CHAPTER X
OPINIONS AND THEORIES
Mr. and Mrs. Rufus Gray were the last to leave the city, after thehouse-party. They returned to their brother Robert's home for a day,when the other guests had gone, and it was on the evening before theirdeparture that they related their experiences while at the house ofMatthew Kendrick. With most of the members of the Gray household, theywere sitting before the fire in the living-room when Aunt Ruth suddenlyspoke her mind.
"I don't know when I've felt so sorry for the too rich as I felt in thathouse," said she. She was knitting a gray silk mitten, and her needleswere flying.
"Why, Aunt Ruth?" inquired her nephew Louis, who sat next her, revellingin the comfort of home after a particularly harassing day at the office."Did they seem to lack anything in particular?"
"I should say they did," she replied. "Nothing that money can buy, ofcourse, but about everything that it can't."
"For instance?" he pursued, turning affectionate eyes upon his aunt'ssmall figure in its gray gown, as the firelight played upon it, touchingher abundant silvering locks and making her eyes seem to sparkle almostas brilliantly as her swiftly moving needles.
Aunt Ruth put down her knitting for an instant, looking at her nephew."Why, you know," said she. "You're sitting in the very middle of it thisminute!"
Louis looked about him, smiling. He was, indeed, in the midst of anaccustomed scene of both home-likeness and beauty. The living-room wasof such generous proportions that even when the entire family weregathered there they could not crowd it. On a wide couch, at one side ofthe fireplace, sat his father and mother, talking in low tonesconcerning some matter of evident interest, to judge by their intentfaces. Rosamond, like the girl she resembled, sat, girl fashion, on apile of cushions close by the fire; and Stephen, her husband, not faraway, by a table with a drop-light, was absorbed in a book. Uncle Rufuswas examining a pile of photographs on the other side of the table. Tedsprawled on a couch at the far end of the room, deep in a boy'smagazine, a reading light at his elbow. At the opposite end of the room,where the piano stood, Roberta, music rack before her, was drawing herbow across nearly noiseless strings, while Ruth picked softly at herharp: indications of intention to burst forth into musical strains whena hush should chance to fall upon the company.
Judge Calvin Gray alone was absent from the gathering, and even asLouis's eyes wandered about the pleasant room, his uncle's figureappeared in the doorway. As if he were answering his sister Ruth, JudgeGray spoke his thought.
"I wonder," said he, advancing toward the fireside, "if anywhere in thiswide world there is a happier family life than this!"
Louis sprang up to offer Judge Gray the chair he had been occupying--afavourite, luxuriously cushioned armchair, with a reading light besideit ready to be switched on at will, which was Uncle Calvin's specialtreasure, of an evening. Louis himself took up his position on thehearth-rug, opposite Rosamond.
Aunt Ruth answered her brother energetically: "None happier, Calvin,I'll warrant, and few half as happy. I can't help wishing those twopeople Rufus and I've been visiting could look in here just now."
"Why make them envious?" suggested Louis, who loved to hear his AuntRuth's crisp speeches.
"The question is--would they be envious?" This came from Stephen, whoseabsorption in his book evidently admitted of penetration from theoutside.
"Why, of course they would!" declared Aunt Ruth. "You should have seenthe way they had me pour the coffee and tea, all the while I was there.That young man Richard was always getting me to pour something--said heliked to see me do it. And he was always sending a servant off and doingthings for me himself. If I'd been a young girl he couldn't have hoveredround any more devotedly."
A general laugh greeted this, for Aunt Ruth's expression of face as shetold it was provocative.
"We can readily believe that, Ruth," declared Judge Gray, and hisbrother Robert nodded. The low-voiced talk between Mr. Robert Gray andhis wife had ceased; Stephen had laid down his book; Ruth had stoppedplucking at her harp strings; and only Roberta still seemed interestedin anything but Aunt Ruth and her experiences and opinions.
"I mended his socks and gloves for him," announced Aunt Ruthcontentedly. "You needn't tell me they don't miss a woman's hand aboutthe house, over there."
"She mended Rich Kendrick's socks and gloves!" murmured Louis, with alaughing, incredulous glance at Rosamond, who lifted delighted eyes tohim. "I can't believe it. He must have made holes in them on purpose."
"Why, not even a spendthrift would do that!" Aunt Ruth promptly deniedthe possibility of such folly. "I don't say but they are lavish withthings there. Rufus and I were a good deal bothered by all their lights.We couldn't seem to get them all put out. And every time we put themout, anywhere, somebody'd turn them on again for us."
