Chapter V: Book II: Sophistication (2)

"A fine passage and finely rendered," said Paul Barr; and he sighed (though it was not obvious why), and emptied his glass.

I glanced at my hostess. To my surprise she was examining a tea-cup, and as she looked up I saw that her face was no longer radiant. Our eyes met, and in an instant the truth flashed upon me. She was jealous! Without design I had too much absorbed the attention of the lion of the evening. Or was it Paul Barr's glances that I had estranged?

For a moment I was both confounded and regretful, but in the next I had decided that her resentment, if it were real, was unjustifiable. Any success I had won was unpremeditated, and there was no reason why I should be otherwise than natural, or decline to use to the best advantage the talents which Heaven had given me. It was Mr. Spence undoubtedly whom my hostess considered her especial property. She would have earlier indicated her disapproval had the artist-poet been the offender, for his glances had been unmistakable in their direction from the first. I felt in no wise to blame. It was not my intention or ambition to captivate either of these literary gentry; but if in my endeavors to appreciate and sympathize with their thoughts and theories I had been able to win their regard, was it for me to heed the envy of one who grudged me this trifling tribute to my enthusiasm? Assuredly not. Therefore I resolved to act exactly as if I were unconscious of Miss Kingsley's disapprobation.

I was aroused from these reflections by hearing Mr. Fleisch call me by name. He informed me in the curtailed speech we were using that he had set to music the words of the poem from which I had quoted, and that after tea he would, with the permission of the company, play it to us. From him and Mr. Spence conjointly I then learned that he had followed out the principles of moderation in a number of original productions. Most musical scores were too long, he said,--just as many people talked too much,--and he was seeking to popularize even classical works by abbreviating them, after the fashion adopted by Mr. Spence in regard to conversation. In this manner formidable pieces, like oratorios and symphonies, could be made congenial and instructive to those who usually found them tedious. In music as in literature the idea was the main consideration, and in Mr. Fleisch's opinion the vehicle by which it was conveyed should be as little cumbersome as possible. Acting on this principle, he had in one instance reduced an entire symphony to eight chords without destroying the charm. In music compression was possible to a greater extent, he believed, than in any other art.

While Mr. Fleisch and Mr. Spence were devoting their attention to making this new offshoot of the system clear to me, I was occasionally distracted by the behavior of Miss Kingsley, who was audibly using my name in the course of a whispered colloquy with Mr. Barr. The artist's eyes still never strayed from my face, but his ear was open to his neighbor's confidences; and I could gather--for it is difficult to avoid listening where one is the subject of conversation--that she was representing me as belonging to the world of fashion, and present merely upon sufferance. I noticed too that, curiously enough, Mr. Spence seemed attracted by the sound of my name, and would now and then secretly lend an ear to what was being said upon his other side. In fact I soon made up my mind that it was for his benefit Miss Kingsley was talking. She hoped to undermine my influence by an unflattering description of my doings in society. It was doubtless her cue to make her guests regard me as a frivolous character.

Naturally I was indignant, and my pride was aroused. To be sure I was in her debt for the opportunity she had given me of meeting these literary friends, but that gave her no license to misrepresent me, in a light which in my present humor was the most distasteful she could have selected. Under the spur of pique I redoubled my graciousness toward Mr. Spence and Mr. Fleisch, and likewise watched my opportunity to court the artist with a smile, whereupon he sighed again and reached out his hand for the crystal pitcher; but it was empty.

Miss Kingsley, however, was not one to quit the field without a struggle. So successful were my efforts that she was forced to sit silent and with a smile on her lip, from her obligations as a hostess; but I knew she was preparing a revenge.

It came sooner than I expected. Taking advantage of a pause in the conversation, caused by Mr. Spence leaning forward to explain to me on paper the rudiments of an attempt he had been making to apply the principles of the Economy of Speech to arithmetical problems, she whispered in an aside to Paul Barr, but so loud as to be audible to every one at table,--

"Three millions at least."

Impertinent as this reference to my worldly prospects was, I should not have regarded it as of importance but for the strange behavior of Mr. Spence, whose hand at the announcement shook in writing like an aspen leaf. He looked up at me with an expression of mingled pain and inquiry, which was so completely earnest that my own eyes drooped on meeting his. An embarrassing silence ensued for an instant, and then with a bound Paul Barr rose from his chair, and flinging himself down before the piano began to dash off a wild, exuberant production that suggested the lawless but triumphant paean of some heathen divinity.

As we returned to the other room I felt instinctively that my prestige with Mr. Spence had been impaired by the whisper of Miss Kingsley. His attentions ceased, and as a consequence Mr. Fleisch also neglected me. I took a seat on the sofa by the side of Mrs. Marsh. In an opposite corner my rival and the two moderationists were examining a manuscript without apparent consciousness of my existence. The sudden transposition of affairs made me sensitive. Paul Barr still sat at the piano executing his delirious fantasy, and ever and anon looking back over his shoulder at me. He at least was faithful. But it was not admiration I sought. I wished for respect for my intelligence, and to be considered a promising proselyte of culture. I seemed a few moments ago to have won this recognition from the entire company, and now I was an outcast.

