A knock at the door roused her from it. A maid was there with some flowers, and an offer of her services, if Miss Van Hoosen wished them. The flowers were welcome, but the service would have been an embarrassment. Adriana knew her good points, and was quite able to do them justice. In her case, it was not the modiste that made the woman.
When she was dressed she went to the drawing-room. It was full of flowers and bric-a-brac, but there was not a book to be seen. No one was in the room; no one was apparently downstairs; she was evidently early, which at least was better than being late. So she walked about, looking at this and that, and speculating as to where the curios came from, and what queer histories they might have. Opposite one entrance to the parlor, there was a large mirror, and before this mirror a small gilded table. As Adriana passed it, she noticed that it held a portfolio; and the ribbons which fastened it being untied, she threw back the cover, and saw that it was full of photographs. Some faces were young and pretty; others, middle-aged and old, graven all over with the sharp tools of worldly strife, sorrow, thought, and experience of various kinds. The aged faces pleased her most; they were not merely calendars of so many years old, they had most of them a story to tell.
Presently she came to the pictured face of a young man which was very attractive. The countenance was full of force, and though the personality was at a 21 stand-still, pulled up for the second in which it was taken, it was both an expressive and an impressive personality. For the bit of prepared paper had caught something of that fiery particle, that little more which in the real man was doubtless a power going from him and drawing others to him, in spite of their own resolves and inclinations.
She held the photograph in her hand, and looked earnestly at it. As she did so, Harry Filmer stepped between the folds of pale blue plush which shielded the doorway. He stood motionless and watched Adriana. The mirror showed him at a glance beauty of a high and unusual kind. He took rapid note of every element of it the thick dark hair drawn backward from the broad white brow the white drooping eyelids, heavily fringed the richly-colored oval face the bow-shaped lips the rounded chin the straight white throat the tall figure robed in soft, white silk, with purple pansies at the bosom and belt and most of all, the air of freshness and of grave harmonious loveliness which environed her. He could have gazed his heart away; but in a few moments Adriana felt the unseen influence and turned. The presentment was still in her hand; the living man stood before her.
She put the picture back into the portfolio, and advanced a step or two. Harry bowed, and was at her side in a moment.
I am sure you are Miss Van Hoosen, he said, with a pleasant smile; mother told me about you. And Rose has told me a great deal about you. So, you see, we are old acquaintances. Is it not a most perfect day? Have you been riding, or walking? Or has Rose kept you all day talking over things?
He was really nervous under Adrianas smiling 22 eyes, and he felt it easier to go on talking than to take the next step. Fortunately Rose entered at the proper moment, and put every one conventionally at ease. And if people eating a good dinner together cannot get agreeably familiar, then there is something radically wrong with one-half the company, and perhaps also with the other.
Now, women are undoubtedly different beings in the presence of men. Adriana was a new Adriana to Rose. She was more mentally alert, more assured and dignified in manner, and she even contradicted Harry in many things. But then she had an agreeable way of dealing with those from whom she disagreed; and Harry was only stimulated by her opposition to his views. The dinner went delightfully to the chatter of tongues and the light clash of crystal and china, and when it was over, Harry exclaimed:
What a charming meal we have had! I had almost forgotten how very pleasant it is to eat with ones own family!
Quite as pleasant as to dine at a club, I should think, Harry, said Rose.
Talking of clubs, it is the ladies who run clubs nowadays, Miss Van Hoosen. Has Rose told you how many she belongs to? Most of the married men I know have had to resign their memberships; the candle cannot be burned at both ends, and, of course, the ladies end must not be put out.
Clubs are a new-fangled notion to women yet, Harry. They will soon tire of their own company. You may be sure of that, said Mrs. Filmer.
Not so very new-fangled, mother, continued Harry. Womens clubs have existed for centuries in Persia and Turkey. They call them The Bath, but 23 the bath is only an excuse for getting together to talk gossip, and eat sweetmeats, and drink coffee. And if you like, I will lend you Aristophanes, mother, and you may read what came of women imitating such masculine ideas among those clever old Greeks.
I have no time to read such ancient books. And they would have to be very clever Greeks indeed to write anything the New York women of to-day would care to read. My dear Harry, they are a few thousand years behind the time.
Harry forgets, said Rose, softly, that if one of a family have to retire from Club pleasures, justice decides against the man. It is not a matter of courtesy at all; men have had their day. I assure you, Woman is the Coming Man.
