Chapter VIII

The next morning Grace sat turning over the leaves of a book which had just been sent her. The elderly author had been presented to her the evening before, and had promptly sent her his "Souvenirs," which were said to be having a great sale, especially in the Far West, where its axioms of etiquette and records of high life in New York were accepted with unquestioning reverence. A smile played on the girl's face, culminating now and again in a burst of merriment as her eye fell on such passages as these:

"It is well to be in with the nobs, who are born to their position; but the support of the swells is more advantageous, for society is sustained and carried on by the swells!"

Grace fairly screamed when she read of some man who was supposed to have been in fashionable English life, that "He was _in_ with all the sporting world--intimate with the _champion prize-fighter, the Queen's pages, Tattersall's, and others_!"

She had just come to this passage when there was a knock at her door, and in response to her "Come!" (in America the invitation is confined to that monosyllable), Mr. Ferrars was announced.

"Why did you disappear so suddenly last night?" asked Grace, with her usual indiscreet directness, as soon as they had shaken hands. "I don't believe you heard Carmencita sing, after all."

"No, I did not. There was some one there I did not wish to meet. I had to go. I told you New York society and I would never agree. It proved so last night. I shall not try the experiment again. I shall leave New York to-morrow."

"Is it not a pity to take life so very hard as you do?"

"It is life that took _me_."

"You strike me as treading very heavily on it. 'Glissez, et n'appuyez pas' is such a wise motto."

"I see you have Golightly's 'Souvenirs'"--he pointed to the book on her lap. "Perhaps you are right. I suppose the career of that veteran butterfly proves it. I suppose if I had been born like him I should be happier than I am."

"Grace opened the book, and read this passage aloud:

"'If you see a fossil of a man, shabbily dressed, it is better to cross the street and avoid meeting him!' There is a fitness in such noble sentiments being expressed in this refined language. I fancy I hear you saying that!"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Golightly is the natural outcome of a society that is built solely upon wealth. I look upon that rubbish as the most salutary lesson our people could have of the depth of degradation to which a 'leader of society,' as he is called, may sink."

"Oh! but he is a joke, you know; ask any one. It is absurd to judge a whole community by one foolish man."

"I am glad you find the society to your taste," he returned, dryly. "By the bye, I have heard from Mrs. Courtly to-day. She asks if I know when you are likely to be in Boston, and will pay her a visit at her country place, Brackly."

"Mordaunt has made no plans for leaving New York at present. How long do you stay in Virginia?"

"I don't know. It depends. I shall not return to New York; but I _shall_ return East shortly, and hope to be with Mrs. Courtly at the same time you are."

"I shall be very glad if you are." Then she added, with a smile, "You will not object to Boston society?"

"No, I shall not. Mrs. Courtly does not suffer fools gladly. You will not be dull in her house."

"I am never dull anywhere--certainly not here, where I have found plenty to interest and amuse me. I might say more than this, but I am afraid you would sneer."

"Pray go on. I won't sneer."

"I have found something to respect and to admire, which I do not find at home--in our best society. And that is, a much higher moral standard."

"How so? Not in public affairs? Not in railways? Not in the press? Not in Wall Street?"

"I know nothing about those things. I speak of what comes under my personal observation. I see that women, and even men, are tabooed about whom there is any open scandal. It is not so with us. Nothing short of divorce shuts the door against a woman of position who sins; and as to a man, nothing except cheating at cards seems to do so."

He rose, without reply, and went to the window. At the same moment, Mordaunt entered.

"Good-morning, Ferrars. Grace, I have a note from that good-natured chap, Gunning, enclosing a box for the circus, this afternoon. Will you come?"

"Is the box our very own, or is Mr. Gunning coming with friends?"

"He says he may drop in--but the box is ours, to fill as we like, only it's rather late to get any one."

"Will you come, Mr. Ferrars? And I will telephone to ask Mrs. Caldwell and her daughter."