As fortune would have it, the mystery was explained a few minutes later through the efficacy of Mrs. Marsh. We entered into conversation, and almost immediately she volunteered certain details regarding Miss Kingsley, brought about primarily by my inquiring her age.

"How old? Lucretia Kingsley will never see thirty again, no matter how hard she tries to look younger. She's a fine-appearing girl though, and a stylish dresser. She makes a pretty penny, I understand, out of the work she does for the newspapers. Folks say,"--here she lowered her voice; and let it be added at the same time that I felt some compunctions at her not continuing to use the economic system, but in my interest to learn her secret I was weak enough to let her go on,--"folks say that she and Mr. Spence will hit it off together some day. I guess she's thrifty, too, when she's not at her books. Did you notice how worked up he was when your three millions were spoken of? I could see he'd taken a fancy to you, but when that came out he had to drop you like a hot cake."

"What do you mean?" I asked, too much astonished to be upset by her colloquial style.

"It's the only part of his philosophy that I don't altogether take to, for it doesn't seem quite natural to me to turn one's back on what Heaven sends in the way of income. I'm an out-and-out convert to his doctrines into the bargain. I used to believe in having a good time, and all that sort of nonsense; but I've come to see that what he calls equipoise is the true road to happiness, and that it's best to leave off a bit hungry if you want to live to a green old age. I suppose you've heard his lecture on 'Overeating and Undereating'? If you haven't, don't fail to go the next time he delivers it. There's more good sound medicine in two sentences of that than in all the apothecary shops in creation. I went to hear him by accident too, for I'm not partial to lectures as a rule. I had the dyspepsia bad, and had spent more money on physic and the doctors than it would take to support Mr. Spence for the rest of his born days. They all wanted one of two things,--either that I should stuff myself or starve myself. One was for having me eat every five minutes, and the next made me weigh everything that went into my stomach. But Mr. Spence took the bull by the horns when he said, 'Some people eat too much, and some eat too little. Preserve a happy medium!' And that's what I've been doing ever since, and the consequence is I could eat nails if I was pressed hard."

"But eating is quite a different thing from income," she continued, relieving at last my impatience; "and I can't see the sense of his idea that people shouldn't keep more than just enough money to live on. It's a part of his system, as he calls it, I know; and if he says that human nature would be better with less, I am not the one to gainsay him, for there's no young man of his years in the city smarter than Mr. Spence, and he may be right. I can say, though, that before this it has stood in the way of his marrying. Only two years ago there was a young lady from New York just crazy to get him. She was real elegant too, and folks say he fancied her. But she was very rich, just as you are; and she wasn't willing--and I don't blame her either--to give up every blessed cent because he wanted her to. But he is bent on carrying his principles of moderation into daily practice, and there's no use in resisting him. It's rare he takes a liking so strong as he took to you to-night, and perhaps it was best for both of you that the truth came out when it did."

"Very much," I answered in a dazed tone.

Mrs. Marsh's confidences had mystified me more than ever. Of course I could no longer doubt Miss Kingsley's jealousy; but it was not equally apparent to me why Mr. Spence should have felt obliged to change his behavior so precipitately because of my wealth. Surely he could tolerate even if he did not advocate the possession of riches. I was young, and had much to learn. It was possible that when I came to hear his arguments, I might be convinced and ready to sacrifice my prospects of a large income to the demands of a noble philosophy. If it were a question of marriage, I could readily understand his insisting that his bride should comply with his views in this respect. But I was merely a guest of Miss Kingsley, an acquaintance whom he might never see again. His conduct seemed to me irrational and strange. I could not believe that he had cast me off because of an unwillingness to offend his hostess, for he had appeared wholly absorbed in my presence until her impertinent speech in regard to my property had put an abrupt end to his complaisance.

Meanwhile Mr. Barr had finished his paean and seated himself near me. There was no mistaking the glances he cast, and out of respect to myself I chose to exhibit some coldness of manner in response to his remarks, which were an ardent defence of passion and what he called _verve_ in music, literature, and art. Keen enjoyment, he said, was never to be found in restraint; and if extremes tended to shorten human life, a short existence crowned with pleasure was preferable to four-score and ten years of dull uniformity. The giant trees of the forest, the reddest roses of the garden, and the fairest faces in Christendom must be frowned on as noxious if the doctrine of moderation was to prevail. For were not they extremes? Yet rob the world of them, and where would a recompense be found for their loss? In ordinary growths, in the every-day rose, in commonplace beauty? Heaven forbid! and he pulled at his beard, and his fine eyes flashed in the fulness of his excitement.

Mrs. Marsh looked shocked, and took up the cudgels against him in defence of the opposite principles, so that I was able to keep silent and wonder. He would fain deify passion, he said; and there were two passions which no human agency could stem or curb,--the passion for wealth, and the passion of love. Thereat he looked at me again, with so much eloquence of expression that I had to blush and turn my head away.

