Chapter XXII

The four days that followed were among the most worrying that Mrs. Lennox had ever known. The one comfort she found was that Joan’s suffering did not affect ‘Juliet.’ Indeed, Mrs. Lennox felt that her granddaughter was playing better than she had ever played before. There was a new note of passion in the love scenes, a new intensity in the final tragedy. But off the stage, Joan’s appearance wrung her grandmother’s heart. The girl went about with a white face and a listless demeanour, as though her life had been emptied of all colour and interest.

Meanwhile what could be done? A letter from Adam Fletcher came every day. This Mrs. Lennox had learnt for it now arrived in New York by a mid-day mail, so her belated uprising did not keep her from seeing it. She wondered what he was saying about the new development. As her granddaughter volunteered no information, she questioned her. “I have not told Adam yet about Father having written,” Joan replied in a tone of dull misery. “He is bothered enough just now without that.”

Her words struck Mrs. Lennox with surprise. Although she had always felt that Joan might be capable of a great sacrifice, this consideration for another in a smaller matter was something new. It certainly would have seemed more natural for Joan immediately to pour out all the trouble to her lover, regardless of whether it were an opportune moment for him to hear it. “Why is Mr. Fletcher so bothered?” Mrs. Lennox asked gently.

Joan brushed her hand over her forehead with a weary gesture. “Oh, didn’t I tell you, Granny? You see if the Pittsburg engineers strike, as they threaten, they will be going back on the contract they made with the masters last spring. You remember that was when Adam was there. He was one of the men’s delegates, so, of course, he feels responsible. Besides thinking that the men’s present conduct is dishonourable, Adam thinks it is awfully foolish. A thing like that knocks the bottom out of all agreements. So he is working like a slave to persuade them to take back their strike notice; it is posted for next Monday unless they get a ten per cent. rise all round. Adam hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep since he has been there.”

Mrs. Lennox did not quite understand the long explanation, but, at least, she realized that Mr. Fletcher considered his beloved working class to be in the wrong and was displeased with them. “Well, perhaps if the men behave like that, Mr. Fletcher won’t want to go on devoting his life to them,” she suggested hopefully.

“It will make him feel that they need him all the more. You can’t expect a very delicate sense of honour when people have been sweated and bullied all their lives; they have been robbed of that as of everything else. Not that the capitalists are a bit better--and they haven’t any excuse! Adam says the masters have broken agreements just as often as the men.”

With regard to her father, Joan had been more spontaneously communicative. Indeed, she had shown her grandmother the answer she wrote--rather to Mrs. Lennox’s surprise. In it the girl definitely told her father that she was willing to take up publicly her position as his daughter. Would he suggest a day either for her to go and see him or for him to come and see her? She would be free at any time except in the evening or on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons or on Monday. “What are you doing on Monday?” Mrs. Lennox asked.

“Eleven o’clock Monday has been fixed for me to run through my part with Romeo’s understudy. I daresay we shall be at it most of the afternoon.” Joan’s voice betrayed the same dull indifference. “Didn’t you hear the fuss Mr. Hobson made last night when he found out there were no understudies and Mr. Mallock was a little hoarse? I am sorry though that they settled on Monday, because that is Father’s first day in New York. However, as he has existed nearly three years without seeing me, I suppose he can exist another twenty-four hours.” She gave a wan smile.

The possibilities arising from the fact of this rehearsal did not at first strike Mrs. Lennox. But, as the poor lady was lying awake, pondering over the distressful situation, a sudden inspiration came to her. Joan could not see her father on Monday and would moreover be safely out of the way. Very well, she would see John Vandeleur herself. It gave her a chance to explain the whole situation to him before any definite steps could be taken. She would point out that if Adam Fletcher persisted in this ridiculous idea of the ineligibility of a millionaire’s daughter, it was the millionaire’s duty not to reveal himself. Miss Vandeleur must continue to reside in Europe, where the society papers had placed her, together with her grandparent, Mrs. Lennox. Joan North, the actress, must be permanently mothered by Frances West. Alter all, it was John Vandeleur’s own fault that the dual rôles had ever arisen. Besides, if the troublesome old man were now hungering after his daughter--after being able to dispense with her for all these years--he could see her at this apartment. What need was there to let out the secret to all the world, at any rate until the foolish young couple were safely married!

