It was true that he had made love to her, or had tried to; but she had no faith in his sincerity. She had first felt amused, and then a little sorry, when he had gone to work so earnestly. He took the trouble to remind her frequently that it was all for her, and she laughed at him and at the love-making which he was always attempting and which she always thwarted. Saxton did not come often to the house, but when he came he exercised his ingenuity to bring Raridan into the talk in the rare times that they were alone together. She knew why Saxton praised her friend to her, and it increased her liking for him. It is curious how a woman"s pity goes out to a man; any suggestion of misfortune makes an excuse for her to clothe him with her compa.s.sion. It is as though Nature, in denying gifts or inflicting punishment, hastened to throw in compensations. Saxton asked so little, and beamed so radiantly when given so little; he received kindnesses so shyly, as if, of course, they could not be meant for him, but it was all right anyway, and he would move on just as soon as the other fellow came.
As for Wheaton, he was certainly not frivolous, and her father"s respect for him and dependence on him had communicated itself to her. He was so much older than she; and at twenty-two, thirty-five savors of antiquity; but he was steady, and steadiness was a trait that she respected. He was terribly formal, but he was kind and thoughtful; he was even handsome, or at least so every one said.
She lay dreaming until the clock on the mantel chimed midnight, when she reached for the novel that had fallen on the coverlet, to put it on the stand beside her bed. A card which she had been using as a mark fell from the book; she picked it up and turned it over to see whose it was.
It was John Saxton"s.
"Father didn"t say anything about him," she said aloud. She thrust the card back into the book and reached up and snapped out the light.
CHAPTER XIX
A FORECAST AT THE WHIPPLES"
There was a cup of tea at the Whipples" for any one that dropped in at five o"clock. The general kept a syphon in the icebox, and his wife"s tea, which he loathed, gave him his excuse. He was fond of saying that an exacting government made it impossible for an army officer to get acquainted with his wife until after his retirement, and then, he declared, there was nothing to discuss but the opportunities in life which they had missed. They talked a great deal to each other about their neighbors, and about their friends in the army whose lives they were able to follow through the daily list of transfers in the newspapers, and the ampler current history of the military establishment in the Army and Navy Journal. Few men in Clarkson had time for the general. He found the club an unsocial place, and he preferred his own battered copies of "Pendennis" and "Henry Esmond" to anything in the club library. Occasionally when Mrs. Whipple was out for luncheon he went to the club for midday sustenance, but the other men who hurried through their forty cents" worth of table d"hote, talked of matters that were as alien to him as marine law. It would have suited the general much better to live in Washington, where others with equally little to do a.s.sembled in force; but his wife would not hear to it. She would not have her husband, she said, becoming a professional pall bearer, and this was the occupation of retired officers of the army and navy at the capital. He submitted to her superior authority, as he always did, and settled in Clarkson, where one could get much more for one"s money than in Washington.
The general usually remained in the Indian room at the tea hour, particularly if he liked the talk of the women who appeared, or if they were good to look at; otherwise he carried his syphon to the dining-room, where there was a bottle of the same brand of rye whisky which he kept back of "The Life of Peter the Great" in a book case in the Indian room. He and Mrs. Whipple had gone to the opera without Evelyn, and the general was now settling himself to his domestic routine. He had dodged a woman whose prattle vexed him and whose call had been prolonged, and having heard the door close upon her, he was returning to his own preserve with the intention of getting some hot water from Mrs. Whipple"s tea kettle for use in compounding a punch, when Bishop Delafield came in, bringing a great draft of cold air with his huge figure. The bishop was a friend of many years" standing. His sonorous voice filled the room and aided the fire in promoting cheeriness. Mrs. Whipple brewed her tea, and the general made his punch,--for two--for it was certainly snowing somewhere in the Diocese of Clarkson, the bishop said, and he had established his joke with the general that he might allow himself spirits in bad weather, as a preventive of the rheumatism which he never had. The three made a cozy picture as they grouped themselves about the bright hearth. They were discussing the marriage of an old officer whom they all knew, a man of Whipple"s own age, who had just married a woman much his junior.
"It"s easy for us all to philosophize adversely about such things," said the general, sitting up straight in his camp chair. "I have a good deal of sympathy with Bixby. He was lonely and his children were all married and scattered to the four winds. I suppose there"s nothing worse than loneliness."
His wife frowned at him; their friend"s long sorrow and his fidelity to his memories appealed to all the romance in her.
"It"s very different," Mrs. Whipple made haste to say, "where there are children at home. Now there"s Mr. Porter; he has Evelyn and Grant."
"But that probably won"t last long," said the bishop. "Girls have a way of leaving home."
"Well, there"s nothing imminent?" asked Mrs. Whipple, anxiously.
"Oh, no! And girls that have been educated as she has been are likely to choose warily, aren"t they?"
"Nothing in it," said the general, stirring his gla.s.s. "They all go when they get ready, without notice. Education doesn"t change that."
"It strikes me that there aren"t many eligible men here," said the bishop. "To be explicit, just whom shall a girl like Evelyn Porter marry?" He did not intend this for the general, who was refilling the gla.s.ses, but the general refused to be ignored.
"It"s my observation," he began, with an air of having much to impart, if they would only let him alone, "that in every town the size of this there are people who are predestined to marry. They fight it as hard as they can, and dodge their destinies wherever possible; but it"s a pretty sure thing that ultimately they"ll hit it off."
