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THE

ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW

BY

EDGAR FAWCETT

AUTHOR OF "A GENTLEMAN OF LEISURE," "A HOPELESS

CASE," "AN AMBITIOUS WOMAN," "TINKLING

CYMBALS," ETC.

BOSTON

JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY
1884

Copyright, fSSj and 1884,
BY EDGAR FAWCETT.

All Rights Reserved.

TEE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW,

i.

~TT is not long ago that the last conservative
resident of Bond Street, proud of his ancient
possessorship and no doubt loving the big brick
structure with arched doorway and dormer win-
dows in which he first saw the light, felt himself
relentlessly swept from that interesting quarter by
the stout besom of commerce. Interesting the
street really is for all to whom old things appeal
with any charm. It is characteristic of our bril-
liant New York, however, that few antiquarian
feet tread her pavements, and that she is too busy
with her bustling and thrifty present to reflect
that she has ever reached it through a noteworthy
past. Some day it will perhaps be recorded of her
that among all cities she has been the least pre-
servative of tradition and memorial. The hoary
antiquity of her transatlantic sisters would seem
to have made her unduly conscious of her own
7

8 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

youth. She has so long looked over seas for all
her history and romance, that now, when she can
safely boast two solid centuries of age, the habit
yet firmly clings, and she cares as little for the
annals of her fine and stately growth as though,
like Troy, she had risen, roof and spire, to the
strains of magic melody.

It might be of profit, and surely it would be of
pleasure, were she to care more for the echoes of
those harsh and sometimes tragic sounds that have
actually blent their serious music with her rise.
As it is, she is rich in neglected memories; she
has tombs that dumbly reproach her ignoring eye ;
she has nooks and purlieus that teem with remin-
iscence and are silent testimonials of her indiffer-
ence. Her Battery and her Bowling Green, each
bathed in the tender glamour of Colonial associa-
tion, lie frowned upon by the grim scorn of recent
warehouses and jeered at by the sarcastic shriek
of the neighboring steam-tug. She can easily
guide you to the modern clamors of her Stock-
Exchange ; but if you asked her to show you the
graves of Stuyvesant and Montgomery she might
find the task a hard one, though thousands of her
citizens daily pass and re-pass these hallowed
spots. Boston, with its gentle ancestral pride,
might well teach her a lesson in retrospective self-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 9

esteem. Her own harbor, like that of Boston, has
had its "tea-party," and yet one whose anniversary
now remains a shadow. On Golden Hill, in her
own streets, the first battle of our Revolution was
fought, the first blood in the cause of our freedom
was spilled ; yet while Boston stanchly commemo-
rates its later "massacre," what tribute of oratory,
essay or song has that other momentous contest
received? This metropolitan disdain of local sou-
venir can ill excuse itself on the plea of intoler-
ance toward provincialism ; for if the great cities
of Europe are not ashamed to admit themselves
once barbaric, Hudson in fray or traffic with the
swarthy Manhattans, or old Van Twiller scowling
at the anathemas of Bogardus, holds at least a pic-
torial value and significance.

Bond Street has always been but a brief strip of
thoroughfare, running at right angles between the
Bowery and Broadway. Scarcely more than thirty
years ago it possessed the quietude and dignity of
a patrician domain ; it was beloved of our Knick-
erbocker social element; it was the tranquil strong-
hold of caste and exclusiveness. Its births, mar-
riages and deaths were all touched with a modest
distinction. Extravagance was its horror and
ostentation its antipathy. The cheer of its enter-
tainments would often descend to lemonade and

10 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

sponge-cake, and rarely rise above the luxury of
claret-punch and ice-cream. Its belles were of
demurer type than the brisk-paced ladies of this
period, and its beaux paid as close heed to the
straight line in morals as many of their successors
now bestow upon it in the matter of huir-parting.
Bond Street was by no means the sole haunt of
the aristocracy, but it was very representative,
very important, very select. There was even a
time when to live there at all conferred a certain
patent of respectability. It was forgiven you that
your daughter had married an obscure Smith, or
that your son had linked his lot with an undesira-
ble Jones, if you had once come permanently to
dwell there. The whole short, broad street was
superlatively genteel. Nothing quite describes it
like that pregnant little word. It dined at two
o'clock ; it had "tea" at six ; its parties were held
as dissipated if they broke up after midnight ; its
young men "called" on its young women of an
evening with ceremonious regularity, never at
such times donning the evening-coat and the
white neck-tie which now so widely obtain, but
infallibly wearing these on all occasions of after-
noon festivity with an unconcern of English usage
that would keenly shock many of their descend-
ants.

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 11

But by degrees the old order changed. Com-
merce pushed northward with relentless energy.
Its advance still left Bond Street uninvaded, but
here and there the roomy brick dwellings received
distinctly plebeian inmates. One night, in this
street formerly so dedicated to the calm of refine-
ment, a frightful murder occurred. No one who
lived in New York at that time can fail to remem-
ber the Burdell assassination. It was surrounded
by all the most melodramatic luridness of commis-
sion. Its victim was a dentist, slaughtered at
midnight with many wounds from an unknown
hand. The mysterious deed shook our whole city
with dismay. For weeks it was a topic that super-
seded all others. To search through old news-
papers of the excited days that followed is to
imagine oneself on the threshold of a thrilling
tale, in which the wrong culprits are arraigned
and the real offender hides himself behind so im-
pregnable an ambush that nothing but a final
chapter can overthrow it. Yet in this ghastly
affair of the stabbed dentist a protracted trial
resulted in a tame acquittal and no more. The
story ended abruptly and midway. It lies to-day
as alluring material for the writer of harrowing
fiction. It still retains all the ghastly piquancy of
an undiscovered crime.

12 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

The vast surrounding populace of New York
have long ago learned to forget it, but there would
be truth in the assertion that Bond Street recalls
it still. Its garish publicity scared away the last
of her fine-bred denizens. The retreat was
haughty and gradual, but it is now absolute.
Where Ten Eyck and Van Horn had engraved
their names in burly letters on sheeny door-plates,
you may see at present the flaunting signs of a
hair-dresser, a beer-seller, a third-rate French
restaurateur, a furrier, a flower-maker, and an
intercessor between despairing authors and obdu-
rate publishers. The glory of Bond Street has
departed. Its region has become lamentably
" down town." The spoilers possess it with un-
disputed rule. It is in one sense a melancholy
rain, in another a sprightly transformation.

But several years before its decadence turned
unargued fact (and now we near a time that al-
most verges upon the present), Mr. Hamilton
Varick, a gentleman well past fifty, brought into
perhaps the most spacious mansion of the street a
bride scarcely eighteen. Mr. Varick had lived
abroad for many years, chiefly in Paris. He was
a tall, spare man, with a white jaunty mustache
and a black eye full of fire. He was extremely
rich, and unless remote relations were considered,

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 13

heirless. It was generally held that he had come
home to end his days after a life of foreign folly
and gallantry. This may at first have seemed
wholly true, but it also occurred that he had
chosen to end them in the society of a blooming
young wife.

His Bond Street house, vacant for years, sud-
denly felt the embellishing spell of the upholsterer.
Mr. Varick had meanwhile dropped into the abodes
of old friends not seen in twenty years, had shaken
hands, with a characteristic lightsome cordiality,
right and left, had beamingly taken upon his lap
the children of mothers and fathers who were
once his youthful comrades in dance and rout,
had reminded numerous altered acquaintances
who he was, had been reminded in turn by numer-
ous other altered acquaintances who they were,
had twisted his white mustache, had talked with
airy patriotism about getting back to die in one's
native land, had deplored his long absence from
the dear scenes of youth, had regretted secretly
his transpontine Paris, had murmured his bad,
witty French mots to whatever matron would hear
them, had got himself re-made a member of the
big, smart Metropolitan Club which he thought a
mere tiresome sort of parochial tavern when he
last left it, and had finally amazed everyone by

14 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

marrying the young and lovely Miss Pauline Van
Corlear.

Pauline herself had very little to do with the
whole arrangement. She was the only child of a
widowed mother who had long ago designed to
marry her notably. Mrs. Van Corlear lived upon
a very meagre income, and had been an invalid
since Pauline was eight. But she had educated
her daughter with a good deal of patient care, and
had ultimately, at the proper age, relegated her to
the chaperonage of a more prosperous sister, who
had launched her forth into society with due £lan.
Pauline was not a good match in the mercenary
sense; she was perfectly well aware of the fact;
she had been brought up to understand it. But
she was fair to see, and perhaps she understood
this a little too well.

New York was then what so many will remem-
ber it to have been about twelve years ago. The
civil war had left few traces of disaster; it was
the winter of seventy-one. Wall Street was in a
hey-day of hazardous prosperity ; sumptuous balls
were given by cliques of the most careful enter-
tainers; a number of ladies who had long re-
mained unfashionable, yet who had preserved an
inherited right to assert social claim when they
chose, now came to the front. These matrons

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 15

proved a strong force, and resisted in sturdy con-
federacy all efforts of outsiders to break their
dainty ranks. They shielded under maternal
wings a delightful bevy of blooming young maid-
ens, among whom was Pauline Van Corlear.

It was a season of amusing conflict. Journal-
ism had not yet learned to fling its lime-light of
notoriety upon the doings and mis-doings of pri-
vate individuals. Young girls did not wake then,
as now, on the morning after a ball, to read (or
with jealous heart-burning not to read) minute
descriptions of their toilets on the previous night.
The " society column " of the New York news-
paper was still an unborn abomination. Had this
not been the case, a great deal of pungent scandal
might easily have found its way into print. The
phalanx of assertive matrons roundly declared that
they had found society in a deplorable condition.
The balls, receptions and dinners were all being
given by a horde of persons without grandfathers.
The reigning belles were mostly a set of loud,
rompish girls, with names that rang unfamiliarly.
The good old people had nearly all been drowsing
inactive during several winters ; one could hardly
discover an Amsterdam, a Spuyteuduyvil, a Van
Schuylkill, among this unpleasant rabble. There
had been quite too many of these spurious pre-

16 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

tenders. Legitimacy must uplift its debased stand-
ards.

Legitimacy did so, and with a will. Some very
fine and spacious mansions in districts bordering
or approximate to Washington Square were hos-
pitably thrown open, besides others of a smarter
but less time-honored elegance in " up-town " en-
vironments. The new set, as it was called, carried
things by storm. They were for the most part
very rich people, and they spent their wealth with
a lavish freedom that their lineage saved from the
least charge of vulgarity. No display of money is
ever considered vulgar when lineage is behind it.
If you are unblessed with good descent you must
air your silver dishes cautiously and heed well the
multiplicity of your viands ; for though your cook
possess an Olympian palate and your butler be
the ex-adherent of a king, the accusation of bad
taste hangs like a sword of threat in your banquet
hall.

Among all the winsome debutantes of that sea-
son, Pauline Van Corlear was the most comely.
She had a sparkling wit, too, that was at times
mercilessly acute. Most of the young friends
with whom she had simultaneously " come out "
were heiresses of no mean consideration ; but
Pauline was so poor that an aunt would present

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 17

her with a few dozens of gloves, a cousin would
donate to her five or six fresh gowns, or perhaps
one still more distant in kinship would supply her
with boots and bonnets. The girl sensitively
shrank, at first, from receiving these gifts; but
her plaintive, faded mother, with her cough and
querulous temper, would always eagerly insist
upon their acceptance.

" Of course, my dear," Mrs. Van Corlear would
say, in her treble pipe of a voice, while she rocked
to and fro the great chair that bore her wasted,
shawl-wrapped body — "of course it is quite right
that your blood-relations should come forward.
They all have plenty of money, and it would be
dreadful if they let you go out looking shabby
and forlorn. For my part, I 'm only surprised
that they don't do more."

" I expect nothing from them, mamma," Pauline
would say, a little sadly.

" Expect, my dear ? Of course you don't. But
that doesn't alter the obligation on their part.
Now please do not be obstinate ; you know my
neuralgia always gets worse when you're obsti-
nate. You are very pretty — yes, a good deal
prettier than Gertie Van Horn or Sallie Pough-
keepsie, with all their millions — and I have n't a
doubt that before the winter is over you '11 have

18 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

done something really handsome for yourself. If
you have n't, it will be your own fault."

Pauline clearly understood that to do something
handsome for herself meant to marry a rich man.
From a tender age she had been brought up to be-
lieve that this achievement was the goal of all
hopes, desires and aims. Everybody expected it
of her, as she grew prettier and prettier; every-
body hinted or prophesied it to her long before
she "came out." The little contracted and con-
ventional world in which it was her misfortune to
breathe and move, had forever dinned it into her
ears until she had got to credit it as an article
of necessitous faith. There are customs of the
Orient that shock our Western intelligences when
we read of women placidly accepting their tyran-
nies; but no almond-eyed daughter of pasha or
vizier ever yielded more complaisantly to harem-
discipline than Pauline now yielded to the cold,
commercial spirit of the marriage decreed for her.

She was popular in society, notwithstanding her
satiric turn. She always had a nosegay for the
German, and a partner who had pre-engaged her.
It was not seldom that she went to a ball quite
laden with the floral boons of male admirers.
Among these latter was her third cousin, then a
gentleman of thirty, named Courtlandt Beekman.

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 19

Courtlandt had been Pauline's friend from child-
hood. She had always been so fond of him that
it had never occurred to her to analyze her fond-
ness now, when they met under the festal glare of
chandeliers instead of in her mother's plain, dull
sitting-room. Nor had it ever occurred to any of
her relations to matrimonially warn her against
Courtlandt. He was such a nice, quiet fellow;
naturally he was good to his little cousin ; he was
good to everybody, and now that Pauline had
grown up and begun to go to places, his devotion
took a brotherly form. Of course he was poor,
and, if sensible, would marry rich. He had been
going about for an age in " that other set." He
knew the Briggs girls and the Snowe girls, and all
the parvenu people who had been ruling at assem-
blies and dancing-classes during the dark interreg-
num. Perhaps he would marry a Briggs or a
Snowe. If he did, it would be quite proper. He
was Courtlandt Beekman, and his name would
sanctify nearly any sort of Philistine bride. But
no one ever dreamed of suspecting that he might
want to marry the cousin, twelve years his junior,
who had sat on his knee as a school-girl, munch-
ing the candies he used to bring her and often
pelting him with childish railleries at the same
ungrateful moment.

20 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

In person Courtlandt was by no means prepos-
sessing. He had a tall, brawny figure, and a long,
sallow face, whose unclassic irregularities might
have seemed dull and heavy but for the brown
eyes, lucid and variant, that enlivened it. He was
a man of few words, but his silences, though some-
times important, were never awkward. No one
accused him of stupidity, but no one had often
connected him with the idea of cleverness. He
produced the impression of being a very close ob-
server, you scarcely knew why. Possibly it was
because you felt confident that his silences were
not mentally vacuous. He had gone among the
gay throngs almost since boyhood ; if he had not so
persistently mingled with ladies (and in the main
very sweet and cultured ones, notwithstanding the
denunciations hurled against "that other set")
it is probable that he would continuously have
merited the title of ungainly and graceless. But
ease and polish had come to him unavoidably ; he
was like some rough-shapen vessel that has fallen
into the hands of the gilder and decorator. It
would have been hard to pick a flaw in his man-
ners, and yet his manners were the last thing that
he made you think about. He was in constant
social demand ; his hosts and hostesses forgot how
valuable to them he really was ; he almost stood

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 21

for that human miracle, a man without enemies.
He made a kind of becoming background for nearly
everybody ; he had no axe to grind, no ladder to
climb, no prize to win ; he stood neither as debtor
nor creditor toward society; he was, in a way,
society itself. There were very few women who
did not enjoy a chat with him a deux; and in all
general conversation, though his attitude was
chiefly that of listener, the talkers themselves
were unaware how often they sought the response
of his peculiar serious smile, or the intelligent
gleam of his look.

Pauline had not been greatly troubled, on her
advent among the merry-makers, with that timidity
which is so keen a distress to so many callow
maids. Bashfulness was not one of her weak
points ; she had borne the complex stare levelled
at her in drawing-rooms with excellent aplomb.
Still, she could not help feeling that her kinsman,
Courtlandt, had comfortably smoothed her path to-
ward an individual and secure foothold. Those
early intervals, dire to the soul of every novice
like herself, when male adherence and escort failed
through meagreness of acquaintanceship, Court-
landt had filled with the supporting relief of his
presence and his attentions. There had been no
mauvais quart d'heure in Pauline's evenings ; her

22 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

cousin had loyally saved her from even the mo-
mentary chagrin of being left without a courtier.
Later on, his kindly vigilance had become need-
less; but he was always to be trusted, neverthe-
less, as a safeguard against possible desertion.