Oh! I think we may claim club privileges on much higher grounds, said Adriana. Every womans club has before it the realization of some high purpose, or the redressing of some wrong. I never heard of a womans club in New York on the oriental plan of tattle and gossip and eating sweetmeats.
Two of the clubs to which I belong, continued Rose, have very important subjects under discussion. One is the Domestic Symposium, and we consider topics relating to Household Economy. At present, we are trying to solve the Servant Girl Question.
Oh! cried Harry, with a hearty laugh, if you indeed solve that problem, Rose, men will give you the suffrage, and leave the currency, and the tariff, and all such small financial and political questions to you.
Thanks, Harry! It is likely we may voluntarily take them into consideration. This is an age of majorities. If we accomplish the suffrage, women will have a majority on all questions; and the reduction of man 24 becomes a mere matter of time. I was going to remark, that another of my clubs occupies itself with the criticism of the highest poets of the age.
Who are they? asked Adriana.
That is the point we have been arguing all last winter. We have had difficulties. Mrs. Johnstone Miller raised objections to the consideration of any but American poets; and it took two months sittings to settle that question. You would be astonished at the strength of some peoples prejudices! ejaculated Rose, holding up her pretty hands to emphasize her own astonishment.
Not at all, answered Harry. They call their prejudices principles, and then, of course, they cannot be decently relinquished.
Mrs. Johnstone Miller is a very superior woman. It is a great thing to hear her criticise Longfellow, Whittier, Eugene Field, Will Carlton, and the rest. I am sure she believes that she could easily excel each in their own department, if she were not prevented by her high-bred exclusiveness.
Not unlikely, Rose; there is no impertinence like the impertinence of mediocrity.
Mediocrity! Why, Harry, Mrs. Johnstone Miller is worth all of three million dollars, and it is very good of her to interest herself about literature at all. And with these words Mrs. Filmer rose, and Harry gave her his arm, and the little party strolled slowly round the piazzas, and so through the blue portières into the drawing-room. And as Adriana did so, she had a vivid memory of Harry Filmer as she first saw him, standing between the pale draperies. They had emphasized his black hair and eyes and garments very distinctly; for the young man was physically dark, 25 even the vivid coloring of his face being laid upon a skin more brown than white.
Not at all, answered Harry. They call their prejudices principles, and then, of course, they cannot be decently relinquished.
Mrs. Johnstone Miller is a very superior woman. It is a great thing to hear her criticise Longfellow, Whittier, Eugene Field, Will Carlton, and the rest. I am sure she believes that she could easily excel each in their own department, if she were not prevented by her high-bred exclusiveness.
Not unlikely, Rose; there is no impertinence like the impertinence of mediocrity.
Mediocrity! Why, Harry, Mrs. Johnstone Miller is worth all of three million dollars, and it is very good of her to interest herself about literature at all. And with these words Mrs. Filmer rose, and Harry gave her his arm, and the little party strolled slowly round the piazzas, and so through the blue portières into the drawing-room. And as Adriana did so, she had a vivid memory of Harry Filmer as she first saw him, standing between the pale draperies. They had emphasized his black hair and eyes and garments very distinctly; for the young man was physically dark, 25 even the vivid coloring of his face being laid upon a skin more brown than white.
Mrs. Filmer made herself comfortable in the easiest of easy chairs, and began mechanically to turn and change the many rings upon her fingers; the act being evidently a habit, conducive to reflection or rest. She told Harry to go away and smoke his cigar; but the young man said he was saving the pleasure until the moon rose; and in the meantime, he added, he should expect the ladies to amuse him. Rose was talking of the greatest poets of the age, he said, but I am wondering what possible use we can have for poetry. Our age is so distinctively material and epicurean.
Then Adriana asserted that it was precisely in such conditions poetry became an absolute necessity. Poetry only could refine views that would become gross without it; and give a tinge of romance to manners ready to become heartless and artificial. The discussion was kept up with much spirit and cleverness, though diverging continually to all kinds of asides, and Mrs. Filmer, with half-closed eyes, watched and listened, and occupied her mind with far different speculations.