Uncle Rufus broke in here, narrating their experience with the variousswitch-buttons in the suite of rooms, and the company laughed until theywept over his comments.
"But all that's neither here nor there," said he, finally. "Of course weweren't up to such elaborate arrangements, and it made us feel sort ofrustic. But I can tell you they didn't spare any pains to make uscomfortable and at home--if, as Ruth says, you can make anybody feel athome in a great place like that. I feel, as she does, sorry for 'emboth. They're pretty fine gentlemen, if I'm any judge, and I don't knowwhich I like better, the older or the younger."
"There can be no question about the older," said his brother, RobertGray, joining in the talk with evident interest. "Mr. Matthew Kendrickmade his place long ago in the business world as one of the great andjust. He has taught that world many fine lessons of truth and honour, aswell as of success."
Judge Gray nodded. "I'm glad to hear that you appreciate him, Robert,"said he. "Few know better than I how deserved that is. And still fewerrecognize the fine and sensitive nature behind the impression of powerhe has always given. He is the type of man, as sister Ruth here is quickto discern, who must be lonely in the midst of his great wealth, for thelack of just such a privilege as this we have here to-night, the closeassociation with people whom we love, and with whom we sympathize in allthat matters most. Matthew Kendrick was a devoted husband and father. Inspite of his grandson's presence, of late, he must sorely long forcompanionship."
"His grandson's going to give him more of that than he has," declaredAunt Ruth, smiling over her knitting as if recalling a pleasant memory."He and I had quite a bit of talk while I was there, and he's beginningto realize that he owes his grandfather more than he's given him. I hada good chance to see what was in that boy's heart, and I know there'splenty of warmth there. And there's real character in him, too. I've hadenough sons of my own to know the signs, and the fact that they werepoor in this world's goods, and he is rich--too rich--doesn't make amite of difference in the signs!"
Mrs. Robert Gray, who had been listening with an intent expression ineyes whose beauty was not more appealing than their power of observationwas keen, now spoke, and all turned to her. She was a woman whoseopinion on any subject of common interest was always waited for andattended upon. Her voice was rich and low--her family did not fully knowhow dear to their ears was the sound of that voice.
"Young Mr. Kendrick," said she, "couldn't wish, Ruth, for a morepowerful advocate than you. To have you approve him, after seeing himunder more intimate circumstances than we are likely to do, must commendhim to our good will. To tell the frank truth, I have been rather afraidto admit him to my good graces, lest there be really no great force ofcharacter, or even promise of it, behind that handsome face and winningmanner. But if you see the signs--as you say--we must look morehopefully upon him."
"She's not the only one who sees signs," asserted Judge Gray. "He'scoming on--he's coming on well, in his work with me. He's learningreally to work. I admit he didn't know how when he came to me. Somethinghas waked him up. I'm inclined to think," he went on, with a mischievousglance toward the end of the room where sat the noiseless musicians, "itmight have been my
niece Roberta's shining example of industry when shespent a day with us in my library, typing work for me back in October.Never was such a sight to serve as an inspiration for a laggardly youngman!"
There was a general laugh, and all eyes were turned toward that end ofthe room devoted to the users of the musical instruments. In responsecame a deep, resonant note from Roberta's 'cello, over which the silentbow had been for some time suspended. There followed a minor scale,descending well into the depths and vibrating dismally as it went.Louis, a mocking light in his eye, strolled down the room to hissisters.
"That's the way you feel about it, eh?" he queried, regarding Robertawith brotherly interest. "Consigning the poor, innocent chap to thebottom of the ladder, when he's doing his best to climb up to thesunshine of your smile. Have you no respect for the opinion of yourbetters?"
"Get out your fiddle and play the Grieg _Danse Caprice_, with us," washer reply, and Louis obeyed, though not without a word or two more inher ear which made her lift her bow threateningly. Presently the triowere off, playing with a spirit and dash which drew all ears, and at theclose of the _Danse_ hearty applause called for more. After thisdiversion, naturally enough, new subjects came up for discussion.
Returning to the living-room in search of a dropped letter, after thefamily had dispersed for the night, Roberta found her mother lingeringthere alone. She had drawn a low chair close to the fire, and, havingextinguished all other lights, was sitting quietly looking into thestill glowing embers. Roberta, forgetting her quest, came close, andflinging a cushion at her mother's knee dropped down there. This was afrequent happening, and the most intimate hours the two spent togetherwere after this fashion.