The occasion on which Mr. Hamilton Yarick first
saw Pauline was at a ball given in the February
of her first season, two full mouths after she had
modestly emerged with her little sisterhood of
rosebud damsels. It was a very beautiful ball,
given in a stately and lovely house adjacent to
the Park, and by a lady now old and wrinkled, who
had held her own, forty years ago, as a star in our
then limited firmament of fashion. The dancers,
among whom was her fair and smiling grand-
daughter of eighteen, chased the jolly hours in a
spacious apartment, brilliant with prismatic can-
delabra and a lustrous floor of waxed wood. The
rosy-and-white frescoes on the ceiling, the silver-
fretted delicacy of frieze and cornice, the light,
pure blues and pinks of tapestries, the airy and
buoyant effects in tint and symmetry, made the
whole quick-moving throng of revellers appear as
if the past had let them live again out of some
long-vanished French court-festival.

" These young people only need powdered heads
to make it look as if Louis Quinze were entertain-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 23

ing us in dead earnest," said Mr. Varick, with his
high-keyed, nonchalant voice. He addressed an
elderly matron as he spoke, but he gave a covert
glance at Pauline, to whom he had just received,
through request, the honor of a presentation.

" I think it would be in very dead earnest if he
did," said Pauline, speaking up with a gay laugh ;
and Mr. Varick laughed, too, relishing her pert
joke. He paid her some gallant compliments as
he stood at her side, though she thought them stiff
and antique in sound, notwithstanding the foreign
word or phrase that was so apt to tinge them.
She found Mr. Varick pleasantest when he was
asking after her sick mother, and telling her what
New York gayeties used to be before the beginning
of his long European absence. He had a tripping,
lightsome mode of speech, that somehow suited
the jaunty upward sweep of his white mustache.
He would oscillate both hands in a graceful style
as he talked. Elegant superficiality flowed from
him without an effort. It needed no keenness to
tell that he had been floating buoyantly on the top
crest of the wave, and well amid its froth, all his
life. He made no pretense to youth ; he would,
indeed, poke fun at his own seniority, with a re-
lentless and breezy sort of melancholy.

" Did you ever hear of a French poet named

24 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

Francois Villon," he said to Pauline, dropping into
a seat at her side that some departure had just left
vacant. " No, I dare say you 've not. He was a
dreadful chap — a kind of polisson, as we say, but
he wrote the most charming ballads ; I believe he
was hanged afterward, or ought to have been — I
forget which. One of his songs had a sad little
refrain that ran thus: 'OH sont les neiges d'antan?'
— * Where are the snows of last year ? ' you know.
Well, mademoiselle — no, Miss Pauline, I mean —
that line runs in my head to-night. Ca me gene —
it bothers me. I want to have the good things of
youth back again. I come home to New York, and
find my snow all melted. Everything is changed.
I feel like a ghost — a merry old ghost, however.
Tenez — just wait a bit. Do you think those nice
young gentlemen will have anything to say to you
after they have seen you a little longer in my com-
pany ? I 'm sure I have frightened four or five of
them away. They're asking each other, now, who
is that old £pourvantail — what is the word ? —
scarecrow. Ah! voild — here comes one much
bolder than the rest. I will have mercy on him —
and retire. But before my depart I have a favor
to request of you. You will give mamma my
compliments? You will tell her that I shall do
myself the honor of calling upon her? Thanks,

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 25

very much. We shall be ghosts together, poor
mamma and I ; you need not be chez vous when I
call, unless you are quite willing — that is, if you
are afraid of ghosts."

" Oh, I 'm not," laughed Pauline. " I don't be-
lieve in them, Mr. Varick."

" That is delightful for you to say ! " her com-
panion exclaimed. " It means that you will listen
for a little while to our spectral conversation and
not find it too ennuyeuse. How very kind of you !
Ah ! we old follows are sometimes very grateful
for a few crumbs of kindness ! "

" You can have a whole loaf from me, if you
want," said Pauline, with an air of girlish diver-
sion.

Not long afterward she declared to her cousin,
Courtlandt: "I like the old gentleman ever so
much, Court. He 's a refreshing change. You
New York men are all cut after the same pat-
tern."

" I 'm afraid he 's cut with a rather crooked scis-
sors," said Courtlandt, who indulged in a sly epi-
gram of tener than he got either credit or discredit
for doing.

" Oh," said Pauline, as if slowly understanding.
" You mean he is French, I suppose."

" Quite French, they report."

26 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

Mr. Varick made his promised visit upon Pauline
and her mother sooner than either of them ex-
pected. Mrs. Van Corlear was rather more ill
than usual, on the day he appeared, and almost
the full burden of the ensuing conversation fell
upon her daughter.

The next evening, at the opera, he dropped into
a certain box where Pauline was seated with her
aunt, Mrs. Poughkeepsie. On the following day
Pauline received, anonymously, an immense basket
of exquisite flowers. Twice again Mr. Varick
called upon her mother, in the charmless up-
stairs sitting-room of their boarding-house. As
it chanced, Pauline was not at home either time.

An evening or two afterward she returned at
about eleven o'clock from a theatre-party, to find
that her mother had not yet retired. Mrs. Van
Corlear's usual bed-time was a very exact ten
o'clock.

The mother and daughter talked for a little
while together in low tones. When Pauline went
into her own chamber that night, her face was
pale and her heart was beating.

At a great afternoon reception which took place
two days later, Courtlandt, who made his ap-
pearance after five o'clock, coming up town from
the law-office in which he managed by hard work

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 27

to clear a yearly two thousand dollars or so, said
to his cousin, with a sharpened and rather inquisi-
tive look :

" What 's the matter ? You don't seem to be in
good spirits."

Pauline looked at him steadily for a moment.
It was a great crush, and people were babbling
all about them. " There 's something I want to
speak of," the girl presently said, in a lingering
way.

A kind of chill stole through Courtlandt's veins
at this, — he did not know why ; he always after-
ward had a lurking credence in the truth of pre-
sentments.

" What is it ? " he asked.

Pauline told him what it was. He grew white
as he listened, and a glitter crept into his eyes,
and brightened there.

" You 're not going to do it ? " he said, when she
had finished.

She made no answer. She had some flowers
knotted in the bosom of her walking-dress, and
she now looked down at them. They were not
the flowers Mr. Varick had sent; they were a
bunch bestowed by Courtlandt himself at a little
informal dance of the previous evening, where the
cotillon had had one pretty floral figure. She

28 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

regarded their petals through a mist of unshed
tears, now, though her cousin did not know it.

He repeated his question, bending nearer. It
seemed to him as if the sun in heaven must have
stopped moving until she made her answer.

" You know what mamma is, Court," she fal-
tered.

'• Yes, I do. She has very false views of many
things. But you have not. You can't be sold
without your own consent."

" Let us go away from here together," she mur-
mured. " These rooms are so hot and crowded
that I can hardly breathe in them."

He gave her his arm, and they pushed their way
forth into a neighboring hall through one of the
broad yet choked doorways.

Outside, in Fifth Avenue, the February twilight
had just begun to deepen. The air was mild
though damp ; a sudden spell of clemency had
enthralled the weather, and the snow, banked in
crisp pallor along the edge of either sidewalk,
would soon shrink and turn sodden. At the far
terminus of every western street burned a haze of
dreamy gold light where the sun had just dropped
from view, but overhead the sky had that treach-
erous tint of vernal amethyst which is so often a
delusive snare to the imprudent truster of our

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 29

mutable winters. Against this vapory mildness
of color the house-tops loomed sharp and dark ; a
humid wind blew straight from the south ; big and
small sleighs were darting along, with the high,
sweet carillons of their bells now loud and now
low; through the pavements that Courtlandt and
Pauline were treading, great black spots of damp-
ness had slipped their cold ooze, to tell of the thaw
that lay beneath. Yesterday the sky had been a
livid and frosty azure, and the sweep of the arctic
blast had had the cut of a blade in it ; to-day the
city was steeped in a languor of so abrupt a coming
that you felt its peril while you owned its charm.
Courtlandt broke the silence that had followed
their exit. He spoke as if the words forced them-
selves between his shut teeth.

" I can't believe that you really mean to do it,"
he said, watching Pauline's face as she moved on-
ward, looking neither to right nor left. " It would
be horrible of you ! He is over sixty if he 's a
day, besides having been mixed up in more than
one scandal with women over there in Paris. I
think it must be all a joke on your part. If it is,
I wish for God's sake that you 'd tell me so, Paul-
ine ! "

" It is n't," she said. She turned her face to his,
then, letting him see how pale and sad it was.

30 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" I must do it, Court," she went on. " It 's like a
sort of fate, forcing and dragging me. I had no
business to mention mamma in the matter, I sup-
pose. She could n't make me consent, of course,
although, if I did not, her lamentations would take
a most distracting form for the next year or two.
No ; it 's not she ; it 's myself. I don't live in a
world where people licid very high views of matri-
mony. And I hate the life I 'm living now. The
other would be independence, even if bought at
a dear price. And how many girls would envy
me my chance ? What am I at present but a mere
pensioner on my wealthy relatives? I can't stay
in ; I 've started with the whirl, and I can't stop.
Everybody whom I know is dancing along at the
same pace. If I declined invitations; if I didn't do
as all the other girls are doing ; if I said ' No, I 'in
poor and can't afford it,' — then mamma would begin
tuning her harp and sending up her wail. And I
should be bored to death, besides." Here Pauline
gave a hollow laugh, and slightly threw back her
head. " Good Heavens ! " she continued, " there 's
nothing strange in it. I 've been brought up to
expect it ; I knew it would probably come, and I
was taught, prepared, warned, to regard it when it
did come in only one way. If he had n't been old
he might have been shocking. What a piercing

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 31

pertinence there is to my case in that little pro-
verb, ' Beggars must n't be choosers ! ' I 'in a
beggar, you know : ask Aunt Cynthia Poughkeep-
sie if she does n't think I am. And he 's quite the
reverse of shocking, truly. His hair may be rather
white, but his teeth are extremely so, and I think
they 're indigenous, aboriginal ; I hope if they 're
not he will never tell me, anyway."

She gave another laugh, as mirthless as if the
spectre of herself had framed it. She had turned
her face away from him again, and slightly quick-
ened her walk.

" You mean, then, that your mind is really
made up ! " said Gourtlandt, with an ire, a fierce-
ness, that she had never seen in him before. " You
mean that for a little riches, a little power, you '11
turn marriage, that should be a holy usage, into
this wicked mockery ? "

Pauline bit her lip. Such a speech as this from
her equanimous cousin was literally without prece-
dent. She felt stung and guilty as she said, with
cool defiance, —

" Who holds marriage as a holy usage ? I 've
never seen anyone who did."

"I do ! " he asseverated, with clouding face.
" You do, too, Pauline in your heart."

" I have n't any heart. They 're not worn now-

32 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

adays. They 're out of fashion. We carry purses
instead — when we can."

" I think 1 will tell Mr. Varick you said that,'*
he answered, measuring each word grimly.

" Oh, do ! " Pauline exclaimed. A weary and
mournful bravado filled her tones. " How he
would laugh! Do you fancy he thinks I care a
button for him? Why, nearly the first sentence
he spoke to mamma on this weighty subject con-
cerned the number of yearly thousands he was
willing to settle upon me."

" So, it is all arranged ? "

" It only awaits your approval."

" It can only get my contempt ! "

" That is too bad. I thought you would antici-
pate some of the charming little dinners I intend
to give. He has dreadful attacks of the gout, I
have learned, and sometimes I '11 ask you to pre-
side with me in his vacant chair. That is, if
you" —

But he would hear no more. He turned on his
heel and left her. He bitterly told himself that
her heart was ice, and not worth wasting a thought
upon. But he wasted a good many that night, and
days afterward.

Whether ice or not, it was a very heavy heart
as Pauline went homeward. Just in proportion as

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 33

the excuses for her conduct were ready on her
lips, so they were futile to appease her conscience.

And yet she exulted in one justifying circum-
stance, as she herself named it. " If I loved any-
body — Court, or anybody else," she reflected, " I
never could do it ! But I don't. It 's going to make
a great personage of me. I want to find out how it
feels to be a great personage. I want to try the
new sensation of not wearing charity gloves."
. . . She had almost a paroxysm of nervous
tears, alone in her own room, a little later. That
evening Mr. Varick once more presented him-
self. . . .

At about eleven o'clock he jumped into a cab
which he had kept waiting an interminable time,
and lighted a very fragrant cigar as he was being
driven off.

" Elle est belle a faire peur" he muttered aloud.
And the next moment a thought passed through
his mind which would resemble this, if put into
English, though he always thought in French: —

" I will write to Madeleine to-morrow, and send
her ten thousand francs. That will end every-
thing— and if the gout spares me five years
longer I shan't see Paris while it does."

He had not by any means come home to die. He
had said so because it had a neat sound, throwing a

34 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

perfume of sentiment about his return. And he
was always fond of the perfume of sentiment. In
reality he had come home to look after his affairs,
which had grown burdensomely prosperous, and
then sail back with all the decorous haste allow-
able.

Perhaps he had come home with a few other
trifling motives. But of eveiy conceivable motive,
he had not come with one. That one was — to
marry. And yet he had to-night arranged his
alliance (satisfactorily on both sides, it was to be
hoped) with Miss Pauline Van Corlear.

He leaned back in the dimness of the speeding
cab, and reflected upon it. His reflections made
him laugh, and as he laughed his lip curled up
below his white mustache and showed his white
teeth, with the good, dark cigar between them —
the teeth of which Pauline had said that if they
were false she did not wish to know it.

II.

marriage was a quiet one, and took place
in the early following spring. Pauline made
a very lovely bride, but as this comment is deliv-
ered upon a most ample percentage of all the
brides in Christendom, it is scarcely worth being
recorded. The whole important constituency of
her kindred were graciously pleased at the match,
with a single exception. This was Courtlandt
Beekman, who managed to be absent in Washing-
ton at the time of the wedding. Pauline's pres-
ents were superb; the Poughkeepsies, Amsterdams,
and all the rest, came forth in expensive sanction
of the nuptials. After a brief Southern tour the
wedded pair took up their abode in the newly
appointed Bond Street mansion. Mrs. Van Corlear,
already ensconced there, welcomed them with as
beaming a smile as her invalid state would permit.
Pauline, as she kissed her, wondered if those same
bloodless lips would ever have any further excuse
for querulous complaint. It was pathetic to note
the old lady's gratified quiver while her thin hand

35

3C THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

was gallantly imprinted, as well, by the kiss of her
new sori-in-law. She had surely reached the goal
of all her earthly hopes. She had a silken chair to
rock in, and a maid as her special attendant, and a
doctor to be as devoted and exorbitant as he chose.
Her neuralgia, her asthma, her rheumatism, her
thousand and one ailments, were henceforth to
wreak their dolorous inflictions among the most
comfortable and sumptuous surroundings. And
yet, as if in mockery of her new facilities for
being the truly aristocratic invalid, this poor lady,
after a few weeks of the most encouraging oppor-
tunity, forsook all its commodious temptations and
quietly died in her bed of a sudden heart-seizure.

On the occasion of her death Pauline's husband,
who had thus far been scrupulously polite, made a
remark which struck his wife as brutal, and roused
her resentment. He was a good deal more brutal,
in a glacial, exasperating way, as Pauline's anger
manifested itself. But shortly after the funeral he
was prostrated by a sharp attack of his gout, dur-
ing which Pauline nursed him with forgiving assi-
duity.

The young wife was now in deep mourning.
Her husband's attack had been almost fatal. His
recovery was slow, and a voyage to Europe was
urgently recommended by his physicians. They

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 37

sailed in latter June. Courtlandt was among those
who saw Pauline off in the steamer. He looked,
while taking her hand in farewell, as if he felt
very sorry for her. Pauline seemed in excellent
spirits; her black dress became her; she was so
blonde that you saw the gold hair before you
marked the funereal garb ; and then she had her
smile very ready, which had always won nearly
everybody. Perhaps only Courtlandt, in his wise,
grave taciturnity, saw just how factitious the smile
was.

Mr. Varick quite recovered from this attack.
Pauline's letters said so. They had soon left Lon-
don, near which the Cunarder had brought them,
and gone to Paris; Mr. Varick was feeling so
much better from the voyage, and had always felt
so at home in Paris. For several months after-
ward Pauline's letters were sent oversea in the
most desultory and irregular fashion. And what
they contained by no means pleased their recipi-
ents. She appeared to tell nothing about herself;
she was always writing of the city. As if one
could n't read of the Tuileries and Notre Dame in
a thousand books ! As if one had n't been there
oneself! Why did she not write how they were
yetting on together? That was the one imperative
stimulus for curiosity among all Pauline's friends

38 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

and kindred — how they were getting on together.
All, we should add, except Courtlandt, who seemed
to manifest no curiosity of whatever sort. Of
course one could not write and ask her, point
blank ! What was one to do ? Did rambling
essays upon the pleasures of a trip to Versailles,
or the recreation of a glimpse of Fontainebleau,
mean that Mr. Varick had or had not broken loose
in a mettlesome manner from his latter-day matri-
monial traces ?

