XIV
HE wrote his frank letter to Mrs. Montgomery, who punctually answered it,mentioning an hour at which he might present himself in the SecondAvenue. She lived in a neat little house of red brick, which had beenfreshly painted, with the edges of the bricks very sharply marked out inwhite. It has now disappeared, with its companions, to make room for arow of structures more majestic. There were green shutters upon thewindows, without slats, but pierced with little holes, arranged ingroups; and before the house was a diminutive yard, ornamented with abush of mysterious character, and surrounded by a low wooden paling,painted in the same green as the shutters. The place looked like amagnified baby-house, and might have been taken down from a shelf in atoy-shop. Dr. Sloper, when he went to call, said to himself, as heglanced at the objects I have enumerated, that Mrs. Montgomery wasevidently a thrifty and self-respecting little person—the modestproportions of her dwelling seemed to indicate that she was of smallstature—who took a virtuous satisfaction in keeping herself tidy, and hadresolved that, since she might not be splendid, she would at least beimmaculate. She received him in a little parlour, which was preciselythe parlour he had expected: a small unspeckled bower, ornamented with adesultory foliage of tissue-paper, and with clusters of glass drops, amidwhich—to carry out the analogy—the temperature of the leafy season wasmaintained by means of a cast-iron stove, emitting a dry blue flame, andsmelling strongly of varnish. The walls were embellished with engravingsswathed in pink gauze, and the tables ornamented with volumes of extractsfrom the poets, usually bound in black cloth stamped with florid designsin jaundiced gilt. The Doctor had time to take cognisance of thesedetails, for Mrs. Montgomery, whose conduct he pronounced under thecircumstances inexcusable, kept him waiting some ten minutes before sheappeared. At last, however, she rustled in, smoothing down a stiffpoplin dress, with a little frightened flush in a gracefully-roundedcheek.
She was a small, plump, fair woman, with a bright, clear eye, and anextraordinary air of neatness and briskness. But these qualities wereevidently combined with an unaffected humility, and the Doctor gave herhis esteem as soon as he had looked at her. A brave little person, withlively perceptions, and yet a disbelief in her own talent for social, asdistinguished from practical, affairs—this was his rapid mental _résumé_of Mrs. Montgomery, who, as he saw, was flattered by what she regarded asthe honour of his visit. Mrs. Montgomery, in her little red house in theSecond Avenue, was a person for whom Dr. Sloper was one of the great men,one of the fine gentlemen of New York; and while she fixed her agitatedeyes upon him, while she clasped her mittened hands together in herglossy poplin lap, she had the appearance of saying to herself that hequite answered her idea of what a distinguished guest would naturally be.She apologised for being late; but he interrupted her.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said; “for while I sat here I had time to thinkover what I wish to say to you, and to make up my mind how to begin.”
“Oh, do begin!” murmured Mrs. Montgomery.
“It is not so easy,” said the Doctor, smiling. “You will have gatheredfrom my letter that I wish to ask you a few questions, and you may notfind it very comfortable to answer them.”
“Yes; I have thought what I should say. It is not very easy.”
“But you must understand my situation—my state of mind. Your brotherwishes to marry my daughter, and I wish to find out what sort of a youngman he is. A good way to do so seemed to be to come and ask you; which Ihave proceeded to do.”
Mrs. Montgomery evidently took the situation very seriously; she was in astate of extreme moral concentration. She kept her pretty eyes, whichwere illumined by a sort of brilliant modesty, attached to his owncountenance, and evidently paid the most earnest attention to each of hiswords. Her expression indicated that she thought his idea of coming tosee her a very superior conception, but that she was really afraid tohave opinions on strange subjects.
“I am extremely glad to see you,” she said, in a tone which seemed toadmit, at the same time, that this had nothing to do with the question.
The Doctor took advantage of this admission. “I didn’t come to see youfor your pleasure; I came to make you say disagreeable things—and youcan’t like that. What sort of a gentleman is your brother?”
Mrs. Montgomery’s illuminated gaze grew vague, and began to wander. Shesmiled a little, and for some time made no answer, so that the Doctor atlast became impatient. And her answer, when it came, was notsatisfactory. “It is difficult to talk about one’s brother.”
“Not when one is fond of him, and when one has plenty of good to say.”
“Yes, even then, when a good deal depends on it,” said Mrs. Montgomery.
“Nothing depends on it, for you.”
“I mean for—for—” and she hesitated.
“For your brother himself. I see!”