Then the little German, Mr. Fleisch, sat down at the piano and performed a series of pieces in illustration of what he had explained to me, including a sonata in four bars, a symphony in three chords, and a song without words, in paraphrase of Mr. Spence's "fragment" in celebration of a night passed in the tomb. I was so thrilled and delighted by these selections that I quite forgot my perplexities, and revelled in the enjoyment of these new-found theories. Presently too Miss Kingsley came over to sit by me, radiant and expressive as before. The coolness on her part had completely vanished, and needless to say my heart felt lighter.

Resolving to be natural and to obtain as much benefit as possible from an opportunity that I might never have again, I moved about the room and managed to renew my conversation with Mr. Fleisch, who after a momentary coldness seemed gratified at my expressions of interest in his musical ideas. We recommenced the Economic system of speech, and presently were joined by Miss Kingsley. I rapidly grew proficient; and so absorbed did I become in an attempt made by us three to carry on connectedly an entire conversation in single words, that I was startled at hearing a voice just behind me say,--

"Carriage."

I turned, and found myself face to face with Mr. Spence. I understood that he had come to announce to me the arrival of my coupe.

"Servant," he added.

This told me that my maid was waiting at the door.

Mr. Spence's face was courteous but grave, and his lips were firmly set. During the time of my conversation with Mr. Fleisch and Miss Kingsley he had been sitting apart with Mrs. Marsh, while Paul Barr had returned to the piano and played a series of passionate and ardent music, the words of which he sung in a deep bass. But at the knock of my maid he paused, and now sat looking back over his shoulder at me with pathetic eyes.

"Home," I said to my hostess.

"Early."

"Horses."

"Sorry."

Her face expressed the regret at my departure which it seemed to me any extra words would have impaired the artistic value of, so much of a convert to the views regarding moderation had I become.

Miss Kingsley produced my wraps from her boudoir, which Paul Barr with a brace of sighs assisted me to put on. I bade good evening to them all. Mr. Spence made me a low but formal bow. I could see his lip tremble. The instant after, as with Paul Barr at my side I began to descend the stairs, a hurried step behind told me that the master was coming also. I went down to my carriage with one on either hand, the artist-poet pouring out a flood of words which I scarcely heeded, while Mr. Spence in an occasional monosyllable endeavored to express the hope that he might meet me again.

Just as I reached the threshold a superb rose, which had been the only ornament of my costume, chanced to fall from my corsage on the marble floor. It lay nearest to Mr. Spence, who started to pick it up. But he hesitated, and the consequent delay was taken advantage of by his rival, who had darted forward at the same moment. Mr. Barr lifted the rose and pressed it to his lips eagerly, twice and thrice. Then, without asking my leave, he put it in his button-hole. It was he too who helped me into my carriage. He bent low over the hand I gave him, while Mr. Spence, still irresolute, bowed from the shadow of the door-way.

"May I have the honor of calling upon you?" asked Paul Barr.

"Certainly, if you wish. And, Mr. Spence, I shall be very glad to see you also," I cried from the carriage window.

IV.

I felt next morning a little as if my experience of the previous night were a dream. But as I thought over all that had occurred, what may be called the romantic features seemed to dwindle in distinctness and importance, and I dwelt chiefly on the mental profit I had derived from these new associations. Once more I deplored the existence of the vain and coquettish notions that had led me to construe as devotion the enthusiasm of the clever men who had honored me with an explanation of their original and interesting conceptions. It was clear that I was still not wholly free from flippancy and nonsense.

I did not attempt to decide between the merits of the diametrically opposed schools of thought represented by Mr. Spence and Mr. Barr. I was sensible enough to understand that long study and reflection would be requisite to qualify me to take sides intelligently. But yet I had already a distinct preference. I felt that whatever the value of his system, Mr. Spence was thoroughly and grandly in earnest. His whole soul was in the spread and development of his peculiar doctrines. To obtain their recognition he was willing to sacrifice luxury, comfort, and all the pleasures of life. Everything else was a secondary consideration. Already in the course of his thorough investigations he had endured horrors and committed extravagances from which a nature so palpably refined as his must have shrunk with loathing. It was novel and delightful to me to meet a man so completely absorbed in a pursuit which promised no reward beyond the amelioration of society,--a result of which he could hope to live to see only the beginnings. For mere dollars and cents he cared nothing. He had no ambition to grow rich; indeed, it was one of his tenets that no one should retain more than a certain amount of property,--doubtless enough to keep the wolf from the door, and to permit the continuation of scholarship. How much more unselfish and ennobling a life than that of the feverish money-getter, with all his appliances of forge and factory, and export and import! I had found an answer to my yearnings and my unrest in this untiring devotion to abstract truth.

A part of this was true undoubtedly of Paul Barr as well. Ardor and zeal were the very essence of his philosophy; but it was easy to divine by looking at him--at least it appeared so to me--that he lacked the spirit of persistent, unselfish scholarship which distinguished his rival. I felt that he was superficial, and that he would rather sacrifice his principles than his own interests.