"We are prepared for anything, you know,"
Mrs. Poughkeepsie, Pauline's aunt and former
patron, had once rather effusively said to Court-
landt. "Now that Hamilton Varick is well, he
might be larking over there to any dreadful ex-
tent. And Pauline, from sheer pride, might n't be
willing to tell us."

" Very cruel of her, certainly," Courtlandt had
responded, laconic and not a little sarcastic as
well.

But as months went by, Pauline's correspondents
forgot, in the absorption engendered by more na-
tional incentives for gossip, the unsatisfactory tone
of her letters. Once, however, Pauline wrote that
she wished very much to return, but that her hus-
band preferred remaining in Paris.

" He won't come back ! " immediately rose the

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 39

cry on this side of the water. " He 's keeping her
over there against her will ! How perfectly hor-
rible ! Well, she deserves it for marrying a vieux
galant like that ! Poor Pauline ! With her looks
she might have married somebody of respectable
age. But she would n't wait. She was so crazy
to make her market, poor girl ! It 's to be hoped
that he doesn't beat her, or anything of that
frightful sort ! "

One auditor of these friendly allusions would
smile at them with furtive but pardonable scorn.
This auditor was Courtlandt ; and he remembered
how the same compassionate declaimers had been
the first to applaud Pauline's astounding be-
trothal.

After two years of absence on the part of Mr.
and Mrs. Varick, certain rumors drifted to Amer-
ica. This or that person had seen them in Paris.
Pauline was still pretty as ever, but living quite
retired. It was said she had taken to books and
general mental improvement. No one ever saw
her with her husband. She never alluded to him
in any way. There were queer stories about his
goings on. It was hard to verify them ; Paris was
so big, and so many men were always doing such
fanny things there.

The conclave on these shores heard and sym-

40 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

pathetically shuddered. The " new set " had now
healed all its old feuds. New York society was in
a condition of amicably cemented factions. The
Briggs girls and the Snowe girls had married more
or less loftily, and had proved to the Amsterdams
and others that they were worthy of peaceable
affiliation. " Poor Pauline Varick " began to be a
phrase, though a somewhat rare one, for without
anybody actually wakening to the fact, she had
been living abroad four whole years. And then,
without the least warning, came the news that she
was a widow.

She was universally expected home, then, after
the tidings that her husband was positively dead
had been confirmed beyond the slightest doubt.
But perhaps for this reason Pauline chose to re-
main abroad another year. When she did return
her widowhood was an established fact. Her New
York clientele had grown used to it. Mr. Varick
had left her all his fortune ; she was a very
wealthy young widow. Aggressive queries re-
specting his death, or his deportment during the
foreign sojourn that preceded his death, were now
quite out of order. She had buried him, as she
had married him, decently and legally. He slept
in Pore la Chaise, by his own ante mortem request.
No matter what sort of a life he had led her ; it

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 41

was nobody's business. She returned home, two
years later, to take a high place and hold a high
head. Those merciful intervening years shielded
her from a multitude of stealthy interrogatories.
She did not care to be questioned much regarding
her European past as the wife of Mr. Varick, and
she soon contrived to make it plain that she did
not. There was no dissentient voice in the ver-
dict that she had greatly changed. And in a
physical sense no one could deny that she had
changed for the better.

Her figure, which had before been quite too
thin despite its pliant grace, was now rounded into
soft and charming curves. Her gray eyes sparkled
less often, but they glowed with a steadier light
for perhaps this reason ; they looked as if more of
life's earnest actualities had been reflected in them.
Her face, with its chiselled features all blending
to produce so high-bred and refined an expression,
rarely broke into a smile now, but some unex-
plained fascination lay in its acquired seriousness,
that made the smile of brighter quality and deeper
import when it really came. She wore her copious
and shining hair in a heavy knot behind, and let it
ripple naturally toward either pure temple, instead
.of having it bush low down over her forehead in a
misty turmoil, as previously. Her movements, her

42 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

walk, her gestures, all retained the volatile brisk-
ness and freedom they had possessed of old ; there
was not even the first matronly hint about her air,
and yet it was more self-poised, more emphatic,
more womanly.

" I really must move out of this dreadful Bond
Street," she said to Courtlandt, rather early in the
conversation which took place between them on
the day of their first meeting. " I think I could
endure it for some time longer if that immense
tailor-shop had not gone up there at the Broadway
corner, where such a lovely, drowsy old mansion
used to stand. Yes, I must let myself be compli-
antly swept further up town. There is a kind of
Franco-German tavern just across the way that
advertises a 'regular dinner' — whatever that is —
from twelve o'clock till three, every day, at twenty-
five cents."

" I see you have n't forgotten our national cur-
rency," said Courtlandt, with one of his inscrutable
dispositions of countenance.

Pauline tossed her head in a somewhat French
way. " I have forgotten very little about my own
country," she said.

" You are glad to get back to it, then ? "

" Yes, very. I want to take a new view of it
with my new eyes."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 43

" You got a new pair of eyes in Europe ? "

" I got an older pair." She looked at him ear-
nestly for a moment. " Tell me, Court," she went
on, " how is it that I find you still unmarried ? "

He shifted in his chair, crossing his legs. " Oh,"
he said, " no nice girl has made me an offer."

Pauline laughed. " As if she 'd be nice if she
had I Do you remember how they used to say you
would marry in the other set ? Is there another
set now?" .

" There is a number of fresh ones. New York
is getting bigger every day, you know. Young
men are being graduated from college, young
girls from seminaries. I forget just what special
set you mean that you expected me to marry
into."

" No, you don't ! " cried Pauline, with soft posi-
tiveness. She somehow felt herself getting quietly
back into the old easy terms with Courtlandt.
His sobriety, that never echoed her gay moods,
yet always seemed to follow and enjoy them, had
readdressed her like a familiar though alienated
friend. " You recollect perfectly how Aunt
Cynthia Poughkeepsie used to lift that Roman
nose of hers -and declare that she would never
allow her Sallie to know those fast Briggs and
Snowe girls, who had got out because society had

44 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

been neglected by all the real gentry in town for
a space of at least five years ? "

Courtlandt gave one of bis slow nods. " Oh,
3res, I recollect. Aunt Cynthia was quite wrong.
She 's pulled in her horns since then. The
Briggses and the Snowes were much too clever
for her. They were always awfully well-mannered
girls, too, besides being so jolly. They needed
her, and they coolly made use of her, and of a
good many revived leaders like her, besides. Most
of the good men like them ; that was their strong
point. It was all very well to say they had n't had
ancestors who knew Canal Street when it was a
canal, and shot deer on Twenty-Third Street ; but
that wouldn't do at all. No matter how their
parents had made their money, they knew how to
spend it like swells, and they had pushed them-
selves into power and were not to be elbowed out.
The whole fight soon died a natural death. They
and their supporters are nearly all married now
and married pretty well."

"And you didn't marry one of them, Court?"

Courtlandt gave a slight, dry cough. " I 'm
under the impression, Pauline," he said, "that I
did not."

" How long ago it all seems ! " she murmured,
drooping her blond head and fingering with one

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 45

hand at a button on the front of her black dress.
" It *s only four years, and yet I fancy it to be
a century." She raised her head. " Then the
Knickerbockers, as we used to call them, no longer
rule?"

Courtlandt laughed gravely. " I don't know
that they ever did," he answered.

" Well, they used to give those dancing-classes,
you know, where nobody was ever admitted unless
he or she had some sort of patrician claim. Don't
you recollect how Mrs. Schenectady, when she
gave Lillie a Delmonico Blue-Room party (do
they have Delmonico Blue-Room parties, now?),
instructed old Grace Church Brown to challenge
at the Fourteenth Street entrance (where he would
always wait as a stern horror for the coachmen of
the arriving and departing carriages) anybody
who did not present a certain mysterious little
card at the sacred threshold?"

" Oh, yes," returned Courtlandt ruminatively.

"And how," continued Pauline, "that demo-
cratic Mrs. Vanderhoff happened to bring, on this
same evening, some foreign gentleman who had
dined with her, and whom she meant to present
with an apologetic flourish to the Schenectadys,
when suddenly the corpulent sentinel, Brown,
desired from her escort the mysterious card, and

46 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

finding it not to be forthcoming sent a messenger
upstairs? And how Mr. Schenectady presently ap-
peared and informed Mrs. Vanderhoff, with a cool
snobbery which had something sublime about it,
that he was exceedingly sorry, but the rule had
been passed regarding the admission of any non-
invited guest to his entertainment?"

"Oh, yes; I remember it all," said Courtlandt.
" Schenectady behaved like a cad. Nobody is
half so strict, now-a-days, nor half so grossly un-
civil. You'll find society very much changed,
if you go out. You '11 see people whose names
you never heard before. I sometimes think there 's
nothing required to make one's self a great swell
now-a-days except three possessions, all metallic —
gold, silver, and brass."

"How amusing!" said Pauline. "And yet,"
she suddenly added, with a swift shake of the
head, "I'm sure it will never amuse me! No,
Court, I have grown a very different person from
the ignorant girl you once saw me ! " She low-
ered her voice here, and regarded him with a
tender yet impressive fixity. " When I look back
upon it all now, and think how I used to hold the
code of living which those people adopt as some-
thing that I must respect and even reverence, I
can scarcely believe that the whole absurd comedy

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 47

did not happen in some other planet. You don't
know how much I 've been through since you met
me last. I'm not referring to my husband. It
is n't pleasant for me to talk about that part of the
past. I would n't say even this much to any one
except you ; but now that I have said it, I '11 say
more, and tell you that I endured a good deal of
solid trial, solid humiliation, solid heart-burning.
. . . There, let us turn that page over, you and
myself, and never exchange another word on the
subject. You were perfectly right; the thing I
did was horrible, and I 've bought my yards of
sackcloth, my bushels of ashes. If it were to do
over again, I 'd rather beg, starve, die in the very
gutter. There 's no exaggeration, here ; I have
grown to look on this human destiny of ours with
such utterly changed vision — I 've so broadened in
a mental and moral sense, that my very identity of
the past seems as if it were something I 'd moulted,
like the old feathers of a bird. Feathers make a
happy simile ; I was lighter than a feather, then —
as light as thistledown. I had no principles ; I
merely had caprices. I had no opinions of my
own ; other people's were handed to me and I
blindly accepted them. My chief vice, which was
vanity, I mistook for the virtue of self-respect,
and kept it carefully polished, like a little pocket-

48 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

mirror to look at one's face in. I was goaded by
an actually sordid avarice, and I flattered myself
that it was a healthy matrimonial ambition. I
swung round in a petty orbit no larger than a
saucer's rim, and imagined it to have the scope
of a star's. I chattered gossip with fops of both
sexes, and called it conversation. I bounced and
panted through the German for two hours of a
night, and declared it to be enjoj^ment. I climbed
up to the summit of a glaring yellow-wheeled
drag and sat beside some man whose limited wit
was entirely engrossed by the feat of driving four
horses at once ; and because poor people stopped
to sigh, and silly ones to envy, and sensible ones
to pity, as we rumbled up the Avenue in brazen
ostentation, I considered myself an elect and
exceptional being. Of course I must have had
some kind of a better nature lying comatose be-
hind all this placid tolerance of frivolity. Other-
wise the change never would have come ; for
the finest seed will fail if the soil is entirely
barren."

" You have taken a new departure, with a ven-
geance," said Courtlandt. He spoke in his usual
tranquil style. He considered the sketch Pauline
had just drawn of her former self very exagge-
rated and prejudiced. He had his own idea of

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 49

what she used to be. He was observing her with
an excessive keenness of scrutiny, now, under-
neath his reposeful demeanor. But he aired none
of his contradictory beliefs. It is possible that he
had never had a downright argument with any
fellow-creature in his life. Somehow the brief
sentence which he had just spoken produced the
impression of his having said a great deal more
than this. It was always thus with the man ; by
reason of some unique value in his silence any
terse variation of it took a reflected worth.

Pauline's hands were folded in her lap ; she was
looking down at them with a musing air. She
continued to speak without lifting her gaze.
" Yes," she went on, " the reformatory impulse
must have been latent all that time. I can't tell
just what quickened it into its present activity.
But I am sure, now, that it will last as long as I
do."

" What are the wonders it is going to accom-
plish?"

" Don't satirize it," she exclaimed, looking up
at him with a start. " It is a power for good."

"I hope so," he said.

" I know so ! Courtlandt, I 've come back home
to live after my own fashion. I 've come back
with an idea, a theory. Of course a good many

50 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

people will laugh at me. I expect a certain
amount of ridicule. But I shall despise it so
heartily that it will not make me swerve a single
inch. I intend to be very social — yes, enormously
so. My drawing-rooms shall be the resort of as
many friends as I can bring together — but all of
a certain kind."

"Pray, of what kind?"

" You shall soon see. They are to be men and
women of intellectual calibre ; they are to be
workers and not drones ; they are to be thinkers,
writers, artists, poets, scholars. They can come,
if they please, in abnormal coats and unconven-
tional gowns ; I sha'n't care for that. They can
be as poor as church mice, as unsuccessful as
talent nearly always is, as quaint in manner as
genius incessantly shows itself." Here Pauline
rose, and made a few eloquent little gestures with
both hands, while she moved about the room in a
way that suggested the hostess receiving imagi-
nary guests. " I mean to organize a salon," she
continued — "a veritable salon. I mean to wage
a vigorous crusade against the aimless flippancy
of modern society. I 've an enthusiasm for my
new undertaking. Wait till you see how valiantly
I shall carry it out."

" Am I to understand," said Courtlandt, with-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 51

out the vestige of a smile, " that you mean to
begin by cutting all your former friends?"

She glanced at him as if with a suspicion of
further satire. But his sedate mien appeared to
reassure her. " Cutting them ? " she repeated.
" No ; of course not."

" But you will not invite them to your salon?"

She tossed her head again. " They would be
quite out of place there. They are not in earnest
about anything. Everybody whom I shall have
must be in earnest. I intend to lay great stress
upon that one requirement. It is to be a passport
of admission. My apartments are to be at once
easy and difficult of entrance. I shall not object
to the so-called aristocratic class, although if any
applicant shall solicit my notice who is undoubt-
edly a member of this class, I shall in a certain
way hold the fact as disqualifying ; it shall be re-
membered against him; if I admit him at all I
shall do so in spite of it and not because of it.
— Is my meaning quite clear on this point?"

" Oh, excessively," said Courtlandt ; " you could
not have made it more so. All ladies and gentle-
men are to be received under protest."

He let one of his odd, rare laughs go with the
last sentence, and for this reason Pauline merely
gave him a magnificent frown instead of visiting

52 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

upon him more wrathful reprimand. At the same
time she said : " It 's a subject, Court, on which
I am unprepared for trivial levity. If you can't
treat it with respect I prefer that you should warn
me in time, and I will reserve all further explana-
tions of my project."

He gave a slight, ambiguous cough. " If I seem
disrespectful you must lay it to my ignorance."

" I should be inclined to do that without your
previous instructions." Here she regarded him
with a commiseration that he thought delicious;
it was so palpably genuine ; she so grandly over-
looked the solemn roguery that ambuscaded itself
behind his humility.

" You see," he went on, " I have n't learned the
vocabulary of radicalism, so to speak. I think I
know the fellows you propose to have ; they wear
long hair, quite often, and big cloaks instead of
top-coats, and collars low enough in the neck to
show a good deal of wind-pipe. As for the women,
they"-

" It is perfectly immaterial to me how any of
them may dress ! " she interrupted, with majestic
disapproval. " I ought to be very sorry for you,
Courtlandt, and I am. You 're clever enough not
to let yourself rust, like this, all your days. I
don't believe you 've ever read one of the works

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 53

of the great modern English thinkers. You're
sluggishly satisfied to go jogging along in the
same old ruts that humanity has worn deep for
centuries. Of course you never had, and never
will have, the least spark of enthusiasm. You 're
naturally lethargic; if a person stuck a pin into
you I don't believe you would jump. But all this
is no reason why you should n't try and live up to
the splendid advancements of your age. When
my constituents are gathered about me — when I
have fairly begun my good work of centralizing
and inspiriting my little band of sympathizers —
when I have defined in a practical way my in-
tended opposition to the vanities and falsities of
existing creeds and tenets, why, then, I will let
you mingle with my assemblages and learn for
yourself how you 've been wasting both time and
opportunity."

" That is extremely good of you," murmured
Courtlandt imperturbably. "I supposed your doors
were to be closed upon me for good and all."