"That sounds like a sort of social presbyterianism to me," said the bishop dryly, "and therefore heretical." He was really interested in knowing what Mrs. Whipple knew or felt on this subject as it affected Evelyn Porter. "Now you"ve been better trained, Mrs. Whipple," he said.
"Well, so far as Evelyn"s concerned," she answered, knowing that this was what the bishop wanted, "I"m not worrying about her. She"s a sensible girl and will take care of herself. I"m not half so much afraid of destiny as of propinquity. We all know how the bachelor captain goes down before the sister, or the in-law of some kind, of the colonel of the regiment."
"That"s not propinquity," said the general; "that"s ordinary Christian charity on the captain"s part."
"Suppose," said the bishop slowly, "the commandant so to speak, is really a banker, with a trusted officer, a kind of adjutant at his elbow; and also a handsome daughter. a.s.sume such a hypothetical case, and what are you going to do about it?" He drained his gla.s.s and put it down carefully.
"This looks like the appeal direct," answered Mrs. Whipple, laughing and looking at her husband, who was meditating another punch and feeling for the scent blindly.
"I don"t know about that Mr. Wheaton," said Mrs. Whipple, meeting the issue squarely. "He doesn"t seem amusing to me, but then--I don"t know him!"
"Must one be amusing?" asked the bishop.
"Oh, I mean more than that!" exclaimed Mrs. Whipple. "Don"t we always mean intelligent when we say amusing?"
"Definitions certainly change. We are growing terribly exacting these days. But," he added, serious again, "Wheaton"s a success; he"s pointed to as one of Clarkson"s rising men; one of the really self-made."
"Yes; I fancy he never knew Evelyn before the Knights of Midas ball;"
and she sighed, wondering whether she was culpable. She knew that the bishop meant more than he had said and that this was a kind of warning to her. She felt guilty, remembering the ball, and the appeal Evelyn had made to her beforehand. A woman that has enjoyed a long career of fancied infallibility experiences sorrow when she suddenly questions the wisdom of her own judgments.
"What"s the matter with Warry Raridan?" demanded the general. "He"s got to marry somebody some day; he and Evelyn would make a very proper match. Wouldn"t they?" he pleaded, when his wife and their visitor did not respond promptly.
"Oh, Warry"s well enough," the bishop answered. "But Warry"s an uncertain quant.i.ty. He"s a fine, clean fellow, with all kinds of possibilities; but--they"re possibilities!"
"Warry"s certainly bright enough," said General Whipple.
"His sense of humor is a trifle too keen for every-day use," said the bishop.
"What"s he been up to now?" asked the general.
The bishop laughed quietly to himself.
"It was this way. You know Warry"s interest in church matters is abnormal. The boy really knows a lot of theology for one who has never studied it. He has, he says, a neat taste in bishops, whatever that means--" the bishop chuckled softly,--"and whenever one of my brethren visits me, Warry always lays himself out to give us what he calls a warm little time. A few days ago I had a letter from the Patriarch of Alexandria, whom I don"t know, in which he set forth that Doctor Warrick Raridan, of my diocese, had written him proposing a great reunion of Christendom, based on the Coptic rite. As neither the Roman, the Greek, nor the Anglican Church afforded a common meeting ground, owing to many difficulties, the American gentleman had suggested that all might meet at Alexandria. The Patriarch was delighted. Doctor Raridan had suggested me as a reference, hence the venerable prelate wished to know my opinion of the extent of the movement. I suppose Warry did that as a joke on me, or to get the Patriarch"s autograph, I don"t know which. I haven"t seen Warry since, but I"m disposed to dust his jacket for him in a fatherly way when I get hold of him. I don"t know why the Patriarch should call Warry "Doctor." He probably a.s.sumed that a man who could write as good a letter as Warry is capable of must be a person of distinction."
"Warry"s a gentleman, at any rate," said Mrs. Whipple.
"Which Wheaton isn"t; is that the idea?" demanded the general; and then added: "This Wheaton strikes me as being a wooden kind of fellow. He acts as if he hadn"t been used to things."
"Sh-h! be careful! That"s no test of worth on the banks of the Missouri," said his wife warningly.
"Do you mean to say that Evelyn Porter"s chances have been fully covered?" demanded the general. He liked gossip and hoped the subject would prove more fruitful.
"There"s Mr. Saxton," said his wife. "He seems altogether possible."
"He"s the new man, isn"t he? He always lifts his hat to me in the street; an unusual attention in this ill-mannered age."
"Does _he_ act as if he had been used to things?" asked the bishop. He was still seriously interested in canva.s.sing Evelyn"s case.
"He"s very nice," Mrs. Whipple said; "but he"s not desperately exciting, as the girls say."
"But then!" The bishop lifted his hands with a despairing gesture, "must young men be amusing or exciting in these days? Is he honest? Does he lead a clean life? Has he, as the saying is, an outlook on life?"
"He isn"t seeing much of Evelyn, I think," said Mrs. Whipple. "And he"s a great friend of Warry"s. They may offset each other."
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the general, "I don"t see any use in worrying over Evelyn Porter and her suitors. She"ll have plenty of them. And when she gets good and ready she"ll up and marry one of them."
"No girl with at least three possibilities in one town, to say nothing of dozens she may have elsewhere, need be a subject of commiseration,"
said Mrs. Whipple.
"But," began the bishop slowly, "it might be better to eliminate at least one."