"Oh, then of course it is true," said Sybil. "How dreadful!"
"Harrington takes it in the calmest way, as though he had expected it all his life. He says they were never friends, and that Vancouver has a perfect right to his political opinions. I never saw anybody so cool in my life."
"What a splendid fellow he is!" exclaimed Sybil. "There is something lion-like about him. He would forgive an enemy a thousand times a day, and say the man who injured him had a perfect right to his opinions."
"Why gracious goodness, Sybil, how you talk!" cried Mrs. Wyndham; "you are not in love with the man yourself, are you, my dear?"
"I?" asked Sybil. Then she laughed. "No, indeed! I would not marry him if he asked me."
"Why not?"
"Oh, I would never marry a celebrity like that. He is splendid, and n.o.ble, and honest; but everything in him is devoted to his career. There is no room for a woman at all."
"I think the amount of solid knowledge about men that you dear, sweet, lovely, beautiful, innocent little girls possess is something just too perfectly amazing!" said Mrs. Wyndham, slowly, and with great emphasis.
"If we do," said Sybil, "it is not surprising. I am sure I do not wonder at girls knowing a great deal about the world. Everything is discussed before them, and marriage and men are the usual topics of conversation.
The wonder is that girls still make so many mistakes in their choice, after listening to the combined experience of all the married women of their acquaintance for several years. It shows that no one is infallible."
"What a funny girl you are, Sybil!" exclaimed Mrs. Wyndham. "I think you turn the tables on me altogether."
"Yes? Well, I have experiences of my own now," said Sybil, leaning back against an enormous cushion.
Mrs. Wyndham came and sat upon the arm of the easy-chair, and put one arm round Sybil"s neck and kissed her.
"Sybil, dear," she said affectionately, and then stopped.
They sat in silence for some time, looking at the great logs burning in the deep fire-place.
"Sybil, dear," Mrs. Wyndham began again, presently, "why did you refuse Vancouver? You do not mind telling me, do you?"
"Why do you ask?" said Sybil. "It makes no difference now."
"No, perhaps not. Only I always thought it strange. He must have done something you did not like, of course."
"Yes, that was it. He did something I did not like. Mr. Harrington would have said he had a perfect right to do as he pleased. But I could not marry him after that."
"Was it anything so very bad?" asked Mrs. Wyndham, affectionately, smoothing Sybil"s thick fair hair.
"It was not as deep as a well, nor as broad as a house," said Sybil, with a faint, scornful laugh; "but it was enough. It would do."
"I wish you would tell me, dear," persisted Mrs. Wyndham. "I have a particular reason for wanting to know."
"Well, I would not have told before this other affair came out," said Sybil. "I would not marry him because he tried to find out from poor mamma"s man of business whether we were rich. And the day after he got the information that I was rich enough to suit him, he proposed. But mamma knew all about what had gone on and told me, and so I refused him. She said I was wrong, and would not have told me if she had known it would make any difference. And now you say I was right. I am sure I was; it was only a fancy I had for him, because he was so clever and well-bred.
Besides, he is much too old."
"He is old enough to be your father, my dear," said Mrs. Wyndham; "but I think you were a little hard on him. Almost any man would do the same. We here in Boston, of course, always know about each other. It was a little mean of him, no doubt, but it was not a mortal crime."
"I think it was low," said Sybil, decisively. "To think of a man as rich as that caring for a paltry twenty or thirty thousand a year."
"I know, my dear," said Mrs. Wyndham, "it is mean; but they all do it, and life is uncertain, and so is business I suppose, and twenty or thirty thousand a year does make a difference to most people, I expect."
Mrs. Wyndham looked at the fire reflectively, as though not absolutely certain of the truth of the proposition. Sam Wyndham was commonly reputed to be worth a dozen millions or so. He would have been very well off even in New York, and in Boston he was rich.
"It would make a great difference to me," said Sybil, laughing, "for it is all I have in the world. But I am glad I refused Vancouver on that ground, all the same. If it had not been for that I should have married him--just imagine!"
"Yes, just imagine!" exclaimed Mrs. Wyndham. "And to have had him turn out such an abominable blackguard!"
"There is no mistaking what you think of him now, at all events," said Sybil.
"No, my dear. And now we have talked so long that it is time to dress for dinner."
How Mrs. Wyndham went to the party and met Joe Thorn has already been told. It was no wonder that Mrs. Sam treated Vancouver so coldly, and she repulsed him again more than once during the evening. When Joe was gone, John Harrington went up to her.
"I came very late," he said, "and at first I could not find you, and then I had to say something to Miss Thorn. But I wanted to see you especially."
"Give me your arm," said Mrs. Wyndham, "and we will go into the conservatory. I have something especial to say to you, too." Once out of the thick of the party, they sat down. "I have discovered something more about our amiable friend," she continued. "It is a side-light on his character--something he did a year and a half ago. Do you remember his flirtation with Sybil Brandon at Saratoga and then at Newport?"
"Yes, I was in Newport most of the summer."
"You don"t know why she refused him, though. It"s perfectly rich!" Mrs.
Sam laughed dryly.
"No; I only know she did, and every one seemed very much astonished,"
answered John. "She refused him because he had been trying to find out how much she was worth. It speaks volumes for the characters of both of them, does it not?"
"Yes, indeed," said John. "What a Jew that man is! He is as rich as Croesus."
"Oh, well, as I told her, most men would do it."
"I suppose so," John answered, laughing a little. "A man the other night told me he was going to make inquiries concerning the fortunes of his beloved one. He said he had no idea of buying a pig in a poke. That was graceful, was it not?"
Mrs. Wyndham laughed aloud. "He was honest, at all events. By the bye, do you know you have a fanatic admirer in Sybil Brandon?"
"No, really? I like her very much, too: and I am very glad if she likes me."
"She said she would not marry you if you asked her, though," said Mrs.
Sam, laughing again. "You see you must not flatter yourself too much."
"I do not. I should not think of asking her to marry me. Did she give any especial reason why she would inevitably refuse me?"
"Yes, indeed; she said you were lion-like, and, oh, the most delightful things! But she said she would not marry you if you asked her, because you are a celebrity and devoted to your career, so that there is no room for a woman in your life. Is that true?"
"I am not so sure," said John, thoughtfully. "Perhaps she is right in the way she means. I never thought much about it."
CHAPTER XII.