All the more did I have faith in this instinctive preference for Mr. Spence, from the fact that from the standpoint of the picturesque and romantic everything was on the side of the artist-poet. Tall, dashing, handsome, and brilliant, he was adapted and doubtless accustomed to carry hearts by storm. No woman could receive his admiring glances without that slight thrill and flutter of the heart which proves the presence of a fascinating man. On the other hand the master--I liked to think of him as such--was, as I have already intimated, commonplace in appearance at the first glance, and save for his marvellous voice distinguished for none of those graces which attract my sex. Perhaps it would be more just to say that he sought to repress them rather than that they did not exist, for when under the influence of enthusiasm for his science his face was inspiring to look upon.

Such were the conclusions at which I arrived after sifting my impressions. But never did my incapacity and dearth of knowledge appear to me in a less complimentary light than at this time. I vowed again and again to give myself up unreservedly to study, and first of all to choose some special branch that would prevent my efforts from resulting in merely desultory work. If so, what better field could I choose than that in which there were fellow-workers already whom I knew, and with whom I could sympathize? The more I thought about the subject the stronger did the argument in favor of this selection appear. At last one morning in an access of enthusiasm I sat down and wrote a note to Mr. Spence, asking if he would be kind enough to call on me at his leisure,--"on a matter of business," I added, so as to preclude any possible misinterpretation on his part.

This was about a week after Miss Kingsley's tea. In the mean time I had been to see Aunt Agnes twice, but had not found her at home. I was curious to hear what Miss Kingsley would say concerning me, for I felt by no means sure that her remarks would be wholly complimentary. Freely as I blamed myself for my conceited notions at the time, regarding the attentions of the two philosophers, I was not ready to absolve her from the imputation of jealousy. It was difficult to explain her conduct on any other ground, and I remembered what Mrs. Marsh had said as to tender relations between her and Mr. Spence. Indeed, I felt some irritation against her and a conviction that she was not likely to be altogether my friend when we were not face to face. However, she had chosen to insert my name in the next issue of the "Mercury" as having been present at a small gathering at her "parlors" to meet "the distinguished scientist and poet, Charles Liversage Spence,"--a notice which she doubtless considered "sympathetic."

I stayed at home the whole of the day following that on which I wrote to Mr. Spence, and was rewarded by receiving a visit from him in the afternoon. He seemed little at his ease when he entered the room, and I observed a number of details of dress and manner which showed that he was not versed in the usages of fashionable life despite his early experiences. These lapses, or rather differences, did not affect me disagreeably,--indeed, I was well content that he should be as unlike as possible the flippant youths of so-called society,--but they were much more noticeable than when he was in the midst of such artistic surroundings as he found at Miss Kingsley's.

I judged it best to enter at once on the matter I had at heart.

"You will pardon me I am sure, Mr. Spence, for taking up your valuable time, when I tell you my reason for asking you to call upon me. I will be frank, and say that I have been for some time anxious to find an interest to which I could devote myself thoroughly and systematically, and one that was wholly in sympathy with what I feel to be my tastes and aspirations. I have a great deal of time at my disposal, and have become weary of the amusements of society and of the merely superficial character of my studies hitherto. The exercises to which I had the good fortune to listen at Miss Kingsley's the other evening were almost a revelation to me. They confirmed at least the opinion I had begun to have, that outside of what the world calls fashionable circles there is a class of people who like yourself find their happiness in intellectual aims and pleasures. So much interested was I by what I heard then, that I have decided, after some hesitation on the score of troubling you, to offer myself as a student of your system of Moderation. It may be," I added, speaking hurriedly in my desire to put the matter clearly before him, and yet not to be prolix, "you do not care for the co-operation of persons so little advanced as I; for I tell you honestly that though tolerably proficient in what are known as accomplishments, I am ignorant of all that appertains to serious knowledge. But believe me when I say that I am thoroughly in earnest, and will devote myself to the cause with all my heart, in case you think me able to be of assistance."

Mr. Spence heard me to the end without interruption. I had looked straight before me, intent alone upon presenting my case in such a light that while he knew the worst, he would not reject my request to become one of his pupils. Nor did he reply at once. I glanced at him, and saw that he was blushing; but he mastered his confusion, and said quietly:--

"Miss Harlan, I have received few compliments in my life more acceptable than that comprised in what you have just said to me. It is precisely to such alert and reflective minds as yours that I wish to make my theories interesting. I am devoting the sum of my energies to the propagation of what I regard as a truth vital to the well-being of humanity. You know the leading features of my system already. I will not disguise from you that an advocacy of them will expose you to publicity, it may be to ridicule. Our converts are as yet few; and in order to be of service, those who devote themselves to the work must be enthusiastic. I do not say this because I doubt your sincerity or steadfastness; probably you have considered these things already. But it is right that you should be fully informed regarding the character of the cause you propose to adopt."

"But I may decide not to adopt it in the end, Mr. Spence," I said, not wishing to commit myself irrevocably. "I am very much interested in your ideas, but I should prefer to be accepted merely as a student until I am more familiar with them. As I have said, I am very ignorant of all such matters, and need instruction. I have spoken to you rather to ask your advice as to whom to select as a teacher, than to offer myself as an active convert. The rest will come in time, I have no doubt, for I am greatly attracted by what I have heard already."

