Dust and laurels : a study in nineteenth century womanhood

Front matter

’■ 15 ^ APPLETONS’

Town and Country Library

ISHED SEMI-MONTHLY January i, 1895. $10.00 PER ANNUI

Chapter I

“ Men and women are only half human. Every animal of the barnyard, the field and the forest, of the earth, and the waters that are under the earth, has contrived to get a footing, and to leave the print of its features and form in some one or other of these upright, heaven-facing speakers.” — Emerson.

“ It is certainly appalling ! ”

There had been a long silence before this sentence, and the mind of the listener had drifted from the previous subject, as minds of listeners will, so she asked vaguely —

“Yes? What is appalling? you mean”— “ I mean this masterful power of touch that unstrings all your resolutions and paralyses your intentions. The mere contact of a hand may send a darting fire up all your arteries, and seem to change your whole nature, just when you feel strongest. Can you understand this ? ”

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“I think, so. The hand of some one you love ? ”

“ Oh, that is not what I mean at all ! Take love out of consideration altogether. Love is all fire and thrill, bracing you to noble enthusiasms and self-sacrificing ideals. I mean — but I don’t believe you can possibly understand,” — lowering her voice, — “I mean something on a widely different plane ; something you hate and loathe yourself for; something belonging to the masculinity of a man that drives back the part you call your soul, and makes you forget there is divinity in you. You are only conscious of sensation, and scarcely of that. It is brutal ! ” she broke off abruptly.

“I don’t think I do understand,” said the other slowly. “I don’t know the feeling. You seem to be differently made from me, Yera : I often think so.”

“ Differently trained, you mean. Have you never heard of atrophy from disuse, Sylvia? You have never in your life, I suppose, played with your emotions and analysed them. At the first indication of such a sensation as I describe, your whole training would have caused you to revolt, and you would

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never run into risk again. Now, had you been, as I was, fed on romances from your cradle ; then, before your petticoats were long, thrown into the society of vapid, weak, and frivolous companions, whose general conversation hinged .upon bread and ale and kisses — would you have been the calm, innocent, equable-minded daisy you are? Not likely! Depend upon it, Sylvia, it is the teen stage of a girl’s life that determines her future of good or evil. I can no more throw off the effects of the influences that surrounded me at sixteen than I can throw off my skin ! They are fibred right into my system, so much so that if a man makes love to me whom I despise, when I want to be angry I laugh ! I mislead others and don’t know myself — no — no more than I know what lies in my future.”

At the end of this speech the talker, who had been pacing the room excitedly, threw herself into a lounging-chair by the window, near where her friend sat watching her, and clasped both hands above her head.

She was a tall woman, on the kindest side of thirty, and most people considered her handsome. Just now she looked exceedingly

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so, for there was a feverish light in her long olive-tinted eyes which turned them unusually large under the straight black brows, and the red in her cheeks gave them a grey colour.

Her eyes were always the strongest point in her face’s favour. You could never tell what colour they were going to appear next, and the darkness of the lashes generally cast an unfathomable shadow into them.

Her hair was fair, — the sort of sandy fairness that often goes with black eyebrows, — but it was prettily shaded here and there in gold and bronze, and very conciliable. Her skin was good without being brilliant, and her features picturesque without being beautiful. In short, she was one of the thousands of women who depend upon moods and conditions for their good looks. She could be plain or pretty according to varying circumstances. At present she was pretty. Her arms were bare, and very white, her thick hair loose, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes flashing. Sylvia thought how very beautiful she was in the subdued light of the bedroom, which was struggling with the moonlight from the window. But then she was an ardent devotee, pretty, gentle Sylvia, of this friend

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of hers, — so ardent as never to shrink from Yera when she was really exasperatingly unconventional and terrible. It seemed terrible to Sylvia to hear Yera talk lightly of a flirtation such as the latter was indulging in now, and pity herself for being unable to resist it. She could not comprehend such a thing. No man would ever have been able to flirt with Sylvia ; and as for a man already married — it was incomprehensible !

She looked very serious as she fixed two clear brown eyes on the other’s attractive face.

“Then you don’t really care for Captain Dalton, Yera?” she said, with a dubious intonation. Why any one should care to be everlastingly in the society of a man she did not love, was a mystery to Sylvia.

“No, child. Only this much — I think about him, and wonder what colours he likes to see me in best, and act for his edification when I am talking, or singing, or dancing with other people. And when he comes up to me and says something in a low voice, I feel frantic with delight. That’s all ! ”

“And you don’t love him?” reiterated Sylvia.