“I mean for Miss Sloper,” said Mrs. Montgomery. The Doctor liked this;it had the accent of sincerity. “Exactly; that’s the point. If my poorgirl should marry your brother, everything—as regards her happiness—woulddepend on his being a good fellow. She is the best creature in theworld, and she could never do him a grain of injury. He, on the otherhand, if he should not be all that we desire, might make her verymiserable. That is why I want you to throw some light upon hischaracter, you know. Of course you are not bound to do it. My daughter,whom you have never seen, is nothing to you; and I, possibly, am only anindiscreet and impertinent old man. It is perfectly open to you to tellme that my visit is in very bad taste and that I had better go about mybusiness. But I don’t think you will do this; because I think we shallinterest you, my poor girl and I. I am sure that if you were to seeCatherine, she would interest you very much. I don’t mean because she isinteresting in the usual sense of the word, but because you would feelsorry for her. She is so soft, so simple-minded, she would be such aneasy victim! A bad husband would have remarkable facilities for makingher miserable; for she would have neither the intelligence nor theresolution to get the better of him, and yet she would have anexaggerated power of suffering. I see,” added the Doctor, with his mostinsinuating, his most professional laugh, “you are already interested!”
“I have been interested from the moment he told me he was engaged,” saidMrs. Montgomery.
“Ah! he says that—he calls it an engagement?”
“Oh, he has told me you didn’t like it.”
“Did he tell you that I don’t like _him_?”
“Yes, he told me that too. I said I couldn’t help it!” added Mrs.Montgomery.
“Of course you can’t. But what you can do is to tell me I am right—togive me an attestation, as it were.” And the Doctor accompanied thisremark with another professional smile.
Mrs. Montgomery, however, smiled not at all; it was obvious that shecould not take the humorous view of his appeal. “That is a good deal toask,” she said at last.
“There can be no doubt of that; and I must, in conscience, remind you ofthe advantages a young man marrying my daughter would enjoy. She has anincome of ten thousand dollars in her own right, left her by her mother;if she marries a husband I approve, she will come into almost twice asmuch more at my death.”
Mrs. Montgomery listened in great earnestness to this splendid financialstatement; she had never heard thousands of dollars so familiarly talkedabout. She flushed a little with excitement. “Your daughter will beimmensely rich,” she said softly.
“Precisely—that’s the bother of it.”
“And if Morris should marry her, he—he—” And she hesitated timidly.
“He would be master of all that money? By no means. He would be masterof the ten thousand a year that she has from her mother; but I shouldleave every penny of my own fortune, earned in the laborious exercise ofmy profession, to public institutions.”
Mrs. Montgomery dropped her eyes at this, and sat for some time gazing atthe straw matting which covered her floor.
“I suppose it seem
s to you,” said the Doctor, laughing, “that in so doingI should play your brother a very shabby trick.”
“Not at all. That is too much money to get possession of so easily, bymarrying. I don’t think it would be right.”
“It’s right to get all one can. But in this case your brother wouldn’tbe able. If Catherine marries without my consent, she doesn’t get apenny from my own pocket.”
“Is that certain?” asked Mrs. Montgomery, looking up.
“As certain as that I sit here!”
“Even if she should pine away?”
“Even if she should pine to a shadow, which isn’t probable.”
“Does Morris know this?”
“I shall be most happy to inform him!” the Doctor exclaimed.
Mrs. Montgomery resumed her meditations, and her visitor, who wasprepared to give time to the affair, asked himself whether, in spite ofher little conscientious air, she was not playing into her brother’shands. At the same time he was half ashamed of the ordeal to which hehad subjected her, and was touched by the gentleness with which she boreit. “If she were a humbug,” he said, “she would get angry; unless she bevery deep indeed. It is not probable that she is as deep as that.”
“What makes you dislike Morris so much?” she presently asked, emergingfrom her reflexions.
“I don’t dislike him in the least as a friend, as a companion. He seemsto me a charming fellow, and I should think he would be excellentcompany. I dislike him, exclusively, as a son-in-law. If the onlyoffice of a son-in-law were to dine at the paternal table, I should set ahigh value upon your brother. He dines capitally. But that is a smallpart of his function, which, in general, is to be a protector andcaretaker of my child, who is singularly ill-adapted to take care ofherself. It is there that he doesn’t satisfy me. I confess I havenothing but my impression to go by; but I am in the habit of trusting myimpression. Of course you are at liberty to contradict it flat. Hestrikes me as selfish and shallow.”
Mrs. Montgomery’s eyes expanded a little, and the Doctor fancied he sawthe light of admiration in them. “I wonder you have discovered he isselfish!” she exclaimed.
“Do you think he hides it so well?”
“Very well indeed,” said Mrs. Montgomery. “And I think we are all ratherselfish,” she added quickly.
“I think so too; but I have seen people hide it better than he. You seeI am helped by a habit I have of dividing people into classes, intotypes. I may easily be mistaken about your brother as an individual, buthis type is written on his whole person.”
“He is very good-looking,” said Mrs. Montgomery.
The Doctor eyed her a moment. “You women are all the same! But the typeto which your brother belongs was made to be the ruin of you, and youwere made to be its handmaids and victims. The sign of the type inquestion is the determination—sometimes terrible in its quietintensity—to accept nothing of life but its pleasures, and to securethese pleasures chiefly by the aid of your complaisant sex. Young men ofthis class never do anything for themselves that they can get otherpeople to do for them, and it is the infatuation, the devotion, thesuperstition of others that keeps them going. These others inninety-nine cases out of a hundred are women. What our young friendschiefly insist upon is that some one else shall suffer for them; andwomen do that sort of thing, as you must know, wonderfully well.” TheDoctor paused a moment, and then he added abruptly, “You have sufferedimmensely for your brother!”