There was no speech for a little, though Mrs. Gray's hand wanderedcaressingly about her daughter's neck in a way Roberta dearly loved,drawing the loosened dark locks away from the small ears, or twisting acurly strand about her fingers. Suddenly the girl burst out:
"Mother, what are you to do when you find all your theories upset?"
"_All_ upset?" repeated Mrs. Gray, in her rich and quiet voice. "Thatwould be a calamity indeed. Surely there must be one or two of yoursremaining stable?"
"It seems not, just now. One disproved overturns another. They all hingeon one another--at least mine do."
"Perhaps not as closely as you think. What is it, dear? Can you tell meanything about it?"
"Not much, I'm afraid. Oh, it's nothing very real, I suppose--just asort of vague discomfort at feeling that certain ideals I thought wereas fixed as the stars in the heavens seem to be wobbling as if theymight shoot downward any minute, and--and leave only a trail of lightbehind!"
The last words came on a note of rather shaky laughter. Roberta's armlay across her mother's knee, her head upon it. She turned her headdownward for an instant, burying her face in the angle of her arm. Mrs.Gray regarded the mass of dark locks beneath her hand with a look amusedyet sympathetic.
"That sort of discomfort attacks us all, at times," she said. "Idealschange and develop with our growth. One would not want the same ones toserve her all her life."
"I know. But when it's not a new and better ideal which displaces theold one, but only--an attraction--"
"An attraction not ideal?"
Roberta shook her head. "I'm afraid not. And I don't see why it shouldbe an attraction at all. It ought not to be, if my ideals have been whatthey should have been. And they have. Why, you gave them to me, mother,many of them--or at least helped me to work them out for myself. AndI--I had confidence in them!"
"And they're shaken?"
"Not the ideals--they're all the same. Only--they don't seem to be proofagainst--assault. Oh, I'm talking in riddles, I know. I don't want toput any of it into words, it makes it seem more real. And it's only ashadowy sort of difficulty. Maybe that's all it will be."
Mothers are wonderful at divination; why should they not be, when alltheir task is a training in understanding young natures which do notunderstand themselves. From these halting phrases of mystery Mrs. Graygathered much more than her daughter would have imagined. But she didnot let that be seen.
"If it is only a shadowy difficulty the rising of the sun will put it toflight," she predicted.
Roberta was silent for a space. Then suddenly she sat up.
"I had a long letter from Forbes Westcott to-day," she said, in a tonewhich tried to be casual. "He's staying on in London, getting materialfor that difficult Letchworth case he's so anxious to win. It's awonderfully interesting letter, though he doesn't say much about thecase. He's one of the cleverest letter writers I ever knew--in theflesh. It's really an art with him. If he hadn't made a lawyer ofhimself he would have been a man of letters, his literary tastes are sofine. It's quite an education in the use of delightfully spiritedEnglish, a correspondence with him. I've appreciated that more with eachletter."
She produced the letter. "Just listen to this account of an interview hehad with a distinguished Member of Parliament, the one who has just madethat daring speech in the House that set everybody on fire." And sheread aloud from several closely written pages, holding the sheets towardthe still bright embers, and giving the words the benefit of her ownclear and understanding interpretation. Her mother listened withinterest.
"That is, indeed, a fine description," she agreed. "There is no questionthat Forbes has a brilliant mind. The position he already occupiestestifies to that, and the older men all acknowledge that he is risingmore rapidly than could be expected of any ordinary man. He will be oneof the great men of the legal profession, your father and uncle think, Iknow."
"One of the great men," repeated Roberta, her face still bent over herletter. "I suppose there's no doubt at all of that. And, mother--you mayimagine that when he sets himself to persuade--any one--to--any course,he knows how to put it as irresistibly as words can."
"Yes, I should imagine that, dear," said her mother, her eyes on thedown-bent profile, whose outlines, against the background of thefirelight, would have held a gaze less loving than her own.
"His age makes him interesting, you know," pursued Roberta. "He's justenough older--and maturer--than any of the men I know, to make him seemimmensely more worth while. His very looks--that thin, keen face ofhis--it's plain, yet attractive, and his eyes look as if they couldsee through stone walls. It flatters you to have him seem to findthe things you say worth listening to. I can't just explain hispeculiar--fascination--I really think it is that, except that it's hissplendid mind that grips yours, somehow. Oh, I sound like a,schoolgirl," she burst out, "in spite of my twenty-four years. I wonderif you see what I mean."
