A CALIFORNIAN
BY
GERALDINE BONNER
From _Harper's Magazine_ _Copyright_, 1905, by Harper and Brothers
IT WAS nearly ten o'clock when Jack Faraday ascended the steps of MadameDelmonti's bow-windowed mansion and pressed the electric bell. He was alittle out of breath and nervous, for, being young and a stranger to SanFrancisco, and almost a stranger to Madame Delmonti, he did not exactlyknow at what hour his hostess's _conversazione_ might begin, and hadupon him the young man's violent dread of being conspicuously early orconspicuously late.
It did not seem that he was either. As he stood in the doorway andsurveyed the field, he felt, with a little rising breath of relief, thatno one appeared to take especial notice of him. Madame Delmonti's roomswere lit with a great blaze of gas, which, thrown back from many longmirrors and the gold mountings of a quantity of furniture and pictureframes, made an effect of dazzling yellow brightness, as brilliantlyglittering as the transformation scene of a pantomime.
In the middle of the glare Madame Delmonti's company had disposedthemselves in a circle, which had some difficulty in accommodatingitself to the long narrow shape of the drawing-room. Now and then anobstinate sofa or extra large plush-covered arm-chair broke theharmonious curve of the circle, and its occupant looked furtively ill atease, as if she felt the embarrassment of her position in not conformingto the general harmony of the curving line.
The eyes of the circle were fixed on a figure at the piano, near the endof the room--a tall dark Jewess in a brown dress and wide hat, who wassinging with that peculiar vibrant richness of tone that is so oftenheard in the voices of the Californian Jewesses. She was perfectlyself-possessed, and her velvet eyes, as her impassioned voice rose alittle, rested on Jack Faraday with a cheerful but not very livelyinterest. Then they swept past him to where on a sofa, quite out of thecircle, two women sat listening.
One was a young girl, large, well-dressed, and exceedingly handsome; theother a peaked lady, passee and thin, with her hair bleached to a canaryyellow. The Jewess, still singing, smiled at them, and the girl gaveback a lazy smile in return. Then as the song came to a deep and mellowclose, Madame Delmonti, with a delicate rustling of silk brushingagainst silk, swept across the room and greeted her guest.
Madame Delmonti was an American, very rich, a good deal made up, butstill pretty, and extremely well preserved. Signor Delmonti, an Italianbaritone, whom she had married, and supported ever since, was usefulabout the house, as he now proved by standing at a little table andladling punch into small glasses, which were distributed among theguests by the two little Delmonti girls in green silk frocks. MadameDelmonti, with her rouged cheeks and merry grey eyes, as full of sparkleas they had been twenty years ago, was very cordial to her guest, askinghim, as they stood in the doorway, whom he would best like to meet.
"Maud Levy, who has been singing," she said, "is one of the belles inHebrew society. She has a fine voice. You have no objection, Mr.Faraday, to knowing Jews?"
Faraday hastily disclaimed all race prejudices, and she continued,discreetly designating the ladies on the sofa:
"There are two delightful girls. Mrs. Peck, the blonde, is the societywriter for the _Morning Trumpet_. She is an elegant woman of a very fineSouthern family, but she has had misfortunes. Her marriage was unhappy.She and Peck are separated now, and she supports herself and her twochildren. There was no hope of getting alimony out of that man."
"And that is Genevieve Ryan beside her," Madame Delmonti went on. "Ithink you'd like Genevieve. She's a grand girl. Her father, you know, isBarney Ryan, one of our millionaires. He made his money in a quick turnin Con. Virginia, but before that he used to drive the Marysville coach,and he was once a miner. He's crazy about Genevieve and gives her fivehundred a month to dress on. I'm sure you'll get on very well together.She's such a refined, pleasant girl"----and Madame Delmonti, chatteringher praises of Barney Ryan's handsome daughter, conducted the strangerto the shrine.
Miss. Genevieve smiled upon him, much as she had upon the singer, andbrushing aside her skirts of changeable green and heliotrope silk,showed him a little golden-legged chair beside her. Mrs. Peck and MadameDelmonti conversed with unusual insight and knowledge on the singing ofMaud Levy, and Faraday was left to conduct the conversation with theheiress of Barney Ryan.
She was a large, splendid-looking girl, very much corseted, with anivory-tinted skin, eyes as clear as a young child's and smooth freshlyred lips. She was a good deal powdered on the bridge of her nose, andher rich hair was slightly tinted with some reddish dye. She was apicture of health and material well being. Her perfectly fitting clothessat with wrinkleless exactitude over a figure which in its generousbreadth and finely curved outline might have compared with that of theVenus of Milo. She let her eyes, shadowed slightly by the white laceedge of her large hat, whereon two pink roses trembled on large stalks,dwell upon Faraday with a curious and frank interest entirely devoid ofcoquetry. Her manner, almost boyish in its simple directness, showed thesame absence of this feminine trait. While she looked like a goddessdressed by Worth, she seemed merely a good-natured, phlegmatic girl justemerging from her teens.
Faraday had made the first commonplaces of conversation, when she asked,eyeing him closely, "Do you like it out here?"
"Oh, immensely," he responded, politely. "It's such a fine climate."
"It is a good climate," admitted Miss. Ryan, with unenthusiasticacquiescence; "but we are not so proud of that as we are of the goodlooks of the Californian women. Don't you think the women are handsome?"
Faraday looked into her clear and earnest eyes.
"Oh splendid," he answered, "especially their eyes."
Miss. Ryan appeared to demur to this commendation. "It's generally saidby strangers that their figures are unusually handsome. Do you thinkthey are?"
Faraday agreed to this too.