Ferrars accepted; and so, a few minutes later, did the ladies. Soon after two o'clock the whole party, except Gunning, was established in the great arena, to witness Barnum's show of "Nero." The vast building was crowded. Grace, who now met the Caldwell ladies for the first time, was charmed with them. The mother's sweet, frank face, and the young girl's freshness and intelligence--an intelligence very different from "the needle-like sharpness which pricked and startled one," as Grace described it, in May Clayton--she was equally delighted with both. Doreen Caldwell was not yet seventeen. She gave the promise of being a very pretty woman; at present she was too thin, her face too narrow, and her eyes unduly large for the rest of the features. She was strangely quiet for an American, almost shy; but then her bringing up had been different from that of most of her countrywomen, without the constant excitement and restlessness which seem inseparable from a home education in most city households. She had an abundance of the national humor, quick perceptions, and a keen capacity for enjoyment; but she had not as yet--if she ever would acquire--that particular attraction in the eyes of most English_men_, the spontaneous up-bubbling garrulity, which most English_women_ call "a feverish desire to be prominent."

Mordaunt talked chiefly to the mother. Grace saw at once that the daughter did not particularly attract him--it was not this that he had come out into the wilderness to see. Beatrice Hurlstone's undisguised encouragement and capacity for flirtation treated as a fine art, or May Clayton's audacious drollery was much more to his taste. But Ferrars and Grace together drew Doreen out, and were entertained with the remarks of this child of nature, as yet _unblasée_ by the glitter of such shows. A young man came in to visit Mrs. Caldwell, whose box he believed it to be. She introduced him to Grace as Mr. Alan Brown. He was evidently intimate with the family. The girl greeted him with a frank smile, and said,

"I am sure you have never seen anything better than _this_ in Europe. Say, have you, now?"

"No," he answered. "Barnum takes the cake for shows. It isn't a very grand thing to take the cake for--but it's the best we have in the dramatic line."

This remark, and Mr. Brown's "English accent," gave Grace the key-note of the air which persecuted the young man's life. He had been educated at Eton and Oxford, and had returned to business in New York, hating his present existence, and indisposed to find pleasure in the many pleasurable things his native land had to offer him.

"I am sorry for him," said Mrs. Caldwell, when he had left the box. "Alan is a very nice fellow in many ways, but his education has been a mistake. His father is very rich--dry-goods, you know--and this is his only son. As he naturally wishes him to continue the business, it was not fair to bring him up with all the tastes and habits of your leisure class in England. It was his mother's fault. He hates business, and he hates New York."

Gunning entered just then, and was presented to Mrs. Caldwell.

"You live near the Rockies, don't you? I shot six bears there last year. It was great sport. I was under canvas. But to live there--Caldwell must find it awfully slow."

"My son has work there, and he likes the life. He enjoys New York for a short time, but he would soon tire of doing nothing. He told me what a charming party you had last night," she added.

"Why, yes. It was a success, I think--I hope you thought it went off well, Miss Ballinger? Oh! Thank you. It's awfully good of you to say so. Every one was so delighted to meet you--and Sir Mordaunt. Sorry you can't come to Tuxedo. Quite a number of people are going there on Saturday. You are going to the hall to-night, of course? And have you cards for the Assembly Ball next week? That's all right. Talking of cards, I wish you'd tell me which is the correct thing in London, to print your address on the right-hand or the left-hand corner of your card? 'Cause it's important to know."

"I am afraid I can't tell you. I never thought about it."

"Well, now, that's curious. We've had quite a dispute about it here. I say, don't you want to know who is in the third box from here--that handsome woman in gray? She's Otero, the rival of Carmencita--and a sight better-looking too--but she's not the fashion like the other is. Fashion is everything, after all, ain't it? This circus is full all the time. Everybody comes here, not that they care for it very much, but it's the thing. Pity it's so big, one can't see across the house well." Here he took up his glass. "Why! I declare, there's Miss Planter and her mother! They must have arrived from Pittsburgh yesterday. If I'd known it, I'd have asked her last night. Didn't you meet her in London? Why, she made quite a stir there--went into first-rate society, and refused a lord, I'm told. You must be introduced, Sir Mordaunt. She is a real belle, Clare Planter is. If you like to come right away now, I'll present you."

