CHAPTER VIII
THE PROGRESS OF ACQUAINTANCE
Judith, before she met Ellis for this second time, had been bored.Chebasset was so dull that it was dreary; in the country-houses weregiven little teas, slow whist-parties, or stupid luncheons. Of the youngpeople of her age some had married, others had gone into business, andthe self-content of the first of these was not to be disturbed, nor thefatigue of the others to be increased, for the sake of giving Judith agood time. She became a little impatient with her surroundings,therefore, and as the sizzling summer brought physical discomfort, shewas inclined to lay the blame where it could scarcely with justice besaid to belong. Yet while her acquaintances were not responsible for theheat, Judith, with her abundant energies unused, was right in feelingthat society was sunk in sloth, and that instead of giving itself topetty diversions it had better do something worth while. She wasdiscontented with herself, her idleness, her uselessness; she felt thatshe would rather face even the heat of the city, and be doing, than staylonger on her piazza and keep cool. Therefore she had sought the dustyroad as a sort of penance, and meeting Ellis, had been reminded of whathe stood for: the world of working men and women.
She had thought of him many times since their first meeting, making hisachievements a standard to which only Pease and Fenno approximated, andof which Mather fell far short. She had continued to read of Ellis inthe newspapers, to watch his slow course of uninterrupted success, andhad come to accept the popular idea of his irresistible genius. Feelingthis natural admiration of his immense energy and skill, in her heartshe made little of the two obstacles which were said to lie in his path.For it was claimed, first, that some day the street-railway would provetoo much for him, bringing him as it did in contact with the organisedmass of labourers, and with the public which Mather had accustomed to anexcellent standard of service. Could Ellis always maintain the presentdelicate balance between dividends, wages, and efficiency? Again it wassaid that some day he would come in conflict with Judith's own class,which, when it chose to exert its power, would rise and hurl him down.Judith put no belief in either of these prophesies, considering Ellisable to avoid all difficulties, her caste too flabby to oppose him. Soshe thought of him as destined always to conquer; he would win his wayeven among the elect, and might become a friend of hers. For she couldhelp him; they were alike in their loneliness, and their outlook uponlife was the same. Therefore when she met him she welcomed him.
A fillip to the wheel of her fate was given as she and Ellis went up thehill. They met Miss Fenno coming down. Now Miss Fenno was the extremetype of the society-bred person, knowing nothing but the one thing. Herinterests were so small that they included less than the proverbialfour-hundred people; her prejudices were so large that they formed asort of Chinese wall to exclude any real humanity of soul. And all shedid at this juncture was to gaze very superciliously at Ellis, and thento give the coldest of nods to Judith as she passed.
"The Fenno manner," grumbled Ellis to himself.
But Judith flamed with resentment. She brought Ellis up to her ownpiazza, a few minutes later, with that in her bearing which her fatherrecognised as her panoply of war: quietness, erectness, something ofhauteur. The Colonel rose hastily.
"I have brought Mr. Ellis," she said.
"Glad to see him!" exclaimed the Colonel as if he had been spurred. "Mr.Ellis is a stranger in Chebasset."
Ellis had the wisdom to attempt no manner. "I come here seldom," heresponded. "You are very kind to welcome me, Colonel."
He wondered if the use of the title were proper in the upper circle, andif he should have answered differently. Moments such as this made thegame seem scarcely worth the candle; the nerve and fiber used up weremore than a day of business would require. But his qualities assertedthemselves. Here he was where he most wanted to be; he meant to win theright to come again.
"What do you think of our view?" the Colonel asked, leading his guest tothe edge of the piazza. The hill fell away steeply, the town lay below,and scattered on the farther hillsides were the villas of thewell-to-do. The Colonel began pointing out the residences. "Alfred Fennoover there--Alfred, not William, you know; richer than his brother, butnot so prominent. And down there is Branderson; he overlooks the river,but he also sees the new chimney, which we miss." The Colonel added, "Agood deal of money he has spent there."
"I should think so," agreed Ellis.
"The Dents are over there," Blanchard proceeded. "Rather pretentious thehouse is, in my opinion, like--" his voice faded away; he had had inmind Ellis's own house in the city. "----Er, gingerbready, don't youthink?"
"The elms don't let me see it very well," Ellis was glad to answer. Forwhat was gingerbready? Sticky?
"But much money in it," said the Colonel. "Dent has made a good thing ofhis mills."
"Very good thing," murmured Ellis. He was interested to hear thesecomments of an insider.
"Kingston's place is over there," continued the Colonel. "Now, I like,do you know, Mr. Ellis, what Kingston has done with that house. Small,but a gem, sir--a gem! Money has not been spared--and there's lots ofmoney there!" quoth the Colonel, wagging his head.