"The girls in the East," said Miss. Ryan, sitting upright with acreaking sound, and drawing her gloves through one satin-smooth,bejeweled hand, "are very thin, aren't they? Here, I sometimesthink"--she raised her eyes to his in deep and somewhat anxiousquery--"that they are too fat?"
Faraday gallantly scouted the idea. He said the California woman was agoddess. For the first time in the interview Miss. Ryan gave a littlelaugh.
"That's what all you Eastern men say," she said. "They're always tellingme I'm a goddess. Even the Englishmen say that."
"Well," answered Faraday, surprised at his own boldness, "what they sayis true."
Miss. Ryan silently eyed him for a speculating moment; then, avertingher glance, said, pensively: "Perhaps so; but I don't think it's sostylish to be a goddess as it is to be very slim. And then, youknow----" Here she suddenly broke off, her eyes fixed upon the crowd ofladies that blocked an opposite doorway in exeunt. "There's mommer. Iguess she must be going home, and I suppose I'd better go too, and notkeep her waiting."
She rose as she spoke, and with a pat of her hand adjusted herglimmering skirts.
"Oh, Mr. Faraday," she said, as she peered down at them, "I hope you'llgive yourself the pleasure of calling on me. I'm at home almost anyafternoon after five, and Tuesday is my day. Come whenever you please.I'll be real glad to see you, and I guess popper'd like to talk to youabout things in the East. He's been in Massachusetts too."
She held out her large white hand and gave Faraday a vigoroushand-shake.
"I'm glad I came here tonight," she said, smiling. "I wasn't quitedecided, but I thought I'd better, as I had some things to tell Mrs.Peck for next Sunday's _Trumpet_. If I hadn't come, I wouldn't have metyou. You needn't escort me to Madame Delmonti. I'd rather go by myself.I'm not a bit a ceremonious person. Good-by. Be sure and come and seeme."
She rustled away, exchanged farewells with Madame Delmonti, and, by amovement of her head in his direction, appeared to be speaking ofFaraday; then joining a fur-muffled female figure near the doorway,swept like a princess out of the room.
For a week after Faraday's meeting w
ith Miss. Genevieve Ryan, he had notime to think of giving himself the pleasure of calling upon that fairand flattering young lady. The position which he had come out fromBoston to fill was not an unusually exacting one, but Faraday, who wastroubled with a New England conscience, and a certain slowness inadapting himself to new conditions of life, was too engrossed inmastering the duties of his clerkship to think of loitering about thechariot wheels of beauty.
By the second week, however, he had shaken down into the new rut, and afavorable opportunity presenting itself in a sunny Sunday afternoon, hedonned his black coat and high hat and repaired to the mansion of BarneyRyan, on California Street.
When Faraday approached the house, he felt quite timid, so imposinglydid this great structure loom up from the simpler dwellings whichsurrounded it. Barney Ryan had built himself a palace, and ever sincethe day he had first moved into it he had been anxious to move out. Theladies of his family would not allow this, and so Barney endured hisgrandeur as best he might. It was a great wooden house, with immense baywindows thrown out on every side, and veiled within by long curtains ofheavy lace. The sweep of steps that spread so proudly from the porticowas flanked by two sleeping lions in stone, both appearing, by thesavage expressions which distorted their visages, to be suffering fromterrifying dreams. In the garden the spiked foliage of the dark, slenderdracaenas and the fringed fans of giant filamentosas grew luxuriantlywith tropical effect.
The large drawing-room, long, and looking longer with its wide mirrors,was even more golden than Mrs. Delmonti's. There were gold moldingsabout the mirrors and gold mountings to the chairs. In deserts of goldframes appeared small oases of oil-painting. Faraday, hat in hand, stoodsome time in wavering indecision, wondering in which of the brocaded andgilded chairs he would look least like a king in an historical play. Hewas about to decide in favor of a pale blue satin settee, when a rustlebehind him made him turn and behold Miss. Genevieve magnificent in atrailing robe of the faintest rose-pink and pearls, with diamondear-rings in her ears, and the powder that she had hastily rubbed on herface still lying white on her long lashes. She smiled her rare smile asshe greeted him, and sitting down in one of the golden chairs, leanedher head against the back, and said, looking at him from under loweredlids:
"Well, I thought you were never coming!"
Faraday, greatly encouraged by this friendly reception, made hisexcuses, and set the conversation going. After the weather had beenexhausted, the topic of the Californian in his social aspect came up.Faraday, with some timidity, ventured a question on the fashionable lifein San Francisco. A shade passed over Miss. Ryan's open countenance.
"You know, Mr. Faraday," she said, explanatorily, "I'm not exactly insociety."
"No?" murmured Faraday, mightily surprised, and wondering what she wasgoing to say next.
"Not exactly," continued Miss. Ryan, moistening her red under lip in apondering moment--"not exactly in fash'nable society. Of course we haveour friends. But gentlemen from the East that I've met have always beenso surprised when I told them that I didn't go out in the mostfash'nable circles. They always thought any one with money could getright in it here."
"Yes?" said Faraday, whose part of the conversation appeared to bedeteriorating into monosyllables.
"Well, you know, that's not the case at all. With all popper's money,we've never been able to get a real good footing. It seems funny tooutsiders, especially as popper and mommer have never been divorced oranything. We've just lived quietly right here in the city always. But,"she said, looking tentatively at Faraday to see how he was going to takethe statement, "my father's a Northerner. He went back and fought in thewar."
"You must be very proud of that," said Faraday, feeling that he couldnow hazard a remark with safety.
This simple comment, however, appeared to surprise the enigmatic Miss.Ryan.
"Proud of it?" she queried, looking in suspended doubt at Faraday. "Oh,of course I'm proud that he was brave, and didn't run away or getwounded; but if he'd been a Southerner we would have been in societynow." She looked pensively at Faraday. "All the fashionable people areSoutherners, you know. We would have been, too, if we'd have beenSoutherners. It's being Northerners that really has been such adrawback."
