CHAPTER V
VARIOUS POINTS OF VIEW
The Blanchards' equipage was a perfect expression of quietrespectability, for the carriage was sober in colour, was drawn by astrong and glossy horse, and was driven by a coachman wearing a modestlivery and a discontented countenance. As it drove away from the golfclub the carriage held the three members of the family, in front theyounger daughter, Beth, and on the rear seat the others: Judith erectand cheerful, the Colonel cheerful also, but lounging in his corner withthe air of one who took the world without care. Blanchard wasfifty-eight, military as to voice and hair, for his tones were sonorousand his white whiskers fierce. Yet these outward signs by no meansindicated his nature, and his manner, though bluff, appertained less tomilitary life than to the game of poker. Not that the Colonel playedcards; moreover, he drank merely in moderation, swore simply to maintainhis character, betrayed only by the tint of the left side of hismustache that he liked a good cigar, and was extravagant in neitherdress nor table. He kept his carriage, of course, liked the best winesat home and at the club, and in a small way was a collector of curios.Yet the Blanchards, but for the brilliance of Judith, were quiet people;he was proud to be a quiet man.
Dullness is often the penalty of indolence; the Colonel was lazy and hehad small wit. Perceiving that Judith came away from the tea stimulatedand even excited, he rallied her about her new acquaintance. "Aninteresting man, hey?" he asked for the third time.
"Yes," answered Judith absently. "Father, what is there against Mr.Ellis?"
"Only that he is a pusher. He jars." Blanchard aimed to be tolerant.
"Isn't there more?" asked little Beth.
The Colonel, as always, turned his eyes on her with pleasure. She wasdark and quiet and sweet, yet her brown eyes revealed a power ofexamining questions for their moral aspects. "Nothing much," he saidindulgently. "You don't know business, Beth. He's beaten his opponentsalways, and the beaten always squeal, but I doubt if he's as black ashe's painted."
"I'm glad to hear you stand up for him, father," said Judith.
"He'll be looking for a wife among us," went on the Colonel with vastshrewdness and considerable delicacy. "How would he suit you, Judith?"
"Oh, father!" Beth protested. But Judith, with fire in her eyes,answered: "He's at least a man. You can't say that of every one."
Her answer made him turn toward her with a soberer thought and a newinterest. His manner changed from the natural to the pompous as he setforth his views. "Money is almost the best thing one can have."
"Father, dear!" protested Beth again.
"I mean," he explained, again softening his manner, "from a father'sstandpoint. If I could see you two girls married with plenty of money, Icould die happy." But evidently the Colonel was in the best of health,so that his words lacked impressiveness. It was one of the misfortunesof their family life that Judith was able to perceive the incongruitybetween her father's Delphic utterances and his actual feelings, andthat the Colonel knew she found him out.
"I wasn't thinking of Mr. Ellis's money," she said at this point.
"I was," retorted the Colonel. As he was struggling with a real thought,his tones became a little less sonorous and more genuine. "In sicknessriches give everything. In health there are enough troubles withoutmoney cares. I mean it, Judith."
She took his hand and caressed it. "Forgive me, father!"
"My dear--my dear!" he responded cordially.
So this, the type of their little jars, the sole disturbers of familypeace, passed as usual, rapidly and completely, and Ellis was spoken ofno more. Beth, with customary adroitness, came in to shift the subject,and when the three descended at their door none of them shared thecoachman's air of gloom.
He, however, detained the Colonel while the girls went up the steps."Beg pardon, sir, but could you give me a little of my wages?"
"James," returned his master with his most military air, "why will youchoose such inconvenient times? Here is all I have with me." He gavesome money. "Twenty dollars."
"Yessir," replied the man, not overmuch relieved. "And the rest of it,sir? There's a hundred more owing."
"Not to-day," returned the Colonel with vexation. But he was anoptimist. Though at the bottom of the steps he muttered to himselfsomething about "discharge," by the time he reached the top he wasabsorbed in cheerful contemplation of the vast resources which, shouldJudith ever chance to marry Ellis, would be at her disposal.
