly flash of coach-lamps. A long string of 
 broughams and other covered vehicles ex 
 tended down the gravelled drive and far 
 along the street. Every minute added to 
 its length, and, accompanied by the hoarse 
 commands of the policemen and the loud 
 shouts of the drivers, the line moved on 
 with frequent pauses. One after another 
 the carriages stopped under the porte cochere 
 and their occupants alighted, permitting the 
 occasional watchers to catch glimpses of 
 the muffled figures that flitted lightly up the 
 steps and disappeared through the hastily 
 opened door. 
 
 Many were coming, but the rooms were 
 already full, for it was after midnight. 
 There was such a crush as to make motion 
 almost impossible, and, with difficulty 
 through the surge of voices, one caught 
 the strains of the waltz of the winter. 
 
 Desborough had just arrived and made 
 his way hurriedly through the gathering 
 throng impatiently forgetful of all but one 
 thing. 
 
 " Have you seen Miss Haye ?" he asked
 
 260 A FLIRT 
 
 of Redmond as he passed him in the door 
 way. 
 
 " Not for half an hour; not since she first 
 came in." 
 
 With a vigorous imprecation on his ill- 
 luck, Desborough continued his search. 
 
 " Have you seen Miss Haye ?" he de 
 manded of his host, whom he found just 
 returning from a visit to the supper- 
 room. 
 
 "No," answered Fenwick, carelessly, "but 
 Mrs. Tom and Miss Leigh are over there, 
 and she must be somewhere about." 
 
 With a perceptible increase of ill-temper 
 Desborough passed on. He had done the 
 drawing-rooms thoroughly ; next he inves 
 tigated the halls, and then hunted through 
 the conservatories ; examined the stairs, 
 carefully scrutinizing all the dark nooks 
 and corners. But the object of his quest 
 was nowhere to be found. He tried the 
 second floor, reconnoitring the corridors, 
 and, untiring in his search, made his way 
 even to the billiard-room, where he ruth 
 lessly disturbed a blushing couple who had 
 fondly imagined themselves safe.
 
 A FLIRT 26l 
 
 " Where in the name of all that is illusive 
 can she have gone ? ; he muttered as he de 
 scended the main stairway. 
 
 Looking down, he saw Dinah Haye direct 
 ly before him at the foot of the last flight. 
 
 " Where have you been ?" he asked, with 
 no great softness of accent or suavity of 
 manner as he came up to her. 
 
 " Come," she exclaimed, not noticing his 
 peremptoriness and advancing a step or 
 two to meet him. " I must speak to you im 
 mediately." 
 
 " Here, in the conservatory," he said, 
 shortly. 
 
 There were a number of people among 
 the big bending leaves of the tropical 
 plants ; but the light was not so glaring as 
 elsewhere, and the place where they sat 
 down was quite out of ear-shot of the others. 
 
 " Oh !" she cried, as he seated himself 
 beside her ; but she did not speak at once, 
 but only laughed a little hysterically. 
 
 " Something has happened," she went on. 
 "I am trembling with excitement, and my 
 heart beats " she put her hand to her side 
 " how my heart does beat !"
 
 262 A FLIRT 
 
 " As you have regard for my sanity," he 
 said, impatiently, " tell me what is the mat 
 ter." 
 
 " I hardly know where to begin," she 
 exclaimed, with blazing cheeks, " but I ll 
 try. Just as I was dressed Celestine came 
 to me and told me that Cynthia Leigh had 
 planned an elopement." 
 
 " What !" cried Desborough. " Cynthia 
 Leigh ?" 
 
 " Yes, Cynthia Leigh ; poor thing, she 
 must have completely lost her reason, she s 
 so inexperienced, you know and with Nes- 
 bitt, too." 
 
 " The wretched little beggar," murmured 
 Desborough. "He must have known that 
 if they were once married old Leigh could 
 be twisted into coming around with his 
 millions." 
 
 " Exactly, as she knew that her father 
 could never be brought to give his con 
 sent." 
 
 " But " began Desborough. 
 
 " Celestine told me all about it," Dinah 
 hurried on. " He was to meet her here 
 at the garden gate. She could easily step
 
 A FLIRT 263 
 
 out and no one would miss her for a long 
 time ; then he was to drive her to the house, 
 they were to get Josephine and the trunks, 
 and then away they were to go." 
 
 " Well !" 
 
 " I didn t know what to do. If I had 
 told Tom, there would have been a scene, 
 he s so headstrong; if I had told Mrs. 
 Tom, there would be another of another 
 sort, she s so impulsive. I hadn t any one 
 but myself, and there wasn t any time to 
 lose." 
 
 " And " Desborough again began. 
 
 " Before I d got here I d made up my 
 mind," said Dinah, with her breath still 
 coming in quick, short gasps. " In a way, 
 it was none of my business ; but really I 
 couldn t stand by and see the girl make 
 such an utter idiot of herself ; get commit 
 ted to that man forever. If she wanted to 
 do it, I thought, let her do it calmly and on 
 reflection, not because she is carried away 
 by the romantic nonsense of it all." 
 