"But your sympathies," urged Faraday, "aren't they with the North?"
Miss. Ryan ran the pearl fringe of her tea-gown through her large,handsome hands. "I guess so," she said, indifferently, as if she wasconsidering the subject for the first time; "but you can't expect me tohave any very violent sympathies about a war that was dead and buriedbefore I was born."
"I don't believe you're a genuine Northerner, or Southerner either,"said Faraday, laughing.
"I guess not," said the young lady, with the same placid indifference."An English gentleman whom I knew real well last year said the sympathyof the English was all with the Southerners. He said they were the mostrefined people in this country. He said they were thought a great dealof in England?" She again looked at Faraday with her air of deprecatingquery, as if she half expected him to contradict her.
"Who was this extraordinarily enlightened being?" asked Faraday.
"Mr. Harold Courtney, an elegant Englishman. They said his grandfatherwas a Lord--Lord Hastings--but you never can be sure about those things.I saw quite a good deal of him, and I sort of liked him, but he wasrather quiet. I think if he'd been an American we would have thought himdull. Here they just said it was reserve. We all thought----"
A footstep in the hall outside arrested her recital. The door of theroom was opened, and a handsome bonneted head appeared in the aperture.
"Oh, Gen," said this apparition, hastily--"excuse me; I didn't know youhad your company in there?"
"Come in, mommer," said Miss. Ryan, politely; "I want to make youacquainted with Mr. Faraday. He's the gentleman I met at MadameDelmonti's the other evening."
Mrs. Ryan, accompanied by a rich rustling of silk, pushed open the door,revealing herself to Faraday's admiring eyes as a fine-looking woman,fresh in tint, still young, of a stately figure and imposing presence.She was admirably dressed in a walking costume of dark green, and wore alittle black jet bonnet on her slightly waved bright brown hair. She metthe visitor with an extended hand and a frank smile of open pleasure.
"Genevieve spoke to me of you, Mr. Faraday," she said, settling downinto a chair and removing her gloves. "I'm very glad you managed to getaround here."
Faraday expressed his joy at having been able to accomplish the visit.
"We don't have so many agreeable gentlemen callers," said Mrs. Ryan,"that we can afford to overlook a new one. If you've been in society,you've perhaps noticed, Mr. Faraday, that gentlemen are somewhatscarce."
Faraday said he had not been in society, therefore had not observed thedeficiency. Mrs. Ryan, barely allowing him time to complete hissentence, continued, vivaciously:
"Well, Mr. Faraday, you'll see it later. We entertainers don't know whatwe are going to do for the lack of gentlemen. When we give parties weask the young gentlemen, and they all come; but they won't dance, theywon't talk, they won't do anything but eat and drink and they neverthink of paying their party calls. It's disgraceful, Mr. Faraday," saidMrs. Ryan, smiling brightly--"disgraceful!"
Faraday said he had heard that in the East the hostess made the samecomplaint. Mrs. Ryan, with brilliant fixed eyes, gave him abreathing-space to reply in, and then started off again, with aconfirmatory nod of her head:
"Precisely, Mr. Faraday--just the case here. At Genevieve's debutparty--an elegant affair--Mrs. Peck said she'd never seen a finerentertainment in this city--canvas floors, four musicians, champagneflowing like water. My husband, Mr. Faraday believes in giving the bestat his entertainments; there's not a mean bone in Barney Ryan's body.Why, the men all got into the smoking-room, lit their cigars, and smokedthere, and in the ballroom were the girls sitting around the walls, andnot more than half a dozen partners for them. I tell you, Mr. Ryan wasmad. He just went up there, and told them to get up and dance or get
upand go home----he didn't much care which. There's no fooling with Mr.Ryan when he's roused. You remember how mad popper was that night, Gen?"
Miss. Ryan nodded an assent, her eyes full of smiling reminiscence. Shehad listened to her mother's story with unmoved attention and evidentappreciation. "Next time we have a party," she said, looking smilinglyat Faraday, "Mr. Faraday can come and see for himself."
"I guess it'll be a long time before we have another like that," saidMrs. Ryan, somewhat grimly, rising as Faraday rose to take his leave."Not but what," she added, hastily, fearing her remark had seemedungracious, "we'll hope Mr. Faraday will come without waiting forparties."
"But we've had one since then," said Miss. Ryan, as she placed her handin his in the pressure of farewell, "that laid all over that first one."
Having been pressed to call by both mother and daughter, and having toldhimself that Genevieve Ryan was "an interesting study," Faraday, aftersome hesitation, paid a second visit to the Ryan mansion. Upon thisoccasion the Chinese servant, murmuring unintelligibly, showed a rootedaversion to his entering. Faraday, greatly at sea, wondering vaguely ifthe terrible Barney Ryan had issued a mandate to his hireling to refusehim admittance, was about to turn and depart, when the voice of Mrs.Ryan in the hall beyond arrested him. Bidden to open the door, theMongolian reluctantly did so and Faraday was admitted.
"Sing didn't want to let you in," said Mrs. Ryan when they had gainedthe long gold drawing-room, "because Genevieve was out. He never letsany gentlemen in when she's not at home. He thinks I'm too old to havethem come to see me."
Then they sat down, and after a little preliminary chat on the Chinesecharacter and the Californian climate, Mrs. Ryan launched forth into herfavorite theme of discourse.