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“No. Haven’t I told you a hundred times that I love but one man, and him simply to distraction. You know his name,” in a low voice; “it is Garrick Maitland. There isn’t room for two such feelings in that unaccountable organism of mine, which I dare not call a heart. If Garry came here, you would see a change. I should be perfectly quiet and perfectly miserable. I am always beautifully miserable when he is by ; that is how I know I love him. Captain Dalton doesn’t make me feel the least bit unhappy.”

“But you probably make Mrs. Dalton feel the least bit unhappy.”

“I think not. She doesn’t see much, and she is so used to his manner of conducting himself, that I expect nothing would make her jealous.”

“Should you like to make her jealous, Vera?” Sylvia asked this in very solemn tones, after a slight pause.

.Vera hesitated. Then her lips parted into a wicked smile, and the dark eyebrows arched themselves.

“It is a difficult question, Daisy,” she said. “It would give a great flavour, wouldn’t it? It is not much fun to think a man is only say-

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in g the same things to you that he has said to a score of other women, and that his wife knows, and is laughing at you, is it ? ”

“Oh, don’t, Yera!” cried the girl, in real pain; this tone shocked her. “You don’t mean what you say. I have known you go out of your way to do a kindness too often to believe that you would like that poor little woman to suffer.”

“ Suffer ! ” The laugh on Yera’s lips faded out. “No,” she said impetuously; u I would rather suffer myself, if it came to that. I did not mean it — oh, no ! Sylvia, do you think, if you studied me very hard, you could interpret me to myself? I would give you carte blanche to be quite candid and disagreeable. Tell me now, on first thoughts, what do you think of me?”

“ Think of you ! ” the other echoed faintly. She was not given to placing her friend under the microscope of analytic criticism. She could only pause and say slowly —

“I — really don’t know what I do think of you — actually — except that, while I am proud of your friendship, I am sometimes very disappointed in you — when you flirt with Captain Dalton, for instance. For it is flirting

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after all, you know, and a very small thing. You ought to be above that.”

“Why ought I to be above that? Because I am studying with a view to Oxford honours, and have written a fairly successful work of fiction ? My dearest Sylvia, these are parts of one whole — a craving for sensation and excitement. Why do you contemplate college life with such delight and longing? why wish to lose yourself in an atmosphere of solid erudition? Tell me that.”

The girl with the unspoilt brown eyes looked very thoughtful as she sought expression for an answer. She was utterly unaccustomed to ask herself why she desired things. •

“I suppose because I love books and study better than anything else in the world,” she said finally.

Yera laughed softly.

“I knew that was what you would say,” she said ; “but you deceive yourself, my little Sylvia. You could have books enough here, and read all day long if you wished. I am sure that dear devoted mother and that proud father of yours would never deny you anything that could be bought with honest round

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shillings No ; yon want the excitement of the race, all the life of the struggle, a chance of the prize. Of course you do, for all your soft, dreamy earnestness and love of dear books for their own sakes. Don’t try to delude me with yourself. I have marked the necessity for excitement in the pages of life. It is written plainly enough, in your first volume as in my second, which is just begun. It is becoming importunate. I can’t get away from it, this longing for sensation ; and as most forms of it are getting stale to me, I am entering for the stakes of learning, by way of a change. Seest thou ? ”

“Then I wish you would completely devote yourself to learning, and eschew less worthy means of ‘sensation,’ as you call it,” said Sylvia, with a vision of Captain Dalton hovering behind Yera’s fair head. To her surprise, the only rejoinder was a startling question.

“ Sylvia, do you think he likes me ? ”

“Who?”

“Captain Dalton. You knew whom I meant.”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

She rose abruptly, puzzled and angry at the question, which she considered unworthy of

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her friend. Vera rose too, and put her arms round her.

“Don’t be vexed with me, dear innocent,” she pleaded, with witching eyes and melting voice. 44 You must take a friend for better or worse, as you would a husband, don’t you know? And remember my training, which was completely low-class and frivolous. I belong to the 4 upper ten ’ neither by birth nor education, and I have grown up as I liked, a very weed, possibly, but one you have planted in your garden, so must make the best of it. I won’t do anything really bad to make you ashamed of me, I promise you.”

44 1 know you won’t.” The pensive face lightened. 44 But, Vera, why talk like this, calling yourself a weed, when you know you are a very gorgeous flower, but growing wild by mistake ? Can’t you prune yourself, somehow, and leave off clinging to mouldy walls ?”

4 4 If you allude to Captain Dalton as a mouldy wall — ”

44 Don’t be silly. I allude to your craving for excitement in any form, which you have just now confessed. Vera, you are too great to let your actions be small.”

