Chapter V

Events soon proved that Helen was right in saying that Marion must have made an impression upon Mrs. Singleton. A few days later that lady's card was brought to Mrs. Dalton, who regarded it with mild surprise, saying, "Why, I have not called on her since her arrival this summer!"

"But you called on her last summer," said Helen; "and I suppose she has some reason for coming without waiting for you to make another formal visit. Pray find out what it is."

It was not at all difficult to discover Mrs. Singleton's reason for the visit. She declared it frankly and at once. "I hear that you have your charming daughter at home, Mrs. Dalton," she said; "and, knowing her accomplishments, I want to secure her aid for some musical evenings I am anxious to inaugurate. Mr. Singleton--my husband's uncle--finds almost his only pleasure in music; so I desire very much that these evenings shall be a success. Do you think Miss Morley will assist me?"

"I have no doubt she will be very glad to do so," answered Mrs. Dalton.

"I am delighted to hear it. And I am told that a very striking-looking young lady, whom I saw in church with Miss Netta Morley last Sunday, is your niece. Has she, also, taste and talent for music?"

"Oh! yes; she has a finer voice than Helen," said Mrs. Dalton, "and sings much better."

"How very charming for me!" cried Mrs. Singleton. "May I have the pleasure of seeing the young ladies? I should like to have their definite promise to help me."

The young ladies were summoned, and very readily gave the promise asked of them. They would be delighted, they said, to assist to the full extent of their musical abilities. "And when," Helen asked, "will the evenings begin?"

"Oh! at once," Mrs. Singleton replied. "On every Wednesday I hope to gather all the musical talent of Scarborough into my drawing-room. I shall send out my cards immediately to that effect. You don't know, Miss Lynde,"--turning to Marion--"how pleased I am to find unexpectedly such an addition as I am sure you will prove."

Marion smiled. "You are very kind," she said; "but I fear you are taking too much for granted. I am not a good musician. I have never had industry enough. Helen plays much better than I do."

"Oh, but, Marion, your voice is so fine!" cried Helen. "And everyone likes singing best."

"_I_ do, I confess," said Mrs. Singleton. "And so, I think, does my uncle. I have no doubt that you sing well, Miss Lynde."

"That is kind of you again," responded Marion; "but I must warn you that Helen is not altogether a trustworthy witness. She always thinks well of what her friends do, and poorly of what she does herself."

"I am willing to wait and let Mrs. Singleton decide whether or not I think too well of what you do," observed Helen, with a gay little nod.

"Mrs. Singleton has no doubt what her decision will be," said that lady. "Meanwhile, Miss Lynde, I wonder if we are not related in some way? I am very certain that the Singletons have connections of your name, and I fancy it must be your family."

"It is likely," answered Marion; "but matters of pedigree and relationship have never interested me sufficiently for me to know much about them. I regret that fact now," she continued, with unusual graciousness; for she felt that she would not be sorry to be able to claim relationship with people of such social position as these were.

"Oh!" said Mrs. Singleton, "my uncle will know all about it, I am sure. Like most people of the old school, he thinks a great deal of such things. And I hope I may prove right in my conjecture," she added, as she rose to take leave.

"_What_ an impression you must have made upon her, Marion!" cried Helen, as soon as they were alone. "Do you know that she is usually the most supercilious woman, and so haughty that the idea of her claiming relationship with any ordinary person seems incredible!"

"Do you consider me an ordinary person?" asked Marion, laughing, as she walked toward a mirror. "I am exceedingly obliged to you."

"You know that I consider you a most extraordinary person," answered Helen, with emphasis; "but Mrs. Singleton does not know yet what you are in yourself, and--and you are not rich or--"

"Distinguished in any way," said Marion, as she paused. "There is no doubt of that. As far as the outward accidents of life go, I am a very insignificant person. But I shall not be so always, Helen. I am sure of that; and people who know the world seem to have an instinct of it also."