"Genevieve will be so sorry to miss you," she said; "she's always sotaken by Eastern gentlemen. They admire her, too, immensely. I can'ttell you of the compliments we've heard directly and indirectly thatthey've paid her. Of course I can see that she's an unusuallyfine-looking girl, and very accomplished. Mr. Ryan and I have sparednothing in her education--nothing. At Madame de Vivier's academy foryoung ladies--one of the most select in the State--Madame's husband'sone of the French nobility, and she always had to support him--Genevievetook every extra--music, languages, and drawing. Professor Rodriguez,who taught her the guitar, said that never outside of Spain had he heardsuch a touch. 'Senora,' he says to me--that's his way of expressinghimself, and it sounds real cute the way he says it--'Senora, is therenot some Spanish blood in this child? No one without Spanish bloodcould touch the strings that way.' Afterwards when Demaroni taught herthe mandolin, it was just the same. He could not believe she had not hadteaching before. Then Madame Mezzenott gave her a term's lessons on thebandurria, and she said there never was such talent; she might have madea fortune on the concert stage."
"Yes, undoubtedly," Faraday squeezed in, as Mrs. Ryan drew a breath.
"Indeed, Mr. Faraday, everybody has remarked her talents. It isn't youalone. All the Eastern gentlemen we have met have said that the musicaltalents of the Californian young ladies were astonishing They all agreethat Genevieve's musical genius is remarkable. Everybody declares thatthere is no one--not among the Spaniards themselves--who sings _LaPaloma_ as Gen does. Professor Spighetti instructed her in that. He wasa wonderful teacher. I never saw such a method. But we had to give himup because he fell in love with Gen. That's the worst of it--theteachers are always falling in love with her; and with her prospects andposition we naturally expect something better. Of course it's been veryhard to keep her. I say to Mr. Ryan, as each winter comes to an end,'Well, popper, another season's over and we've still got our Gen.' Wefeel that we can't be selfish and hope to keep her always, and, with somany admirers, we realize that we must soon lose her, and try to getaccustomed to the idea."
"Of course, of course," murmured Faraday, sympathetically, mentallypicturing Mrs. Ryan keeping away the suitors as Rizpah kept the eaglesand vultures off her dead sons.
"There was a Mr. Courtney who was very attentive last year. Hisgrandfather was an English lord. We had to buy a _Peerage_ to find outif he was genuine, and, as he was, we had him quite often to the house.He paid Genevieve a good deal of attention, but toward the end of theseason he said he had to go back to England and see his grandfather--hisfather was dead--and left without saying anything definite. He told methough, that he was coming back. I fully expect he will, though Mr. Ryandoesn't seem to think so. Genevieve felt rather put out about it for atime. She thought he hadn't been upright to see her so constantly andnot say anything definite. But she doesn't understand the subserviencyof Englishmen to their elders. You know, we have none of that in thiscountry. If my son Eddie wanted to marry a typewriter, Mr. Ryan couldnever prevent it. I fully expect to see Mr. Courtney again. I'd like youto meet him, Mr. Faraday. I think you'd agree very well. He's just sucha quiet, reserved young man as you."
When, after this interview, Faraday descended the broad steps betweenthe sleeping lions, he did not feel so good-tempered as he had doneafter his first visit. He recalled to mind having heard that Mrs. Ryan,before her marriage, had been a schoolteacher, and he said to himselfthat if she had no more sense then than she had now, her pupils musthave received a fearful and wonderful education.
At Madame Delmonti's _conversazione_, given a few evenings later,Faraday again saw Miss. Ryan. On the first of these occasions thisindependent young lady was dressed simply in a high-necked gown and ahat. This evening with her habitual disregard of custom and convention,some whim had caused her to array herself in full gala attire, and,habited in a gorgeous costume of white silk and yellow velvet, with aglimmer of diamonds round the low neck, she was startling in her largemagnificence.
Jack Faraday approached her somewhat awe-stricken, but her gravelyboyish manner immediately put him at his ease. Talking with her overcommonplaces, he wondered what she would say if she knew of her mother'sconversation with him. As if in answer to the unspoken thought, shesuddenly said fixing him with intent eyes:
"Mommer said she told you of Mr. Courtney. Do you think he'll comeback?"
Faraday, his breath taken away by the suddenness of the attack, felt theblood run to his hair, and stammered a reply.
"Well, you know," she said, leaning toward him confidentially, "I_don't_. Mommer is possessed with the idea that he will. But neitherpopper nor I think so. I got sort of annoyed with the way heacted--hanging about for a whole winter, and then running away to seehis grandfather, like a little boy ten years old! I like men that aretheir own masters. But I suppose I would have married him. You see, hewould have been a lord when his grandfather died. It was genuine--we sawit in the _Peerage_."
She looked into Faraday's eyes. Her own were as clear and deep asmountain springs. Was Miss. Genevieve Ryan the most absolutely honestand outspoken young woman that had ever lived, or was she some subtleand unusual form of Pacific Slope coquette?
"Popper was quite mad about it," she continued. "He thought Mr. Courtneywas an ordinary sort of person, anyway. I didn't. I just thought himdull, and I suppose he couldn't help that. Mommer wanted to go over toEngland last summer. She thought we might stumble on him over there. Butpopper wouldn't let her do it. He sent us to Alaska instead." Shepaused, and gave a smiling bow to an acquaintance. "Doesn't Mrs. Pecklook sweet tonight?" She designated the society editress of the _MorningTrumpet_, whose fragile figure was encased in a pale blue Empirecostume. "And that lady over by the door, with the gold crown in herhair, the stout one in red, is Mrs. Wheatley, a professional Delsarteteacher. She's a great friend of mine and gives me Delsarte twice aweek."
And Miss. Genevieve Ryan nodded to the dispenser of "Delsarte," a largeand florid woman, who, taking her stand under a spreading palm tree,began to declaim "The Portrait" of Owen Meredith, and in the recital ofthe dead lady's iniquitous conduct the conversation was brought to aclose.
