The wrong way; a story

Front matter

Class TZ 5

Copyright N°

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT.

II

Adam Duncan came for his answer at five o’clock the afternoon of the next day.

It was a dreary, rainy day, decidedly unpropitious to one bent on a love errand. He, however, was a strong, healthy man, who knew what he wanted, and weather, fair or foul, never had any effect on him. If he gave the rain and mud a thought it was not one of annoyance, but rather of satisfaction — indeed they were in his favor, for of course Grace Larch would not venture out of the house on such a wet day, unless forced to do so by some circumstance over which she had no control.

By the way he kicked off his rubbers, shook his umbrella, and pulled the bell-knob, one could easily tell that he was a man who always had his way, that he was quick, ready, assured, and not afraid of anything or anybody. On the maid answering the ring, he asked for Miss Larch without a trace of embarrassment. He walked into the parlor with a strength and presence that shamed the impossible flower paintings, the imitation rugs, the execrable copy of the “ Angelus,” the beribboned chairs — in fine, all the silly feminine odds and ends that Mrs. Larch and Cecily had stuck about the room as ornamentation.

He did not sit down. He knew those chairs of old, and, as he was a heavy man and had lively recollec- 1 ?

tions of his former experiences in them, he preferred to stand.

Duncan was a splendidly formed man of distinguished bearing. He stood six feet three, and the breadth of his chest was good to see. The color in his face and clear gray eyes gave the lie direct to his age, which was fifty years. The straight figure was another lie, the thick hair, almost flaxen, still another — really there was nothing about him that revealed his age. He was simply a magnificent man in health, in features and in general appearance. The clothes and linen he wore were of the finest texture and cut, and bore witness to the pleasing fact that he cared for his person in a degree that escaped dandyism, but touched fastidiousness, in short, that he had the instincts of a gentleman.

Mrs. Larch and her step-daughter were upstairs in the front bedroom sewing, when the bell was heard. At its sound, the former dropped her work and looked at Grace, and laughed. It was not an agreeable laugh, and it was so significant that the girl colored.

“ There is ‘ Auld Robin Gray/ Grace dear.”

“ Grace dear ” arose, and carefully folded the cloth she had been sewing and, without speaking, put it away.

“ If I dared I would listen at the keyhole, and hear what you say to him. But I am too indolent, and beside I know you will report to me afterwards.”

The girl went toward the door in silence.

“ Give him my love after you have refused him your own,” she said, as a parting shot; “ perhaps I shall catch him on the rebound — who knows ? And ask him to stay to tea, for auld lang syne sake. There’s deviled ham, also omelet, English muffins, fig cake and coffee. Men need to be fortified, you know, after being dragged through the vale of humiliation and disappointment by women.”

Grace closed the door upon herself with a little bang, but she could not shut out the disagreeable laugh that followed the words she had just heard. It rang in her ears until she stood at the parlor door. She forgot her momentary irritation, however, the instant she entered and saw Duncan’s face lighten up in welcome. He was a noble, good-looking gentleman, and had always been a most kind and gentle friend to her, and her people as far back as she could remember. It was a pity she was unable to repay his courtesy and kindness as he wished.

He took the hand she extended him and, holding it in a warm, firm clasp, looked straight at her, then at the hand he held, and smiled a tender, beautiful smile. He smiled because he found that he was saying this to himself :

The white enchantment of her dimpled hand

Lay soft in mine ! I looked into her eyes ;

I knew I was unworthy, but I felt

That I was noble if she did but smile.

And she did smile. It seemed so strange that he should love her as he yesterday said he did, that he should want to marry her, and that she was upon the point of informing him it could never be. Indeed it was almost presumptuous that she should speak with him on such themes as love and marrying at all — he was so rich, so influential, so much older and more important than herself, an ordinary, obscure girl. She looked at his broad, white hand, and observed that it showed the attention of the best manicure, with the hope that he did not give hers as close observation; for of course if he did he would see that she had never engaged the services of a manicure in her life.

He had no idea of letting her hand go; he held it in his firm, warm clasp, and smiled on. Women were dear to him, and though he had gone through many years single, unyoked, yet he had loved once or twice — well, several times, if the truth must be told. He was the kind of man to love women and be loved by them more or less ardently in return. Nevertheless, he had never wished to be bound to one — until now. He loved this woman with the love that meant marriage. There are many ways of loving, and all unconsciously Grace had been blessed with the best he had to give.