Ellis began to perceive the monotony of these descriptions. Money,riches; riches, money. And there was an unction to each utterance whichmight betray the inner man. Judith perceived this also.
"Let us have tea," she said, and going where the tea-table stood, sherang for the maid. But the Colonel continued:
"And William Fenno is over there--a fine house, Mr. Ellis; pureGeorgian, a hundred years old if it's a day. A very old family, and avery old family fortune. The West India trade did it, before ourshipping declined."
"Long ago," murmured Ellis. He knew very little of those old days. Thepresent and the immediate future concerned him, and as for the causes ofindustrial changes, he was one himself.
"Come," insisted Judith, "come and sit down, and let us leave offtalking of people's possessions."
"Judith! My dear!" remonstrated the Colonel. But the maid was bringingout the steaming kettle, and he took his seat by the table. "Mydaughter," he said to Ellis, half playfully, "does not concern herselfwith things which you and I must consider."
Judith raised her eyebrows. "Do you take sugar, Mr. Ellis?" she asked.
"Sugar, if you please," he answered. He was divided in his interest ashe sat there, for he had taken from the chair, and now held in his hand,the newspaper which the Colonel had been reading as they arrived. Ellissaw pencillings beside the stock-exchange reports, but though he wishedto read them he did not dare, and so laid the paper aside to watchJudith make the tea. This was new to him. Mrs. Harmon had never takenthe trouble to offer him tea, though the gaudy outfit stood always inher parlour. He knew that the "proper thing" was his at last, in thisdetail, but how to take the cup, how hold it, drink from it? Confoundthe schoolboy feeling!
"It was hot in the city to-day?" asked the Colonel.
"Uncomfortable," answered Ellis. "You are fortunate, Miss Blanchard, notto have to go to the city every day, as some girls do."
"I'm not so sure," she responded. "It's dull here, doing nothing. Isometimes wish I were a stenographer."
"Judith!" exclaimed her father.
"To earn your own living?" asked Ellis.
"I should not be afraid to try," she replied.
"You'd make a good stenographer, I do believe," he exclaimed.
"Thank you," she answered.
His enthusiasm mounted. "I have a situation open!" he cried.
"You wouldn't find her spelling perfect," commented the Colonel grimly.He laughed with immense enjoyment at his joke, and at the moment BethBlanchard came out of the house and joined them.
Ellis did not see her at first; he was watching the Colonel, and divinedthat no great barrier separated him from the aristocrat; there had beenin Blanchard's manner nothing that expressed repulsion--nothing likeFenno's coolness, for instance, or the constant scrutiny which was souncomfortable. Blanchard had seemed willing to fill up
his idle hours byspeech with any one; he was a new specimen, therefore, and Ellis wasstudying him, when of a sudden he heard Judith speak his name, andlooked up to meet the gaze of a pair of quiet eyes. With a little starthe scrambled to his feet.
"My sister," Judith was saying.
He bowed and endeavoured to speak, but he felt that the beginning waswrong. Beth was in turn dissecting him; she was something entirelydifferent from Judith, more thoughtful, less headstrong. The idea thathere was an adverse influence came into his mind, as he stammered thathe was pleased to meet her.
"Thank you, Mr. Ellis," she answered. Judith noticed that Beth on herpart expressed no pleasure. The little sister had individuality, with apersistence in her own opinion which sometimes contrasted strongly withher usual softness. But the incident was brief, for Beth's eye lightedas she saw a visitor at the corner of the piazza, hesitating with hat inhand.
"Mr. Pease!" she exclaimed.
The little conventionalities of this new welcome also passed. Mr. Peasehad met Mr. Ellis; he was delighted to find the family at home; theothers were equally pleased that he had come. But when the pause came itwas awkward, for Judith and Ellis were clearly uncongenial with Beth andPease; it required the Colonel's intervention to prevent a hopelessattempt at general conversation. He drew Ellis away; Judith followed,and Beth sat down to serve Pease with tea.
Then the Colonel himself withdrew, on pretext of the need to catch themail. He went into the library to write, and Judith turned to Ellis.
"Can we go from here to see the land you spoke of?"
"The old Welton place," he said. "Do you know the way?"
"Certainly," answered Judith. They excused themselves to the others.
As they prepared to go, the Colonel looked at them from his desk; thenturned his eyes on Beth and Pease. A thrill of wonder, then a sense ofexultation seized him. Attractive girls they both were, and the men werethe two richest in the city.
Judith conducted Ellis through shrubbery and across fields, up thehillside to a spot where little trees were growing in an old cellar,while charred timbers lying half buried spoke of the catastrophe whichhad destroyed the house. "I remember the fire," Judith said. "I was achild then, but I stood at the window in the night, mother holding me,and watched the house burn down. Mr. Welton would neither build againnor sell. But the place is on the market now?"