" Oh, no. I shall insist, indeed, that you drop
in upon us very often. I shall need your presence.
You are to be my connecting link, as it were."

" How very pleasant ! You have just told me
that I was benighted. Now I find myself a con-
necting link."

54 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

"Between culture and the absence of it. I
have no objection to your letting the giddy and
whimsical folk perceive what a vast deal they are
deprived of. Besides, I should like you to be my
first conversion — a sort of bridge by which other
converts may cross over into the happy land."

" You are still most kind. I believe that bridges
are usually wooden. No doubt you feel that you
have made a wise selection of your material. May
I be allowed to venture another question? "

" Yes — if it is not too impudent."

She was watching him with her head a little on
one side, now, and a smile struggling forth from
her would-be serious lips. She was recollecting
how much she had always liked him, and con-
sidering how much she would surely like him
hereafter, in this renewal of their old half-cousinly
and half-flirtatious intimacy. She was thinking
what deeps of characteristic drollery slept in him
— with what a quiet, funny sort of martyrdom he
had borne her little girlish despotisms, before that
sudden marriage had wrought so sharp a rupture
of their relations, and how often he had forced
her into unwilling laughter by the slow and almost
sleepy humor with which he had successfully
parried some of her most vigorous attacks.

" I merely wanted to ask you," he now said,

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 55

"where all these extraordinary individuals are
to be found."

" Ah, that is an important question, certainly,"
she said, with a solemn inclination — or at least the
semblance of one. " I intend to collect them."

" Good gracious ! You speak of them as if
they were minerals or mummies that you were
going to get together for a museum. I have no
doubt that they will be curiosities, by the bye."
" I am afraid you will find them so."
"Are they to be imported?"
" Oh, no. That will not be necessary."
" I see ; they 're domestic products."
" Quite so. In this great city — filled with so
much energy, so much re-action against the narrow
feudalisms of Europe — I am very certain of
finding them." She paused for a moment, and
seemed to employ a tacit interval for the accumu-
lation of what she next said. "I shall not be
entirely unassisted in my search, either."

A cunning twinkle became manifest in the
brown eyes of her listener. He drew a long
breath. " Ah ! now we get at the root of the
matter. There 's a confederate — an accomplice,
so to speak."

" I prefer that you should not allude to my
assistant in so rude a style. Especially as, in the

56 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

first place, you have never met him, and, in the
second, he is a person of the most remarkable
gifts."

" Is there any objection to my asking his name ?
Or is it still a dark mystery ? "

She laughed at this, as if she thought it highly
diverting. "My dear cousin," she exclaimed,
" how absurd you can be at a pinch ! What on
earth should make the name of Mr. Kindelon a
dark mystery ? "

" Um-ni-m. Somebody you met abroad, then ? "

" Somebody I met on the steamer, while return-
ing."

" I see. An Englishman ? "

" A gentleman of Irish birth. He has lived in
New York for a number of years. He knows a
great many of the intellectual people here. He
has promised to help me in my efforts. He will
be of great value."

Courtlandt rose. "So are your spoons, Pau-
line," he said rather gruffly, not at all liking the
present drift of the information. " Take my ad-
vice, and lock them up when you give your first
salon."

III.

TDAULINE had not been long in her native
city again before she made the discovery that
a great deal was now socially expected of her.
The news of her return spread abroad with a ra-
pidity more suggestive of bad than of good tidings ;
her old acquaintances, male and female, flocked to
the Bond Street house with a most loyal prompti-
tude. The ladies came in glossy coupes and dig-
nified coaches, not seldom looking about them with
dilletante surprise at the mercantile glare and
tarnish of this once neat and seemly crossway,
as they mounted Mrs. Varick's antiquated stoop.
Most of them were now married ; they had made
their market, as Pauline's deceased mother would
have said, and it is written of them with no wan-
ton harshness that they had in very few cases
permitted sentiment to enact the part of salesman.
There is something about the fineness of our
republican ideals (however practice may have
determinedly lowered and soiled them) that makes
the mere worldly view of marriage a special

57

58 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

provocation to the moralist. Regarded as a con-
venient mutual barter in Europe, there it some-
how shocks far less ; the wrong of the grizzled
bridegroom winning the young, loveless, but
acquiescent bride bears a historic stamp; we recall,
perhaps, that they have always believed in that
kind of savagery over there ; it is as old as their
weird turrets and their grim torture-chambers.
But with ourselves, who broke loose, in theory at
least, from a good many tough bigotries, the
sacredness of the marriage state presents a much
more meagre excuse for violation. It was not
that the husbands of Pauline's wedded friends
were in any remembered instance grizzled, how-
ever ; they were indeed, with few exceptions, by
many years the juniors of her own dead veteran
spouse; but the influences attendant upon their
unions with this or that maiden had first con-
cerned the question of money as a primary and
sovereign force, and next that of name, prestige,
or prospective elevation. These young brides had
for the most part sworn a much more sincere
fidelity to the carriages in which they now rode,
and the pretty or imposing houses in which they
dwelt, than to the important, though not indispen-
sable, human attachments of such prized com-
modities.

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 59

Pauline found them all strongly monotonous ;
she could ill realize that their educated simpers
and their regimental sort of commonplace had
ever been potent to interest her. One had to pay
out such a small bit of line in order to sound
them ; one's plummet so soon struck bottom, as it
were. She found herself silently marvelling at
the serenity of their contentment ; no matter how
gilded were the cages in which they made their
decorous little trills, what elegance of filigree
could atone for the absence of space and the
paucity of perches ?

The men whom she had once known and now
re-met pleased her better. They had, in this
respect, the advantage of their sex. Even when
she condemned them most heartily as shallow and
fatuous, their detected admiration of her beauty
or of their pleasure in her company won for them
the grace of a pardoning afterthought. They were
still bachelors, and some of them more maturely
handsome bachelors than when she had last
looked upon them. They had niceties and fe-
licities of attitude, of intonation, of tailoring, of
boot or glove, to which, without confessing it,
she was still in a degree susceptible.

But she did not encourage them. They were
not of her new world ; she had got quite beyond

60 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

them. She flattered herself that she always
affected them as being gazed down upon from
rather chilly heights. She insisted on telling her-
self that they were much more difficult to talk
with than she really found them. This was one of
the necessities of her conversion ; they must not
prove agreeable any longer ; it was inconsequent,
untenable, that they should receive from her any-
thing but a merely hypocritic courtesy. She
wanted her contempt for the class of which they
were members to be in every way logical, and so
manufactured premises to suit its desired integrity.
Meanwhile she was much more entertaining than
she knew, and treated Courtlandt, one day, with
quite a shocked sternness for having informed her
that these male visitors had passed upon her some
very admiring criticisms.

" I have done my best to behave civilly," she
declared. " I was in my own house, you know,
when they called. But I cannot understand how
they can possibly like me as they no doubt used
to do ! I would much rather have you bring me
quite a contrary opinion, in fact."

" If you say so," returned Courtlandt, with his
inimitable repose, "I will assure them of their
mistake and request that they correct it."

Pauline employed no self-deception whatever in

V

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 61

the acknowledgment of her real feelings toward
Courtlandt. She cherished for him what she liked
to tell herself was an inimical friendliness. In the
old days he had never asked her to marry him,
and yet it had been plain to her that under
favoring conditions he might have made her this
proposal. She was nearly certain that he no
longer regarded her with a trace of the former
tenderness. On her own side she liked him so
heartily, notwithstanding frequent antagonisms,
that the purely amicable nature of this fondness
blurred any conception of him in the potential
light of a lover.

But, indeed, Pauline had resolutely closed her
eyes against the possibility of ever again receiving
amorous declaration or devotion. She had had
quite enough of marriage. Her days of senti-
ment were past. True, they had never actually
been, but the phantasmal equivalent for them had
been, and she now determined upon not replacing
this by a more accentuated experience. Her path
toward middle life was very clearly mapped out
in her imagination ; it was to be strewn with
nicely sifted gravel and bordered by formally
clipped foliage. And it was to be very straight,
very direct; there should be no bend in it that
came upon a grove with sculptured Cupid and

62 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

rustic lounge. The " marble muses, looking
peace1' might gleam now and then through its
en skirting boskage, but that should be all. Pau-
line had read and studied with a good deal of
fidelity, both during her marriage and after her
^widowhood. She had gone into the acquisition of
knowledge and the development of thought as
some women go into the intoxication of a nervine.
Her methods had been amateurish and desultory ;
she had not been taught, she had learned, and
hence learned ill. " The modern thinkers," as she
called them, delighted her with their liberality,
their iconoclasm. She was in just that receptive
mood to be made an extremist by their doctrines,
the best of which so sensibly warn us against
extremes. Her husband's memory, for the sake
of decency if for no other reason, deserved the
reticence which she had shown concerning it. He
had revealed to her a hollow nature whose void
was choked with vice, like some of those declivi-
ties in neglected fields, where the weed and the
brier run riot. The pathos of her position, in a
foreign land, with a lord whose daily routine of
misconduct left her solitary for hours, while invit-
ing her, had she so chosen, to imitate a course of
almost parallel license, was finally a cogent incen-
tive toward that change which ensued. The

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 63

whole falsity of the educational system which
had resulted in her detested marriage was slowly
laid bare to her eyes by this shocking and salient
example of it.

There was something piteous, and yet humorous
as well, in her present intellectual state. She was
a young leader in the cause of culture, without a
following. She believed firmly in herself, and yet
deceived herself. Much in the world that it was
now her fixed principle to shun and reprobate,
she liked and clung to. These points of attraction
were mostly superficialities, it is true, like the
fashion of clothes or the conventionalism of ac-
cepted social customs. But even these she had
more than half persuaded herself that she despised,
and when she observed them in others they too
often blinded her to attractions of a less flimsy
sort. She had verged upon a sanguine and florid
fanaticism, and was wholly unconscious of her
peril. Some of Courtlandt's sober comments might
effectually have warned her, if it had not been for
a marked contrary influence. This was repre-
sented by the gentleman whom we have already
heard her name as Mr. Kindelon.

She had been presented to him on the steamer
during her recent homeward voyage, by an ac-
quaintance who knew little enough regarding his

64 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

antecedents. But Ralph Kindelon had been at
once very frank with her. This was the most
prominent trait that usually disclosed itself in
him on a first acquaintance; he always managed
to impress you by his frankness. He had a large
head set on a large frame of splendid, virile pro-
portions. His muscular limbs were moulded
superbly; his big hands and feet had the same
harmony of contour, despite their size ; his grace
of movement was extraordinary, considering his
height and weight ; the noble girth and solidity of
chest struck you as you stood close to him — men
found it so substantially, women so protectively,
human. A kind of warmth seemed to diffuse it-
self from his bodily nearness, as if the pulse of
his blood must be on some exceptionally liberal
scale. But for those whom he really fascinated
his real fascinations lay elsewhere. You met
them in the pair of facile dimples that gave genial
emphasis to his sunny smile ; in the crisp, coarse
curl of his blue-black hair, which receded at either
temple, and drooped centrally over a broad, full
brow ; in the sensuous, ample, ruddy mouth, which
so often showed teeth of perfect shape and un-
flawed purity, and was shaded by a mustache
tending to chestnut in shade, with each strong
crinkled liair of it rippling away to the smooth-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 65

sloping cheeks ; and lastly in the violet-tinted
Irish eyes, whose deep-black lashes had a beauti-
ful length and gloss.

Kindelon spoke with a decided brogue. It was
no mere Celtic accent ; it was the pure and origi-
nal parlance of his native island, though shorn of
those ungrammatical horrors with which we are
prone by habit to associate it. His English was
Irish, as one of his own countrymen might have
said, but it was very choice and true English,
nevertheless. Well as he spoke it, he spoke it
immoderately, even exorbitantly, when the mood
was upon him, and the mood was upon him, in a
loquacious sense, with considerable pertinacity.
He was the sort of man concerning whom you
might have said, after hearing him talk three min-
utes or so, that he talked too much; but if you
had listened to him five minutes longer, your
modified opinion would probably have been that
he scarcely talked too much for so good a talker.

It has been chronicled of him that he was ex-
tremely frank. Before he had enlivened during
more than an hour, for Pauline, the awful tedium
of an Atlantic voyage in winter, she discovered
herself to be in a measure posted concerning his
personal biography. His parents had been far-
mers in his native Ireland, and he was the fourth

66 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

of a family of eleven children. At the age of
twelve years a certain benevolent baronet, whose
tenant his father was, had sent him to school in
Dublin with a view toward training and encour-
aging a natural and already renowned precocity.
At school he had done well until seventeen, and at
seventeen he had suddenly found himself thrown
on the world, through the death of his patron.
After that he had revisited his somewhat distant
home for a brief term, and soon afterward had
taken passage for America, aided by the funds of
an admiring kinsman. He had even then devel-
oped evidence of what we call a knack for writ-
ing. After severe hardships on these shores, he
had drifted into an editorial office in the capacity
of printer. This had been a godsend to him, and
it had fallen from the skies of Chicago, not New
York. But New York had ultimately proved the
theatre of those triumphs which were brilliant
indeed compared with the humdrum humility of
his more Western pursuits. Here he had written
articles on many different subjects for the local
journals ; he had served in almost every drudging
department of reportorial work ; he had risen,
fallen, risen, and at last risen once and for all,
durably and honorably, as an associate-editor in
a popular and prominent New York journal. He

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 67

told Pauline the name of his journal — the New
York " Asteroid " — and she remembered having
heard of it. He laughed his affluent, mellow laugh
at this statement, as though it were the most amus-
ing thing in the world to find an American who
had only " heard of " the New York "Asteroid."

In a political sense, and moreover in all senses,
lie was a zealous liberal. How he had managed to
scrape together so remarkable an amount of knowl-
edge was a mystery to himself. Everything that
he knew had been literally " scraped together ; "
the phrase could not be apter than when applied
to his mental store of facts. He read with an
almost phenomenal swiftness, and his exquisite
memory retained whatever touched it with a per-
fection like that of some marvellously sensitive
photographic agent. He never forgot a face, a
book, a conversation. He hardly forgot a single
one of his newspaper articles, and their name was
legion. His powers just stopped short of genius,
but they distinctly stopped there. He did many
things well — many things, in truth, which for a
man so hazardously educated it was surprising
that he did at all. But he did nothing superla-
tively well. It was the old story of that fatal facil-
ity possessed by numbers of his own countrymen
who have migrated to these shores. Perhaps the

68 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

one quality that he lacked was a reflective patience
• — and this is declared of his brains alone, having
no reference to his moral parts. He leaped upon
subjects, and devoured them, so to speak. It never
occurred to him that there is a cerebral digestion,
which, if we neglect its demands, inevitably entails
upon us a sort of dyspeptic vengeance. In crush-
ing the fruit with too greedy a speed we get to
have a blunted taste for its finer flavor.

Within certain very decided limits he had thus far
made an easy conquest of Pauline. She had never
before met any one whom he remotely resembled.
In the old days she would have shrank from him
as being unpatrician ; now, his fleet speech, his
entire lack of repose, his careless, unmodish,
though scrupulously clean dress, all had for her
an appealing and individual charm. After parting
on the arrival in New York, she and Kindelon had
soon re-met. He bore the change from oceanic sur-
roundings admirably in Pauline's eyes. With char-
acteristic candor he told her that he had come back
from the recent visit to his old parents in Ireland
(Pauline knowing all about this visit, of course)
to find himself wofully poor. She was wondering
whether he would resent the offer of a loan if she
made him one, when he suddenly surprised her by
a statement with regard to " present funds," that

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 69

certainly bore no suggestion of poverty. The
truth was, he lacked all proper appreciation of
the value of money. Economy was an unknown
virtue with him ; to have was to spend ; he was
incapable of saving; no financial to-morrow ex-
isted for him, and by his careless and often profuse
charities he showed the same absence of caution
as that which marked all other daily expendi-
tures.

In her immediate purchase of a new residence
she consulted with him, and allowed herself to be
guided by his counsels. This event brought them
more closely together for many days than they
would otherwise have been. His artistic feeling
and his excellent taste were soon a fresh surprise
to her. " I begin to think," she said to him one
day, " that there is nothing you do not know."

He laughed his blithe, bass laugh. "Oh," he
said, " I know a lot of things in a loose, haphazard
way. We newspaper men can't escape general
information, Mrs. Varick. We breathe it in, na-
turally, and in spite of ourselves."

" But tell me," Pauline now asked, " are these
other people to whom I shall soon be presented as
clever as you are ? "

He looked at her with merriment twinkling in
his light-tinted eyes. " They 're a good deal clev-

70 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

erer — some of them," he replied. " They could
give me points and beat me, as we say in bil-
liards."

" You make rne very anxious to know them."