"I see. You are right," said he. "Precipitation is directly opposed to the spirit of my theories. I should have said you were already qualified to become an active worker, but you are the best judge: and, as you have mentioned, you will be able to become familiar with the system at your leisure."

He paused, and seemed to be absorbed in thought, as though he were debating with himself.

"Do you know of any good teacher?" I inquired.

"I am reflecting."

"I should expect to pay any competent person liberally."

He flushed a little, and after an instant said:

"I thought at first that I might see my way to offering myself as an instructor, but on reflection I find it would be difficult for me to find time. I know of no better persons to suggest than one of our friends of the other evening,--Mr. Fleisch or Miss Kingsley. Either of them is admirably well informed and intelligent."

"Oh, but if you could arrange it so, I should much prefer you, Mr. Spence," I exclaimed with genuine eagerness. "I did not dare to imagine that such an arrangement was possible. But now that you have suggested it yourself, I cannot give up the idea without remonstrance."

I looked at him beseechingly, and he blushed again in a manner to cause me self-consciousness. He hesitated, and then in a decided tone, as if he were resisting a temptation, said:--

"It is out of the question, Miss Harlan. I have not time. Mr. Fleisch is an excellent instructor."

"Very well; Mr. Fleisch then," I answered, a little upset by his confusion. "Will you speak to him about it and arrange the terms?"

He assented, and the awkward pause that followed was relieved by the entrance, at the same moment, of Aunt Helen and Mr. Barr, though not in company it need scarcely be added.

Aunt Helen was in one of her richest and most imposing street costumes, whereas the artist-poet wore black velveteen instead of brown, and a flowing yellow tie instead of a cherry one. She regarded him, I could see, with a mixture of horror and wonder, which led me at once to perform the duties of a general introduction, preliminary to taking possession of Mr. Barr, and relegating to Aunt Helen the less unconventional philosopher. Paul Barr however bowed to her in so superb and deferential a manner that I thought she looked rather flattered than otherwise, which relieved my worst apprehensions, and I found myself straightway chatting with him in a somewhat spirited vein. Heard, in my own drawing-room, Mr. Barr's compliments and ardent speeches moved me to badinage, and I saw no harm in accepting them as the ordinary give-and-take of the would-be lady-killer, more original and therefore more entertaining than those of a fashionable flirt, but still of the same general character. I affected to be alternately irate and pleased at what he said. Meanwhile his eyes looked unutterable things, and he interspersed his flatteries with a tissue of abnormal but poetic fancies. He was undeniably fascinating, and all the more so because I felt in his society somewhat as if I were walking through a gunpowder vault, with a lighted candle. But there was this difference, that in his case the character of the possible explosion was wrapped in mysterious uncertainty, which added an agreeable element of curiosity to my sensations.

Presently he drew from his breast pocket a small volume in white vellum and gold, which he presented to me. It was a copy of his poems,--"The Paradise of Passion, and other Rhythms." I glanced at the fly-leaf, and to my astonishment and confusion perceived that underneath the inscription, "Miss Harlan, with the respectful homage of him who did these verses," was a sonnet "To Virginia," which began,--

The happy rose which lately from thy hands
I took with kisses, dry and withered lies--

I did not attempt to read farther at the moment. Indeed, I felt inclined to draw myself up austerely at first, but on second thought acknowledged his presumption with the same laughing coquetry I had hitherto displayed. After all, it was not worth while to become angry. His extravagance was not to be taken too seriously. It was rather refreshing for a change. I wondered how he would behave if he ever really were in love.

Meanwhile I had endeavored to listen at the same time to the conversation between Aunt Helen and Mr. Spence. I was relieved to find that he saw fit to avoid any allusion to his theories, and pursued the highway of indifferent subjects, such as the weather, the stage, and foreign travel. Still, I could tell from Aunt Helen's superior and as it seemed to me disdainful tone that she by no means approved of my new acquaintances, though I detected her casting an occasional glance of puzzled curiosity at Mr. Barr, whose eccentricities were, I suppose, more amusing than the calm of her companion.

"I don't suppose you find the differences very marked between this country and Europe, Mr. Spence?" I heard her inquire after learning that he had passed much of his life abroad.

"On the contrary, very slight."

"Nice people are very much the same everywhere," she observed haughtily.

"To tell the truth," said Mr. Spence, "I have been rather disappointed at finding the people, as well as the manners and customs, of this country so similar to those across the water. I had been led to expect originality and independence. That was what I was taught to believe as a child. But after an absence from my country of six years I came back to find nearly the same manners and customs, and the same virtues and vices, as I left behind me in Europe."

"Vices?" echoed Aunt Helen. "I should say there was much less vice in this country than in Europe."

"Not if we judge by the newspapers."

"Ah, but one can't believe all one reads in the newspapers," she said with an air of triumph.

Mr. Spence had, unluckily for the impression he was likely to create, the courage of his convictions as I well knew, and as he began to reply I felt less secure that he would not trench upon dangerous ground.