 " So " said Desborough. 
 
 " So," answered Miss Haye, half laughing 
 and half crying, " after I had come down
 
 264 A FLIRT 
 
 with them all I just ran upstairs again, put 
 on Cynthia s wrap, slipped out the back 
 way " 
 
 " Really," said Desborough, beginning to 
 laugh. 
 
 " Yes, and met Nesbitt at the gate, in the 
 place of Cynthia. It s only three blocks to 
 the house, you know, and I kept the hood 
 pulled over my face and said nothing, let 
 him do all the talking, and he never sus 
 pected. When we got to the side door at 
 the Wychbolds I was out like a flash, 
 up the steps in a second, and into the 
 house 
 
 " And then ?" asked Desborough, motion 
 less in his attention. 
 
 " Then," said Miss Haye, finally giving 
 way to laughter and letting herself go in one 
 uncontrollable burst of wild merriment, " I 
 left him where he was, sent for James, who 
 had not taken out the horses, to drive me 
 back, and here I am. I suppose he is still 
 sitting in the hack in the dark, wondering 
 what has become of his inamorata, and why 
 she does not come to join him with her 
 maid and her luggage."
 
 A FLIRT 265 
 
 Desborough fell back in his chair, laugh 
 ing as he never laughed before. 
 
 " And it s a fearfully cold night," he said, 
 when at length he could speak. 
 
 " Fearfully," assented Dinah, laughing 
 too, but with a suggestion of something in 
 her tone or manner that indicated that tears 
 were not yet beyond easy call. 
 
 " You really have saved the girl from 
 making a terrible mistake," said Desbor 
 ough at length, quite seriously. " She 
 should be deeply thankful to you." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Dinah. " Still, I don t 
 think she would be now, even if she may 
 be some day. How she d hate me !" 
 
 " She ll probably never know what hap 
 pened," he answered. 
 
 Both were silent for a moment. 
 
 " I have been looking for you every 
 where," he broke out at length. 
 
 " You wanted to see me ?" 
 
 " Wanted to see you yes," he answered, 
 " and now I ve found you at last, you must 
 listen to me. I have not such a tale of 
 adventure to tell as you, but still I ve got 
 something rather exceptional to say im-
 
 2t) 6 A FLIRT 
 
 portant to me at least. I tried hard enough 
 to say what there was to say this after 
 noon but 
 
 " But," said Dinah, hurriedly, " you told 
 me everything then, didn t you ?" 
 
 " Told you everything !" exclaimed Des- 
 borough ; " why, I was just beginning when 
 Mrs. Tom interrupted." 
 
 " What more was there P 1 asked Dinah in 
 unaffected surprise. 
 
 " Why in the world do you suppose I 
 told you what I did?" he demanded, almost 
 equally astonished. 
 
 " I am sure I could not imagine," she 
 answered decidedly. 
 
 " Because," he said, lowering his voice 
 and drawing a trifle nearer to her, " I did 
 not want you to misunderstand, because 
 I did not want to approach you under 
 any false pretences, because Dinah dear 
 I have loved you from the very first, 
 though perhaps I did not realize it, and 
 I wanted to know if you would be willing 
 to marry the man whom Cynthia Leigh 
 refused." 
 
 "And you did not love her?" she asked,
 
 " BOTH WERE SILENT FOR A MOMENT.
 
 A FLIRT 267 
 
 looking swiftly at him and then casting 
 down her eyes. 
 
 " Not a bit," he answered with full con 
 viction. " I thought that I admired her 
 because I thought I ought to do it, that was 
 all. But I never heard anything in my life 
 with such pleasure as I did her very decid 
 ed no. Now you know the truth, and 
 do you think you will be able to forget 
 that I have been utterly scorned and set 
 aside, and say yes, yourself ?" 
 
 " But how do I know that you are not 
 mistaken now that you are sure you care 
 anything for me, the girl of whom you did 
 not approve ?" 
 
 " Look at me," he said, "and see." 
 
 Again she raised her eyes, met his glance 
 for an instant, and again looked quickly at 
 the floor. 
 
 " Dinah," he said, entreatingly, " say 
 yes !" 
 
 " Yes," she murmured, faintly but dis 
 tinctly. 
 
 He reached forward as if to take her in 
 his arms, then, remembering where he was, 
 he straightened himself impatiently.
 
 268 A FLIRT 
 
 "Remember, Dinah," he said, "I am 
 only a poor man. But I will try that you 
 shall have what you want." 
 
 " Oh, I shall," she answered, gayly. 
 " You know I am thought a very merce 
 nary person, and I shall have everything." 
 
 " But how ?" he demanded. 
 
 " In the surest way," she replied, looking 
 at him with unaverted eyes ; " not by choos 
 ing the things, but by choosing the man 
 who is to give them to me." 
 
 And sliding her hand along by her side 
 so that no one saw what she did, she took 
 his hand firmly in her grasp. 
 
 THE END
 
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