44 On the contrary, sweetheart, I am too

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small to let my actions be great. But, as I began by saying, I believe I could be onecentred and whole-souled as you are, if only this sense of touch were not so strong upon me. The firm hand of a man when it touches mine, or rests on my waist in dancing, makes me faint, and I lose all my strength in a consciousness of femininity. Not all men, you know, but some, overpower me like that.”

“And it all arises from your craving for novelty of impression, you think ? ”

“ I don’t know, Sylvia. Most likely. If I could but get into a world where there were no men, what a woman I could be. Splendid ! Oh, but wouldn’t it be intolerably dull ? Isn’t it curious how all parts of one’s nature contradict each other, until one doesn’t know what one wants \ ”

“I know what I want,” said her friend, who by this time was brushing out long strands of hair before a glass : “I want to go to bed, and not to discuss metaphysical questions.” Her words were thick, because of the hair in her mouth.

“Very well.” Yera likewise sought a brush. “Let us, then, as our friend ‘No end of a joke’ would say, ‘chuck metaphysics,’

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and adjourn this interesting discussion upon the character of Veronica Grace until the 4 lark at heaven’s gate sings, and winking marybuds’ — What is it that 4 winking marybuds’ do % Oh, I know ! 4 begin to ope ’ something — ‘eyes,’ I think. Sylvia, why is ‘A priori ’so fond of hearing me sing 4 Who is Sylvia ? ’ ”

There was a murmured exclamation as the person addressed let fall a hairpin, and stooped to regain it.

“How should I know ? ” she said, when that action had been performed. 44 Because you sing it so well, I suppose, and it is a lovely song.”

“ But ‘A priori’ is not fond of music, dear Sylvia.”

4 4 How do you know ? ”

4 4 Oh, because he never listens when I sing anything else.”

Silence.

The last thing heard in the room was Vera’s voice, muffled in bedclothes, chanting softly —

“ Holy, fair, and wise is she,

The heavens such grace did lend her,

That adored she might be,

That adored she might be.”

CHAPTER II. “ Love is the art of hearts and heart of arts.”

Bailey.

There was a small but comfortable party staying at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Ford Grant in the prettiest part of Surrey. Mr. and Mrs. Ford Grant were comfortable people to know, and you felt sure of a hearty welcome and pleasant times under their roof, providing you did not happen to be of very “ smart” proclivities, or afraid whom you might meet. They were people who might have shone in Society (with the largest of S’s) ; for Mr. Grant, the son of a distinguished soldier, holding a dignified post under Government, and married to the daughter of a big Church gun, was entitled to the right hand of fellowship throughout the magic circle of those who have breathed a kiss upon the hand of their sovereign. Indeed, both he and Mrs. Grant had gone through the above-mentioned ceremony themselves, and

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very relieved they were when it was over ! But they were not fashionable people. They dined at seven, and did not run after lions, and only cultivated the people who really amused and interested them.

This is partly to account for the presence of Veronica Grace in their house : she being of distinctly middle-class origin, and, with quite beautiful directness, having told Mrs. Ford Grant at once that her father was a tradesman. She even had alluded to her friends in the trading community quite plainly, showing some familiarity with the ways and manners of butchers and bakers in private life, and no shame in acknowledging the same.

Perhaps this may have helped to convince Sylvia’s father and mother of the originality and natural distinction of the girl whom their daughter had picked up at a meeting of University Extension students. For they were people who, liking and daring to be unconventional themselves, were instinctively drawn towards that disposition in others. But in any case, any one whom Sylvia liked was sure to be taken to the hearts of her parents without reserve. She was their only child, a petted but unspoilt darling ; receiving from them a

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happy, though somewhat serious temperament, and a most careful training. She was as uncomplicated in machinery as it is possible for a girl to be, who has more than average mental capacity and a profound nature. Having taken to books as a lark takes to sunlight, she soared somewhat beyond the average young lady of her class, who is bounded by devotion to toilette, and appetite for masculine attentions.

Why she had fallen in love with Yeronica in such an eager and spontaneous manner is perhaps a little puzzling ; but it is possible that the strong individuality, warm sympathy, and great personal magnetism of the elder woman inundated a certain dry place in her heart before reason had time to check the deluge.