As he stood holding her hand and gazing at her bowed head he thought of the other women that had come and gone in his life, realizing that they were dead to him forever, and that in the hereafter there could be but one woman for him, and she was with him now. He yearned for her; through every fibre of his being he knew that this was his wife; that without hef life would not be what it should be, half its promise and glory would surely be gone. To-day he knew that Richter was correct in saying that “ no man can either live piously or die righteous without a wife ” — at least he could not.

“ Are you going to be my wife? ” he said in a low, rich voice, the lover’s voice.

THE WKONG WAY

She did not speak at once. Some unknown power held her back.

“ I love you — I love you ! ” he said, and it must be admitted — it was beautiful the way he did it. But, as if by instinct, men know how to woo; and besides instinct, this man had experience. It is said that the man that has a tongue is no man if with his tongue he cannot win a woman. Duncan meant to try.

“ My dear girl, I do love you better than anyone I ever saw. I think of you constantly, and I want you constantly. My whole being cries out for you, and only you.”

She lowered her head a little more.

“ Come to me, Grace — come to me — my wife ! ”

He waited a second. However, she did not speak.

“ I know you have thought it over,” he continued; “ as- 1 asked you to do, for I have always known you to keep your promises. That is one reason why I love you. Good, faithful, conscientious folk are scarce nowadays. I am quite sure that you have been thinking of me ever since I spoke to you yesterday — come, tell me, have you not? ”

A pause.

At last she felt strong enough to look up at him and speak — she must speak; for if she did not, he doubtless would go on in the strain he had adopted, and there was no telling whither she might not be led by it. Above anything, in spite of all, a plain duty was before her : she must be true to herself. She must not permit him or anybody else to lead her where she ought not to go. It would be better to endure pain and disappointment now than wretchedness and regret afterward. With this one thought clear in her mind, she found strength to look up into the cleanly-shaven face before her, straight into the shining, smiling gray eyes.

“ Mr. Duncan,” she said; “ I have given my best thought to what you proposed yesterday. I have tried to be kind and just. Do we not deserve that from others? I have thought and thought, and asked myself again and again if I loved you as you deserve to be loved, and the answer is always — no.”

Another pause.

He did not look pained; he even smiled.

“ I have an affection for you. You know that. But you ask me to marry you, and that is another thing.”

“ Do I not appeal to you at all? ”

“ Yes; I confess that I like and respect you; that I have ever regarded you as the best of friends, of my father’s, of my family’s, and of my own.

“ Do you love anyone? ”

“ Well, could you not — learn to love me? ”

She was silent.

“ I have known you many years ; I understand you. I love you devotedly. I am confident that I could make your married life a beautiful one. I am rich; I have every means with which to sweeten life — as you are aware. I comprehend and enjoy the things you enjoy. Does not your heart tell you so ? For years your father and I were tried friends. He would have been happy over our marriage — nay, will he not be now? Grace, I read your heart. You have not been satisfied for some time past. Do not attempt to deny it. I will not specify the cause or causes; the fact remains, and it is enough. My dear girl, you do not want to pass all your days in this stupid town surrounded as you are — come, you know you do not. Will you let it be no then? Suppose we wait awhile — ten days — a month — any time you like.”

a We might wait ten years, and it might be no then. Would it be right to become your wife, if I did not love you? Without love, what is married life?”

“ It depends on what love really is. You admit that you do not love anybody, that you have an affection for me, that you respect me. I ask no more than that. Afterwards you will know more about it, and you will call it love.”

“ I cannot say that I love you, Mr. Duncan. It would not be true if I did. The friendly regard and esteem I entertain for you cannot be called love. And I feel that I cannot marry unless I do love. Of course, I am a believer in love ; I am a woman ; and naturally I have dreamt that some day I want to love, and be loved too. Call it a foolish fancy — an idle dream — and me a girl of sentimental ideas — if you will; but the fact remains unaltered, nevertheless.”

“ I can win your love, if you will marry me. You will love your husband as you dream of loving him. Give me the chance, Grace.”

“ I cannot. Oh, I am sorry that such a thing as this could occur between you and me.”

“ I will not give you up, dear. I will not take no for my answer. You must think it over, and I shall see you again.”

‘ “ I realize that you pay me a great honor. Believe me, I am grateful. But honestly, I can never be more to you than a friend — if that is anything to you.”

“ It is; but you will be something dearer than a friend before long. I shall come back to you on the same errand.”

“ I wish to retain your friendship. We all do. One does not find real friends every day.”

“ And one is not loved every day.”

“ My step-mother told me to say she expected you to remain for tea,” Grace said, changing the subject.