Five minds were, that evening, dominated by the occurrences of theafternoon. One was the Colonel's, still entertaining a dream whichshould properly be repugnant to one of his station. This he recognised,but he reminded himself that as a parent his daughter's good should behis care. Another mind was Mather's, disturbed by the jealousy and dreadwhich the manliest of lovers cannot master. And one was Mrs. Harmon's;she, like Ellis, had learned much that afternoon, and meant in future toapply her knowledge.
As that evening she went to the Fennos' ball Mrs. Harmon recalled thesnubs of the afternoon, and saw how insecure her footing was among thesepeople. Sometimes she had wondered if it were worth while, this struggleto be "in"; the life was dull, lacking all natural excitements; therewas no friendship possible with any of the blue-bloods. Yet she hated toknuckle to them; if she could engineer this match between Judith andEllis, then----! And Mrs. Harmon, with the hope of coming triumph, feltfully equal to meeting Mrs. Fenno on her own ground. Mrs. Harmon woreEllis's jewels on her breast, she had his brain to back her, shebelieved she knew Judith's weaknesses, and she saw before her a brightfuture.
Judith Blanchard made at that ball a searching review of her world,dominated as she still was by the thoughts which Ellis aroused. For he,the strongest personality in the city, had done more than to excite hercuriosity: with his deference to her opinion and his appeal for her helphe had succeeded--as Mather never--in wakening her sympathy. Questioningwhy fashion should reject him, stirred to a new comparison of realitywith sham, she looked keenly about her at the ball. She was in one ofthe inner sanctuaries, where society bowed down and worshiped itself.Judith sniffed the incense, listened to the chants, and weighed thewords of officiating priests and priestesses. She found everything todelight the eye, except the idols; everything to charm the senses,except sense.
In the ball-room there was dancing, pagan rites to what purpose? Thisusually unrhythmic swaying, skipping, sliding, seemed a profitless wayto pass the hours when workers were in bed. Girls more or less innocentdanced with men more or less _roue_; this procedure, indefinitelycontinued, gave occasion for jealousies among the girls and selfishscheming among the men. In other rooms the older people played cards,intent at bridge or whist upon their stakes. Near the buffet throngedbachelors old or young, with not a few married men, busied in acquiringan agreeable exhilaration. Their occupation was no worse than thepassionate gambling of the old women. And the house in which all thiswent on was beautifully classic in design and furnishings. Beside thatquiet elegance, how vacant was the chatter! As Judith thought thus,slowly the spirit of revolt came to her.
The master of the house approached her; he was leonine, massive,somewhat lame from rheumatism. She saw him, as he came, speaking amonghis guests; his smile was cynical. It lighted upon her father, and theColonel, his character somehow exposed by that smile, seemed shallow. Itturned to the men at the sideboard, and their interests seemed less thanthe froth in their glasses. The smile turned on Judith, and she feltcalled to give an account of herself.
But he merely asked her: "Where is Beth?"
"Gone with Miss Pease to a meeting of the Charity Board," Judithanswered.
Mr. Fenno grunted, looking at her sidewise. "Better employed than we!"
Then he rambled away, neither knowing nor caring what encouragement hehad given to her mood. He missed Beth, for his rheumatism was sharp, thecompany inane, and Beth was almost the only person who could make himcontented with himself. But Judith felt the reflection of his cynicismand was stirred still deeper. What was there to interest he
r here?
Among all the women Mrs. Harmon alone was in disaccord. No dressmakercould conceal her natural style; the eye and carriage of the Judge'swife were bolder than those of the women about her. A free humourattracted some of the men; the women avoided her, the more delicate frominstinct, the stronger with a frank dislike. This antipathy Judith hadoften felt and expressed, yet to-night she reviewed and rejected it.Mrs. Harmon belonged to the class of the rising Americans; in that classJudith felt interest, questioning if its vigour and freshness should notoutweigh external faults. She went to Mrs. Harmon and began to talk withher.