But would John Vandeleur be satisfied with such a shadowy parentage? She could but appeal to him. Certainly it was from John that such a compromise must come. That quixotic Joan had already felt pledged by her first letter to her father; she would feel irrevocably bound by her second. Moreover the change in her father’s appearance had evidently distressed and appealed to her. Indeed, Mrs. Lennox herself, despite her irritation, could not escape a movement of sympathy with John Vandeleur’s clinging to the one shred of success in his disastrous marriage. Yes, unless the old man himself took back his request, Joan would feel bound to give him the satisfaction of proclaiming her as his daughter.

Of course, Joan would be very angry at her interference, Mrs. Lennox reminded herself. Still that could not be helped. She had given no pledge of secrecy when the child confided in her. And John Vandeleur would be very angry too. Nothing but the thought that her dear girl’s whole happiness might be at stake, could have nerved the poor grandmother to take this step. Her hand was shaking when she wrote the note asking John to call and see her on Monday at eleven.

The ‘copper king’ found both this letter and Joan’s among his mail when he returned home late on Sunday night. They had been marked ‘confidential,’ and so his secretary had placed them there unopened and apart from the rest. He read his daughter’s first, and with profound pleasure. The absence of sentiment and of all reference to her success appealed to him. He wrote an immediate reply in his own hand, saying that he would be very pleased to call and see her on Tuesday afternoon.

After this, he was the more irritated, when, on opening the second letter, he found it was from Mrs. Lennox, imploring him for an interview before he saw Joan. What could the foolish woman want? He and his mother-in-law had never been congenial. He had despised Mrs. Lennox for a lack of culture, which was actual, and a lack of brains, which was imaginary. The fact was that the poor grandmother’s embarrassment in the disapproving presence of her son-in-law had been apt to take the form of rather silly volubility. And now, Mr. Vandeleur told himself impatiently, he would have to endure a flood of trivialities, just when he was so desperately busy on the first day of his return--indeed, that Joan had not suggested Monday had unconsciously raised her still higher in her father’s favour. Mrs. Lennox begged him to come at eleven o’clock, he noticed. Well, in any case he was not going to do that. The morning was impossible. He now rang for his secretary, and told him, together with his other instructions, to inform Mrs. Lennox that Mr. Vandeleur would be with her the next afternoon at two.

The poor grandmother was dismayed by the alteration in the hour, as well as disconcerted by the formality of the typewritten note that she received the following morning. It seemed as though her careful plan would break down at the very start. Why, Joan might be home again by two o’clock. To cope with two irate Vandeleurs at the same time loomed before Mrs. Lennox as too terrifying for human endurance. She sent up a prayer that Romeo’s understudy might prove unusually dense and the rehearsal be proportionately prolonged.

The matter was still further complicated by a telegram that arrived for Joan almost immediately after she had started for the theatre. Mrs. Lennox naturally opened it and found it was from Adam Fletcher. “Strike averted, hooray,” he wired boyishly. “Will be with you this afternoon, calling first at theatre.” She supposed that the last words meant that Joan had told him about the rehearsal. If only he caught her before she left the theatre, they might go out together somewhere, and it would delay her return. How she hoped that this might happen!

As the clock struck two Mr. Vandeleur was announced. However much he had changed--and Mrs. Lennox, like Joan, was shocked by the alteration--his rigid punctuality was unimpaired. He shook hands in stiff silence.

Mrs. Lennox felt herself positively wilting. What was it about John that made her courage exude? She reminded herself that she was no longer dependent on him; why should she have this craven fear? “Joan does not know that you are coming this afternoon. I wanted to speak to you about something,” she began, rather babblingly.