" When you talk like that I feel as if I might
be tempted to postpone all introductions indefin-
itely," he responded. He spoke with sudden seri-
ousness, and she felt that mere gallantry had not
lain at the root of this answer.

As a matter of course, Kindelon and Courtlandt
soon met each other in Pauline's drawing-room.
Courtlandt was quite as quiet as usual, and the
Irishman perhaps rather unwontedly voluble.
Pauline thought she had never heard her new
friend talk better. He made his departure before
her cousin, and when he had gone Pauline said,
with candid enthusiasm:

" Is n't he a wonderful man ? "

" Wonderful ? " repeated Courtlandt, a trifle
drowsily.

She gave him a keen look, and bristled visibly
while she did so. " Certainly ! " she declared.
" No other word just expresses him. I did n't
observe you very closely, Court," she went on,
" but I took it for granted that you were being
highly interested. I can't imagine your not
being."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 71

" He gave me a kind of singing in the ears," said
Courtlandt. " I 've got it yet. He makes me
think of one of those factories where there 's a
violent hubbub all the time, so that you have to
speak loud if you want to be heard."

Pauline was up in arms, then. " I never lis-
tened to a more scandalously unjust criticism ! "
she exclaimed. " Do you mean to tell me, un-
blushingly, that you do not think him a very extra-
ordinary person ? "

" Oh, very," said her cousin.

Pauline gave an exasperated sigh. " I am so
used to you," she said, " that I should never even
be surprised by you. But you need not pretend
that you can have any except one truthful opinion
about Mr. Kindelon."

"I have n't," was the reply. " He 's what they
call a smart newspaper man. A Bohemian chap,
you know. They 're nearly all of them just like
that. They can talk you deaf, dumb, and blind,
if you only give them a chance."

'• I don't think the dumbness required any great
effort, as far as you were concerned ! " declared
Pauline, with sarcastic belligerence.

She never really quarrelled with Courtlandt,
because his impregnable stolidity made such a
result next to impossible. But she was now so

72 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW,

annoyed by her cousin's slighting comments upon
Kindeloii that her treatment was touched with a
decided coolness for days afterward.

Meanwhile her aunt, Mrs. Poughkeepsie, had un-
dergone considerable discomforting surprise. Mrs.
Poughkeepsie had been prepared to find Pauline
changed, but by no means changed in her present
way. On hearing her niece express certain very
downright opinions with regard to the life which
she was bent upon hereafter living, this lady at
first revealed amazement and afterward positive
alarm.

" But my dear Pauline," she said, " you cannot
possibly mean that you intend to get yourself
talked about ? "

" Talked about, Aunt Cynthia ? I don't quite
catch your drift, really."

" Let me be plainer, then. If you remain out
of society, that is one thing. I scarcely went any-
where, as you know, for ten years after my hus-
band's death — not, indeed, until Sallie had grown
up and was ready to come out. There is no objec-
tion, surely, against closing one's doors upon the
world, provided one desires to do so — although I
should say that such a step, Pauline, at your age,
and after two full years of widowhood, was decid-
edly a mistake. Still " —

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 73

" Pardon me, Aunt Cynthia," Pauline here
broke in. " Nothing is further from my wish than
to close my doors upon the world. On the con-
trary, I want to open them very wide indeed."

Mrs. Poughkeepsie lifted in shocked manner
both her fair, plump, dimpled hands. She was
a stout lady, with that imposing, dowager-like
effect of embonpoint which accompanies a natur-
ally tall and majestic stature. Her type had never
in girlhood been a very feminine one, and it now
bordered upon masculinity. Her eyes were hard,
calm and dark; her arching nose expressed the
most serene self-reliance. She was indeed a per-
son with no doubts ; she had, in her way, settled
the universe. All her creeds were crystallized,
and each, metaphorically, was kept in cotton, as
though it were a sort of family diamond. She had
been a Miss Schenectady, of the elder, wealthy
and more conspicuous branch ; it was a most no-
table thing to have been such a Miss Schenec-
tady. She had married a millionaire, and also a
Poughkeepsie ; this, moreover, was something very
important and fine. She had so distinct a "posi-
tion" that her remaining out of active participa-
tion in social pursuits made no difference whatever
as regarded her right to appear and rule whenever
she so chose ; it had only been necessary for her to

74 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

lift her spear, when Miss Sallie required her chaper-
onage, and the Snowes arid Briggses had perforce
to tremble. And this fact, too, she held as a pre-
cious, delectable prerogative.

In not a few other respects she was satisfied
regarding herself. There was nothing, for that
matter, which concerned herself in any real way,
about which she did not feel wholly satisfied.
Her environment in her own opinion was of the
best, and doubtless in the opinion of a good many
of her adherents also. From the necklace of an-
cestral brilliants which she now wore, sparkling at
ball or dinner, on her generous and creamy neck,
to the comfortably-cushioned pew in Grace Church,
where two good generations of Poughkeepsies had
devoutly sat through many years of Sundays,
she silently valued and eulogized the gifts which
fate had bestowed upon her.

Pauline's present attitude seemed to her some-
thing monstrous. It had not seemed monstrous
that her niece should give the bloom and vital
purity of a sweet maidenhood to a man weighted
with years and almost decrepid from past excesses.
But that she should seek any other circle of ac-
quaintance except one sanctioned by the immiti-
gable laws of caste, struck her as a bewildering
misdemeanor.

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 75

" My dear Pauline," she now exclaimed, " you
fill me with a positive fear ! Of course, if you
shut your doors to the right people you open
them to the wrong ones. You have got some
strange idea abroad, which you are now deter-
mined to carry out — to exploiter, my dear! With
your very large income there is hardly any dread-
ful imprudence which you may not commit.
There is no use in telling me that the people
whom one knows are not worth knowing. If you
have got into that curious vein of thought you
have no remedy for it except to refrain from all
entertaining and all acceptance of courtesies.
But I beg, Pauline, that you will hesitate before
you store up for yourself the material of ugly
future repentance. Sallie and I have accepted the
Effinghams' box at the opera to-night. Those
poor Effinghams have been stricken by the death
of their father; it was so sudden — he was sit-
ting in his library and literally fell dead — he
must certainly have left two millions, but of course
that has nothing to do with their bereavement,
and it was so kind of them to remember us.
They know that I have always wanted a prosce-
nium, and that there are no prosceniums, now, to
be had for love or money. I have sent our box in
the horse-shoe to cousin Kate Ten Eyck ; she is so

76 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW,

wretchedly cramped in her purse, you know, and
still has Lulu on her hands, and will be so grate-
ful— as indeed she wrote me quite gushingly that
she was, this very afternoon. Now, Pauline, won't
you go with us, my dear ? "

Pauline went. A noted prima donna sang,
lured by an immense nightly reward to disclose
her vocal splendors before American audiences.
But her encompassment, as is so apt to be the
case here, was pitiably mediocre. She sang with
a presentable contralto, a passable baritone, an
effete basso, and an almost despicable tenor. The
chorus was anachronistic in costume, sorry in
voice, and mournfully undrilled. But the diva
was so comprehensively talented that she carried
the whole performance. At the same time there
were those among her hearers who lamented that
her transcendent ability should be burlesqued by
so shabby and impotent a surrounding. The en-
gagement of this famous lady was meanwhile one
of those sad operatic facts for which the American
people have found, during years past, no remedy
and no preventive. The fault, of course, lies with
themselves. When they are sufficiently numerous
as true lovers of music they will refuse their
countenance to even a great singer except with
creditable artistic and scenic support.

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 77

Pauline sat in the Effingliams' spacious prosce-
nium-box, between Mrs. Poughkeepsie and her
daughter. Sallie Poughkeepsie was a large girl,
with her mother's nose, her mother's serenity,
her mother's promise of corpulent matronhood.
She had immense prospects ; it was reported that
she had refused at least twenty eligible matrimo-
nial offers while waiting for the parental nod of
approval, which had not yet come.

During the first entr'acte a little throng of ad-
mirers entered the box. Some of these Pauline
knew; others had appeared, as it were, after her
time. One was an Englishman, and she presently
became presented to him as the Earl of Glenart-
ney. The title struck her as beautiful, appealing
to her sense of the romantic and picturesque ; but
she wondered that it had done so when she subse-
quently bent a closer gaze upon the receding fore-
head, flaccid mouth and lank frame of the Earl
himself. He had certainly as much hard prose
about his appearance as poetry in his name. Mrs.
Poughkeepsie beamed upon him in a sort of side-
long way all the time that he conversed with
Sallie. A magnate of bountiful shirt-bosom and
haughty profile claimed her full heed, but she
failed to bestow it entirely; the presence of this
unmarried Scotch peer at her child's elbow was

78 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

too stirring an incident; her usual equanimity
was in a delightful flutter ; ambition had already
begun its insidious whispers, for the Earl was
known to be still a bachelor.

Pauline, who read her aunt so thoroughly, felt
the mockery of this maternal deference. She told
herself that there was something dreary and hor-
rible about a state of human worldliness which
could thus idolize mere rank and place. She
knew well enough that so long as Lord Glen-
artney were not a complete idiot, and so long as
his moral character escaped the worst depravity,
he would be esteemed a magnificent match for
her cousin.

The Earl remained at Sallie's side all through
the succeeding act. When the curtain again fell
he still remained, while other gentlemen took the
places of those now departing. And among these,
to her surprise and pleasure, was Ralph Kindelon.

She almost rose as she extended her hand to
her friend. A defiant satisfaction had suddenly
thrilled her. She pronounced Kindelon's name
quite loudly as she presented him to her aunt.
Instead of merely bowing to Mrs. Poughkeepsie,
Kindelon, with effusive cordiality, put forth his
hand. Pauline saw a startled look creep across
her aunt's face. The handsome massive-framed

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 79

Irishman was not clad in evening dress. He tow-
ered above all the other gentlemen; he seemed,
as indeed he almost was, like a creature of another
species. His advent made an instant sensation ; a
universal stare was levelled upon him by these
sleek devotees of fashion, among whom he had the
air of pushing his way with a presumptuous geni-
ality. He carried a soft " wide-awake " hat in
one hand; his clothes were of some dark gray
stuff; his neatly but heavily booted feet made
dull sounds upon the floor as he now moved
backward in search of a chair. There was no
possible doubt regarding his perfect self-posses-
sion; he had evidently come to remain and to
assert himself.

" Who on earth is he ? " Mrs. Poughkeepsie
found a chance to swiftly whisper in the ear of
her niece. There was an absolutely dramatic
touch in the agitation which went with her ques-
tioning sentence.

Pauline looked steadily at her aunt as she re-
sponded : " A very valued friend of mine."

" But, my dear ! " faltered Mrs. Poughkeepsie.
The fragmentary little vocative conveyed a volume
of patrician dismay.

By this time Kindelon had found a chair. He
placed it close to Pauline.

80 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

"I am so very glad that you discovered me,"
said Pauline. She spoke in quite loud tones,
while everybody listened. Her words had the
effect of a distinct challenge, and as such she
intended them.

" I am flinging down a gauntlet," she thought,
" to snobbery and conservatism. This slight event
marks a positive era in my life."

" I saw you from the orchestra," now said Kin-
delon, in his heartiest tones. " The distance re-
vealed you to me, though I cannot say it lent the
least enchantment, for that would surely be impossi-
ble." He now looked towards Mrs. Poughkeepsie,
without a trace of awe in his mirthful expression.
"You must pardon my gallantry, madam," he
proceeded. " Your niece and I, though recent
friends, are yet old ones. We have crossed the
Atlantic together, and that, in the winter season,
is a wondrous promoter of intimacy, as you per-
haps know. Perhaps Mrs. Varick has already
done me the honor of mentioning our acquaint-
ance."

" Not until now," said Mrs. Poughkeepsie, with
a smile that had the glitter of ice in it.

IV.

orchestra had not yet re-commenced, and
the curtain would not reascend for at least
ten good minutes. A vigorous babble of many
voices rose from the many upstairs boxes. In
some of these Kindelon's appearance might not
have created the least comment. Here it was a
veritable bombshell.

The " Poughkeepsie set " was famed for its
rigid exclusiveness. Wherever Miss Sallie and
her mother went, a little train of courtiers inva-
riably followed them. They always represented
an ultra-select circle inside of the larger and still
decidedly aristocratic one. Only certain young
men ever presumed to approach Sallie at all, and
these were truly the darlings of fortune and fash-
ion— young gentlemen of admitted ascendency,
whose attentions would have made an obscure
girl rapidly prominent, and who, while often dis-
tinguished for admirable manners, always con-
trived to hover near those who were the sovereign

81

82 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

reverse of obscure. They would carry only her
bouquets, or those of other girls who belonged to
the same special and envied clique; they would
" take out in the German " only Sallie and her
particular intimates. Bitter jealousies among the
contemplating dowagers were often a result of
this determined eclecticism. " Why is it that my
Kate has to put up with so many second-rate
men?" would pass with tormenting persistence
through the mind of this matron. " Why can't
my Caroline get any of the great swells to notice
her?" would drearily haunt another. And be-
tween these two distressed ladies there might
meanwhile be seated a third, whose daughter, for
reasons of overwhelming wealth or particular at-
tractiveness, always moved clad in a nimbus of
sanctity.

Pauline was perfectly well aware that the com-
ing of her friend had seemed an audacity, and that
his unconventionally garrulous tongue was now
regarded as a greater one. Courtlandt may have
told her that the rival factions had cemented their
differences and that all society in New York was
more democratic than formerly. Still, it was un-
imaginable that her aunt Cynthia could ever really
change her spots. Where she trod, there, too, must
float the aroma of an individual self-glorification.

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 83

Pauline was as much delighted by Kindelon's easy
daring as by the almost glacial answer of her
stately kinswoman ; and she at once hastened to
say, while looking with a smile at the unembar-
rassed Kindelon himself, —

" I have scarcely had a chance to tell either my
a ant or my cousin how good you were to me on
the ' Bothnia.' " Then she lifted her fan, and waved
it prettily toward Sallie. " This is my cousin,
Miss Poughkeepsie," she went on; she did not
wait for the slow accomplishment of Sallie's forced
and freezing bow, but at once added : " and here
is Lord Glenartney, here Mr. Fyshkille, here Mr.
Van Arsdale, here Mr. Hackensack. Now, I think
you know us all, Mr. Kiudelon."

As she ended her little speech she met Mrs.
Poughkeepsie's eyes fixed upon her in placid con-
sternation. Of course this wholesale introduction,
among the chance occupants of an opera box, was
a most unprecedented violation of usage. But
that was precisely Pauline's wish — to violate
usage, if she could do it without recourse to any
merely vulgar rupture. They had all stared at
Ralph Kindelon, had treated him as if he were
some curious animal instead of a fellow-creature
greatly their own superior, and they should have
a chance now of discovering just how well he

84 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

could hold his own in their little self-satisfied
assemblage.

Kindelon bowed and smiled in every direction.
He appeared unconscious that everybody did not
bow and smile with just the same reciprocal
warmth.

" This is the most luxurious way of enjoying
the opera," he exclaimed, with an upward gesture
of both hands to indicate the walls of the commo-
dious box. " But, ah ! I am afraid that it possesses
its drawbacks as well ! One would be tempted to
talk too much here — to discountenance the per-
formance. Now, I am an irreclaimable talker, as
Mrs. Varick can testify; she has hardly done any-
thing but listen since the beginning of our acquaint-
ance. And yet I should like to feel that I had my
tribute of silence always ready for the great musi-
cal masters. Among these I rank the Italian com-
posers, whom it has now become fashionable to
despise. Pray, Mrs. Poughkeepsie, are you — or
is your daughter ? — a convert to what the}r term
the new school ? "

There was no ignoring the felicitous, rhythmic
voice that pronounced these hurried and yet clearly
enunciated sentences, unless by means of an inso-
lence so direct and cruel that it would transgress
all bounds of civil decency. Mrs. Poughkeepsie

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 85

was capable of not a little insolence at a pinch ;
her ramparts were spiked, and could deal no
gentle hurts to those who sought anything like
the scaling of them. But here the overtures
made were alike too suave and too bold. She
felt herself in the presence of a novel civil-
ity— one that assumed her rebuff to be impos-
sible.

" I have always preferred the Italian music,"
she now said. "But then my knowledge of the
German is limited."

" Oh, German music is the most dreadful baw!"
here struck in Lord Glenartney. He had taken an
immediate fancy to Kindelon ; he liked people who
were in a different sphere from himself; he usually
went with jockeys and prize-fighters, whenever the
demands of his great position permitted such asso-
ciation, in his native country. Here in America
he knew only the Poughkeepsie set, which had
seized upon him and kept close watch over him
ever since he had landed in New York.