From its auspicious opening, Faraday's acquaintance with the Ryansripened and developed with a speed which characterizes t
he growth offriendship and of fruit in the genial Californian atmosphere. Almostbefore he felt that he had emerged from the position of a stranger hehad slipped into that of an intimate. He fell into the habit of visitingthe Ryan mansion on California Street on Sunday afternoons. It became acustom for him to dine there _en famille_ at least once a week. Thesimplicity and light-hearted good-nature of these open-handed andkindly people touched and charmed him. There was not a trace of the snobin Faraday. He accepted the lavish and careless hospitality of BarneyRyan's "palatial residence," as the newspapers delighted to call it,with a spirit as frankly pleased as that in which it was offered.
He came of an older civilization than that which had given Barney Ryan'sdaughter her frankness and her force, and it did not cross his mind thatthe heiress of millions might cast tender eyes upon the penniless sonsof New England farmers. He said to himself with impatient recklessnessthat he ought not to and would not fall in love with her. There was toogreat a distance between them. It would be King Cophetua and thebeggar-maid reversed. Clerks at one hundred and fifty dollars a monthwere not supposed to aspire to only daughters of bonanza kings in thecircle from which Faraday had come. So he visited the Ryans, assuringhimself that he was a friend of the family, who would dance at MissGenevieve's wedding with the lightest of hearts.
The Chinese butler had grown familiar with Faraday's attractivecountenance and his unabbreviated English, when late one warm and sunnyafternoon the young man pulled the bell of the great oaken door of theRyans' lion-guarded home. In answer to his queries for the ladies, helearned that they were out; but the Mongolian functionary, aftersurveying him charily through the crack of the door, admitted that Mr.Ryan was within, and conducted the visitor into his presence.
Barney Ryan, suffering from a slight sprain in his ankle, sat at ease ina little sitting-room in the back of the house. Mr. Ryan, beingirritable and in some pain, the women-folk had relaxed the severity oftheir dominion, and allowed him to sit unchecked in his favorite costumefor the home circle--shirt sleeves and a tall beaver hat. Beside him onthe table stood bare and undecorated array of bottles, a glass, and asilver water-pitcher.
Mr. Ryan was now some years beyond sixty, but had that tremendous vigorof frame and constitution that distinguished the pioneers--an attributestrangely lacking in their puny and degenerate sons. This short andchunky old man, with his round, thick head, bristling hair and beard,and huge red neck, had still a fiber as tough as oak. He looked coarse,uncouth, and stupid, but in his small gray eyes shone the alert andunconquerable spirit which marked the pioneers as the giants of theWest, and which had carried him forward over every obstacle to thesummit of his ambitions. Barney Ryan was restless in his confinement;for, despite his age and the completeness of his success, his life wasstill with the world of men where the bull-necked old miner was a king.At home the women rather domineered over him, and unconsciously made himfeel his social deficiencies. At home, too, the sorrow and the pride ofhis life were always before him--his son, a weak and dissipated boy; andhis daughter, who had inherited his vigor and his spirit with a beautythat had descended to her from some forgotten peasant girl of the Irishbogs.
Faraday, with his power of listening interminably, and his intelligentcomments, was a favorite of old Ryan's. He greeted him with a growlingwelcome; and then, civilities being interchanged, called to theChinaman for another glass. This menial, rubbing off the long mirrorsthat decorated the walls, would not obey the mandate till it had beenroared at him by the wounded lion in a tone which made the chandelierrattle.
"I never can make those infernal idiots understand me," said old Ryan,plaintively. "They won't do a thing I tell them. It takes the old ladyto manage 'em. She makes them skip."
Then after some minutes of discourse on more or less uninterestingmatters, the weary old man, glad of a listener, launched forth intodomestic topics.
"Gen and the old lady are out buying new togs. I got a letter herethat'll astonish them when they get back. It's from that English cuss,Courtney. D'ye ever hear about him? He was hanging about Genevieve alllast winter. And this letter says he's coming back, that hisgrandfather's dead, and he's a lord now, and he's coming back. Do youmind that now, Faraday?" he said, looking with eyes full of humor at theyoung man.
Faraday expressed a sharp surprise.
"You know, Jack," continued the old man, "we're trained up to havingthese high-priced Englishmen come out here and eat our dinners, andsleep in our spare rooms, and drink our wines and go home, and when theymeet us there forget they've ever seen us before; but we ain't trainedup to havin' 'em come back this way, and it's hard to get accustomed toit."
"It's not surprising," said Faraday, coldly.
"I'm not so dead sure of that. But I can tell you the old lady'll bewild about this."
"Does Mrs. Ryan like him so much?" said the visitor, still coldly.
"All women like a lord, and Mrs. Ryan ain't different from the rest ofher sex. She's dead stuck on Gen marrying him. I'm not myself, Jack. I'mno Anglomaniac; an American's good enough for me. I'm not spoiling tosee my money going to patch up the roof of the ancestral castle of theCourtneys, or pay their ancestral debts--not by a long chalk."
"Do you think he's coming back to borrow money from you to pay off theancestral debts?" asked Faraday.
"Not to borrow, Jack. Oh no, not to borrow--to get it for keeps--it, andGenevieve with it. And I don't just see how I'm to prevent it. Gen don'tseem to care much, but the old lady's got it on her mind that she'd liketo have a lord in the family, no matter how high they come; and she canwork on Gen. Last summer she wanted to go after him--wanted to track himto his lair; but I thought she might's well stop there, and put m' footdown. Gen don't seem to care about him one way or the other, but then'Lady Genevieve' sounds pretty nice----"
Here a rustle of millinery, approaching through the drawing-room beyond,cut short old Ryan's confidences. Faraday stood up to receive theladies, who entered jubilant and unwearied from an afternoon's shopping.Genevieve, a magnificent princess, with the air of fashion given byperfectly setting clothes, much brown fur and velvet, a touch of yellowlace, and a quantity of fresh violets pinned to her corsage, looked asif she would make a very fine Lady Genevieve.