So Ballinger rose, laughing, and the young men left the box. On his return, just before the end of the performance, Mordaunt reported that the young lady was charming, the prettiest girl he had seen since he landed, lots to say for herself, and very nice. "A sort of girl you'll like, Grace. Been in England, too."

Grace knew what that meant. They trooped out of the theatre, Grace on Gunning's arm, Mrs. Caldwell on Sir Mordaunt's. Doreen had a double body-guard: Ferrars, whose arm she took on one side, and Alan Brown, who had appeared again just as they were leaving, on the other. As they reached the crowded entrance Grace saw a sallow foreigner in front of them, with a lady on his arm. The lady turned her head--the face was an unforgettable one; it was that of Madame Moretto. There was a block at the door, of people waiting for their carriages, for it was raining.

"Where is Doreen? I do not see her," said Mrs. Caldwell; but a moment later the girl appeared on Mr. Brown's arm. Then, "What have you done with Mr. Ferrars? I thought you were with him?"

"So I was, mother, but he suddenly dropped my arm, and asked me to excuse him, and let Alan take me to the carriage. He looked so odd, quite ill, I thought."

"Certainly Mr. Ferrars is not fit for New York society," thought Grace to herself. "I don't believe he was ill a bit. It was one of his strange vagaries."

The ball that night, at one of the greatest and most exclusive houses in New York, will be best described in an extract from Grace's letter to her aunt, written the following day. It tells better than I could the fresh impressions made upon her receptive nature by the scene, the habits, and the actors in that drama of the New World in which she was now taking part.

"_Thursday, January 24th._

"We were last night at Mrs. Thorly's ball. Everything was very
splendid, the house, the dresses, the diamonds, the flowers,
everything except the introduction to the _fête_, by which I mean
that the guests, on arrival, had to struggle through the brilliant
crowd in order to reach the staircase, and up to the cloak-room
on the first floor. This strange anomaly, I am told, is almost
universal here. It was snowing, and every one wore 'gums,' to
protect their thin shoes. The men were, naturally, muffled in
ulsters; the women swathed in veils and fur cloaks. Anything
more incongruous than this unsightly procession, forcing its way
through the bare shoulders and wreathed heads of those who had
already discarded their wraps and were scanning each new arrival,
can hardly be imagined. The ordeal of running the gauntlet through
this crowd was most disagreeable to me. I should not have minded so
much if I had been impenetrably veiled, as most of the women were;
but I felt as if the snow-flakes were in my hair, and my cheeks
a-flame, as I heard people whisper, 'That's the English girl,
you know.' When I had smoothed my ruffled feathers, I descended
with Mordy, and we made our way to Mrs. Thorly, who received me
most graciously. As I looked round I was really dazzled by the
_general_--more than the particular--beauty of the women, and
specially by their toilettes. No one of them, perhaps, was really
beautiful; but they were nearly all pretty, and, as a whole, better
dressed than any collection of girls I ever saw. I had on that
frock of Mrs. Mason's, which I had only worn once at Grosvenor
House; and I flattered myself I looked so smart till I saw how
much fresher all the dresses round me were. Well, it didn't much
signify. There was a time when I should have been vexed, but now I
don't much care. The married women's diamonds were amazing; many of
them were tiaras, which I understand is an importation from England
much reprehended by some. 'What business have republicans with
crowns?' a man said to me. I replied that republicans had taken
them off so many heads that I did not suppose they attached any
importance to them as the insignia of royalty. I preferred walking
about and watching the dancers to dancing much. The young men were
indulgent with me; they showed me everything, told me who every
one was, and were very nice and kind. Mordy divided his attention
between Miss Hurlstone--who is certainly much taken with him--and
a Miss Planter, a new beauty just arrived. She was the handsomest
girl there, and I admire her more than any one I have seen. There
is character in her fine, fearless eyes, her well-cut mouth, her
firm, erect carriage. She is more like a married woman than a girl,
and her very costly attire strengthened this impression. Mordy
introduced us. Her voice is peculiarly pleasant, so rich and low,
very unlike most of the voices here. She has a few American turns
of speech (of which she is quite unconscious, of course, for her
great desire, I am told, is to be thought English), but no twang,
not the faintest suspicion of one. She talked of all the people
she had known in London with a familiarity which was amusing. An
English girl would have made a mess of it; but adaptability is
essentially an American feature. She had fallen into these people's
lives, for the time being, so completely that she may be said to
have assimilated them. Of course, she is a flirt; all girls here
are. On the other hand, married women are _not_; husbands would
never stand their wives 'carrying on' as they do all over the
continent of Europe, including England. We theorize about morality;
but the variable laws which decree how much people may sin before
they are excluded from society are much more lax with us than in
New York.