"There is a general tendency to ape foreign ideas, which is fast destroying our originality as a nation," he continued.

"Foreign ideas are often the best," said my aunt.

"We are beginning to talk and dress, and dine and give in marriage, just like all the rest of the world," he explained, without regarding her comment.

Aunt Helen looked a little blank. Then with her most stately air she said:--

"Surely you wouldn't have marriages performed before a Justice of the Peace? It destroys all their sentiment. I know a great many persons who wouldn't consider themselves married so. As to living differently, I don't know what you mean. There are people here who advocate cremation, co-operation, and that sort of thing, but one doesn't meet them in society."

"I am no judge," said Mr. Spence coolly, "for I never go into society."

"Indeed!" Aunt Helen surveyed him through her eye-glass as if he were a curious animal, and her haughtiness perceptibly increased. "Are you--eh--in business in Boston?"

"No, madam. I am a Bohemian," replied Mr. Spence, in whose eye I perceived a twinkle.

"A what? Ah, yes, of course. I understood you to say you were born in this country. And the other gentleman--eh--is he a foreigner too?"

For an instant Mr. Spence looked bewildered; and as for me I was inwardly convulsed, so much so that I betrayed my feelings in a smile at the moment when Paul Barr was reciting a bloodcurdling piece of poetry of his own composing,--an indiscretion which offended the artist-poet to such an extent that in my efforts to mollify him I failed to catch Mr. Spence's reply. He rose to take his leave at this point; but it chanced that just then my father entered the room, and I was obliged to repeat the introductions. While I was saying a few last words to Mr. Spence in regard to the sort of instruction I was to receive from Mr. Fleisch, Paul Barr conversed with my father, laying down the law in his most superb fashion regarding the immense fortune in store for any one who would start what he called a fig farm in this country. Although I had never heard him broach a business matter before, he seemed entirely familiar with his subject, and fairly bristled with statistics and calculations to prove the soundness of his theory, gardeners to the contrary notwithstanding. My father listened to him patiently, and seemed to be amused. Aunt Helen sat apart with a reserved, patrician air.

My two callers took their leave together; and when the front door closed, my father said jocosely,--

"Who are your friends, Virginia? I hope they have not been persuading you to invest in a fig farm."

I blushed, remembering my former design of speculating with Mr. Dale,--of which, however, my father had no knowledge.

"Both are literary men of high reputation," I answered quietly, though I had an instinctive feeling that my father would make sport of this assertion. But experience had taught me that with him it was best to call a spade a spade.

"That accounts for it. I thought the gentleman in velveteen had a screw loose somewhere," he said as he passed out of the room.

"Well, Virginia," exclaimed Aunt Helen when we were alone, "whom _have_ you picked up now?"

"I don't understand you," said I.

"Who are those young men who were here just now? They are foreigners, on their own admission,--Bohemians. My own belief is that they have gypsy blood in their veins, for what can one know of the antecedents of persons who come from a small German principality? They don't even claim to be counts, and any one with the smallest pretext to respectability in that part of the world is a count, at least. They look to me as if they had been on the stage, especially the one to whom you were talking. I will do him the justice to say he is a handsome wretch, but like all those foreign adventurers he has a dissipated air. As for the other, he is simply commonplace and vulgar, with little upstart radical notions."

I waited for her to finish before replying. "I have already said that Mr. Spence and Mr. Barr are both literary men of high standing. They are neither of them foreigners, but were born in this State. By 'Bohemian' Mr. Spence meant the literary and artistic fraternity in general, Aunt Helen. He is a philosopher as well as a poet; and Mr. Barr paints pictures in addition to his other work."

"But who are they? Where do they come from? It is all very well to say they were born in this country. But who and what are their parents? Spence--Spence--I never heard the name in my life. There were some Barrs who used to live in the next street to us when your mother and I were young; but they were all girls, and, as I remember them, ordinary."

"When men have acquired fame, it is hardly necessary to inquire if they belong to the best families," I rejoined, borrowing a leaf from Aunt Agnes's book.

"It is one thing to admire the works of genius, and another to have it trampoosing over your house. Your acquaintances are, I dare say, well enough as poets and philosophers, but I don't see what that has to do with you. You are neither a poet nor a philosopher, and you will flatter them much more by buying their books than by asking them to five o'clock tea. I must say that, philosopher or no philosopher, the young man who was talking with me has very strange ideas. Just think of his advocating co-operative house-keeping, and marriages before a Justice of the Peace. I fancy too that he is lax in his religious opinions. If he is your idea of a desirable acquaintance to invite to your house, I am sorry for it. You never got any such notions from my side of the family."

"It is useless to talk with you if you go off at a tangent, Aunt Helen," said I. "I am proud to call both those young men my friends, and they are vastly superior in every way to nine tenths of those one meets in society. Mr. Spence, whose ideas you think so peculiar, is one of the ablest scientists in the country, and I am going to take lessons in his philosophy from one of his assistants. As I told you the other day, I am tired of frittering away my time in nonsense."