As soon as she heard the news she demanded the letter, and perused itintently, Faraday covertly watching her. Raising her eyes, she met hisand said, with a little mocking air, "Well, Mr. Faraday, and what do youthink of that?"
"That your mother seems to have been right," said Faraday, steadilyeyeing her. An expression of chagrin and disappointment, rapid butunmistakable, crossed her face, dimming its radiance like a breath on amirror. She gave a little toss to her head, and turning away toward anadjacent looking-glass, took off her veil and settled her hat.
Mrs. Ryan watched her with glowing pride already seeing her in fancy amember of the British aristocracy; but old Ryan looked rather downcast,as he generally did when confronted by the triumphant gorgeousness ofthe feminine members of his household. Faraday, too, experienced asudden depression of spirits so violent and so uncalled for that if hehad had room for any other feeling he would have been intenselysurprised. Barney Ryan, at the prospect of having to repair the breachesin the Courtney exchequer and ancestral roof-tree, may have experienceda pardonable dejection. But why should Faraday, who assured himself adozen times a day that he merely admired Miss. Genevieve, as any manmight admire a charming and handsome girl, feel so desperate adespondency?
To prove to himself that his gloom did not rise from the cause that heknew it did rise from, Faraday continued to be a constant guest at theRyan mansion, continued to see Miss. Genevieve at Madame Delmonti's andat the other small social gatherings, where the presentable young NewEnglander found himself quite a lion. When Mrs. Ryan saw him alone sheflattered his superior intelligence and experience of the world byasking his opinion of the approaching Lord Hastings's matrimonial plans.This frank and outspoken lady was on the thorns of uncertainty, LordHastings's flight on his former visit having sh
aken her faith in him.Quite unconsciously she impressed upon Faraday how completely both sheand Genevieve had come to trust him as a tried friend.
With the exaltation of a knight of old, Faraday felt that their trustwould never be misplaced. He answered Mrs. Ryan's anxious queries withall the honesty of the calmest friendship. Alone in the great golddrawing-room, he talked to Genevieve on books, on music, on fashion, onsociety--on all subjects but that of love. And all the while he feltlike the nightingale who sings its sweetest music while pressing itsbreast against a thorn.
Lord Hastings seemed to have lost no time in repairing to the side ofthe fair lady who was supposed to be the object of his fondestdevotions, and whom destiny appeared to have selected as the renovatorof Courtney Manor. Four weeks from the day Faraday had heard of hisintended visit, the Bostonian received a letter from Mrs. Ryan biddinghim to dinner to meet the illustrious guest. It seemed to Faraday thatto go to see the newcomer in converse with Genevieve, beautiful in hercostliest robes, to view the approving smiles of Mrs. Ryan, and perhapsthe happy blushes of Miss. Ryan, was the manly upright course for onewho could never be more than the avowed friend and silent worshipper ofBarney Ryan's only daughter.
Arriving ten minutes late, he found the party already at the table. Itwas an inflexible rule of Barney Ryan's to sit down to dinner at thestroke of half-past six, whether his guests were assembled or not--arule which even his wife's cajoleries and commands were powerless tocombat.
Tonight the iron old man might well regard with pride the luxury andsplendor that crowned a turbulent career begun in nipping poverty. Theround table, glowing beneath the lights of the long crystal chandeliers,sparkled with cut-glass, and shone with antique silverware, while in thecenter a mass of pale purple orchids spread their fragile crepe-likepetals from a fringe of fern. Opposite him, still unfaded, superblydressed, and admirably self-possessed, was his smiling consort, towardwhom, whatever his pride in her might have been, his feelings thisevening were somewhat hostile, as the ambitious and determined lady hadforced him to don regulation evening dress, arrayed in which Barney'speace of mind and body both fled.
On either side of the table sat his son and daughter, the latterhandsomer than Faraday had ever seen her, her heavy dress ofivory-tinted silk no whiter than her neck, a diamond aigret tremblinglike spray in her hair. Her brother Eddie, a year and a half her senior,looked as if none of the blood of this vigorous strong-thewed, sturdystock could run in his veins. He was a pale and sickly looking lad, witha weak, vulgar face, thin hair and red eyelids. Faraday had only seenhim once or twice before, and judged from remarks made to him byacquaintances of the family that Eddie did not often honor the parentalroof with his presence. Eddie's irregular career appeared to be the onesubject on which the family maintained an immovable and melancholyreserve. The disappointment in his only son was the bitter drop inBarney Ryan's cup.
There were other guests at the table. Faraday received a coy bow fromMrs. Peck, who had given her hair an extra bleaching for this occasion,till her pinched and powdered little face looked out from under anorange-colored thatch; Mrs. Wheatley was there too, with a suggestion oflarge white shoulders shining through veilings of black gauze; and withan air of stately pride, Mrs. Ryan presented him to Lord Hastings. Thisyoung man, sitting next Genevieve, was a tall, fair, straight-featuredEnglishman of gravely unresponsive manners. In the severe perfection ofhis immaculate evening dress he looked a handsome, well-bred youngfellow of twenty-five or six.