" No, I don't at all agree with you there," said
Kindelon. " Undoubtedly German music is based
upon a grand idea. I should be sorry not to be-
lieve so."

" Bless my soul ! " laughed his lordship ; " I don't
know anything about grand ideahs. The small

86 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

ones are quite as much as I can manage comfort-
ably."

" Mr. Kindelon will be shocked by such a con-
fession, I'm sure," said the gentleman named
Fyshkille, who was strikingly slim, who gazed at
people condescendingly over a pale parapet of
very stiff shirt-collar, and who considered himself
to have a natural turn for satire. " He appears to
be a person of such grand ideas himself."

This airy bit of impudence caused Mr. Van
Arsdale to twirl one end of a dim, downy mus-
tache and perpetrate a rather ambiguous, giggle.
But Mr. Hackensack, who was stout, with a pair
of large black eyes set in a fat, colorless, mind-
less face, whipped forth a silk pocket-handkerchief
and gave an explosive burst of merriment within
its soft folds.

" You seem to be very much amused at some-
thing," drawled Sallie, while she looked in her
languid way toward her trio of admirers.

" We are," said the satirical Mr. Fyshkille, who
prided himself on always keeping his counten-
ance. His two friends, who thought him a devil-
ish clever fellow, both produced another laugh,
this time suppressed on the part of each.

Pauline felt keenly annoyed. She glanced at
Kindelon, telling herself that he must surely see

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 87

the pitiable ridicule of which he was being made
the butt.

She had, however, quite miscalculated. The
self-esteem of Kindelon as utterly failed to realize
that he was an object of the slightest banter,
whether overt or covert, as though he had been
both near-sighted and deaf. He knew nothing of
the idle autocracy with which accident had now
brought him into contact. He was opposed to it
on principle, but he had had no experience of its
trivial methods of arrogance. He had come into
the box to see Pauline, and he took it broadly for
granted that he would be treated with politeness
by her surrounders, and listened to (provided he
assumed that office of general spokesman which
he nearly always assumed wherever chance placed
him) with admiring attention.

A few minutes later he had stripped his would-
be foes of all sting by effectively and solidly mani-
festing unconsciousness that they had intended to
be hostile. He talked of Wagner and his follow-
ers with a brilliant force that did not solicit heed
and yet compelled it. He discoursed upon the
patent absurdities of Italian opera with a nimble
wit and an incisive severity. Then he justified
his preference for Donizetti and Rossini with a
readiness that made his past sarcasm on their

88 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

modes quickly forgotten. And finally he deliv-
ered a eulogy upon the German motive and ideal
in music which showed the fine liberality of a
mind that recognizes the shortcomings in its own
predilection, and foresees the inevitable popularity
of a more advanced and complicated system.

He had silenced everybody before he finished,
but with the silence of respect. He had forced
even these petty triflers who dwelt on the mere
skirts of all actual life, to recognize him as not
simply the comer from a world which they did
not care to know about, but from a world greater
and higher than any which they were capable of
knowing about. And finally, in the flush of this
handsome little triumph, he made his exit, just
as the curtain was again rising, after a few mur-
mured words to Pauline regarding certain night-
work on the New York "Asteroid," which must
prevent him from seeing the remainder of the
performance.

Nobody heeded the opera for at least five min-
utes after his departure. He had left his spell
behind him. Pauline at first marked its cogency,
and then observed this gradually dissolve. The
fiimsiness of their thinking and living returned
to them again in all its paltry reality.

" Of course," murmured Mrs. Poughkeepsie to

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 89

Pauline, " he is a person who writes books, of one
sort or another."

" If they 're novels," said Lord Glenartney, "I'd
like awfully to know abaout 'em. I 'm fond of
readin' a good novel. It 's so jolly if one 's lyin'
daown and carn't sleep, but feels a bit seedy, ye
know."

" I fancy they must be rather long novels," said
Sallie, with a drowsy scorn that suited her big,
placid anatomy.

" I wish he 'd not run off so ; I wanted the
address of his hatter," declared the envenomed
Mr. Fyshkille.

" Or his tailor," amended Mr. Van Arsdale, with
the auxiliary giggle.

" I guess you 'd find both somewhere in the
Bowery," pursued the fleshy Mr. Hackensack, who
always said " I guess," for " I fancy," and had a
nasal voice, and an incorrigible American soul in-
side his correct foreign garments.

Pauline now swept a haughty look at Mr. Fysh-
kille and his two allies, and said, with open dis-
pleasure, —

" I suppose you think it an unpardonable sin for
any gentleman to suit his own taste in dress, and
not copy that of some English model. But your
uncivil comments on Mr. Kinclelon before myself,

90 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

his admitted friend, show me that he might easily
teach you a lesson in good manners."

All three of the offenders were now forced to
utter words of apology, while Lord Glenartney
looked as if he thought Mrs. Varick's wrath great
fun, and Sallie exchanged a look of ironical dis-
tress with her mother, that seemed to inquire :
" What uncomfortable absurdity will Pauline next
be guilty of?"

But Mrs. Poughkeepsie and Sallie left their kins-
woman at her Bond Street residence that night
with very agreeable adieus. True, Lord Glenart-
ney occupied a seat in their carriage, but even if
this had not been the case, neither mother nor
daughter would have vented upon Pauline any of
the disapproval she had provoked in them. She
was now a power in the world, and besides being
near to them in blood, even her follies merited the
leniency of a Poughkeepsie.

But after Sallie and her mother had said good-
night to his lordship and were alone at home
together, the young lady spoke with querulous
disgust of her cousin's behavior.

" She will lose caste horribly, mamma, if she
goes on in this way. It 's perfectly preposterous !
If there is one thing on earth that is really loiv,
it 's for a woman to become strong-minded ! "

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 91

Mrs. Poughkeepsie nodded. "You are quite
right. But she 's her own mistress, and there is
no restraining her."

" People ought to be restrained," grumbled
Sallie, loosening her opera cloak, "when they
want to throw away their positions like that."

" Oh, Pauline can't throw hers away so easily,"
affirmed Mrs. Poughkeepsie with sapient compo-
sure. " No, not with her name and her big in-
come. She will merely get herself laughed at,
you know — encanailler herself most ludicrously ;
that is all. We must let her have her head, as
one says of a horse. Her father was always full
of caprices ; he would n't have died a poor man if
he had not been. She merely has a caprice now.
Of course she will come to terms again with
society sooner or later, and repent having made
such a goose of herself. That is, unless " — And
here Mrs. Poughkeepsie paused, while a slight but
distinct shudder ended her sentence.

Sallie gave a faint, harsh laugh. " Oh, I under-
stand you thoroughly, mamma," she exclaimed.
" You mean unless some common man like that Mr.
Kindelon should induce her to marry him. How
awful such a thing would be ! I declare, the very
thought of it is sickening ! With that superb for-
tune, too ! I should n't be surprised if he had pro-

92 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

posed already ! Perhaps she has only been prepar-
ing us gradually for the frightful news that she has
accepted him ! "

But no such frightful news reached the Pough-
keepsies, as day succeeded day. Pauline went
little into the fashionable throngs, which were at
the height of their winter gayeties. She soon
quitted her Bond Street residence for good, and
secured a small basement-house on a side street
near Fifth Avenue, furnishing it with that speed
in the way of luxurious appointment which a
plethoric purse so readily commands.

"I am quite prepared now," she said to Kin-
delon one morning, after having received him in
her new and lovely sitting-room, where everything
was unique and choice, from the charming chande-
lier of twisted silver to the silken Japanese screen,
rich with bird and flower in gold and crimson.
" Of course you understand what I mean."

He affected not to do so. " Prepared ? " he re-
peated, with the gay gleam slipping into his eyes.
"For what?"

" My salon, of course."

" Oh," he said. " I confess that I suspected
what you meant, though I was not quite sure. I
almost feared lest your resolution might have
undergone a change of late."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 93

" And pray, why ? " asked Pauline, raising her
brows, with a little imperious smile.

" You have not mentioned the project for surely
a good fortnight," he returned. " I had wondered
whether or no it had weakened with you."

" It is stronger than ever," Pauline asseverated.
She folded her hands in her lap and tried to look
excessively firm and resolute. She was always
particularly handsome when she tried to look
thus; she was just slender and feminine enough
in type to make the assumption of strength, of
determination, especially becoming.

" Ah, very well," replied Kindelon, with one of
his richly expressive smiles. " Then I have a pro-
position to make you. It concerns an immediate
course of action on your part. Have you ever
heard of Mrs. Hagar Williamson Dares ? "

Pauline burst into a laugh. "No. It sounds
more like an affirmation than a name — ' Mrs.
Hagar Williamson Dares.' One feels like saying,
'Does she?' Don't think me irredeemably tri-
fling, and please continue. Please tell me, I mean,
what remarkable things has this remarkably-named
lady done ? "

" Nothing."

Pauline's face, full of a pleased anticipation,
fell. "Nothing! How tiresome!"

94 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" I mean nothing remarkable," Kindelon went
on, " in the luminously intellectual sense. And
yet she is a very extraordinary woman. At
twenty-five she was divorced from her husband."

Pauline shook her head troubledly. " That does
not sound at all promising."

" He was a dissolute wretch. The courts easily
granted her a release from him. At this time she
was almost penniless. The question, as she had
two little children, naturally arose : ' How are we
three to live?' She had been reared in a New
England home ; her dead father had been a man
of extensive learning, and at one time the princi-
pal of a successful school. Hagar had always had
4 a taste for writing,' as we call it. She began by
doing criticisms for a New York journal of rather
scholarly tendency, whose editor had combined
pity for her almost starving condition with appre-
ciation of her undoubted talents. But the prices
that the poor struggling young mother received
were necessarily very meagre. She became prac-
tical. She asked herself if there was no other
way of earning money by her pen. She soon dis-
covered a way; it did not require her to know
about Diderot and Strauss and Spinoza, with all
of whose writings (and with many classics more
of equal fame) she was finely familiar ; it simply

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 95

required that she should lay aside every vestige
of literary pride and write practically. Good
Heavens ! what a word that word ' practical ' is
in literature ! You must tell the people how to
bake a pie, to cure a headache, to bleach a shirt,
to speak the truth, to clean silverware, to make
a proposal of marriage. Mrs. Dares did it in
country letters, in city letters, in newspaper edi-
torials, in anonymous fine-print columns, in the
back parts of fashion and household magazines —
and she does it still. For a number of years past
she has superintended a periodical of the popular
sort, which I dare say you have never heard of.
The amount of work that she accomplishes is
enormous. A strong man would stagger under
it, but this frail woman (you'll think her frail
when you see her) bears it with wondrous endu-
rance. Her life has been a terrible failure, looked
at from one point of view — for it is scarcely
exaggeration to say that had she not been handi-
capped by poverty in the beginning she might
have swayed and charmed her generation with
great books. But from another point of view
her life has been a sublime success ; she has
trampled all aspiration under foot, forsworn
every impulse of honorable egotism, and toiled
for the maintenance of a home, for the educa-

96 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

tioii of her two daughters. They are both
grown up, now — girls who are themselves bread-
winners like their mother, and bearing their yoke
of labor as cheerfully, though not with the same
splendid strength, as she. One is a school-teacher
in a well-known kindergarten here, and one has
become an artist of no contemptible ability.
Meanwhile Mrs. Dares has not merely established
a pleasant and refined household; she has caused
to be diffused from it, as a social centre, the warm
radiations of a sweet, wholesome hospitality. Like
some of the high-born Fifth Avenue leaders of
fashion, she has her ' evenings.' But they are of a
totally different character. They are not ' select ; '
I don't claim that grace for them. And yet they
are very interesting, very typical. Some shabby
people meet there — shabby, I mean, in mental
ways no less than in character and costume. But
the prevailing element is of a higher order than
they. Anyone whom Mrs. Dares believes to be
an earnest worker in the field of letters will have
no difficulty about gaining her favor. I think she
would rather greet in her rooms some threadbare
young poet who had published at his own expense
a slim little volume of poems possessing distinct
merit and having received the snubs of both critics
and public, than welcome some rich and successful

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 97

writer whose real claim upon recognition she hon-
estly doubted. And for this reason she makes
mistakes. I have no doubt she is aware of making
them. When we search the highways and hedges
for cases of deserving charity, we cannot but light
upon at least an occasional impostor — to put the
matter as optimistically as possible. And now let
me tell you that if my mighty explanatory out-
burst has roused your desire to meet Mrs. Dares,
the opportunity to do so lies well within your
reach."

" How ? " said Pauline. And then, as if abashed
by the brusque abruptness of her own question, she
added, with a little penitent nod : " Oh, yes ; you
mean that she has kindly consented to let you
bring her here."

" Not at all," said Kindelon. " It is true that
she goes about a good deal. Her position as a
journalist gives her, of course, the entree to many
theatres, and as she is passionately fond of the
drama, her face is seldom missed on a premiere
at any reputable house — Daly's, the Union
Square, the Madison Square, or Wallack's. She
takes delight, too, in appearing at the entertain-
ments of her various friends, and she always dees
so clad elegantly, richly, but without a shadow
T>f ostentatious display. On these occasions her

98 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

society is eagerly sought. I have sometimes won-
dered why ; for her conversation, though invariably
full of sound sense and pithy acumen, lacks the
cheerful play of humor which is so widely de-
manded to generate anything like popularity
wherever men and women are socially met.
But she is very popular, and I suppose it is her
striking simplicity, her gift of always being sin-
cerely and unaffectedly herself, which has made
her so. Still, for all this gregarious impulse, if
I may thus name it, I do not believe she would
take the first step, where you are concerned, to
establish an acquaintance."

" And for what reason ? " asked Pauline. Her
tones, while she put this query, were full of a
hurt bewilderment. Kindelon seemed to muse
for a brief space ; and any such unconversational
mood was rare, as we know, with his mercurial
lightsomeness of manner. "She would be sensi-
tive," he presently said, "about making an ad-
vance of this sort."

" Of this sort?" repeated Pauline, with a some-
what irritated inflection. " Of what sort ? "

Her companion watched her with fixity for a
moment. Then he raised his large forefinger,
and slowly shook it, with admonitory comedy of
gesture. "You must not tell me that you don't

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 99

understand," he said. " Put yourself in tins
lady's place. Suppose that you, in spite of fine
brains and noble character, lacked the social
standing " —

Pauline broke in quite hotly at this. Her eyes
had taken a quick sparkle, and the color was
flying rosy and pure into her fair face. " Pshaw ! "
she exclaimed. " It is not any question of social
standing. I want to know these people " —
She suddenly paused, as though her tongue had
betrayed her into some regrettable and unseemly
phrase. "I want to pass," she continued more
slowly, "from an aimless world into one of thought
and sense. Mrs. Dares is prominent in this other
world. From what you say I should judge that
she is a very representative and influential spirit
there. Why should she not be benign and gra-
cious enough to seek me here ? Why should she
require that I shall emphatically pay her my
court? Your description makes me glad and
happy to know her. If she learned this, would
she hold aloof from any absurd scruples about a
disparity in social standing? — Well, if she
did," declared Pauline, who by this time was quite
excitedly flushed and fluttered, " then I should say
that you had over-painted her virtues and too
flatteringly concealed her faults!"

100 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

Kindelon threw back his head, as she finished,
and laughed with such heartiness that more of
his strong white teeth were transiently visible
than would have pleased a strict judge of deco-
rum.

" Oh, how amusing you are ! " he cried. " You
are really superb and don't perceive it ! — Well,"
he proceeded, growing graver, " I suppose you
would be far less so if you had the vaguest
inkling of it. Now, pray listen. Does it enter
your conscience at all that you are disguising
a kind of royal patronage and condescension
behind a gentle and saint-like humility? No —
of course it does n't. But, my dear lady, this is
unequivocally true. You scoff at social standing,
and yet you complacently base yourself upon it.
You want to desert all your old tenets, and yet
you keep a kind of surreptitious clasp about
them. You would not for the world be consid-
ered a person who cared for the aristocratic
purple, and yet you wrap it round you in the
most illogical fashion. Mrs. Dares has her even-
ings ; to-night is one of them. You, as yet, have
no evenings ; your salon is still in embryo. You
want to affiliate with her, to be one of her set, her
surroundings, her monde. And yet you quietly
bid her to your house, as though she were propos-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 101

ing your co-operation, your support, your inti-
macy, and not you hers ! "

Pauline, with perhaps a deepened tinge of color
in her cheeks, was staring at the floor when Kin-
delon ended. And from beneath her gown came
the impatient little tap of a nervous foot. After
an interval of silence, during which her friend's
gaze watched her with a merry vivacity of expres-
sion, she slowly lifted her shapely blond head, and
answered in grave, even saddened tones, —

" Then my salon is to be a failure ? — an unreal-
izable castle in Spain?"