This exclamation was abrupt, as I say, but it was also perfectlycalculated. The Doctor had been rather disappointed at not finding hiscompact and comfortable little hostess surrounded in a more visibledegree by the ravages of Morris Townsend’s immorality; but he had said tohimself that this was not because the young man had spared her, butbecause she had contrived to plaster up her wounds. They were achingthere, behind the varnished stove, the festooned engravings, beneath herown neat little poplin bosom; and if he could only touch the tender spot,she would make a movement that would betray her. The words I have justquoted were an attempt to put his finger suddenly upon the place; andthey had some of the success that he looked for. The tears sprang for amoment to Mrs. Montgomery’s eyes, and she indulged in a proud little jerkof the head.
“I don’t know how you have found that out!” she exclaimed.
“By a philosophic trick—by what they call induction. You know you havealways your option of contradicting me. But kindly answer me a question.Don’t you give your brother money? I think you ought to answer that.”
“Yes, I have given him money,” said Mrs. Montgomery.
“And you have not had much to give him?”
She was silent a moment. “If you ask me for a confession of poverty,that is easily made. I am very poor.”
“One would never suppose it from your—your charming house,” said theDoctor. “I learned from my sister that your income was moderate, andyour family numerous.”
“I have five children,” Mrs. Montgomery observed; “but I am happy to sayI can bring them up decently.”
“Of course you can—accomplished and devoted as you are! But your brotherhas counted them over, I suppose?”
“Counted them over?”
“He knows there are five, I mean. He tells me it is he that brings themup.”
Mrs. Montgomery stared a moment, and then quickly—“Oh yes; he teachesthem Spanish.”
The Doctor laughed out. “That must take a great deal off your hands!Your brother also knows, of course, that you have very little money.”
“I have often told him so!” Mrs. Montgomery exclaimed, more unreservedlythan she had yet spoken. She was apparently taking some comfort in theDoctor’s clairvoyancy.
“Which means that you have often occasion to, and that he often spongeson you. Excuse the crudity of my language; I simply express a fact. Idon’t ask you how much of your money he has had, it is none of mybusiness. I have ascertained what I suspected—what I wished.” And theDoctor got up, gently smoothing his hat. “Your brother lives on you,” hesaid as he stood there.
Mrs. Montgomery quickly rose from her chair, following her visitor’smovements with a look of fascination. But then, with a certaininconsequence—“I have never complained of him!” she said.
“You needn’t protest—you have not betrayed him. But I advise you not togive him any more money.”
“Don’t you see it is in my interest that he should marry a rich person?”she asked. “If, as you say, he lives on me, I can only wish to get ridof him, and to put obstacles in the way of his marrying is to increase myown difficulties.”
“I wish very much you would come to me with your difficulties,” said theDoctor. “Certainly, if I throw him back on your hands, the least I cando is to help you to bear the burden. If you will allow me to say so,then, I shall take the liberty of placing in your hands, for the present,a certain fund for your brother’s support.”
Mrs. Montgomery stared; she evidently thought he was jesting; but shepresently saw that he was not, and the complication of her feelingsbecame painful. “It seems to me that I ought to be very much offendedwith you,” she murmured.
“Because I have offered you money? That’s a superstition,” said theDoctor. “You must let me come and see you again, and we will talk aboutthese things. I suppose that some of your children are girls.”
“I have two little girls,” said Mrs. Montgomery.
“Well, when they grow up, and begin to think of taking husbands, you willsee how anxious you will be about the moral character of these gentlemen.Then you will understand this visit of mine!”
“Ah, you are not to believe that Morris’s moral character is bad!”
The Doctor looked at her a little, with folded arms. “There is somethingI should greatly like—as a moral satisfaction. I should like to hear yousay—‘He is abominably selfish!’”
The words came out with the grave distinctness of his voice, and theyseemed for an instant to creat
e, to poor Mrs. Montgomery’s troubledvision, a material image. She gazed at it an instant, and then sheturned away. “You distress me, sir!” she exclaimed. “He is, after all,my brother, and his talents, his talents—” On these last words her voicequavered, and before he knew it she had burst into tears.
“His talents are first-rate!” said the Doctor. “We must find a properfield for them!” And he assured her most respectfully of his regret athaving so greatly discomposed her. “It’s all for my poor Catherine,” hewent on. “You must know her, and you will see.”
Mrs. Montgomery brushed away her tears, and blushed at having shed them.“I should like to know your daughter,” she answered; and then, in aninstant—“Don’t let her marry him!”
Dr. Sloper went away with the words gently humming in his ears—“Don’t lether marry him!” They gave him the moral satisfaction of which he hadjust spoken, and their value was the greater that they had evidently costa pang to poor little Mrs. Montgomery’s family pride.