The Man Between: An International Romance Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  DURING dinner both Ruth and Ethel were aware of some sub-interest in theJudge's manner; his absent-mindedness was unusual, and once Ruth saw afaint smile that nothing evident could have induced. Unconsciously alsohe set a tone of constraint and hurry; the meal was not loitered over,the conversation flagged, and all rose from the table with a sense ofrelief; perhaps, indeed, with a feeling of expectation.

  They entered the parlor together, and the mastiff rose to meet them,asking permission to remain with the little coaxing push of his nosewhich brought the ready answer:

  "Certainly, Sultan. Make yourself comfortable."

  Then they grouped themselves round the fire, and the Judge lit his cigarand looked at Ethel in a way that instantly brought curiosity to thequestion:

  "You have a secret, father," she said. "Is it about grandmother?"

  "It is news rather than a secret, Ethel. And grandmother has a good dealto do with it, for it is about her family--the Mostyns."

  "Oh!"

  The tone of Ethel's "Oh!" was not encouraging, and Ruth's look ofinterest held in abeyance was just as chilling. But something like thisattitude had been expected, and Judge Rawdon was not discouraged by it;he knew that youth is capable of great and sudden changes, and that itsability to find reasonable motives for them is unlimited, so he calmlycontinued:

  "You are aware that your grandmother's name before marriage was RachelMostyn?"

  "I have seen it a thousand times at the bottom of her sampler, father,the one that is framed and hanging in her morning room--Rachel Mostyn,November, Anno Domini, 1827."

  "Very well. She married George Rawdon, and they came to New York in1834. They had a pretty house on the Bowling Green and lived veryhappily there. I was born in 1850, the youngest of their children. Youknow that I sign my name Edward M. Rawdon; it is really Edward MostynRawdon."

  He paused, and Ruth said, "I suppose Mrs. Rawdon has had some news fromher old home?"

  "She had a letter last night, and I shall probably receive oneto-morrow. Frederick Mostyn, her grand-nephew, is coming to New York,and Squire Rawdon, of Rawdon Manor, writes to recommend the young man toour hospitality."

  "But you surely do not intend to invite him here, Edward. I think thatwould not do."

  "He is going to the Holland House. But he is our kinsman, and thereforewe must be hospitable."

  "I have been trying to count the kinship. It is out of my reckoning,"said Ethel. "I hope at least he is nice and presentable."

  "The Mostyns are a handsome family. Look at your grandmother. And SquireRawdon speaks very well of Mr. Mostyn. He has taken the right sidein politics, and is likely to make his mark. They were always greatsportsmen, and I dare say this representative of the family is agood-looking fellow, well-mannered, and perfectly dressed."

  Ethel laughed. "If his clothes fit him he will be an English wonder. Ihave seen lots of Englishmen; they are all frights as to trousers andvests. There was Lord Wycomb, his broadcloths and satins and linen weremarvels in quality, but the make! The girls hated to be seen walkingwith him, and he would walk--'good for the constitution,' was hisexplanation for all his peculiarities. The Caylers were weary to deathof them."

  "And yet," said Ruth, "they sang songs of triumph when Lou Caylermarried him."

  "That was a different thing. Lou would make him get 'fits' and stopwearing sloppy, baggy arrangements. And I do not suppose the Englishlord has now a single peculiarity left, unless it be his constitutionalwalk--that, of course. I have heard English babies get out of theircradles to take a constitutional."

  During this tirade Ruth had been thinking. "Edward," she asked, "whydoes Squire Rawdon introduce Mr. Mostyn? Their relationship cannot beworth counting."

  "There you are wrong, Ruth." He spoke with a little excitement."Englishmen never deny matrimonial relationships, if they are worthyones. Mostyn and Rawdon are bound together by many a gold wedding ring;we reckon such ties relationships. Squire Raw-don lost his son and histwo grandsons a year ago. Perhaps this young man may eventually standin their place. The Squire is nearly eighty years old; he is the last ofthe English Rawdons--at least of our branch of it."

  "You suppose this Mr. Mostyn may become Squire of Rawdon Manor?"

  "He may, Ruth, but it is not certain. There is a large mortgage on theManor."

  "Oh!"

  Both girls made the ejaculation at the same moment, and in both voicesthere was the same curious tone of speculation. It was a cry aftertruth apprehended, but not realized. Mr. Rawdon remained silent; he wasdebating with himself the advisability of further confidence, buthe came quickly to the conclusion that enough had been told for thepresent. Turning to Ethel, he said: "I suppose girls have a code ofhonor about their secrets. Is Dora Denning's 'extraordinary news' shutup in it?"