"And as I told _you_ the other day, Virginia, go on as you have begun, and we shall hear of you presently on the stage. That Mr. Barr might pass in a drawing-room on account of his picturesqueness, if he were to brush his hair; but the other one is simply a gawk, to be plain. Science indeed! Don't come in a few weeks to ask me to believe that we are all descended from monkeys, or any other stuff, for I sha'n't do it. That's what I call nonsense; and you will discover some day that most people who have any self-respect are of my way of thinking."

I had never known Aunt Helen to be so excited, but there was nothing to be done. Society and etiquette were her household gods; and by ceasing to worship the same divinities I had drawn upon myself the full energy of her displeasure. Nothing could have offended her so much. To be odd or different from other people was in her estimation a cardinal sin; whereas I parted from her with a still firmer conviction that I had chosen wisely. The calm unselfish wisdom and steadfastness of Mr. Spence seemed more indisputable to me than ever; and in the way of companionship, Paul Barr's gallantries and sallies were vastly preferable to any drawing-room flirtation.

It was only when I thought of my father that I felt any concern or doubt. I knew that he had set his heart upon my devoting myself to the study of practical matters. He wished me to become cultivated, but scarcely in the direction I had chosen. What would he say if he knew of my determination; and was it filial and just to let him remain in ignorance of it? Yet I reasoned that after all I had made no final decision. I was attracted, it is true, by what might be called a visionary theory; but when I had given the principles of moderation further thought, I might conclude not to devote myself to them. It would be time enough later to speak of the subject. At present I was only too poorly prepared to present the ideas of Mr. Spence in an intelligent manner, and should probably prejudice my father against the whole system.

However, I could not refrain from a few reflections on the apparent hostility of practical men to pure theory, which must after all be the basis of all intelligent action. How much nobler to help to establish principles serviceable to humanity than to make later unconscious use of those same principles to advance one's own selfish interests! Why must there needs be mutual disdain and coolness between those who thought and those who acted? It had been easy for me to perceive at a glance that there was likely to be but little mutual sympathy between my father and Mr. Spence, and the consciousness grieved me.

But I did not falter in my purpose. Mr. Fleisch called to see me the following day and laid out an elaborate course of study. He was to come twice a week to examine me and give me suggestions, but he said that my progress was mainly dependent on my own exertions. I bought a number of books of his selection, and tried to devote five hours each day to systematic work. My tasks were largely of a philosophical character, but poetry and music of a restrained sort were also included in Mr. Fleisch's instruction; and he said that after the foundations were laid, I should be taught the dangers of extremes by studying examples of the overmuch and the undermuch.

At last I was successful one day in finding Aunt Agnes at home, and alone. It was about a week after my visit from Mr. Spence. I was disturbed at seeing her brow contract at sight of me, but my worst fears were realized when she said:--

"I do not wonder that you have preferred to keep away from me."

"On the contrary, Aunt Agnes, I have called twice before, this week."

"When you knew I was out, I dare say."

There was no answering such logic as this.

"I seem never to be able to satisfy you," I said bravely. "I had come to tell you that I am studying hard under the direction of Mr. Fleisch, a favorite pupil of Mr. Spence, and am doing all I can to improve myself."

"Fiddlesticks! Tell _me_!"

"But, Aunt Agnes, it is so."

"I have heard all about you. You can't tell me anything about the matter I don't know already. We shall hear next of your carrying your habit of flirting into the sanctuary itself. You might almost as well coquet with a minister of the holy Gospel as with him you have selected to try your fascinations on. I might have guessed what would be the result of introducing you to sober-minded people. It was none of my work, thank Heaven! Lucretia Kingsley has herself to blame, for I heard her give you the invitation from her own lips. But I blush for you as my niece. No amount of proficiency or cleverness can be a palliation of your behavior."

"I have been maligned, Aunt Agnes," I cried with flashing eyes. "Some one has told you a pack of falsehoods. It is not true that I have been flirting with anybody. I have given up everything of the kind, as I said I should. Who has been accusing me? I insist on knowing who told you."

"No matter who told me. My authority is of the best."

"I suppose it was your friend Miss Kingsley. I half suspected that she would misrepresent me in private."

"You admit, then, that you are guilty?"

"I admit nothing. If, as your words seem to imply, Miss Kingsley says I acted unbecomingly at her house, she does not speak the truth. She is jealous. The long and short of it is, Mr. Spence was polite to me, and that made her angry. I believe she wishes to marry him herself," I said in the fulness of my anger.

"Virginia! I am astonished at you. It will not mend matters to insult your benefactors. What motive had Miss Kingsley, pray, in asking you to her house but kindness?"

"Pshaw!" I cried, now thoroughly roused. "She asked me because she thought I was fashionable, and because it would read well in the newspaper that I had been at one of her tea-parties. She imagined I was so silly and brainless that her friends would take no notice of me; and when it turned out that they did she lost her temper."