Helen looked at the fair face which, with such an air of conscious power, regarded itself in the mirror. To her this ambition belonged to the order of inexplicable things; yet she had a belief that it was natural enough in Marion, and that it was fully justified by gifts which she acknowledged without defining.

"No one could know you and not be sure of it," she said, in answer to the last speech. "Of course you will fill some great place in the world--we settled _that_ long ago. But I do think it strange that Mrs. Singleton should recognize how remarkable you are--so soon."

"Perhaps it is an indication that other people will recognize it too," replied Marion, with a smile; while she said to herself that one other person had recognized it already.

And, indeed, the recognition of that person had by this time become sufficiently evident to everyone. In the innocence of her heart, Helen rejoiced that her hero and oracle agreed with her in admiring the cousin whom she admired so much. "I knew how it would be!" she said to him, triumphantly. "You might be critical about other people, but I knew you _must_ acknowledge that Marion is beyond criticism."

"That, however, is just what I don't acknowledge," Rathborne answered, laughingly. "Miss Lynde is by no means beyond criticism; she is only a beautiful and clever young lady, who has clearly determined to do the best for herself without much regard for others."

"Marion has never been taught or accustomed to think of others," said gentle Helen. "But I do not think she would harm any one for her own advantage."

"Oh! no; she would only quietly walk over the person who was unlucky enough to get in her way," remarked Rathborne. "And it is not I who would blame her for that."

Helen looked at him reproachfully. "Now you are doing yourself injustice," she said. "I understand that you do not mean anything of the kind, but such remarks make others think badly of you."

"No doubt," he replied, carelessly; "but, my dear Helen, there is nothing in the world of less importance to me than what others--the class of others you mean--think of me."

"But it is of great importance to _me_," said Helen. "I cannot bear that you should be misjudged by any one."

He laughed--people were right who said of Rathborne that he had not a pleasant laugh--as he replied, "Who can say when one is misjudged? Don't trouble yourself about that. As long as you are satisfied with me, I can snap my fingers at the rest of the world."

"You know how well I am satisfied," said Helen.

"Yes, I know," he answered, with a short thrill of compunction. "I am not all you think me, Helen. The 'others,' whose opinion makes you indignant, are nearer right than you are, if the truth were known, I suspect."

"You shall not say such things!" cried Helen. "There is nothing I could want changed in you, except"--her face fell a little--"except your religion. If you were only a Catholic I should be perfectly happy."

Rathborne smiled a little, as one would at the folly of a child. "I a Catholic!" he said. "My imagination is not strong enough to fancy that. No, my dear little Helen; you must be content with me as I am."

"Have you read the book I gave you--which you promised to read?" asked Helen, wistfully.

"I glanced into it--because I promised you," he answered; "but I found little of interest, and nothing to change my convictions. Do not indulge the hope that they ever will be changed. Let us understand each other on that point from the first. You are at liberty to believe and practice what you like, and I claim the same liberty for myself. Is not that just?"

"I--suppose so," answered Helen, whose forte was not controversy, and whose eyes were full of tears. "But surely you wish to believe and practice the truth?"

Rathborne shrugged his shoulders. "What is truth?" he said. "There is ancient and high authority for that question, and I don't know that it has ever been answered satisfactorily. I shall not endeavor to begin to answer it. And I shall not take an answer from the lips of a priest. Now let us change the subject."

The subject was changed, but poor Helen's heart was heavier than before it was begun. Whenever she did not talk to Rathborne on the subject of religion, she indulged a hope of his conversion, founded on her own ardent desire; but whenever she timidly opened the subject, she felt the hopelessness of moving this nature so deeply rooted in self-opinion, spiritual indifference, and worldly interests. At such times her poor little heart had its first taste of bitterness of life,--that bitterness which is so largely made up of the jarring of different natures and of irreconcilable desires.

Meanwhile some irreconcilable desires had begun to disturb the even current of Rathborne's carefully-planned life. For years he had seen very clearly what he meant to do--first to marry Helen, in order to secure the financial independence which her fortune would give; and then to climb, by certain well-marked steps, the ladder of professional and political eminence. He had never hesitated or wavered for an instant in this plan, neither had any obstacle arisen in his way. Helen had yielded to his influence, her mother's opposition was easily overcome, his professional success was all that he could desire, and already he was known as a man certain to gain the coveted prizes of public life.