As the late guest dropped into his seat, the interrupted conversationregathered and flowed again. Barney Ryan said nothing. He never spokewhile eating, and rarely talked when women were present. Genevieve toowas quiet, responding with a gently absent smile, when her cavalier,turning upon her his cold and expressionless steely-blue eyes, addressedto her some short regulation remark on the weather, or the boredom ofhis journey across the plains. The phlegmatic calm of his demeanorremained intact even under the coquettish onslaughts of Mrs. Peck andMrs. Wheatley, who extracted from him with wheedling perseverance hisopinions on the State, the climate, and the country. Lord Hastingsreplied with iron-bound and unsmiling brevity, his wide cold glanceresting with motionless attention upon the painted physiognomy of Mrs.Peck and the broad and buxom one of Mrs. Wheatley, and his head turningwith dignified difficulty in his exceedingly high and tight collar, asone and the other assailed him with queries. Meanwhile the object of hisjourney, slowly moving her great fan of white ostrich feathers, lookedacross the table at Faraday and made a little surreptitious _moue_.
The conversation soon became absorbed by the two married ladies,Faraday, and Lord Hastings. Only the Ryans were silent, Genevieve nowand then throwing a lazy sentence into the vortex of talk, and Mrs. Ryanbeing occupied in lending a proud ear to the coruscations of wit thatsparkled around the board, or in making covert gestures to thesoft-footed Mongols, who moved with deft noiselessness about the table.Eddie Ryan, like his father, rarely spoke in society. In the glare ofthe chandelier he sat like a strange uncomfortable guest, taking nonotice of any one. Toward the end of the feast he conversed in urgentwhispers with his mother--a conversation which ended in hersurreptitiously giving him her keys under the edge of the table. Beforecoffee, Eddie left, on the plea of an important engagement, retiringthrough the drawing-room, softly jingling the keys.
After this dinner, when Lord Hastings's presence had banished all hisdoubts, when the young Englishman's attractive appearance had impresseditself upon his jealous eye, and Genevieve's gentle indifference hadseemed to him but a modest form of encouragement. Faraday found butlittle time to pay visits to the hospitable home of Barney Ryan.
The family friend that they had all so warmly welcomed and taken totheir hearts withdrew himself quietly but firmly from their cheerfulcircle. When, at rare intervals, he did drop in upon them, he pleadedimportant business engagements as the reason of his inability to accepttheir numerous invitations to dinners and theater parties. After thesemendacious statements he would wend a gloomy way homeward to his PineStreet boarding-house, and there spend the evening pretending to read,and cursing the fate which had ever brought him within the light ofGenevieve's _beaux yeux_. The fable of being the family friend was quiteshattered. Faraday had capitulated.
Nearly two months after the dinner, when rumors of Genevieve Ryan'sengagement to Lord Hastings were in lively circulation, Faraday calledat the lion-guarded mansion on California Street, and, in answering tohis regulation request for the ladies, received the usual unintelligibleChinese rejoinder, and was shown into the gold drawing-room. There,standing in front of a long mirror, looking at her skirts with an eye ofpondering criticism, was Miss Genevieve, dressed to go out. She caughtsight of him in the glass, turned abruptly, and came forward, a color inher face.
"Is that you?" she said, holding out her hand. "I am so glad. I thoughtit was somebody else." Having thus, with her customary candor,signified to Faraday that she was expecting Lord Hastings, she sat downfacing him, and said, abruptly, "Why haven't you been here for so long?"
Faraday made the usual excuses, and did quail before her cold and steadyeyes.
"That's rather funny," she said, as he concluded "for now you're used toyour new position, and it must go more easily, and yet you have lesstime to see your friends than you did at first."
Faraday made more excuses, and wondered that she should take a cruelpleasure in such small teasing.
"I thought p'r'aps," she said, still regarding him with an unflinchingscrutiny, her face grave and almost hard, "that you'd begun to find ustoo Western, that the novelty had worn off, that our ways weretoo--too--what shall I say?--too wild and woolly."
A flush of anger ran over Faraday's face. "Your suppositions wereneither just nor true," he said, coldly.
"Oh, I don't know," she continued, with a careless movement of her head,and speaking in the high, indifferent tone that a woman adopts when shewishes to be exasperating; "you needn't get mad. Lots of Eastern peoplefeel that way. They come out here an
d see us constantly, and makefriends with us, and then go back and laugh at us, and tell theirfriends what barbarians we are. It's customary, and nothing to beashamed of."
"Do you suppose that I am that sort of an Eastern person?" askedFaraday, quietly.
"I don't know," she said, doubtfully. "I didn't think you were at first,but now----"
"But now you do. Why?"
"Because you don't come here any more," she said, with a little air oftriumph. "You're tired of us. The novelty is over and so are thevisits."
Faraday arose, too bitterly annoyed for speech. Genevieve, rising too,and touching her skirts with arranging hand, continued, apparentlyunconscious of the storm she was rousing:
"And yet it seems odd that you should find such a difference. LordHastings, now, who's English, and much more conventional, thinks thepeople here just as refined and particular as any other Americans."
"It's evident," said Faraday, in a voice roughened with anger, "thatLord Hastings's appreciation of the refinement of the Americans is onlyequaled by your admiration for the talents of the English."
"I do like them," said Genevieve, dubiously, shaking her head, as if shewas admitting a not entirely creditable taste, and looking away fromhim.
There was a moment's silence. Faraday fastened his eyes upon her in alook of passionate confession that in its powerful pleading drew her ownback to his.
"You're as honest as you are cruel," he said, almost in a whisper.
She made no reply, but turned her head sharply away, as if in suddenembarrassment. Then, in answer to his conventionally murmured good-byes,she looked back, and he saw her face radiant, alight, with the mostbeautiful smile trembling on the lips. The splendor of this look seemedto him a mute expression of her happiness--of love reciprocated,ambition realized--and in it he read his own doom. He turned blindlyround to pick up his hat; the door behind him was opened, and there,handsome, debonair, fresh as a May morning, stood Lord Hastings, hat inhand.