" Oh, no," promptly said Kindelon, with one of
those sympathetic laughs which belonged among
his elusive fascinations. " By no means — unless
you so will it."

" But I don't will it," said Pauline.

"Very well. Then it will be a castle in — in
New York. That sounds tangible enough, surely.
It is the first step that counts, and you have only
to take your first step. It will certainly look
much better to know some of your courtiers be-
fore you ascend your throne. And meanwhile
it would be far more discreet to cultivate an
acquaintance with your probable prime minis-
ter."

" All of which means — ? " she said.

102 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" That you had best let me accompany you to
Mrs. Dares's house this evening."

" But I am not invited ! " exclaimed Pauline.

" Oh yes, you are," said Kindelon, with easy
security in the jocund contradiction. " Miss Cora,
the youngest daughter of Mrs. Dares, told me last
night that she and her mother would both be very
glad to have you come."

There was a momentary intonation in Kinde-
lon's voice that struck his listener as oddly unex-
pected. " So you have already spoken of me ? "
she said lingeringly, and looking at him with
more intentness than she herself knew of.

"Yes," he replied, with a certain speed, and
with tones that were not just set in an unembar-
rassed key. " I go there now and then."

" And you have mentioned me to Mrs. Dares ? "

"Yes — more than once, I think. She knows
that you may be induced to come this evening."

His glance, usually so direct, had managed
to avoid Pauline's, which was then very direct
indeed.

" Tell me," Pauline said, after another silence
had somehow made itself felt between them.
" Are you a very good friend of this girl — Miss
Cora?"

He returned her look then, but with an un-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 103

wonted vacillation of his own — or so she chose
to think.

" Yes," he responded, fluently frank, as it
seemed. " We are very good friends — excellent
friends, I may say. You will find her quite as
charming, in a different way, as her mother. I
mean, of course, if you will go with me this
evening — or any future evening."

Pauline put forth her hand, and laid it for an
instant on his full-moulded arm.

" I will go with you this evening," she said.

V.

TT^INDELON found Pauline in a very light-
some and animated state of mind when he
called at her house that evening. She had a
touch of positive excitement in her way of refer-
ring to the proposed visit. He thought he had
never seen her look more attractive than when
she received him, already wrapped in a fleecy
white over-garment and drawing on her gloves,
while a piquant smile played at the corners of
her mouth and a vivacious glitter filled her gray
eyes.

"You are here before the carriage," she said to
him, "though we shan't have to wait long for
that. — Hark — there is the bell, now; my men
would not presume to be a minute late this even-
ing. The footman must have detected in my
manner a great seriousness when I gave him my
order ; I felt very serious, I can assure you, as I
did so. It meant the first step in a totally new
career."

104

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 105

" Upon my word, you look fluttered," said Kin-
delon, in his mellow, jocose voice.

" Naturally I do ! " exclaimed Pauline, as she
nodded to the servant who now announced that
the carriage was in readiness. " I am going to
have a fresh, genuine sensation. I am going to
emancipate myself — to break my tether, as it
were. I 've been a prisoner for life ; I don't
know how the sunshine looks, or how it feels to
take a gulp of good, free air."

He watched her puzzledly until the outer
darkness obscured her face, and they entered the
carriage together. She mystified him while she
talked on, buoyant enough, yet always in the
same key. He was not sure whether or no her
sparkling manner had a certain sincere trepida-
tion behind it. Now and then it seemed to him
as if her voluble professions of anxiety rang false
— as if she were making sport of herself, of him,
or of the projected diversion.

" Do you really take the whole matter so much
to heart," he presently said, while the vehicle
rolled them along the wintry, lamplit streets, "or
is this only some bit of dainty and graceful mas-
querading ? "

" Masquerading? " she echoed, with a shocked
accent.

106 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" Oh, well, you are accustomed to meeting all
sorts of people. You can't think that any human
classes are so sharply divided that to cross a new
threshold means to enter a new world."

She was silent, and he could see her face only
vaguely for some little time ; but when a passing
light cast an evanescent gleam upon it he thought
that he detected something like a look of delicate
mischief there. Her next words, rather promptly
spoken, bore with them an explanatory bluntness.

" I am convinced that if everybody else disap-
points me Miss Dares will not."

" Miss Dares ? " he almost faltered, in the tone
of one thrown off his guard.

" Miss Cora Dares," Pauline continued, with a
self-correcting precision. " The younger of the
two daughters, the one who paints. Oh, you see,"
she continued, after a little laugh that was merry,
though faint, " I have forgotten nothing. I 've
a great curiosity to see this young artist. You
had not half so much to tell me about her as
about her mother, and yet you have somehow
contrived to make her quite as interesting."

" Why ? " Kindelon asked, with a soft abrupt-
ness to which the fact of his almost invisible
face lent a greater force. " Is it because you
think that I like Cora Dares? I should like to

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 107

think that was your reason for being interested
in her."

Another brief silence on Pauline's part followed
his words, and then she suddenly responded, with
the most non-committal innocence of tone :

" Why, what other reason could I possibly
have? Of course I suppose that you like her.
And of course that is why I am anxious to meet
her."

There was a repelling pleasantry in these
three short sentences. If Kindelon had been
inclined to slip any further into the realm of sen-
timent, the very reverse of encouragement had
now met him. Pauline's matter-of-course com-
placency had a distinct chill under its superficial
warmth. "Don't misunderstand me, please," she
went on, with so altered a voice that her listener
felt as if she had indeed been masquerading
through some caprice best known to herself, and
now chose once and for all to drop masque and
cloak. " I really expect a most novel and enter-
taining experience to-night. You say that I have
met all sorts of people. I have by no means done
so. It strikes me that our acquaintance is not
so young that I should tell you this. It is true
that I made a few pleasant and even valuable
friendships in Europe; but these have been ex-

108 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

ceptional in my life, and I now return to my
native city to disapprove everybody whom I once
approved."

"And you expect to approve all the people
whom you shall meet to-night ? "

" You ask that in a tone of positive alarm."

"I can't help betraying some nervous fear.
Your expectations are so exorbitant."

Pauline tossed her head in the dimness. " Oh,
you will find me more easily suited than you
suppose."

Kindelon gave a kind of dubious laugh. " I 'm
not so sure that you will be easily suited," he said.
" You are very pessimistic in your judgments of
the fashionable throng. It strikes me that you
are a rigid critic of nearly everybody. How can
I tell that you will not denounce me, in an hour
or so, as the worst of impostors, for having pre-
sumed to introduce you among a lot of objection-
able bores ? "

"I think you will admit," said Pauline, in
offended reply, " that most of Mrs. Dares's friends
have brains."

" Brains ? Oh, yes, all sorts of brains."

" That is just what I want to meet," she rapidly
exclaimed — "all sorts of brains. I am accus-
tomed, at present, to only two or three sorts. —

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 109

Oh, you need not be afraid that I shall become
bored. No, indeed! On the contrary, I expect
to be exhilarated. I shall fraternize with most
of them — I shall be one of them almost imme-
diately. "Wait until you see ! "

'; I shan't see that," said Kindelon, with an
amused brusquerie.

"What do you mean? "she questioned, once
more offendedly.

He began to speak, with his old glib fleetness.
" Why, my dear lady, because you are not one of
them, and never can be. You are a patrician,
reared differently, and you will carry your stamp
with you wherever you go. Your very voice will
betray you in ten seconds. You may show them
that you want to be their good friend, but you
can't convince them that you and they are of the
same stock. Some of them will envy you, others
may secretly presume to despise you, and still
others may very cordially like you. I don't think
it has ever dawned upon me until lately how dif-
ferent you are from these persons whom you wish
to make your allies and supporters. That night,
when I went into your aunt's opera-box, I had a
very slight understanding of the matter. I 've
always scoffed at the idea of a New York aristoc-
racy. It seemed so absurd, so self-contradictory.

110 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

And if it existed at all, I Ve always told myself,
it must be the merest nonsensical sham. But now
I begin to recognize it as an undeniable fact.
There 's a sort of irony, too, in my finding it out
so late — after I have knocked about as a jour-
nalist in a city which I believed to be democratic
if it was anything. However, you 've made the
whole matter plain to me. You did n't intend to
open my plebeian eyes, but you have done so. It
is really wonderful how you have set me thinking.
I've often told myself that America was a politi-
cal failure as a republic, but I never realized that
it was a social one."

Just then the carriage stopped. " I am sorry,"
said Pauline, "to have unconsciously made you
think ill of the literary society of New York."
She paused for a moment, and there was a re-
buking solemnity in her voice as she added : " I
believe — I insist upon believing till I see other-
wise— that it does not deserve to be condemned."

VL

footman was now heard, as he sprang
from the box. " Good gracious ! " exclaimed
Kindelon ; " I have n't condemned it ! It con-
demns itself."

Pauline gave a laugh full of accusative satire.
"Oh!" she burst forth. "I should like to hear
you speak against it before Mrs. Dares — and your
friend Miss Cora, too — as you have just done
before me ! "

The footman had by this time opened the car-
riage door. He kept one white-gloved hand on
the knob, standing, with his cockaded hat and his
long-skirted coat, motionless and respectful in the
outer gloom.

Kindelon threw up both hands, and waved them
in a burlesque of despair. " There is no literary
society in New York," he murmured, as if the
admission had been wrung from him. " Don't go
inside there with any idea of meeting it, for it is
not to be found ! Mrs. Dares herseJf will tell

you so ! "

ill

112 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

Pauline shook her head vigorously. " I 'm sure
you can't mean that," she exclaimed, in grieved
reproach.

Ivindelon gave one of his laughs, and jumped
out of the carriage. Pauline took the hand which
he offered her, while the displaced footman dec-
orously receded.

" I do mean it," he said, as they went up a high,
narrow stoop together, and saw two slim, lit win-
dows loom before them.

" I hope I am not responsible for this last
change of faith in you," she answered, while
Ivindelon was ringing the bell.

" Well," he at once said, " I believe you are.
There is no kind of real society here except one.
Mind you, I don't say this in any but the most
dispassionate and critical way. And I 'in not glad
to say it, either ; I 'm sorry, in fact. But it is
true" — And then, after a second of silence, he
repeated — " no kind of society except one."

Pauline smiled as she watched him, but there
was both exasperation and challenge in the smile.

" What kind is that ? " she queried.

" Ask your aunt, Mrs. Poughkeepsie," he re-
plied.

Pauline gave an irritated sigh. As she did so
the door of Mrs. Dares's house was opened by a

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 113

spruce-looking young negress, and they both
passed into the little limited hall beyond. Tapes-
tries of tasteful design were looped back from
the small doors which gave upon the hall. Their
blended stuffs of different colors produced a
novel effect, wholly disproportioned to the real
worth of the fabrics themselves. The deft skill
of Mrs. Dares's younger daughter was responsible,
not alone for these, but for other equally happy
embellishments throughout this delightful minia-
ture dwelling. In every chamber there was to be
found some pretty decorative stratagem whereby
a maximum of graceful and even brilliant orna-
mentation had been won from a minimum of
pecuniary expense. Pauline's eye had swept too
many costly objects of upholstery not to recog-
nize that a slender purse had here gone with a
keen artistic sense. The true instinct of beauty
seemed never to err, and its constant accompani-
ment of simplicity in the way of actual material
lent it a new charm. Screen, rug, panelling,
mantel-cover, tidy, and chair-cushion took for her
a quick value because of their being wrought
through no luxurious means. It was so easy to
buy all these things in velvet, in silk, in choice
woods ; it was so hard, so rare, to be able to plan
them all from less pretentious resources. Before

114 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

she had been five minutes in Mrs. Dares's abode,
Pauline found herself affected by the mingled
attractiveness and modesty of its details, as we are
allured by the tints, contours, and even perfumes
of certain wildflowers which glow only the more
sweetly because of their contrast with cultured
blooms.

Mrs. Dares herself had a look not unlike that of
some timid little wildflower. She was short of
stature and very fragile ; Kindelon's past accounts
of her incessant accomplishments took the hue of
fable as Pauline gazed upon her. She was ex-
tremely pale, with large, warm, dark eyes set in a
face of cameo-like delicacy. Her dress hung in
folds about her slight person, as if there had been
some pitying motive in the looseness of its fit.
But she wore it with an air of her own. It was a
timid air, and yet it was one of ease and repose.
The intelligence and earnestness of her clear-cut
face gave her an undeniable dignity ; you soon
became sure that she was wholly unassuming, but
you as soon realized that this trait of diffidence
had no weakness in mind or character for its
cause. It seemed, in truth, to correspond with
her bodily frailty, and to make her individualism
more complete while none the less emphatic. The
personality that pushes itself upon our heed does

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 115

not always make us notice it the quickest. Mrs.
Dares never pushed herself upon anybody's heed,
yet she was seldom unnoticed. Her voice rarely
passed beyond a musical semitone, and yet you
rarely failed to catch each word it uttered. Pau-
line not only caught each word, as her new
hostess now stood and addressed her, leaving for
the time all other guests who were crowding the
rather meagre apartments, but she tacitly decided,
as well, that there was an elegance and purity in
the expressions used by this notable little lady
which some of the grander-mannered dames
whom she had intimately known might have
copied with profit. One peculiarity about Mrs.
Dares, however, was not slow to strike her : the
pale, delicate face never smiled. Not that it was
melancholy or even uncheerful, but simply serious.
Mrs. Dares had no sense of humor. She could
sometimes say a witty thing that bit hard and
sharp, but she was without any power to wear
that lazier mental fatigue-dress from which some
of the most vigorous minds have been unable,
before hers, to win the least relaxation. This was
probably the true reason why her small drawing-
room often contained guests whose eccentricity of
garb or deportment would otherwise have ex-
cluded them from her civilities. She could not

116 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

enjoy the foibles of her fellow-creatures ; she was
too perpetually busy in taking a grave view of
their sterner and more rational traits. She found
something in nearly everybody that interested her,
and it always interested her because it was human,
solemn, important — a part, so to speak, of the
great struggle, the great development, the great
problem. This may, after all, be no real explana-
tion of why she never smiled ; for a smile, as we
know, can hold the sadness of tears in its gleam,
just as a drop of morning dew will hold the mois-
ture of the autumn rainfall. But the absence of
all mirthful trace on her gentle lips accorded, nev-
ertheless, with the inherent sobriety of her nature,
and they who got to know her well would uncon-
sciously assign for both a common origin.

"My dear Mrs. Varick," she said to Pauline,
" I am very glad that you chose to seek my poor
hospitality this evening. Mr. Kindelon has al-
ready prophesied that we shall be good friends,
and as I look at you I find myself beginning to
form a most presumptuous certainty that he will
not prove a false prophet. He tells me that you
are weary of the fashionable world ; I have seen
nothing of that, myself, though I fancy I know
what it is like. — A great Castle of Indolence,
I mean, where there are many beautiful chambers,

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 117

but where the carpets yield too luxuriously under
foot, and the couches have too inviting a breadth.
Now, in this little drawing-room of mine you will
meet few people who have not some daily task to
perform — however ill many of us may accom-
plish it. In that way the change will have an
accent for you — the air will be fresher and more
tonic, though shifting from warm to chilly in the
most irregular manner. I want to warn you, my
dear, lacty, that you will miss that evenness of
temperature which makes such easy breathing
elsewhere. Be prepared for a decided atmospheric
shock, now and then : but you will find it rather
stimulating when it arrives, and by no means un-
wholesome."

Pauline could scarcely repress her astonishment
at this very original speech of welcome. She and
Mrs. Dares were separated from all other occu-
pants of the room while it was being delivered ;
Kindelon had moved away after making his two
friends known to each other, and doubtless with
the intention of letting his hostess stand or fall
on her own conversational merits, as far as con-
cerned the first impression which Pauline should
receive from her. But this impression was one in
which admiration and approval played quite as
strong a part as surprise. Pauline had wanted just

118 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

sucli a spur and impetus as her faculties were now
receiving; she kept silent for a few brief seconds,
in silent enjoyment of the complex emotions
which Mrs. Dares had wakened. Then she said,
with a low laugh that had not the least suspicion
of frivolity, —

" If it is a social temperature with those baro-
metric tricks and freaks, Mrs. Dares, I promise
you that I shan't catch cold in it. But I fear Mr.
Kindelon has wasted too many premonitory words
upon me. He should have politely allowed me
to betray myself, as a specimen of harmless and
humble commonplace. I am sure to do it
sooner or later."

" Oh, he has told me of your aim, your purpose,"
said Mrs. Dares.

Pauline colored, and laid one hand on the lady's
slender arm. " Then we are rivals, I suppose ? "
she murmured, with an arch smile.

Mrs. Dares turned and looked at her guest be-
fore answering; there was a mild, dreamy com-
prehensiveness in the way she seemed to survey
their many shapes, letting her large, soft, dusky
eyes dwell upon no special one of them. A little
later she regarded Pauline again. She now shook
her head negatively before replying.