Be that as it may, she came home with glowing accounts of the charming, talented girl she had met during her stay at the University, who could do everything, and whom the professors stopped to flatter and encourage. She had found her as earnest as herself in pursuit of knowledge, and a fascinating associate, amusing as well as inspiring. So that Mrs. Grant was delighted to invite the new star to her house as a. companion for

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Sylvia, who had gone quite college mad, and was imploring for a future of Somerville. This was the first visit, and so far it had been a huge success. Yera was the animating genius of the house-party — an informal party of genial people, all gathered together anyhow, apparently, yet fitting together extremely well. The middle-aged politicians of Mr. Ford Grant’s own circle of friends found her most entertaining, with her half-and-half views enthusiastically expressed, and her quick generalisations. The serious young men (who were represented by a pale curate,— invited because he had few friends and was ill from over- work, — and a clever young professor whom Yera called “A priori”) found her intently responsive, and were always only half ready for her sudden changes from savage earnestness to satirical flippancy. The boys, of whom there were tw T o, nicknamed by her “No end of a joke” and “Bounder,” for their constant repetition of the two expressions, adored and watched her. All the women liked her, presumably ; especially the two or three young girls of Sylvia’s age, whom Sylvia scorned as water-flies ; and Captain Dalton, the husband of a distant cousin of the Ford

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Grants, selected her as his antidote against the ennui that assailed him on most occasions. He distinguished Vera with as much homage as it was safe to show, and was generally in her background.

It was the day of the Tennis Tournament, to be held a few miles from the house, in the grounds of a friend, for a charity ; and Mrs. Ford Grant, always down first, was watering the flowers in her conservatory, about as happy and free from care as the bees and bluebottles that buzzed around her.

“Ah! good morning, Frank,” she said, half turning her head, and giving an orchid an over-dose by reason of the same. “Have you had breakfast % ”

Frank — who, by the way, corresponded to the title of “No end of a joke” — intimated that he had not, but would rather wait till some of the girls came down.

“No fun, don’t you know, having your feed alone, Mrs. Grant,” he said half-apologetically. “I thought perhaps Yera — Miss GraCe might be down.”

Mrs. Grant gave him a sharp glance.

“You must not expect her down just yet. She and Sylvia talk half the night, so they have to make up for it in the morning. Miss Grace is your partner to-day, isn’t she ? ”

“ Yes ; and a thundering good partner, too, if you’ll excuse the slang word” (and he never produced a sentence without one, truly !). “ She promised to be down in good

time this morning, so that we might get there early and have a practice on the courts. I am going to drive her .over in the dogcart, you know.”

“ Oh, are you? Not with French Cat, I hope ? She isn’t safe, Frank.”

“ Oh yes, Mrs. Grant ; she is really. The long drive yesterday will have taken all the tantrums out of her. By Jove ! ”

This exclamation was due to the appearance of Vera strolling slowly across the lawn in a becoming morning frock, accompanied by two dogs and Captain Dalton.

Frank Thorold bit his lip. The boy was really hit, and he was only nineteen — a manly boy, all ready to cast himself on an ocean of romance, although composed of the most British matter-of-factness. He had far -too much reverence for Vera to suspect her of any impropriety, but at the same time he objected to seeing the gallant captain at her

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side. It irritated him against his will or reason.

Opening the conservatory door, he walked over the grassy slope outside until he reached the smiling couple, almost before they saw him.

Vera held out her hand with a gracious look, although she did not want him just then. Captain Dalton had more influence over her already than she cared to own, even to herself.

“ What cheer, comrade?” she asked her tennis partner, as she stooped to caress the collie hovering near her skirts. The dewy fresh air had given her a very slight colour, and the sun shone on her hair. Frank unconsciously acknowledged she was intoxicating, with that laughing warmth in her eyes and that little fluff of hair blown by a soft breeze across her temple.

“ I’ve been down an age, waiting for you,” he said. “ When shall you be ready ?”

“ Ready ? What for ? Oh, to drive ! Not yet, I’m afraid, as I have pot had my breakfast, and I shall have to get into my proper frame of clothes, don’t you know? When shall you be ready ? ”

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“ I am ready now, at any moment. Don’t you know how late it is? I thought you wanted to be there early.”

“ So I do. Why did you tempt me to come out here, Captain Dalton ? ” She turned to the man at her side, who was tall and bronzed and dark, with the sort of look supposed to be attractive to women — a battered expression, as of having gone through hell-fire and out again. He suggested they should return at once and breakfast together, without answering her impossible question.

“No end of a joke,” after having walked by their side into the house, disappeared for a moment to give orders about the dogcart,- and then her companion said —

“Are you really going to trust that boy to drive you over in the dogcart ? ”

“ I certainly am. Why not? ”

He gauged her face earnestly with a pair of powerful eyes.

“Why do you ? ” he asked.

“I — I shall like it. He’s a delightful boy, and I love a dogcart — one feels so free. Don’t you like to feel free ? ”

He laughed, a short little laugh.