"I hope you're not vexed, Miss. Ryan," said this young man, "but I'mvery much afraid I'm just a bit late."
After this Faraday thought it quite unnecessary to visit Barney Ryan's"palatial mansion" for some time. Genevieve's engagement would soon beannounced, and then he would have to go and offer his congratulations.As to whether he would dance at her wedding with a light heart--that wasanother matter. He assured himself that she was making a splendid andeminently suitable marriage. With her beauty and money and true simpleheart she would deck the fine position which the Englishman could giveher. He wished her every happiness, but that he should stand by andwatch the progress of the courtship seemed to him an unnecessarytwisting of the knife in the wound. Even the endurance of New Englandhuman nature has its limits, and Faraday could stand no more. So herefused an invitation to a tea from Mrs. Ryan, and one to a dinner andanother to a small musical from Miss. Ryan, and alone in his Pine Streetlodgings, for the first time in his life, read the "social columns" witha throbbing heart.
One Saturday afternoon, two weeks from the day that he had last seenGenevieve, he sat in his room trying to read. He had left the officeearly, and though it was still some hours before dark, a heavyunremitting rain had enveloped the afternoon in a premature twilight.The perpetual run of water from a break in the gutter near his windowsounded drearily through the depressing history of the woes anddisappointments of David Grieve. The gloom of the book and the afternoonwas settling upon Faraday with the creeping stealthiness of a chill,when a knock sounded upon his door, and one of the servants withoutacquainted him with the surprising piece of intelligence that a lady waswaiting to see him in the sitting-room below.
As he entered the room, dim with the heavy somberness of the leadenatmosphere, he saw his visitor standing looking out of the window--atall, broad-shouldered, small-waisted striking figure, with a neat blackturban crowning her closely braided hair. At his step she turned, andrevealed the gravely handsome face of Genevieve Ryan. He made no attemptto take her hand, but murmured a regulation sentence of greeting; then,looking into her eyes, saw for the first time that handsome face markedwith strong emotion. Miss. Ryan was shaken from her phlegmatic calm; herhand trembled on the back of the chair before her; the little knot ofviolets in her dress vibrated to the beating of her heart.
"This is not a very conventional thing to do," she said, with her usualignoring of all preamble, "but I can't help that. I had something totalk to you about, Mr. Faraday, and as you would not come to see me, Ihad to come to see you."
"What is it that you wanted to see me about?" asked Faraday, standingmotionless, and feeling in the sense of oppression and embarrassmentthat seemed to weigh upon them both the premonition of an approachingcrisis.
She made no answer for a moment, but stood looking down, as if in aneffort to choose her words or collect her thoughts, the violets in herdress rising and falling with her quickened breathing.
"It's rather hard to know how to say--anything," she said at length.
"If I can do anything for you," said the young man, "you know it wouldalways be a happiness to me to serve you."
"Oh, it's not a message or a favor," she said, hastily. "I only wantedto say something"--she paused in great embarrassment--"but it's evenmore queer more unusual, than my coming here."
Faraday made no response, and for a space both were silent. Then shesaid, speaking with a peculiar low distinctness:
"The last time I saw you I seemed very disagreeable. I wanted to makesure of something. I wanted to make sure that you were fond of me--tosurprise it out of you. Well--I did it. You are fond of me. I made youshow it to me." She raised her eyes, brilliant and dark, and looked intohis. "If you were to swear to me now that I was wrong I would know youwere not telling the truth," she said, with proud defiance. "You loveme."
"Yes," said Faraday, slowly, "I do. What then?"
"What then?" she repeated. "Why do you go away--go away from me?"
"Because," he answered, "I am too much of a man to live within sight ofthe woman I love and can never hope for."
"Can never hope for?" she exclaimed, aghast. "Are you--are you married?"
The sudden horror on her face was a strange thing for Faraday to see.
"No," he said, "I am not married."
"Then, did she tell you that you never could hope for her?" said Miss.Genevieve Ryan, in a tremulous voice.
"No. It was not necessary. I knew myself."
"You did yourself a wrong, and her too," she broke out, passionately."You should have told her, and given her a chance to say--to say whatshe has a right to say, without making her come to you, with her love inher hand, to offer it to you as if she was afraid you were going tothrow it back in her face. It's bad enough being a woman anyway, but tohave the feelings of a woman, and then have to say a thing likethis--it's--it's--ghastly."
"Genevieve!" breathed Faraday.
"Why don't you understand?" she continued, desperately. "You won't seeit. You make me come here and tell it to you this way. I may be badlymannered and unconventional, but I have feelings and pride like otherwomen. But what else could I do?"
Her voice suddenly broke into soft appeal, and she held out her handstoward him with a gesture as spontaneous in its pleading tenderness asthough made by a child. Faraday was human. He dashed away the chair thatstood between them and clasped the trembling hands in his.
"Why is it," she asked, looking into his face with shining troubledeyes--"why is it you acted this way? Was it Lord Hastings? I refusedhim two weeks ago. I thought I'd marry him once, but that was before Iknew you. Then I waited for you, and you didn't come, and I wrote toyou, and you wouldn't come. And so I had to come and tell you myself,and it's been something dreadful."
Faraday made no response, but feeling the smooth hands curled warminside his, he stood listening to those soft accents that issued withthe sweetness that love alone lends to women's voices from lips he hadthought as far beyond his reach as the key of the rainbow.
"Do you think it was awful for me
to do it?" she queried, in whisperinganxiety.
He shook his head.
"Well," she said, laughing a little and turning her head half away, asher former embarrassment began to reassert itself over her subsidingnervousness, "I've often wished I was a man, but if it's always as awfulas that to propose to a person, I'm quite content to be a woman."