  "Oh, no, father. She is going to be married. That is all."

  "That is enough. Who is the man?"

  "Reverend Mr. Stanhope."

  "Nonsense!"

  "Positively."

  "I never heard anything more ridiculous. That saintly young priest! Why,Dora will be tired to death of him in a month. And he? Poor fellow!"

  "Why poor fellow? He is very much in love with her."

  "It is hard to understand. St. Jerome's love 'pale with midnight prayer'would be more believable than the butterfly Dora. Goodness, gracious!The idea of that man being in love! It pulls him down a bit. I thoughthe never looked at a woman."

  "Do you know him, father?"

  "As many people know him--by good report. I know that he is a clergymanwho believes what he preaches. I know a Wall Street broker who left St.Jude's church because Mr. Stanhope's sermons on Sunday put such a fineedge on his conscience that Mondays were dangerous days for him to dobusiness on. And whatever Wall Street financiers think of the Biblepersonally, they do like a man who sticks to his colors, and who holdsintact the truth committed to him. Stanhope does this emphatically; andhe is so well trusted that if he wanted to build a new church he couldget all the money necessary, from Wall Street men in an hour. And he isgoing to marry! Going to marry Dora Denning! It is 'extraordinary news,'indeed!"

  Ethel was a little offended at such unusual surprise. "I think you don'tquite understand Dora," she said. "It will be Mr. Stanhope's faultif she is not led in the right way; for if he only loves and pets herenough he may do all he wishes with her. I know, I have both coaxed andordered her for four years--sometimes one way is best, and sometimes theother."

  "How is a man to tell which way to take? What do her parents think ofthe marriage?"

  "They are pleased with it."

  "Pleased with it! Then I have nothing more to say, except that I hopethey will not appeal to me on any question of divorce that may arisefrom such an unlikely marriage."

  "They are only lovers yet, Edward," said Ruth. "It is not fair, or kind,to even think of divorce."

  "My dear Ruth, the fashionable girl of today accepts marriage with theprovision of divorce."

  "Dora is hardly one of that set."

  "I hope she may keep out of it, but marriage will give her manyopportunities. Well, I am sorry for the young priest. He isn't fit tomanage a woman like Dora Denning. I am afraid he will get the worst ofit."

  "I think you are very unkind, father. Dora is my friend, and I know her.She is a girl of intense feelings and very affectionate. And she hasdissolved all her life and mind in Mr. Stanhope's life and mind, just asa lump of sugar is dissolved in water."

  Ruth laughed. "Can you not find a more poetic simile, Ethel?"

  "It will do. This is an age of matter; a material symbol is the properthing."

  "I am glad to hear she has dissolved her mind in Stanhope's," said JudgeRawdon. "Dora's intellect in itself is childish. What did the man see inher that he should desire her?"

  "Father, you never can tell how much brains men like with their beauty.Very little will do generally. And Dora has beauty--great beauty; no onecan deny that. I think Dora is giving up a great deal. To her, at l
east,marriage is a state of passing from perfect freedom into the comparativecondition of a slave, giving up her own way constantly for some oneelse's way."

  "Well, Ethel, the remedy is in the lady's hands. She is not forced tomarry, and the slavery that is voluntary is no hardship. Now, my dear, Ihave a case to look over, and you must excuse me to-night. To-morrow weshall know more concerning Mr. Mostyn, and it is easier to talk aboutcertainties than probabilities."

  But if conversation ceased about Mr. Mostyn, thought did not; for, acouple of hours afterwards, Ethel tapped at her aunt's door and said,"Just a moment, Ruth."

  "Yes, dear, what is it?"

  "Did you notice what father said about the mortgage on Rawdon Manor"'

  "Yes."

  "He seemed to know all about it."

  "I think he does know all about it."

  "Do you think he holds it?"

  "He may do so--it is not unlikely."

  "Oh! Then Mr. Fred Mostyn, if he is to inherit Rawdon, would like themortgage removed?"

  "Of course he would."

  "And the way to remove it would be to marry the daughter of the holderof the mortgage?"

  "It would be one way."

  "So he is coming to look me over. I am a matrimonial possibility. How doyou like that idea, Aunt Ruth?"