“ It is impossible; for I am obliged to return to New York at once, and you know the train leaves just as you sit down to supper.”

“ I am sorry. You will miss seeing Cecily this time. But we expect her back soon.”

“ I am glad that she is to return soon — for your sake. You love her so much, and she is the kind of girl one misses at home.”

“ I miss her more than I can tell.”

“ She is a lively girl,” he further remarked, because he was loath to leave, and he knew he was giving pleasure; “ she is pretty and highly gifted too.”

Grace flushed with enjoyment. It was always good to listen to people praising Cecily.

“ She was anxious to visit her friend, Ella Barclay, of Hartford, and consequently we were glad that she could do so. She has been gone three weeks.”

“ Your sister is going to be a brilliant woman.”

“ Why, she is already a woman — according to her own thinking. She is seventeen, you must remember.”

“ She is a lovely girl, with madcap tendencies. I am continually expecting a practical joke at her hands.”

The girl laughed, and felt better than she had done for several days past. For a moment she thought she really liked this man very much.

“ Cecily loves fun/' she said brightly; “and keeps us amused. You know that a merry heart does good like a medicine.”

“ A laugh is worth a hundred groans in any market, if you believe Charles Lamb,” he rejoined, holding out his hand; “I must say good-by now. Think of me, Grace.”

“Will you not let me call my step-mother? She would like to see you.”

“ No. Please bid her good-by for me. I have barely time to go to the hotel and then catch my train. Think of me, dear, and try to see the way clear to telling me what I want to hear so much on my return. Remember that I love you with a love that can never grow cold and die.”

She gave him her hand with one word :

“ Farewell!”

He took it, and almost embraced her in the old, familiar way, for he had been coming to and going from their house for years and had been a staunch friend of the family. But the relationship had, at least for these two, undergone a change, and the former ways of meeting and parting were out of the question. It was merely a handshake and a word now.

She went to the window and looked at him going through the rain. He was strong and good; he was generous and kindhearted, and handsome and distinguished in appearance. Life with this man would be easy, pleasant, noble, no doubt, and many a woman would be glad to marry him and lead it; but she did not love him. Her pulse never quickened at his coming, nor grew dull at his going. He was only a true, dear friend — nothing more. And the wind sighed through the leafless trees and around the house, and the rain came pouring down. And she stood there at the wet window looking down the wide street, some time after she had seen the last of him, thinking, thinking.

Ill

Grace was not allowed to stand and dream at the window long. She was aroused and her thoughts dispelled by the entrance of her step-mother, who looked pretty and youthful and chic in a new house dress. As soon as she had gotten fairly into the room she looked about the place in an expectant way.

“Where is 'Mr. Duncan?” she asked sharply; “surely you have not permitted him to go?”

“ I could not get him to stay. I asked him to do so. I gave him your invitation, but he would not accept it.”

“No doubt — in the way it was extended. I know your ways. He should have been made to stay. You have no idea how to manage a man.”

Mrs. Larch went to the door, opened it, and called out, in a voice far from sweet or well modulated:

“ Blanche!”

After some delay the call was answered. A huge, smiling negress presented herself.

“ You call me, Miss Larch? ”

“ Yes. You need not devil the ham, nor make the omelet, nor toast the muffins. Miss Grace and I are alone this evening. Dry toast and tea will do.”

When the maid had gone, she threw herself upon the lounge with a sigh.

“ A nice supper saved ! He will not do as well at the hotel.”

“ Mr. Duncan returns at once to New York,” Grace announced.

“ Indeed! Did you at once give him his conge?”

The girl would not answer the question.

“ I trust, dear, that you are not going to be obstinate. Are you not going to tell me what I wish to hear? Must I undergo the fatigue of the pumping process? Try to be kind for once.”

There was no response.

“ How did the ordeal pass off? I timed you by the clock. You had nearly half an hour. A great deal can be said in that space of time. And I will be bound you and he had enough to say, pro and con. I can picture the scene. Shall I ? ”

The girl was silent. She could not speak of Duncan to her step-mother. She respected him, and her regard for him was of such a nature that it was impossible to detail their interview to a third person, even if that person were a relative. Perhaps she was old-fashioned, sensitive, foolish; nevertheless, she could not expose him and what she felt to be a sacred thing — a man’s love.

“ I am sure it was a funny piece of business,” her step-mother said with cruel intention, for she was annoyed at this reticence; “ you are queer, and he elderly and in love. The combination is unique to say the least. I should like to add this experience to those I already possess. It will make rich food for reflection some day.”