“So I imagined.” There was a pause. “Well, what is it?” Mr. Vandeleur asked sharply.

“Joan is engaged--at least, practically engaged. He is called Adam Fletcher. It has been going on over two years,” Mrs. Lennox stammered. What a hopeless beginning!

“Indeed. I suppose you consider that I have hardly the right to express surprise at not having been informed of the--er--engagement before. Adam Fletcher,” Mr. Vandeleur repeated musingly “Now where have I heard that name? He is not an actor?”

“No.” If Mrs. Lennox had not been so uncomfortable, she would have been amused by the expression of relief that crossed her son-in-law’s face. Although John Vandeleur had sacrificed his prejudices in Joan’s case, he was evidently not prepared to go further. “Mr. Fletcher is a playwright,” she explained. Possibly John might think that nearly as bad. There was another pause.

“Well, what is your objection to the young man?” Mr. Vandeleur asked unexpectedly. “Is he fast?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Fletcher is everything one could wish.” How could she tell him, that he, and not Adam Fletcher, was the objection, Mrs. Lennox felt despairingly.

Mr. Vandeleur now looked puzzled, as well as annoyed. “Mr. Fletcher does not find his playwriting lucrative perhaps?” he suggested at last.

“Not lucrative? Why, his ‘Under Dog’ must have made him a couple of hundred thousand. It is one of the greatest successes there has ever been on the American stage.”

Mr. Vandeleur looked interested. He made no comment, however. “Of course, I don’t know what Mr. Fletcher has done with the money he got for it,” Mrs. Lennox went on; now at last she saw her opening. “He may have given it all away. He is a socialist and a labour-leader and that sort of thing. Most of his time he spends speaking at meetings and strikes.”

“A most versatile young man, it appears,” Mr. Vandeleur commented drily. “Now you mention it, it was in connection with the Pittsburg strike of last spring that I heard of him.” He paused, trying to remember what had been said. One of the Pittsburg magnates had been speaking; “they’d never have pulled off the strike but for that damned Adam Fletcher”--yes, those were his friend’s words. “Well, I can hardly say that I am in accordance with Mr. Fletcher’s activities,” Mr. Vandeleur went on aloud. “But as you do not appear to object to them, and as my opinions have never carried the smallest weight either with you or with Joan, I fail to understand your anxiety in the matter. After all in less than a year my daughter will be of age and outside my control--even legally.”

“It is not your opinion, it is his,” Mrs. Lennox was beginning, when she stopped short. A flash of recollection came to her. What was it John Vandeleur had said to her in the dressing-room of the Chicago theatre--the first time she ever saw him? He could not marry her daughter, unless she gave up her profession or cut herself off from Imogen for ever. And now she had almost the same message to give to him. His own daughter could not be married because of her parent’s profession. How extraordinary it was! A wild desire to laugh seized her, but she suppressed it. Mr. Vandeleur’s words on that memorable occasion had remained graven on her memory during all the intervening years. “The real difficulty is your profession,” she said. “Mr. Fletcher has his position to keep up as a socialist. He feels a millionaire is hardly suitable to be the father of his wife.”

Mr. Vandeleur flushed an angry red. “If such an absurd idea overrides his attachment for my daughter, I consider she is well rid of him.”

“But Joan is breaking her heart over it. She lies awake crying at night--that isn’t like Joan, you know. Of course,” Mrs. Lennox went on with a touch of humorous malice, “if you would give up your work and your millions and form one of their circle, Adam Fletcher would no doubt be satisfied. Or if you would continue entirely cut off from Joan----”

“I do not know whether you are trying to be facetious, Mrs. Lennox,” Mr. Vandeleur broke in severely. He had, at last, realized the analogy, and it made him angrier than ever. Indeed, Mrs. Lennox herself wondered afterwards how she had so greatly dared. “The two cases are, of course, absolutely dissimilar.”

“Well, they don’t seem so to Adam Fletcher. He considers your millions as disgraceful as you considered my acting--oh, there is Joan.” Mrs. Lennox stopped with an accent of despair, as she heard the front door opened with a latchkey and steps in the hall.