  "I do not entertain it for a moment. Mr. Mostyn may not even know of themortgage. When men mortgage their estates they do not make confidencesabout the matter, or talk it over with their friends. They alwaysconceal and hide the transaction. If your father holds the mortgage, Ifeel sure that no one but himself and Squire Rawdon know anything aboutit. Don't look at the wrong side of events, Ethel; be content with theright side of life's tapestry. Why are you not asleep? What are youworrying about?"

  "Nothing, only I have not heard all I wanted to hear."

  "And perhaps that is good for you."

  "I shall go and see grandmother first thing in the morning."

  "I would not if I were you. You cannot make any excuse she will not seethrough. Your father will call on Mr. Mostyn to-morrow, and we shall getunprejudiced information."

  "Oh, I don't know that, Ruth. Father is intensely American three hundredand sixty-four days and twenty-three hours in a year, and then in theodd hour he will flare up Yorkshire like a conflagration."

  "English, you mean?"

  "No. Yorkshire IS England to grandmother and father. They don't thinkanything much of the other counties, and people from them are justrespectable foreigners. You may depend upon it, whatever grandmothersays of Mr. Fred Mostyn, father will believe it, too."

  "Your father always believes whatever your grandmother says. Good night,dear."

  "Good night. I think I shall go to grandmother in the morning. Iknow how to manage her. I shall meet her squarely with the truth, andacknowledge that I am dying with curiosity about Mr. Mostyn."

  "And she will tease and lecture you, say you are 'not sweetheart highyet, only a little maid,' and so on. Far better go and talk with Dora.To-morrow she will need you, I am sure. Ethel, I am very sleepy. Goodnight again, dear."

  "Good night!" Then with a sudden animation, "I know what to do, I shalltell grandmother about Dora's marriage. It is all plain enough now.Good night, Ruth." And this good night, though dropping sweetly into theminor third, had yet on its final inflection something of thepleasant hopefulness of its major key--it expressed anticipation andsatisfaction.

  What happened in the night session she could not tell, but she awokewith a positive disinclination to ask a question about Mr. Mostyn. "Ihave received orders from some one," she said to Ruth; "I simply do notcare whether I ever see or hear of the man again. I am going to Dora,and I may not come home until late. You know they will depend upon mefor every suggestion."

  In fact, Ethel did not return home until the following day, for asnowstorm came up in the afternoon, and the girl was weary with planningand writing, and well inclined to eat with Dora the delicate littledinner served to them in Dora's private parlor. Then about nine o'clockMr. Stanhope called, and Ethel found it pleasant enough to watch thelovers and listen to Mrs. Denning's opinions of what had been alreadyplanned. And the next day she seemed to be so absolutely necessaryto the movement of the marriage preparations, that it was nearly darkbefore she was permitted to return home.

  It was but a short walk between the two houses, and Ethel was resolvedto have the refreshment of the exercise. And how good it was to feel thepinch of the frost and the gust of the north wind, and after it to cometo the happy portal of home, and the familiar atmosphere of the cheerfulhall, and then to peep into the firelit room in which Ruth lay dreamingin the dusky shadows.

  "Ruth, darling!"

  "Ethel! I have just sent for you to come home." Then she rose and tookEthel in her arms. "How delightfully cold you are! And what rosy cheeks!Do you know that we have a little dinner party?"

  "Mr. Mostyn?"

  "Yes, and your grandmother, and perhaps Dr. Fisher--the Doctor is notcertain."

  "And I see that you are already dressed. How handsome you look! Thatblack lace dress, with the dull gold ornaments, is all right."

  "I felt as if jewels would be overdress for a family dinner."

  "Yes, but jewels always snub men so completely. It is not altogetherthat they represent money; they give an air of royalty, and a womanwithout jewels is like an uncrowned queen--she does not get the homage.I can't account for it, but there it is. I shall wear my sapphirenecklace. What did father say about our new kinsman?"

  "Very little. It was impossible to judge from his words what he thought.I fancied that he might have been a little disappointed."

  "I should not wonder. We shall see."

  "You will be dressed in an hour?"

  "In less time. Shall I wear white or blue?"

  "Pale blue and white flowers. There are some white violets in thelibrary. I have a red rose. We shall contrast each other very well."

  "What is it all about? Do we really care how we look in the eyes of thisMr. Mostyn?"

  "Of course we care. We should not be women if we did not care. We mustmake some sort of an impression, and naturally we prefer that it shouldbe a pleasant one."