"The supper was most picturesque. At a given moment any quantity
of little tables were brought in by numberless servants and
scattered through the rooms, and at these the whole of the guests
seated themselves and were served. The feast lasted quite an hour,
during which there was an entire cessation from dancing. To me
individually this was a trial, for I had promised Mr. Gunning to
go to supper with him, believing it would be an affair of ten
minutes--I scarcely touch supper, as you know. Instead of that,
I found myself wedged between him and a man I did not know; and
Mr. Gunning was absurd enough, and tactless enough, to choose
this moment to propose to me. Can you imagine a more irritating
position? No escape. When I declined the honor he did me, hot
cutlets were being handed over my shoulder; and there I had to sit
while quails and lobster salads, creams and ices, came in slow
succession, and still he poured out his persistent nonsense! I was
so angry; I could have boxed his ears.

"_January 25th._--Miss Hurlstone drove me out this morning in her
pony-carriage. Of course, we discussed the ball, but had not got
very far when she turned round and asked if I admired Miss Planter.
I replied, 'Yes, very much.' 'So does your brother,' she remarked.
Then, after a pause, 'Does he confide in you much?' I was rather
taken aback. 'He does sometimes, I suppose, not always.' 'Has he
ever spoken to you of me?' 'Yes, two or three times.' 'Do you think
he likes me?' 'Certainly; why should he talk to you otherwise?
But Mordaunt is a dreadful flirt. You mustn't take anything he
says seriously, especially _here_, where he has been told you all
expect to be flirted with, and attach no importance to it.' 'Well,'
she said, as she flicked her ponies, 'if he thinks we all take it
like that, he is mistaken--and I suppose, therefore, the less I
see of him the better, for I never met any one I liked so much.
That is just the truth, Miss Ballinger, and, until last night, I
fancied--But when I saw how he was carrying on with that Planter
girl--they are just nobodies, coals, or tallow, or something from
Pittsburgh--I was so hurt I could have cried. I suppose you think
it very undignified of me to own it? Mamma would be very angry
if she knew that I said so; but it is the truth!' What could I
say? I tried to console her by the assurance that Mordaunt was too
_volage_ to settle down with Miss Planter or Miss any one else just
at present; and though I doubt if this carried much weight with
it, the girl's worldly common-sense, so at variance, according to
our ideas, with this expansiveness of sentiment, stopped her from
saying more. I have given you the dialogue, as nearly as I can,
in the very words used, because its directness--the way in which
she went straight to her point without hesitation--struck me as
very characteristic of the nation. She wanted to learn something,
and she learned it. Most English girls would have died sooner than
have made that confession. As to Mordy, of course, none of these
flirtations mean anything; but he will be burnt some day if he goes
on playing with fire. Miss Planter is really far above the common
run. As I looked at Miss Hurlstone's pretty face, and recalled the
other's fine classical head, I could not be surprised at Mordy's
transference of his admiration. After all, if American girls choose
to flirt in this way, and encourage men without any intention
of marrying them, they must take the consequences if _they_ are
sometimes the ones to suffer. I cannot pity Miss Hurlstone very
much. Some of the men here I like greatly. The women are superior
in superficial qualities; they have more leisure to give to them.
But among the men not devoted solely to money-making, among those
who aim at raising the intellectual tone of the people, I have met
some well worth cultivating. Mordy's friend, Mr. Reid, you would
like--a shrewd head for business, with brains to spare for other
things.

"But I must stop. Good-night. We are waiting anxiously to hear when
you think you may be able to join us."