Grace walked slowly to and fro, and being a woman, managed to escape all accidents in the crowded room.

“ Come, dear, you must tell me all — everything he said and what you said, giving in passing how you both looked. Behold! A woman consumed by curiosity.

Have you no pity? I am actually wild to hear all about it. Do we often have delightful breaks in our monotonous existence ? Proceed ! ”

“ There is little to tell. I gave him to understand that it could not be; that I could not marry him.”

“ And did he say, thank you, and go without further ado? No; I warrant he did not. Men do not act that way.”

“ Of course, we talked it over, and I am sure he realizes how I feel. I hope you will excuse my saying anything more, when I tell you it is painful to me.”

“ Fiddlesticks ! So he has left Tenbrook? Well, he will return in a fortnight at the latest, but whether altogether to see you remains to be seen. He has not gone for good.”

Grace had closed the conversation, at least as far as she was concerned, but her step-mother could not leave it immediately.

“ I expected some dramatic effects,” she said in her airy manner; “ for love is not truly love unless tinged with the dramatic or thrilling element. Love is in reality, a burning, a consuming fire. But fancy you on fire! It is an impossibility, dear. You are cold — queer — uncongenial to men and women alike. It is to be expected that you should conduct an affair of the heart in a cut-and-dried manner — all debit and credit, you know, and nothing else possible.”

The girl leaned against the bay window and listened to the rain beating on the panes.

“ How differently Cecily would have conducted it — or any other girl for that matter! There would be light and shade, dramatic color, thrilling effects ; everything played in character and in tune. And now — ”

Grace was pained. She recognized and acknowledged, to herself at any rate, her physical and mental shortcomings, yet even to her, whose mind was above pettiness as a general thing, it was at the present moment more than usually bitter to be accused, and then blamed for what she could not help. She had not made herself. She had not selected her environment: that was not a matter of choosing.

“ If you could but be somewhat like Cecily — only a little bit. She is clever, pretty, diverting. Everybody admits this. You might take a few lessons from her in many things. She is a fascinating girl.”

Yes; of course she was her superior in beauty, in bearing, and in personal charm. It was the truth; she had never denied it. Instead she had always owned it, and gave way to her in a degree that was absurd and uncalled-for. At her hands all the praise, all the homage that one liberally dowered by the jealous gods could expect to receive was rendered with unselfishness and generosity, almost without a parallel. Never had she shown how hurt she was over her step-mother's unkind, often cruel, remarks, for her disposition was such that she would much rather suffer and endure in secret than bare her heart to an alien gaze.

“ I am so anxious to have her back,” Mrs. Larch continued, as if bent on wounding the feelings of the listener ; “ she is so gay and agreeable. The very air seems different when she is absent. Of course she will have much to tell us. And she knows how to talk. Few girls understand that art. I daresay it will be Christmas before she will have finished. Dear Cecily ! ”

There Grace stood without a word, her hands convulsively linked together ; her face pale and set. This was her martyrdom. The rain beat against the windows; the wind moaned; the outside world was as dreary and monotonous as herself. As she thought of herself her eyes looked wet, but there were no tears. She seldom wept. An evidence of hardheartedness, her step-mother characterized this trait. Cecily wept readily at moments of grief, joy, surprise, anger. Eyes are made clear and sparkling by frequent tears, to quote again from the aforesaid source. Cecily's were clear and sparkling, and it may be that her April showers were responsible for their remarkable brilliancy.

“ She is bewitching," Mrs. Larch said, again striking the familiar tune, which, strange to say, had no melody whatever in her listener's ears at this stage of the evening.

“ Yes; she is all of that," the girl said; “ she is all you say she is. No one ever thought of denying it. She is a lovely girl. Everybody can see that."

She walked slowly across the room as she spoke. She reached the door; it closed on her softly as she uttered the final word of praise.

Mrs. Larch reclined among the pillows of the lounge with a smile on her face, and thought over certain things. She did not care for her step-daughter, and nothing was gained by pretending that she did. And it was enjoyable to indulge her true feelings, in one quarter at least. One cannot play a part for years without a break some time. She and her daughter could get along very well indeed without Grace Larch. She was far from being indispensable to them; it frequently turned out a hard thing that there was such a person in their world. Her presence there had to be endured; she had to be allowed a part of the small income which had been left them at the death of her father. The truth of the matter is, one ought not to marry a widower with children. It was a mistake. She had held this opinion before her marriage as a mere opinion and without experience to substantiate it, and now, having had the experience, she knew she had been correct in thinking so. She had never become accustomed to the girl being Alfred Larch’s child.