  "If we consider the mortgage----"

  "Nonsense! The mortgage is not in it."

  "Good-by. Tell Mattie to bring me a cup of tea upstairs. I will bedressed in an hour."

  The tea was brought and drank, and Ethel fell asleep while her maidprepared every item for her toilet. Then she spoke to her mistress, andEthel awakened, as she always did, with a smile; nature's surest sign ofa radically sweet temper. And everything went in accord with the smile;her hair fell naturally into its most becoming waves, her dress into itsmost graceful folds; the sapphire necklace matched the blue of her happyeyes, the roses of youth were on her cheeks, and white violets on herbreast. She felt her own beauty and was glad of it, and with a laughingword of pleasure went down to the parlor.

  Madam Rawdon was standing before the fire, but when she heard the dooropen she turned her face toward it.

  "Come here, Ethel Rawdon," she said, "and let me have a look at you."And Ethel went to her side, laid her hand lightly on the old lady'sshoulder and kissed her cheek. "You do look middling well," shecontinued, "and your dress is about as it should be. I like a girl todress like a girl--still, the sapphires. Are they necessary?"

  "You would not say corals, would you, grandmother? I have those you gaveme when I was three years old."

  "Keep your wit, my dear, for this evening. I should not wonder but youmight need it. Fred Mostyn is rather better than I expected. It was agreat pleasure to see him. It was like a bit of my own youth back again.When you are a very old woman there are few things sweeter, Ethel."

  "But you are not an old woman, grandmother."

  Nor was she. In spite of her seventy-five years she stood erect at theside of her grand-daughter. Her abundant hair was partly gray, but thegray mingled with the little oval of costly lace that lay upon it, andthe effect was soft an
d fair as powdering. She had been very handsome,and her beauty lingered as the beauty of some flowers linger, in faintertints and in less firm outlines; for she had never fallen from that"grace of God vouchsafed to children," and therefore she had kept notonly the enthusiasms of her youth, but that sweet promise of the "timesof restitution" when the child shall die one hundred years old, becausethe child-heart shall be kept in all its freshness and trust. Yes, inRachel Rawdon's heart the well-springs of love and life lay too deep forthe frosts of age to touch. She would be eternally young before she grewold.

  She sat down as Ethel spoke, and drew the girl to her side. "I hear yourfriend is going to marry," she said.

  "Dora? Yes."

  "Are you sorry?"

  "Perhaps not. Dora has been a care to me for four years. I hope herhusband may manage her as well as I have done."

  "Are you afraid he will not?"

  "I cannot tell, grandmother. I see all Dora's faults. Mr. Stanhope iscertain that she has no faults. Hitherto she has had her own way ineverything. Excepting myself, no one has ventured to contradict her.But, then, Dora is over head and ears in love, and love, it is said,makes all things easy to bear and to do."

  "One thing, girls, amazes me--it is how readily women go to church andpromise to love, honor, and obey their husbands, when they never intendto do anything of the kind."

  "There is a still more amazing thing, Madam," answered Ruth; "that isthat men should be so foolish as to think, or hope, they perhaps mightdo so."

  "Old-fashioned women used to manage it some way or other, Ruth. But theold-fashioned woman was a very soft-hearted creature, and, maybe, it wasjust as well that she was."

  "But Woman's Dark Ages are nearly over, Madam; and is not the New Womana great improvement on the Old Woman?"

  "I haven't made up my mind yet, Ruth, about the New Woman. I notice onething that a few of the new kind have got into their pretty heads, andthat is, that they ought to have been men; and they have followed upthat idea so far that there is now very little difference in theirlooks, and still less in their walk; they go stamping along with thestep of an athlete and the stride of a peasant on fresh plowed fields.It is the most hideous of walks imaginable. The Grecian bend, whichyou cannot remember, but may have heard of, was a lackadaisical, vulgarwalking fad, but it was grace itself compared with the hideous stridewhich the New Woman has acquired on the golf links or somewhere else."

  "But men stamp and stride in the same way, grandmother."

  "A long stride suits a man's anatomy well enough; it does not suit awoman's--she feels every stride she takes, I'll warrant her."

  "If she plays golf----"

  "My dear Ethel, there is no need for her to play golf. It is a man'sgame and was played for centuries by men only. In Scotland, the home ofgolf, it was not thought nice for women to even go to the links, becauseof the awful language they were likely to hear."