“Adam is here, Granny,” the girl called out; there was a new note of hope in her voice. “He has just arrived, we almost met on our doorstep! Didn’t a telegram----” She stopped suddenly, as, pushing aside the portière, she saw John Vandeleur sitting there. “Father!”

Mrs. Lennox weakly wondered what would happen next. She glanced from one to the other of her companions. Mr. Vandeleur was looking grimly amused, Joan surprised and dismayed, while Adam Fletcher, who had followed her into the room, seemed absolutely dazed with astonishment. Evidently the girl had not yet had time to tell him of the recent development.

It was Joan who recovered herself first. She went up and kissed her father. There was a tenderness in her manner that was new to Mr. Vandeleur. She had again been touched by the suggestion of age and unhappiness in her father’s appearance. “I am so sorry, Father, that I was out when you came,” she said gently. “Did Granny explain that I had to go to a rehearsal? I was expecting you to-morrow.”

“It was because you would be out that your grandmother asked me to come to-day. She wished to speak to me.” Mr. Vandeleur was looking critically at his daughter. Now that the flush of surprise was dying away, she did look pale and worn; yes, she looked as though she might have been lying awake crying at night. Then he glanced sharply at Adam Fletcher. ‘Old John Van’ was usually considered a good judge of his fellow men. In this case he liked what he saw. To the young man’s immense surprise, the millionaire held out his hand. “Well, I hear you consider my prospects too good to make me a desirable father-in-law.”

“Granny! How could you?” The indignant cry came from Joan, for Adam Fletcher was still too bewildered at the unexpected situation that had been sprung on him to have a ready answer. The girl turned to her father. “I haven’t had time to tell Mr. Fletcher yet about your writing to me and wanting me to be your daughter again. He has been at Pittsburg, and has only just got back.”

“H’m, you’ve been fomenting the new strike there, I presume, Mr. Fletcher?” John Vandeleur enquired a trifle grimly.

“No, I have been suppressing it this time--though it sounds out of character!” The question about his work had restored Fletcher’s self-possession.

“Has it been suppressed?” Mr. Vandeleur asked eagerly. “Didn’t the engineers come out this morning?”

“No. I got them to agree last night to take back the strike notice--it was too late for the news to get into the papers.”

“Well, I congratulate you. It is a good deal harder to stop dissatisfaction than to start it, and that is what you labour people are inclined to forget.” In his interest Mr. Vandeleur seemed to have forgotten his opening question; now he harked back to it suddenly. “However, this is irrelevant. I was correct in your estimate of me as a potential father-in-law?”

“Yes.” For the life of him Adam Fletcher could not think of anything else to say. But Joan would understand, he felt despairingly.

“You feel my wealth an insuperable bar to your marriage with my daughter?” Mr. Vandeleur was evidently determined not to spare this reluctant suitor.

This time it was Joan who replied. “Whatever Adam felt, I would not marry him as your daughter,” she broke in hotly. “It would ruin his work, his whole life. Everyone would feel that he had sold himself for the Vandeleur millions.”

“Had you not better first ascertain whether there are any Vandeleur millions?” her father suggested.

There was a dead silence, as the other three stared at John Vandeleur. The same thought occurred to all of them--the millionaire was slightly unhinged. The stability of the millions still seemed beyond doubt.

“The Vandeleur Syndicate will declare itself insolvent next week,” Mr. Vandeleur went on coldly. “As I do not intend the shareholders to suffer for their confidence, the remaining millions, that you speak of, will be called upon to supply the deficiency. As for myself, I propose to retire from business. I have long looked forward to devoting to study the declining years of my life.” He spoke with his usual frigid reserve, but dam felt underneath it the pathos of the beaten man, the end of the Vandeleur legend.

From Joan, however, the tragic statement struck nothing but a rapturous exclamation. In her joy at the levelling of the golden mountain that divided her from her lover, she forgot her newly-found affection and solicitude for her father. Perhaps, too, the Vandeleur millions had brought her so little, that she really could not understand any poignancy in their loss.