But now into this well-ordered and orderly existence a distraction came. A beautiful, imperious, ambitious woman suddenly appeared in his path, and the strongest temptation of his life assailed him--the temptation to give up Helen and her fortune for Marion and Marion's striking gifts. "What might not a man accomplish with such a brilliant and ambitious spirit to aid his own ambition!" he said to himself, and so felt the temptation grow daily stronger. Yet he was well aware that in giving up Helen, he would give up more than her affection (which he did not count at all), and her fortune (which he counted very heavily): he would give up also a large and influential family connection, and the respect of every person of his acquaintance whose respect was worth most to him. He felt, however, that he might make up his mind to the last, if it were all; for he was too cynical and had too thorough a knowledge of the world not to know that people do not long remember anything to the disadvantage of a successful man. But to resign Helen's fortune, after the careful work of years to secure it, was something more difficult to him; and he had by no means made up his mind to do so when the above conversation took place.

It was the day of Mrs. Singleton's _musicale_; and presently Rathborne, who found conversation tiresome to maintain, said as he rose to go: "Shall I accompany you this evening? Of course I have had a card like everyone else."

"Oh! yes; come by all means," replied Helen. "Mamma is going with us, and Netta and Frank are to call by; but it is always pleasant to have _you_."

"It is not pleasant to me, however, to form one of a caravan," he said, with some impatience. "If I am to accompany you, can you not dispense with Miss Morley and her brother?"

"I hardly like to tell them not to come; and why should you object to them? It is pleasant for us all to go together."

"Do you think so?" said Rathborne, with the sneer which came so readily to his lip. Some words of Marion's recurred to his mind. "Helen is so gregarious and so easily pleased," that young lady had said, "that I think she would like to live always with a mob of people." But for the memory of this speech he might not have felt so irritated with a harmless and amiable love of companionship; but the contempt which dictated the words found a ready echo in his own mind.

"If your cousins are going to accompany you, there is no need for me," he observed; "so I will content myself with meeting you at Mrs. Singleton's. Good-morning!"

"Oh, I am sorry!" said Helen, with quick regret. "Netta and Frank would think it very strange, else I would send and ask them not to come--"

"Not on my account, I beg," responded Rathborne. "I am very well satisfied with matters as they are. It gives me the opportunity of choosing my own time to appear."

"Don't be too late," said Helen. "You know that Marion and I are both going to sing; and Marion, I am sure, will do her best."

"And you also, I hope."

She shook her head. "I am not like Marion. A public performance unnerves me, but it always puts her at her best. You will hear to-night how much better she will sing for a number of people than she has ever sung for a small circle."

"I shall certainly hear," said Rathborne. "Tell Miss Lynde that I am preparing myself to be electrified."

Perhaps he was aware in uttering these words that Miss Lynde had appeared in the open door behind him. At least there was no surprise on his face, but a great deal of satisfaction, when she came forward, saying:--

"And why, pray, Mr. Rathborne, should you be preparing yourself to be electrified?"

"Because Helen has just been telling me how much you are inspired by an audience," he answered; "and you are to have all Scarborough for your audience."

She made a gesture of indifference. "Give me credit," she said, "for caring a little more for the quality than the mere quantity of appreciation. 'All Scarborough' does not mean a great deal to me, I assure you."

"Such as it is, though, it will be at your feet," he said. "Do not scorn it."

"I shall certainly wait until it is at my feet to begin to do so," she answered, with a laugh.

"It is not good policy to scorn even that which is at your feet," he said. "You may need it some day."

"Be sure that I have no inclination to scorn any kindness that comes in my way," she observed, quickly. "You do me injustice if you believe me capable of that."

"Then you will not scorn your audience to-night," he answered; "for I am sure you will meet nothing but kindness from it."