Whenever she looked at her or thought of her she remembered with the old jealous pang that he had been married before and that she had been the second wife. And this was bitter as gall. She should have been the first as well as the last. To be second was almost more than she could bear, so patience here must not be expected. She could not get used to the fact that there had been a wife and child too before her advent. If this girl could go away and stay away — of course in a fashion befitting their social standing — or that she and Cecily could, all would be fair. An arrangement like that would make them happier, better, gayer.

One admires certain people at a distance. Here they were cramped at every turn. And three women thrown upon one another, without a man in the house, naturally found life somewhat prosaic at best, and at times rather hard to carry along. Lately a hope had dawned on their horizon that a change might come — if she married again. And that seemed more than likely. She was not too far advanced in years for a second marriage. If money and a great establishment were in prospect the change would be altogether desirable. Up to yesterday she had thought there might come that change in her life. But it turned out that she had been indulging in foolish castle-building.

Instead of seeking a sensible, well-bred woman, suitable to him in age, as well as in manner, tastes and intelligence, Adam Duncan had the weakness, the poor taste, to think of a girl in every particular unsuited to him. He had asked her to marry him — to be the head of his establishment in New York City. Was this not proof of the folly of men and of the incredulity of women ? How could such a man as Duncan think that a girl like Grace would fancy him as a husband ? She was a self-willed, proud, obstinate girl, who dreamed all manner of ridiculous dreams which required time, patience and strategy to oppose and overthrow. Even now, after a trying warfare, she could not place any confidence in the girl and the various promises she had exacted. Every morning she awoke with the fear that she would be openly defied at last; that these same ridiculous dreams were being made something more real and disturbing than mere girlish dreaming. And then, what should they do? Could he really love a girl like that? He ought to have looked elsewhere — a man, so rich, so refined, and well on in years. Grace could never rise to his ideal. He had come to Tenbrook and to their house in a most familiar and significant way for more than a year. The entire neighborhood regarded him in a peculiar light — in fact, he and they were a common theme of gossip. Only a week ago the society journal, the Elite , hinted broadly at a prospective marriage between a popular widow and a distinguished visitor, and she had been compelled to parry numerous jocular remarks relating to the matter.

Everybody in the place knew that she had been receiving and entertaining Duncan ; her intimes were aware of the trouble she had taken, and even expense she had been put to in providing delicious dinners, suppers, and parties for his pleasure. For what purpose had she devised surprises for his palate? Truly, not for the end now reached. No a thousand times! She had not entertained that thought for a moment. It was hard, provoking, in a sense insulting; it was in truth well nigh beyond endurance. Her step-daughter would not marry him, and of course she ought not, for such a thing as that would be presumptuous, to say the least. And so Duncan would go elsewhere, and probably marry a woman they had never heard of. His wealth and position would be lost to them forever. And to think of the fuss and the expense she had gone to for the sake of this man! Really women are fools. But she at least ought to have known better, for she was experienced in men’s ways. As for Grace, she did not possess sufficient sense to go into the house when it rained. No doubt she had frightened the man away by her manner of refusing him, and they would not see him soon, if ever. That chance would not occur again. If she could have managed the affair herself he would not have escaped. One of them would have married him; there could have been no hitch. Well, why had she not taken it in hand ? Simply because a different development was anticipated. The present turn was unexpected. All this time she was getting up nice and dainty meals, dreaming over, and dressing herself for something Duncan had had no intention whatever of bringing about, and so she had let a rare, a golden opportunity slip by from sheer stupidity. Nobody was to blame but herself. It was indeed a serious blunder on her part, but it is said that one learns by one’s blunders. She should have made her stepdaughter marry him willy-nilly, if she found that he positively would not be content with some one else, rather than have let him go altogether. Fine, rich men of his age are not found every day. In a matter of such good fortune as this, self, egotism, all silly ideas in short, should have been regulated properly if their absolute banishment were out of the question; for a splendid marriage would be advantageous to the entire family. Both she and Cecily would have profited thereby beyond their fairest expectations. This man was wealthy, and kind, and generous as a friend. What would he not have been as a relative? Alas! How dull she had been ! She was not even as clever as Grace. Her mistake was by far the greater. Perhaps if he came upon the scene once more, or if a similar opportunity presented itself to Grace or Cecily — or even to herself, she might have more sense and see her way more clearly. It is to be hoped that she would.