  "Then, grandmother, is it not well for ladies to play golf if it keepsmen from using 'awful language' to each other?"

  "God love you, child! Men will think what they dare not speak."

  "If we could only have some new men!" sighed Ethel. "The lover of to-dayis just what a girl can pick up; he has no wit and no wisdom and noillusions. He talks of his muscles and smells of cigarettes--perhapsof whisky"--and at these words, Judge Rawdon, accompanied by Mr. FredMostyn, entered the room.

  The introductions slipped over easily, they hardly seemed to benecessary, and the young man took the chair offered as naturally asif he had sat by the hearth all his life. There was no pause and noembarrassment and no useless polite platitudes; and Ethel's firstfeeling about her kinsman was one of admiration for the perfect ease andalmost instinctive at-homeness with which he took his place. He had cometo his own and his own had received him; that was the situation, a verypleasant one, which he accepted with the smiling trust that was at oncethe most perfect and polite of acknowledgments.

  "So you do not enjoy traveling?" said Judge Rawdon as if continuing aconversation.

  "I think it the most painful way of taking pleasure, sir--that is theactual transit. And sleeping cars and electric-lighted steamers andhotels do not mitigate the suffering. If Dante was writing now he mightdepict a constant round of personally conducted tours in Purgatory.I should think the punishment adequate for any offense. But I likearriving at places. New York has given me a lot of new sensationsto-day, and I have forgotten the transit troubles already."

  He talked well and temperately, and yet Ethel could not avoid theconclusion that he was a man of positive character and uncompromisingprejudices. And she also felt a little disappointed in his personality,which contradicted her ideal of a Yorkshire squire. For he was small andslender in stature, and his face was keen and thin, from the highcheek bones to the sharp point of the clean-shaven chin. Yet it wasan interesting face, for the brows were broad and the eyes brightand glancing. That his nature held the opposite of his qualities wasevident from the mouth, which was composed and discreet and generallyclothed with a frank smile, negatived by the deep, sonorous voice whichbelongs to the indiscreet and quarrelsome. His dress was perfect. Ethelcould find no fault in it, except the monocle which he did not use onceduring the evening, and which she therefore decided was a quite idle andunhandsome adjunct.

  One feature of his character was definite--he was a home-loving man.He liked the society of women with whom he could be familiar, andhe preferred the company of books and music to fashionable socialfunctions. This pleasant habit of domesticity was illustrated duringthe evening by an accidental incident--a noisy, mechanical streetorgan stopped before the windows, and in a blatant manner began itsperformance. Conversation was paralyzed by the intrusion and when itwas removed Judge Rawdon said: "What a democratic, leveling, aggressivething music is! It insists on being heard. It is always in the way,it thrusts itself upon you, whether you want it or not. Now art isdifferent. You go to see pictures when you wish to."

  Mostyn did not notice the criticism on music itself, but added in asoft, disapproving way: "That man has no music in him. Do you know thatwas one of Mendelssohn's delicious dreams. This is how it should havebeen rendered," and he went impulsively to the piano and then the sweetmonotonous cadences and melodious reveries slipped from his long whitefingers till the whole room was permeated with a delicious sense ofmoonlit solitude and conversation was stilled in its languor. The youngman had played his own dismissal, but it was an effective one, andhe complimented himself on his readiness to seize opportunities fordisplay, and on his genius in satisfying them.

  "I think I astonished them a little," he mused, "and I wonder what thatpretty, cousin of mine thought of the music and the musician. I fancy weshall be good friends; she is proud--that is no fault; and she has verydecided opinions--which might be a great fault; but I think I ratherastonished them."

  To such reflections he stepped rather pompously down the avenue, not atall influenced by any premonition that his satisfactory feelingsmight be imperfectly shared. Yet silence was the first result of hisdeparture. Judge Rawdon took out his pocketbook and began to study itsentries. Ruth Bayard rose and closed the piano. Ethel lifted a magazine,while it was Madam who finally asked in an impatient tone:

  "What do you think of Frederick? I suppose, Edward, you have an opinion.Isn't he a very clever man?"

  "I should not wonder if he were, mother, clever to a fault."

  "I never heard a young man talk better."

  "He talked a great deal, but then, you know, he was not on his oath."

  "I'll warrant every word he said."

  "Your warrant is fine surety, mother, but I am not bound to believe allI hear. You women can please yourselves."

  And with these words he left the women to find out, if they could, whatmanner of man their newly-found kinsman might be.

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