“I might like it, but, as I am very far from

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attaining freedom, I find it wiser to pretend I don’t. What did you mean, Miss Grace ? ”

She scarcely knew why she felt a creeping colour in her face as she answered—

“ Just what I said, and nothing more.”

“ Would you have gone with me in the dogcart, if I could have arranged it?” he asked.

“Ok no, certainly not. You must go in the carriage with Mrs. Dalton and your partner. You did not ask me to play with you, you see.”

“Ask you, when that boy booked you at the very first suggestion of a Tournament ! Had I a chance ? I want to beg for a waltz or two to-night, if we dance, but expect I am too late — or have you one left % ”

“ Don’t be absurd ! Of course I have heaps of waltzes left unbooked.”

“Then may I have two — three — four — half a dozen — or all you can spare from Mr. Frank Thorold and your other devotees ? ”

“If I am not too tired.”

“And then we could sit out. I hope fervently I shall not be expected to dance much. My exhausted frame is unequal to double doses of tennis and waltzing.”

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“ And I liope fervently” — began Vera, then broke off. One of the girls rushed up and embraced her.

“ What do you hope fervently % ” she asked, as they went into the breakfast-room.

“ That Mrs. Smircher will appear this evening in that lovely red satin with the violet garnishing which she wore last night,” was the answer. “I was dreaming of it all last night, and it haunts my waking vision. I believe I can’t live without again tasting that exquisite confection.”

She was helping herself to a chair, and drawing her skirts aside for Dalton to seat himself beside her as she spoke, when Frank Thorold came in through the door opposite.

“It’s no end of a nuisance,” he said, taking the chair vacant on her other hand, “but Jervis says he must go with us. He thinks I am not used to French Cat, who is in swagger form, and will go like steam. But I hate a man behind listening to all you say; don’t you?”

“No, I like one. One wants a man to open gates and things. And besides, consider how our intellectual conversation ought to improve his mind. You should never neglect a chance

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of influencing and developing the untrained mental powers of the lower orders, you know, Mr. Thorold.”

She lowered her lashes that he might not see the laugh under them. Poor Frank ! His intellectual faculties were indeed somewhat higher than those of a well-bred St. Bernard dog.

“ Mental powers be — I don’t want to offend you, Miss Grace, but of course you are laughing wdien you talk about our conversation being likely to improve anybody very much.”

“ Hadn’t you better confine yourself to the first person singular, Thorold?” said Captain Dalton, with an amused smile. “You surely would not dare to insinuate that Miss Grace’s converse could be aught than improving ? ”

Frank simply looked at him in disgust.

“Miss Grace understands what I mean if you don’t,” he said, with that confidence in her sympathy which she always contrived to gain.

The meal finally was over for those who began together, although others kept dropping in. Amongst the late comers was the “Bounder,” justly, indignant that he had not

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come in time to breakfast with “The Grace/’ as he called Vera, to Frank’s unmitigated disgust.

“That confounded fellow did not wake me till half -past nine ! Tea, please ” (to the servant). “I thought it was about six,” he added, to explain the fact of his arrival down at half-past eleven.

While various suggestions were being made as to the best modes of awakening oneself in the morning, Vera slipped away to don a loose blouse and shady hat. To her Sylvia, on the stairs —

“Vera, it’s not safe. Frank is such a random fellow, and the French Cat is horribly frisky. Don’t go in the dogcart.”

“My dear Syllie, you speak to a deaf ear. The gods have settled I am to go with ‘No end of a joke,’ and if I am killed, well, that will be the end of the joke. There’s no more to be said. England expects every woman to be a coward, I know, but — ”

“Go to destruction then, only don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I will not, dear, I promise you. That is to say, my ghost shall not round on you ; and if I am destroyed, I suppose I cannot reproach

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you in the flesh. Do you think Flossie minds ?”

“She would like to have gone with Frank, perhaps ; but will be quite satisfied with the ‘ Bounder . 5 I expect you would enjoy it the more if you thought any one else would like to have been in your place.”

“Too bad!” laughed Vera, wafting a spray of chalk powder over her face lightly (they had reached their room). “I am not so mean as you would make out, Sylvia. I like that little girl, she is so nice to me. I don’t want her boy a bit. I do want to get him down in black and white, though ; boys are so fascinating to draw. There is a sort of pearliness about them, delicious things ! I must get Frank into ‘ Fractions' somehow.”

This was the title of a story she worked at by fits and starts.

The drive began well, and Yera felt in the highest of spirits. A sensibility to weather influence was one of her strongest characteristics, and the day was as fair as a June day can well be. The scent of conifers and honeysuckle combined made the air a feast ; and the sparkle and purity everywhere enthralled