“Oh Father, can you possibly mean that you have lost all your money?” she cried. “How perfectly lovely!”

Mr. Vandeleur winced. “I shall not be an inmate of the poorhouse, as you and Mr. Fletcher would probably prefer,” he said drily. “But my fortune will not be so much larger than your own obviously considerable joint earnings as to contaminate you in the eyes of your socialist friends. Now I have another appointment.” He stood up to take his leave.

“And I must go too,” Adam Fletcher announced ruefully. “I have got to meet the committee of the United Engineers at three--it must be almost that now. I’ll be back as soon as ever I can, Joan.”

“Perhaps I can give you a lift down town in my automobile,” Mr. Vandeleur suggested. Adam Fletcher accepted the offer with an amused smile. It put a crowning touch to the unreality of the afternoon’s proceedings. Indeed, as Joan had already noticed to her amazement, there was a distinct mutual attraction between the two men. Perhaps, despite the utter dissimilarity of outlook, a certain honesty and sincerity of character formed a common ground between them.

It was over three hours later when the younger man came racing back. “Adam, what a long time you have been!” Joan said reproachfully, as she met him in the lobby. She was dressed to go out. “You must have had a tremendous talk with Father!”

“Oh no; it was the committee that kept me. Your father only took me down there. He was advising me how to invest my royalties when we parted. Fancy my budding into a Wall Street man!” Adam Fletcher laughed aloud. “Mr. Vandeleur seemed quite tickled at my simple plan of letting my money pile up at the bank. ‘Why not the proverbial stocking?’ he said. Do you know, Joan, I like your father--against all my principles! And, I believe, he has taken quite a fancy to me. He patted me on the shoulder when I got out and told me to look him up any time. He and I are going to be great friends! He doesn’t seem to have much, does he?” the young man went on thoughtfully. “Not even his money. Indeed, I don’t think he had much with it. Mrs. Vandeleur always had--well, other people, and you had Mrs. Lennox. He must have found it pretty lonely.”

“Lonely! Father lonely!” Joan echoed, amazed. She began to review their life in the wonderful Fifth Avenue Renaissance house. “I believe you are right,” she said at last, slowly. “Perhaps if there had been anyone to care for Father, he would have cared for them. Perhaps he had just got out of the habit. Poor Father. I wonder if he would let me be fond of him now,” she mused. “Anyway, I’ve found him a nice little playmate in you!” A clock in one of the rooms chiming half-past six checked her reflections. “But I must start for the theatre at once. Granny has gone on. She wanted to look up Bridget, an old servant of hers, on the way. Bridget will be able to come back to us, now there is no skeleton in the cupboard any more. She will be in the seventh heaven!--Are you going to drive down with me, Adam?”

“No, I am going to stay here for a five hour chat with the janitor,” Adam replied with cheerful irony. He pressed the button of the elevator bell.

A neat little electric coupé stood in the street. Adam helped Joan in and then turned to the chauffeur. “Oh, he knows where to go,” the girl called out to him. “He comes for us every night.”

“I’d best make sure.” The young man went up to the chauffeur. “Drive as slow as you know how,” he said hurriedly, and put a dollar bill into the man’s hand. He then followed Joan into the automobile.

It was discreetly dark inside. Suddenly, to Adam’s amazement, he felt that Joan was crying. He had never seen her cry since that night at Norfolk, long ago, when he had offered her the lead in ‘The Combine.’ “Why, darling, what is it?” he exclaimed. “Everything is all right now.”

“It is because I am too happy,” Joan wept. “It has all been so dreadful. I thought we should never be able to see each other again.”

“I guess, in any case, that would have been impossible.” Adam’s voice was tender. “I guess, it’s you and me ‘for keeps.’” He was quoting that phrase of her own. He dried her eyes with his handkerchief as though she were a child.

