The Bacillus of Beauty Part 39

"I need not trouble you with our conversation. In view of the attentions which his Lords.h.i.+p has been paying you, his cousin felt it a duty, he intimated, to make inquiries. He did not care a b.u.t.ton, I inferred, for your position here, as it could not affect Lord Strathay's in England; but he had read the newspapers with pardonable perplexity, and asked if you were really the only daughter of a bonanza farmer. I did not feel it necessary to enter into particulars, but informed him that your father was rich in honesty and in the possession of a daughter good and beautiful enough for any Lord that lives. He thanked me and said 'quite so,' as Englishmen usually do say when they disagree with one. He added that he would try to get the poor beggar--for so he referred to his kinsman--away fis.h.i.+ng.

"You will note that, in the higher social strata, the choice of matrimonial partners has progressed beyond the personal selection so confidently a.s.sumed by the scientists, and has become a matter for relatives to--"

"And my only relative in New York," I said slowly, wondering how fatal was this unexpected news, "has made it impossible for me to achieve a success that was almost within my grasp."

I don't see that the remark was so very terrible, but he looked at me with an odd air of astonishment and consternation. Then he seemed to consider it best to treat my natural disappointment as a joke.

"Not very serious is this conversation, as you have reminded me," he said.

"You don't wish me to tell that which is not?"

"Why, naturally--no." I was stunned, but I forced a laugh. "But it _is_ funny. Why--I was nearer landing the prize than I supposed, wasn't I?--that is, if I had wanted to land it?"

"Um--yes; it was rather close. But in this world you'll find strong men often dissuading weak ones from action briefly meditated."

He gazed at me solemnly, portentously, critically.

"Yes," I said, trying to speak with careless ease; "one Lord gone, but there are others. Don't be too hard upon Strathay, though. He's not so bad. His estates are not heavily enc.u.mbered, and he's as likely now to wed a music hall singer as a daughter of the Beerage. Perhaps such a marriage as he might have offered is not the best in life, but it is something that women who love their daughters as well as you love yours are glad to arrange for them. I should have made Strathay a very decent wife--"

But at the word I stopped; something in the sound of it shattered my cool philosophy.

"Of course, of course," Uncle a.s.sented. Then after a pause he went on, hesitatingly:--

"Nelly, these are not matters for a man to discuss with you. Why don't you run in and talk with your aunt?"

I hadn't the least intention of calling, but I answered him according to his folly.

"I must, some time; but I'm so worried--"

"Ah, yes; those debts. Could you not, if you are determined not to come home to us, seek less expensive apartments? You know that for any wants in reason your aunt and I--"

"I--I can't, just yet," I faltered, with a dreary vision before my eyes of such a boarding house as that from which Kitty rescued me.

"Very well, Nelly, but think about it; you will see that to go on as you are doing would be only throwing money into a bottomless pit. But bring me your bills to-morrow; I must have facts and figures, if we are to straighten your affairs. Now--you need money--"

He was fumbling for his check book. Badly as I needed help, instinctively I cried:--

"Oh, no; not that!"

"Quite sure? It is the situation that troubles you and not the butcher, the baker--"

"Quite sure."

"I desist. But sleep on what I have said. Remember that I am in your father's place, that I--your aunt and I--are very anxious about you."

He took my hand, seeming as perplexed as I am myself. He looked affectionate enough, but so futile.

So I came away heartsick. It's useless to argue with Judge Baker. He's a plebeian from his thick shoe soles to his thin hair; but he's honest. And yet--if he had been less ponderously precise--he might have said: "Why, really, I don't exactly know. Mr. Wins.h.i.+p is a well-to-do man. It has been years since I knew, but I can ascertain and--"

Or he might just have told the plain truth--that Father has a large Western farm. Englishmen think all Western folks are rich. Why, I believe Meg Van Dam would dower me if I were to marry Strathay. I could make it worth her while. It wouldn't be the first arrangement of that sort in New York, either.

If only Strathay had seen me once more, no power on earth could have prevented an avowal; and marriage with a peer of England would have given me a station befitting my beauty.

But perhaps it's not too late. Strathay may not heed his cousin. If he comes wooing again, I shall not be so silly as I was the last time.

Strange that I have not seen him. Can he have gone already?

I might do the London season by borrowing from Meg. It would cost a fortune, and--unless Strathay does propose--perhaps even she wouldn't care to finance me now.

I wish---

Oh, I wish I could get out of my dreams the ghastly form of Darmstetter, as I saw him dead at my feet! He haunts me all day long, and all the night I dream of him!

And I wish I had not broken John Burke's honest heart--how wistful he looked, as he waited for me at the door of the office and helped me to my carriage! Perhaps Ned wasn't in the building; perhaps--he may have avoided me.

I wish I had not brought him sorrow, and I wish--

No, I don't! I just hope Milly is even more wretched than I am!

Father really might mortgage. I could easily pay it back. I wonder I never thought of that. I'll ask him. I will not take my bills to Judge Baker--to be lectured on the dodo and on lines of social cleavage--as if any man could be a match for me.

I'll never go back to Aunt Frank! There is Bellmer, now--and Strathay must soon return to New York, to sail.

CHAPTER VI.

LITTLE BROWN PARTRIDGES.

May 20.

I wonder if I couldn't _earn_ money. For the last week--nothing but trouble. No check from Father. Hugh Bellmer I have not seen. Strathay has really gone, spirited away by that superior cousin.

And Mrs. Whitney has deserted me--oh, if it were not for money troubles, I wouldn't mind that, cruel as was the manner of it!

Of course the newspapers soon learned that Strathay had left town. Trust them for that; and to make sensational use of it! The first I knew of it, indeed, was when one day Cadge came bursting into the room.

"Isn't it a shame?" she began in her piercing voice; as ever at fever heat of unrest, she waved at me a folded newspaper.

"Emphatically; but what is it?"

"That fierce tale of the _Echo_; haven't seen it? We couldn't print a line. Big Tom says the chief has put his foot down; won't have stories about women in private life, you know--without their consent. But why didn't you--why can't you give us a whack at it?"

"Because there isn't a word of truth in the whole disgusting--what does it say?"

I had seized the sheet from her hands and rapidly glanced over the staring headlines. Eagerly she interrupted me:--

"Oh, isn't it the worst ever? But I see how it happened. They must have sent out a leg man to get facts, and when no one would talk, they stirred this up in the office. But--not to print, now--what _are_ you going to do with His Lords.h.i.+p? Honest, Princess?"

"Nothing; there's absolutely nothing between us. He's a nice fellow, and I like him, and we're good friends; that's all. I--I knew he was going; fis.h.i.+ng."