"I think I do," said her mother, smiling a little. "You mean that yourjudgment approves him, but that your heart lags a little behind?"
"How did you know?" Roberta folded her arms upon her mother's lap, andlooked up eagerly into her face. "I didn't say anything about my heart."
"But you did, dear. The very fact that you can discuss him so coollytells me that your heart isn't seriously involved as yet. Is it?"
"That's what I don't know," said the girl. "When he writes likethis--the last two pages I can't read to you--I don't know what I think.And I'm not used to not knowing what I think! It's disconcerting. It'slike being taken off your feet and--not set down again. Yet, when I'mwith him--I'm not at all sure I should ever want him nearer than--well,than three feet away. And he's so insistent--persistent. He wants ananswer--now, by mail."
"Are you ready to give it?"
"No. I'm afraid to give it--at long distance."
"Then do not. You are under no obligation to do that. The test of actualpresence is the only one to apply. Let him wait till he comes home. Itwill not hurt him."
She spoke with spirit, and her daughter responded to the tone.
"I know that's the best advice," Roberta said, getting to her feet."Mother, you like him?"
"Yes, I have always liked Forbes," said Mrs. Gray, with cordiality."Your father likes him, and trusts him, as a man of honour, in hisprofession. That is mu
ch to say. Whether he is a man who would make youhappy--that is a different question. No one can answer that butyourself."
"I haven't wanted any one to make me happy." Roberta stood upon thehearth-rug, a figure of charm among the lights and shadows. "I've beenabsorbed in my work--and my play. I enjoy my men friends--and am gladwhen they go away and leave me. Life is so full--and rich--just ofitself. There are so many wonderful people, of all sorts. The world isso interesting--and home is so dear!" She lifted her arms, her head up."Mother, let's play the Bach _Air_," she said. "That always takes thefever out of me, and makes me feel calm and rational. Is it verylate?--are you too tired? Nobody will be disturbed at this distance."
"I should love to play it," said Mrs. Gray, and together the two wentdown the room to the great piano which stood there in the darkness.Roberta switched on one hooded light, produced the music for her mother,and tuned her 'cello, sitting at one side away from the light, with nonotes before her. Presently the slow, deep, and majestic notes of the"Air for the G String" were vibrating through the quiet room, the 'celloplayer drawing her bow across and across the one string with affectionfor each rich note in her very touch. The other string tones followedher with exquisite sympathy, for Mrs. Gray was a musician from whomthree of her four children had inherited an intense love for harmonicvalues.
But a few bars had sounded when a tall figure came noiselessly into theroom, and Mr. Robert Gray dropped into the seat before the fire whichhis wife had lately occupied. With head thrown back he listened, andwhen silence fell at the close of the performance, his deep voice wasthe first to break it.
"To me," he said, "that is the slow flowing and receding of waves upon asmooth and rocky shore. The sky is gray, but the atmosphere is warm andfriendly. It is all very restful, after a day of perturbation."
"Oh, is it like that to you?" queried Roberta softly, out of thedarkness. "To me it's as if I were walking down the nave of a greatcathedral--Westminster, perhaps--big and bare and wonderful, with theorgan playing ever so far away. The sun is shining outside and so it'snot gloomy, only very peaceful, and one can't imagine the world at thedoors." She looked over at her mother, whose face was just visible inthe shaded light. "What is it to you, lovely lady?"
"It is a prayer," said her mother slowly, "a prayer for peace and purityin a restless world, yet a prayer for service, too. The one who prayslies very low, with his face concealed, and his spirit is full ofworship."
The light was put out; the three, father, mother, and daughter, cametogether in the fading fire-glow. Roberta laid a warm young hand upon theshoulder of each. "You dears," she said, "what fortunate and happychildren your four are, to be the children of you!"
Her father placed his firm fingers under her chin, lifting her face."Your mother and I," said he, "consider ourselves fairly fortunate andhappy to be the parents of you. You are an interesting quartette. 'Agecannot wither nor custom stale' your 'infinite variety.' But age willwither you if you often sit up to play Bach at midnight, when you mustteach school next day. Therefore, good-night, Namesake!"
Yet when she had gone, her father and mother lingered by the last embersof the fire.
"God give her wisdom!" said Roberta's mother.
"He will--with you to ask Him," replied Roberta's father, with his armsabout his wife. "I think He never refuses you anything! I don't see howHe could!"