“Yes, I mustn’t mess up Juliet’s face,” she murmured with tremulous laughter. “But isn’t it dear of Father to have made everything so easy by losing his money?”

“Real considerate. He is a model father-in-law!” They laughed again.

There was a pause. Then Joan began unexpectedly. “All this happening has made me think a lot. And I have found out that I am horribly selfish. Yes, I have never considered anything except from my own point of view. I have been just horrible to you.”

“Horrible to me!” Adam Fletcher repeated. “Dearest, what absolute nonsense!”

“It isn’t nonsense; it is sense. Perhaps we had better get married in the spring.”

The colour rushed to the young fellow’s face. He did not answer; he could not; it was too overwhelming. Joan had made him promise not to speak of marriage, and he had kept his word. But it had not been easy. And now, unsolicited, she suggested marrying him sooner than he had ever thought possible, for despite her sensational success, the flaming letters on Broadway were still unachieved. A few months would put an end to this waiting and strain. “But I did want to be a star first, and not just a leading woman,” the girl said regretfully. There was another pause. “You haven’t ever been to Europe, either, have you?” she asked suddenly.

“No.” He understood the apparent inconsequence. “I have always heard Europe is a pretty nice sort of place for a honeymoon. Italy and all that. Verona?”

“Paris and the Théâtre Français.”

“They have got a fine system of farm produce distribution in Denmark.”

“Yes, we’ll go there,” she agreed, “And, of course, Stratford-on-Avon. It will be rather wonderful to see and to do all those lovely things for the first time together, won’t it, Adam?”

“Yes, Eve,” he answered softly.

Presently a consciousness of their leisurely pace penetrated even to Joan’s love-bemused intellect. “How slowly the man is driving to-night. It isn’t that I am bored,” she laughed, “but I must not be late.” An inspection of Adam’s watch revealed that there was still sufficient time. “Do you think that something has gone wrong with the motor?” she said, still a little anxiously, and put her head out of the window.

In spite of all the chauffeur’s efforts they had nearly reached the theatre. Its brilliantly lit up front was plainly visible. “Romeo and Juliet” blazed on the eye. But surely the lettering above the porch had been changed. The girl began to tremble. There in the dazzling electric lights were two new words-- ‘Joan North.’ “Oh, Adam!” she gasped, pointing them out to him. “Mr. Hobson didn’t tell me. I didn’t know he had any idea this season of making me a star.”

“_My_ star,” said Adam Fletcher.

_By EDITH AYRTON ZANGWILL._

TERESA

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_By EDITH AYRTON ZANGWILL._

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Transcriber’s note

Punctuation has been standardised; spelling and hyphenation have been retained as they appear in the original publication except as follows:

Page 5
The’ve got a nose _changed to_
They’ve got a nose

Page 18
immediately after the Vandeleur’s return _changed to_
immediately after the Vandeleurs’ return

Page 56
nature of the proceeeding _changed to_
nature of the proceeding

Page 61
Constantly Mrs. Lennex fancied _changed to_
Constantly Mrs. Lennox

Page 63
French actresses, the Théâtre Francais _changed to_
French actresses, the Théâtre Français

Page 68
by her present-five-year-old _changed to_
by her present five-year-old

Page 101
great at dancing and rinking _changed to_
great at dancing and drinking

Page 111
rotund then ever _changed to_
rotund than ever

Page 113
the stage and her dranddaughter _changed to_
the stage and her granddaughter

Page 131
Mrs. Lennow began to feel as though _changed to_
Mrs. Lennox began to feel as though

Page 263
No, the ‘_reculer_’ theory _changed to_
No, the ‘_réculer_’ theory still seemed to meet

Page 261
Mr. Clark asquiesced hurriedly _changed to_
Mr. Clark acquiesced hurriedly

Page 290
It sounded an Él Dorado after _changed to_
It sounded an El Dorado after

Page 319
time we must indooce Mr. Fletcher _changed to_
time we must induce Mr. Fletcher

Page 359
The big new York audience _changed to_
The big New York audience