She tried to find, within the exterior, the solid qualities of themiddle class. But thought and purpose seemed lacking; in Mrs. Harmon thevulgarity lay deeper than the surface. She was frivolous; she liked thesparkle and the show, the wine, the dancing, and the gaiety. Promisingherself an intimacy with Judith, she talked willingly, but it was onlyupon the subject of Ellis that she became interesting.
She told Judith much about him. He had always been persevering andambitious; he had left his town as a boy because even then he found ittoo little. Ellis had begun small; now he was big. Some day, said MrsHarmon significantly, people would recognise him.
Why not, thought Judith as she looked about her, admit Ellis here? Whatwas an aristocracy for but to reward success? How could it remain soundbut by the infusion of new blood? Ellis had proved his quality by thethings he had done; he had beaten Mather; yet these halls which toMather were open were closed to Ellis. It was unfair to refuse torecognise him! What were the abilities of these men here, compared withhis?
Thus Judith, tolerant in her broad Americanism, admiring the forceswhich to-day are accomplishing such marvellous results, thought of herworld. At the same time Ellis also was thinking of it. His was the fifthmind moved by that afternoon's occurrence, but moved the most deeply ofthem all. On leaving Judith first, like a man smitten by a slender bladehe had spoken, acted, thought as before. Then the inward bleeding began,and the pain. He had gone away from her thinking of her as something tobe won, but no more distant, no less a commodity, than a publicfranchise or a seat in the legislature. Thus he had discussed her withMrs. Harmon, but before night his thought of the girl had changed. Herrefinement was new to him; he recalled her in imagination and dwelt onher features and her voice. Yet, equally with her delicacy, her spiritcharmed him with its frankness and its admiration of great things. Therewas a subtle flattery in her interest in him; he had never thought ofhimself as she did; he saw himself magnified in her eyes, which seemedto refine the baseness from his employments and purposes. She gave him anew idea of himself, and held before him vague new aims.
He had entertained some of his henchmen that evening at his table, hadtasted while they ate, sipped while they drank, listened while theyspoke of politics. He sat at the head of the table, like the Sphinxafter which he was familiarly called, indifferent to their uncouthnessand their little thoughts; then at the end he suddenly called them intoexecutive session, asked a few keen questions, gave some briefdirections, and dismissed them. Thus he had always ruled them, fromoutside, commanding respect by his decision, almost awe by his silence.Though his purposes were not clear, the men went to obey him, havinglearned to support him blindly, for he never failed. Such was Ellisamong his subordinates, the "old man" of whom they never askedquestions, with whom they never attempted familiarity. They praised himas they went, proud of their connection with him. But he put out thelights as soon as the men were gone, and sat at the window, looking atFenno's house.
There was the temporary focus of social life; he saw the lights; had heopened his window he might have heard the music. Carriages drove up,people entered the house, and on the curtains of the ball-room he sawmoving shadows. In that house were what he wanted--recognition, a newlife, Judith. But she was guarded by the powers of a whole order, wasinfinitely remote.
His talk with Judith had doubled his determination to enter the upperworld, and yet changed his regard for it. It became Judith's world,seeming to-night like a house which she inhabited, more precious by herpresence. And because she was so much finer than he had imagined thewomen of her class, her sphere looked farther away, and hisdetermination to enter it was tempered by the fear of failure.
As he took the first step in his new venture, he had been half ashamedof his desire to "better himself," quite unable to justify himself byappeal to the natural American wish to obtain the highest indorsement ofhis community. So long as there had been anything left for him to win,he had turned instinctively toward it. Now he suddenly realised that hefaced his greatest fight. He had often said that he liked fighting; hehad struggled for many years with all the power of nerve and mind.To-night his brain seemed weary, bruised and scarred as a body might be.Watching the house where Judith was, contemplating her image, a softnesscame over Ellis, new to him; resolution became a wish, and then turnedto yearning. It was with difficulty that he roused himself, surprisemingling with his contempt of the unrecognised sensation. He was in forit now, he told himself almost roughly; the game was worth the candle,and he would see it through.