Then there was some music; Rose played in her faultlessly brilliant manner; and Harry sang The Standard Bearer, and Adriana sang a couple of ballads. And by this time the moon had risen, and Harry brought woolen wraps, and the two girls walked with him, while he smoked more than one cigar. At first, the promenade was to a quickstep of chatter and laughter; but as the glorious moonshine turned earth into heaven, their steps became slower, their laughter died away, feeling grew apace, speech did not seem 26 necessary, and a divine silence that felt even motion to be a wrong was just beginning to enthrall each young, impressible heart.
At that moment Mrs. Filmer broke the dangerous charm by an imperative assertion that it was high time the house was locked up for the night. She had been asleep and forgotten herself, she said, and there was a tone of hurry and worry in her voice. So emotion, and romance, and young loves dreaming were locked out in the moonshine; and there was a commonplace saying of good-nights. At their bedroom doors, Rose and Adriana kissed each other, and Rose said:
I have been thinking of poor Dick Duval. Poor Dick! He loves me so much!
Then love him in return, Rose.
Impossible! He is poor.
With a sad smile, and a deep sigh, Rose shut her door. It was characteristic of her, that she had not thought of Adriana and Harry. But Harry could not sleep for thought for a sweet, pervading, drifting thought, that had no definite character, and would indeed have been less sweet if it had been more definite. He could only tell himself that he had found a new kind of woman; that her beauty filled his heart; and that her voice whether she spoke or sang set him vibrating from head to feet.
As for Adriana she was serious, almost sorrowful, and she wondered at the mood, finding it nevertheless quite beyond her control. Had she been wiser in love lore she would have feared it; for there is a gloom in the beginnings of a great love, as there is gloom in deep water; a silence which suspends expression; an attitude shy and almost reverent, it being the nature of true love to purify the temple in which it burns.
CHAPTER II
The next morning Harry went to New York. Mrs. Filmer, Rose, and Adriana stood on the piazza and watched him leap into the dog-cart, gather up the reins, and drive away at a rate supposed to be necessary in order to catch the train. He looked very handsome and resolute, and the house felt empty without his predominating presence.
Harry promises to be home again at five oclock; then, if we are ready, he will drive with us, said Rose; and towards this hour all the days hopes and happiness verged. For already Harry stole sweetly into Adrianas imaginations, and to Rose his return was interesting, because he was to bring back with him his friend Neil Gordon. Neil was not Roses ideal lover; but he was unconquered, and therefore provoking and supposable; and as environment has much to do with love, Rose hoped that the heart, hard as flint to her charms in the city, might become submissive and tender among the roses and syringas.
Harry was on time, but he was alone. Neil did not keep his engagement, he explained, and as I wished to keep mine, I did not wait for him. I think we can do without Neil Gordon. Rose said he was not at all necessary; but she suddenly lost her spirits and grumbled at the sunshine and the dust, and did not appear to enjoy her drive in the least. They went twice through the village, and passed Adrianas home 28 each time. Peter was in his garden, and he saw them, and straightened himself that he might lift his hat to Harrys salute, and to the kiss his handsome daughter sent him from her finger tips. The event pleased him, but he was not unnaturally or unadvisedly proud of it. He considered the circumstance as a result of giving his girl a fine education, and he hoped some of the rich, miserly men of the village would see and understand the object lesson. In the evening he walked down to the post-office. He expected his neighbors to notice the affair, and he had a few wise, modest words ready on the duty of parents to educate their daughters for refined society. He intended to say it was natural for girls to look for the best, and that they ought to be fitted for the best; and so on, as far as he was led or supported.
But no one spoke of Adriana, and people generally seemed inclined to avoid Peter; even his intimates only gave him a passing good-night as they went rapidly onward. At length, Peter began to understand. I believe they are dumb with envy, he thought, and his thoughts had a touch of anger. Of course, it is better to be envied than pitied; but I wish they did not feel in that way. It is disappointing. Bless my little Yanna! There are many who would not mind her being behindhand with God; who cannot bear her to be beforehand with the world. It is queer, and it is mean; but Ill say nothing about it; a man cant wrangle with his neighbors, and be at peace with his God at the same time and it is only a little cloud it will soon blow over.
He had scarcely come to this conclusion when he was accosted by an impertinent busybody, who said some sharp things about Mr. Harry Filmers reputation, 29 and the imprudence of Adriana Van Hoosen being seen driving with the young man.
Go up to the Filmers house, and say to them what you have said to me, answered Peter, and his face was black with anger.