"He's to marry again, I understand," answered Ellis. They both acceptedthe fact as explaining any and all departures from previous lines ofconduct.
"Would you build on this spot?" she asked him.
"What would you advise?" he returned. She swept the situation with hergaze.
"There are sites higher up, or lower down," she said. "Lower is too low.Higher--you might see the chimney."
Ellis noted with satisfaction the prejudice against Mather's landmark,but he passed the remark by. "Don't you like," he said, "a house placedat the highest possible point? It is so striking."
"Couldn't it be too much so?" she inquired.
He turned his sharp look on her, willing to take a lesson and at thesame time make it evident that he welcomed the instruction. "That is anew idea," he said. "It explains why that chimney, for instance, isunpleasant."
"It is so tall and--stupid," explained Judith; "and you never can getrid of it."
"I understand," he said. "Then perhaps this is the best place to build.I could get it roofed in before winter, easily, and have the whole thingready by next summer. Stables where the barn stands, I suppose. Myarchitect could get out the plans in a fortnight."
"The same architect," queried Judith, "that built your city house?"There was that in her voice which seized Ellis's attention.
"You don't like his work?" he demanded.
"Why," she hesitated, caught, "I--you wouldn't put a city house here,would you?"
"I like the kind," he said. "Stone, you know; turrets, carvings, imps,and that sort of thing. All hand-work, but they get them out quickly.Kind of a tall house. Wouldn't that do here?"
"No, no, Mr. Ellis," she answered quickly, almost shuddering at hisdescription. "Think how out of place--here. On a hill a low house, but along one if you need it, is proper."
"Oh," he said slowly, thinking. "Seems reasonable. But tall is the kindSmithson always builds."
"I know," answered Judith. Smithson was responsible for a good deal, inthe city.
Again Ellis searched her face. "You don't care for my city house?"
She had to tell the truth. "For my taste," she acknowledged, "it's alittle--ornate."
"That's ornamental?" he asked. "But that's what I like about it. Don'tthe rest of my neighbours care for it any more than you do?"
"Some do not," she admitted.
"I guess that most of you don't, then," he decided. "Well, well, how afellow makes mistakes! One of those quiet buildings with columns, now,such as I tore down, I suppose would have been just the thing?"
"Yes," she said. "But Mr. Ellis, you mustn't think----"
He smiled. "Never mind, Miss Blanchard. You would say something nice,I'm sure, but the mischief's done; the building's there, ain't it?"
"I wish----" she began.
"And really I'm obliged to you," he went on. "Because I might have builta house here just like the other. Now we'll have it right--if I decideto build here at all."
"Then you've not made up your mind?"
"Almost," he said. "The bargain's all but closed. Only it seems souseless, for a bachelor." He looked at her a moment. "Give me youradvice," he begged. "Sometimes I think I'm doing the foolish thing."
"Why, Mr. Ellis, what can I--and it's not my affair."
"Make it your affair!" he urged. "This is very important to me. I don'twant to sicken these people by crowding in; you saw what Miss Fennothought of me this afternoon. But if there is any chance for me--what doyou say?"
It was the mention of Miss Fenno that did it. She sprang up in Judith'sconsciousness, clothed in her armour of correctness--proper, prim, andstupid. And in Judith was roused wrath against this type of her life,against her class and its narrowness. She obeyed her impulse, and turneda quickening glance on him.
"Would you turn back now?" she asked.
"That is enough!" he cried, with sudden vehemence.
For a while they stood and said no more. Judith saw that he lookedaround him on the level space where his house was to stand; then he casthis glance down toward those estates which he would overlook. His eyealmost flashed--was there more of the hawk or the eagle in his gaze?Judith thought it was the eagle; she knew she had stirred him anew tothe struggle, and was exhilarated. Unmarked at the moment, she had takena step important to them both. She had swayed him to an importantdecision, and had become in a sense an adviser.
Yet aside from that, she had stimulated him strangely. Her enthusiasmwas communicable--not through its loftiness, for from that he shrankwith mistrust, but through its energy and daring. She drew him in spiteof her ignorance and misconceptions: dangerous as these might be to himif she should come to learn the truth about his practices, he thoughtthat in her love of action lay an offset to them, while her restlessnessand curiosity were two strong motives in his favour. She was fearless,even bold, and that high spirit of hers had more charm for him than allher beauty. He did not see, and it was long before he understood, thatsomething entirely new in him had been roused by contact with her; themost that he felt was that he was satisfied as never before, that shehad strengthened his impulse to work and to achieve, and that with herto help him he would be irresistible. Yes, he had chosen well!