"You have lost yours, Virginia. I presume you will tell me presently that Mr. Spence flirted with you. I never heard such nonsense in my life, and wicked nonsense too; for you are doing your best to injure the character of a young woman who is in every way your superior, and has had none of your advantages. As I just said, I presume you will claim that Mr. Spence flirted with you, and that he wrote to you first."

"Wrote to me? He has never written to me; nor I to him, except to ask his advice about a teacher."

"You admit so much?"

"Why shouldn't I? I was interested in his theories, and I applied to him as the most natural person to consult."

"It is very easy to explain it away in that manner, but unfortunately for you my informant adopted--"

"Why don't you say Miss Kingsley, and have done with it, Aunt Agnes?"

"Very well then, if you prefer, Miss Kingsley adopted a very different style in speaking of you than you employ in speaking of her. She tried to spare you as much as possible, and said what she did only with great reluctance. I could see that she was holding back, and was resolved not to tell the whole. 'Of course,' she said, 'I know Miss Virginia did not mean to offend, and very likely in general society her little indiscretions would have been quite proper; but at a purely intellectual gathering like ours, from which as you know all vanities are rigorously excluded, it did seem to me unsympathetic of a new-comer to introduce an element of coquetry. When I say that since then she has written notes to Mr. Spence, whose time is precious as gold, asking him to call upon her in a social way, you will I am sure, my dear Miss Harlan, excuse my speaking. It is for her own good that I have ventured to do so, as a word from you would convince her of her thoughtlessness.'"

"The hypocrite!" I murmured, too indignant to restrain myself.

"There you go again, vilifying her with abusive epithets when she has simply done her duty as a friend. Contrast for instance your various expressions with hers. 'Jealous;' 'invited you to her house because you were fashionable' (a most unwarranted assumption); 'a hypocrite;' and, worst of all, you accuse her of trying to win the affections of a man whom she venerates as a master, and who though he has never taken the vow of celibacy is too much absorbed in the life-work he is pursuing to give a thought to marriage. And what does she say of you? She merely calls it 'unsympathetic' of a new-comer to disturb the harmony of sober-minded people by the introduction of coquetry. 'Unsympathetic'! If I were to stigmatize such behavior, I should call it disgraceful. I was mortified, Virginia, thoroughly mortified; and especially as Mr. Spence had been here the day before, and spoken of you in terms that made me feel really proud. As Miss Kingsley said, however, he is the last man in the world to notice such a thing as coquetry."

I made a mental interrogation point, but I did not dare to give utterance to the heresy lest I should seem to be carrying out Aunt Agnes's insinuation that I would next accuse Mr. Spence of flirting with me. I replied with as much quietness as I could at the moment command,--

"I can only repeat what I have already said. Miss Kingsley has slandered me, whether intentionally or not I do not know. But her charge of coquetry is utterly without foundation."

"Did you not make eyes at Mr. Barr, and give him a rose?" she interrupted. "You see I know all."

"No, I did not," I answered, flushing. "On the contrary, Mr. Barr made me feel excessively uncomfortable during most of the evening by the absurd compliments he paid me, and by the way in which he stared at me. As for the rose, I dropped it accidentally as I was getting into my carriage, and I believe he picked it up."

"Accidentally!" said Aunt Agnes with a sniff. "As my informant said, 'when a young woman flings herself at the head of a hot-souled poet, what is she to expect?' Human nature is human nature, and there are not many men with the self-control of Mr. Spence."

"Miss Kingsley seems to have given you a great deal of information, Aunt Agnes."

"You are mistaken again, as usual. The person who told me this is a sober-minded woman of middle age, who could not have been influenced by jealousy."

"Mrs. Marsh, I suppose. I might have known it, from her choice vocabulary. Talk of gossips, Aunt Agnes, I never heard a worse one in any drawing-room in the city. Who _is_ Mrs. Marsh?"

I was glowing with indignation again, and justly so as it seemed to me. I had been cruelly misconstrued, and my self-control on the occasion of Miss Kingsley's tea had been wholly unappreciated.

"Who is Mrs. Marsh? You may well ask who is Mrs. Marsh, after what you have said about her. Gossip or no gossip, vocabulary or no vocabulary, Mrs. Marsh is a very deserving woman, who by her own unaided efforts has risen to the position she now occupies. How often shall I be obliged to impress upon you that it is the spirit, not the letter, that is of importance? As secretary of the Society for the Practice of Moderation, Mrs. Marsh can afford to disregard the ill-natured sneers of those who may have enjoyed greater advantages in early life than she. It is not by wholesale abuse of others, Virginia, that you will persuade me of your innocence. On your own showing, you have written to Mr. Spence, and misconstrued Mr. Barr's poetic impetuosity as an attempt to flirt with you. I do not desire to discuss the matter further. We shall soon know whether you are sincere or not in your professions of study. As I have told you before, your future is in your own hands; but first and foremost you must rid yourself of this propensity to behave in a trivial manner."

I felt that silence would be the best palliative for my wounds; and so discouraged was I of being able to change Aunt Agnes's opinion, I thought it a waste of breath at the moment even to mention Mrs. Marsh as my authority for the statement that Miss Kingsley had a tender feeling for Mr. Spence.

V.