" Oh, no, no," she said. " What you see here is

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 119

not in any sense a representative assemblage. I
have often wished that some one would establish
a stricter and more definite standard than mine.
We need it sadly. There are no entertainments
given in New York where the mentally alert peo-
ple — those who read, and think, and write — can
meet with an assurance that their company has
been desired for reasons of an exceptional personal
valuation. The guest without the wedding-gar-
ment is always certain to be there. I fear that I
have paid too little heed to the wedding-garment ;
my daughters — and especially my eldest daughter,
Martha — are always telling me that, in various
ways. — Oh, no, Mrs. Varick, we shall not be
rivals. You will have the leisure to sift, to weigh,
to admit or exclude, to label, to indorse, to clas-
sify— to make order, in short, out of chaos. This
I have never had the leisure to do." She looked
at Pauline with an almost pensive gravity. Then
she slowly repeated the word, " Never."

" I fancy you have never had the cruelty," said
Pauline.

"There would be considerable solid mercy in
it," was the firm answer.

"Yes. To those who were both called and
chosen. But how about the repulsed candidates
for admission ? "

120 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

"They would deserve their defeat," said Mrs.
Dares, with thoughtful deliberation. " Morals and
manners properly combined would be their sole
passport."

" And ability," amended Pauline.

"Ability? Oh, they all have ability who care
to mingle night after night where that qualifi-
cation is the dominating necessity for mutual en-
joyment. Remember, an organized literary and
intellectual society would not demand what that
other society, of which you have seen so much,
imperatively demands. I mean wealth, position,
modishness, ton. All these would go for nothing
with an aristocracy of talent, of high and true
culture, of progress, of fine and wise achievement
in all domains where human thought held rule.
There, gross egotism, priggishness, raw eccen-
tricity, false assumption of leadership, facile jeal-
ousy, dogmatic intolerance — these, and a hun-
dred other faults, would justly exert a debarring
influence."

Pauline did not know how her cheeks were
glowing and her eyes were sparkling as she now
quickly said, after having swept her gaze along
the groups of guests not far away.

" And this is what you call making order out of
chaos? Ah, yes, I understand. It is very de-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 121

rightful to contemplate. It quite stirs one with
ambition. It is like having the merciless and
senseless snobbery of mere fashionable life given
a reasonable, animating motive. I should like to
take upon myself such a task." Here she sud-
denly frowned in a moderate but rather distressed
way. "Not long ago," she went on, "Mr. Kin-
delon told me that I would find no literary society
in New York. But I contested this point. I 'm
inclined to contest it still, though you have shaken
my faith, I admit."

" The word ' literary ' is very specializing," said
Mrs. Dares. She had drooped her large, musing
eyes.

" Do you mean that for an evasion ? " asked
Pauline with a tart pungency that she at once
regretted as almost discourteous. "Allow," she
went on, promptly softening her tone, "that the
word does cover a multitude of definitions as I
use it — that it is used faute de mieux, and that
no society has ever existed anywhere which one
could call strictly literary. Come, then, my dear
Mrs. Dares, allowing all this, do you consider that
Mr. Kindelon was right ? Is it all chaos to-day in
New York? Is there no gleam of order?" And
here Pauline broke into a furtive tremor of laugh-
ter. "Must I begin my good work at the very

122 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

earliest possible beginning if I am to commence
at all?"

Mrs. Dares's dark eyes seemed to smile now, if
her lips did not. " Yes," she said. " Mr. Kinde-
lon was right. You are to begin at the very
beginning. — In London it is so different," she
went on, lapsing into the meditative seriousness
from which nothing could permanently distract her.
" I spent a happy and memorable month there not
many years ago. It was a delicious holiday, taken
because of overwork here at home, and a blessed
medicine I found it. I had brought with me a
few lucky letters. They opened doors to me,
and beyond those doors I met faces and voices
full of a precious welcome. You would know the
names of not a few of those who were gracious to
me; they are names that are household words.
And there, in London, I saw, strongly established, a
dignified, important and influential society. Rare-
ly, once in a while, I met some man or woman
with a title, but he or she had always either done
something to win the title, or something — if it
was inherited — to outshine it. I did not stay long
enough to pick flaws, to cavil ; I enjoyed and
appreciated — and I have never forgotten ! "

Just at this point, and somewhat to Pauline's
secret annoyance, Kindelon returned with a lady

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 123

at his side. Pauline was soon told the lady's
name, and as she heard it her annoyance was
swiftly dissipated by a new curiosity. She at
once concluded that Miss Cora Dares bore very
slight resemblance to her mother. She was taller,
and her figure was of a full if not generous
moulding. Her rippled chestnut hair grew low
over the forehead; almost too low for beauty,
though her calm, straight-featured face, lit by a
pair of singularly luminous blue eyes, and ending
in a deep-dimpled chin of exquisite symmetry,
needed but a glance to make good its attractive
claim. Miss Cora Dares was quite profuse in her
smiles ; she gave Pauline, while taking the latter's
hand, a very bright and charming one, which made
her look still less like her mother.

" We saw you and mamma talking very ear-
nestly together, Mrs. Varick," she said, with a brief
side-glance toward Kindelon, "and so we con-
cluded that it would be safe to leave you undis-
turbed for at least a little while. But mamma is
curiously unsafe as an entertainer." This was said
with an extremely sweet and amiable look in Mrs.
Dares's direction. " She sometimes loses herself
in gentle rhapsodies. My sister Martha and I
have to keep watch upon her by turns, out of pity
for the unliberated victims."

124 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" I need not tell you how I scorn the injustice
of that charge, my dear Mrs. Dares ! " here cried
Kindelon. " It would be late in the day to inform
you of my devoted admiration ! "

" I fear it is early in the day for me to speak of
mine," said Pauline ; but the laugh that went
with her words (or was it the words themselves ?)
rang sincerely, and took from what she said the
levity of mere idle compliment.

" But you will surely care to meet some of our
friends, Mrs. Varick," now said Cora Dares.

" Oh, by all means, yes ! " exclaimed Pauline.
The girl's limpid, steadfast eyes fascinated her,
and she gazed into their lucent depths longer than
she was perhaps aware. It was almost like an ab-
rupt awakening to find that she and Mrs. Dares's
youngest daughter were standing alone together,
Kindelon and the elder lady having gone. "I
want very much to meet many of your friends,"
Pauline proceeded. She put her head a little on
one side, while her lips broke into a smile that
her companion appeared to understand perfectly
and to answer with mute, gay intelligence. "I
suppose you have heard all about me and my
grand project, just as your charming mother has
heard, Miss Dares ? "

" Oh, yes," returned Cora.

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 125

" And you think it practicable ? "

" I think it praiseworthy."

" Which means that I shall fail."

Cora looked humorously troubled. " If you do,
it will not be your fault. I am not doubtful on
that point."

" Your mother has by no means encouraged me.
She says that I must be careful in my selections,
but she gives me very little hope of finding many
worthy subjects to select. She seems to think that
when the wheat has been taken from the tares, as
it were, there will be very little wheat left."

" Yes, I know mamma's opinions. I don't quite
share them. My sister Martha does, however,
thoroughly. — Ah, here is Martha now. Let me
make you acquainted."

Martha Dares proved to be still more unlike her
mother than Cora, save as regarded her stature,
which was very short. She had a plump person,
and a face which was prepossessing solely from its
expression of honest good-nature. It was a face
whose fat cheeks, merry little black eyes and
shapeless nose were all a stout defiance of the
classic type. Pauline at once decided that Martha
was shrewd, energetic and cheerful, and that she
might reveal, under due provocation, a temper of
hot flash and acute sting.

126 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

"And now you know the whole family, Mrs.
Varick," said Cora, when her sister had been pre-
sented.

" Yes, I complete the group," said Miss Dares,
with a jocund trip of the tongue about her speech,
that suggested a person who did all her thinking
in the same fleet and impetuous way. "I hope
you find it an interesting group, Mrs. Varick? "

" Very," said Pauline. " Its members have so
much individuality. They are all three so differ-
ent."

"True enough," hurried Martha. "We react
upon each other, for this reason, in a very salutary
way. You 've no idea what a corrective agent my
practical turn is for this poetic sister of mine, who
would be up in the clouds nearly all the time,
trying to paint the unpaintable, but for an occa-
sional downward jerk from me, you know, such
as a boy will give to a refractory kite. But I '11
grant you that Cora has more than partially con-
vinced me that life is n?t entirely made up of spell-
ing, arithmetic, geography and the use of the
globes — for I'm a school-teacher, please under-
stand, though in a rather humble way. And
there 's poor dear mamma. Goodness knows what
would become of her if it were not for both of
us. She hasn't an idea how to economize her

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 127

wonderful powers of work. Cora and I have es-
tablished a kind of military despotism ; we have
to say ' halt ' and ' shoulder your pen,' just as if
she were a sort of soldier. But it will never do
for me to rattle on like this. I' m as bad, after
my own fashion, as our mutual friend, Mr. Kinde-
lon, when I once really get started, By the way,
you know Mr. Kindelon very well indeed, don't
you?"

" Very well, though I have not known him very
long," answered Pauline.

She somehow felt that Martha's question con-
cealed more interest than its framer wished to
betray. The little black eyes had taken a new
keenness, but the genial face had sobered as well.
And for some reason just at this point both Mar-
tha and Pauline turned their looks upon Cora.

She had slightly flushed ; the change, however,
was scarcely noticeable. She at once spoke, as
though being thus observed had made her speak.

"He always has something pleasant to say of
you," softly declared Cora. Here she turned to
her sister. " Will you bring up some people to
Mrs. Varick," she asked, " or shall I ? "

" Oh, just as you choose," answered Martha.
She had fixed her eyes on Pauline again. The
next moment Cora had glided off.

128 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

"What my sister says is quite true," affirmed
Martha.

" You mean — ? " Pauline questioned, with a
faint start which she could scarcely have ex-
plained.

" That Mr. Kindelon admires you very much."

" I am glad to hear it," returned Pauline, think-
ing how commonplace the sentence sounded, and
at the same time feeling her color rise and deepen
under the persistent scrutiny of those sharp dark
eyes.

" Don't you think him intensely able ? " said
Martha, much more slowly than usual. " We do."

Pauline bowed assent. " Brilliantly able," she
answered. " Tell me, Miss Dares, with which of
you is he the more intimate, your sister or your-
self?"

Martha gave a laugh that was crisp and curt.
She looked away from Pauline as she answered.
"Oh, he's more intimate with me than with
Cora," she said. " We are stanch friends. He
tells me nearly everything. I think he would tell
me if he were to fall in love."

"Really?" laughed Pauline. Her face was
wreathed in smiles of apparent amusement. She
looked, just then, as she had often looked in the
fashionable world, when everything around her

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 129

seemed so artificial that she took the tints of her
environment and became as artificial herself.

But it pleased her swiftly to change the subject.
" I am quite excited this evening," she went on.
"I am beginning a new career; you understand,
of course. Tell me, Miss Dares, how do you think
I shall succeed in it ? "

Martha was watching her fixedly. And Martha's
reply had a short, odd sound. " I think you are
almost clever enough not to fail," she said.

VII.

"DEFORE Pauline had been an hour longer in
~^~^ the Dares's drawing-room she had become
acquainted with many new people. She could
not count them all when she afterward tried to do
so; the introductions had been very rapid for
some little time ; one, so to speak, had trodden
upon the heel of another. Her meditated project
had transpired, and not a few of her recent ac-
quaintances eyed her with a critical estimate of
her capability to become their future leader.

She soon found herself an object of such gen-
eral scrutiny that she was in danger of growing
embarrassed to the verge of actual bewilderment.
She was now the centre of a little group, and
every member of it regarded her witli more or
less marked attentiveness.

"I've a tragic soul in a comic body, Mrs.

Varick," said a fat little spinster, with a round

moon of a face and a high color, whose name was

Miss Upton. "That is the way I announce myself

130

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 131

to all strangers. I should have gone on the stage
and played Juliet if it had n't been for my un-
poetic person. But imagine a bouncing, obese
Juliet! No; I realized that it would never do.
I shall have to die with all my music in me, as it
were."

"A great many poets have done that," said a pale
young gentleman with very black hair and eyes,
and an expression of ironical fatigue which seldom
varied. He was Mr. Leander Prawle, and he was
known to have written verses for which he himself
had unbounded admiration. " Indeed," the young
poet continued, lifting one thin, white hand to
where his moustache was not yet, " it is hard to
sing a pure and noble song with the discords of
daily life about one."

"Not if you can make the world stop its dis-
cords and listen to you, Mr. Prawle," said Paul-
ine.

" Oh, Prawle can never do that," said a broad-
shouldered young blond, with a face full of drowsy
reverie and hair rolled back from it in a sort of
yellow mane. " He 's always writing transcen-
dental verses about Man with a capital M and the
grand amelioration of Humanity with a capital II.
Prawle has no color. He hates an adjective as if
it were a viper. He should have lived with me in

132 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

the Quartier Latin ; he should have read, studied
and loved the divine The'ophile Gautier — most
perfect of all French poets ! "

The speaker fixed his sleepy blue eyes upon
Leander Prawle while he thus spoke. A slight
smile touched his lips, leaving a faint dimple in
either smooth oval cheek. He was certainly very
handsome, in an unconventional, audacious way.
His collar gave a lower glimpse of his firm yet soft
throat than usage ordinarily sanctions ; the back-
ward wave of his hair was certainly against any
conceded form. He had been made known to
Pauline as Mr. Arthur Trevor, and she had felt
surprised at his name being so English ; she had
expected to find it French; Mr. Trevor had ap-
peared to her extremely French.

" "When you speak of Paris and of Gautier," she
now said to him, "you really relieve me, Mr.
Trevor. I was so prepared, on first meeting you,
to find that you were not an American."

"Oh, Trevor is very French," said Leander
Prawle coldly.

Trevor laughed, lifting one hand, on the middle
finger of which was the tawny tell-tale mark of
the confirmed cigarette-smoker.

" And my friend, Prawle," he said, " is enor-
mously English."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 133

"Not English — American," slowly corrected
Leander Prawle.

"It is the same thing!" cried Arthur Trevor.
"He is cold-blooded, Mrs. Varick," the young
gentleman continued, with emphasis and a certain
excitement. " We are always fighting, Prawle
and I. I tell Prawle that in his own beloved
literature, he should have but one model outside
of Shakespeare. That is Keats — the sweet, sen-
suous, adorable Keats."

"I loathe Keats," said Leander Prawle, as if he
were repeating some fragment of a litany. "I
think him a word-monger."

"Aha," laughed Arthur Trevor, showing his
white, sound teeth, " Keats was an immense
genius. He knew the art of expression."

"And he expressed nothing," said Leander
Prawle.

" He expressed beauty," declared Trevor. " Po-
etry is that. There is nothing else. Even the
great master, Hugo, would tell you so."

"Hugo is a mere rhapsodist," said Leander
Prawle.

Trevor laughed again. He gave a comic, ex-
aggerated shudder while he did so. Pie now
exclusively addressed Pauline. " My dear Mrs.
Varick," he said, " are you not horrified ? "

134 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

Before Pauline could answer, the fat little Miss
Upton spoke. " Oh, Mr. Trevor," she said, " you
know that though you and Mr. Prawle are always
quarrelling about poetry, and belong to two dif-
ferent schools, still, each of you, in his way, is
admirable. You are the North and South poles."

41 No," said Arthur Trevor, " for the North and
South poles i>ever come together, while Prawle
and I are continually clashing."

"It looks very much as if chaos were the
result," said Pauline.

Arthur Trevor gazed at her reproachfully.
" I hope you don't mean that," he said. He put
his arm while he spoke, about the neck of a short
and fleshy man, with a bald, pink scalp and a pair
of dull, uneasy eyes. " Here is our friend, Rufus
Corson," he continued. " Rufus has not spoken a
word to you since he was presented, Mrs. Varick.
But he 's a tremendously important fellow. He
does n't look it, but he is the poet of death,
decay, and horror."

" Good Heavens ! " murmured Pauline play-
fully.

" It is true," pursued Arthur Trevor. " Rufus,
here, is a wonderful fellow, and he has written
some verses that will one day make him famous as
the American Baudelaire."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 135

"I have not read Baudelaire," said Pauline.

Mr. Corson at once answered her. He spoke in
a forced, loitering way. He wore the dress of a
man who scorns all edicts of mode, and yet he
was very commonplace in appearance.

" The literature of the present age is in a
state of decadence," he said. Mr. Corson, himself,
looked to be in a state- of plump prosperity ; even
his rosy baldness had a vivid suggestion of youth
and of the enjoyments which youth bestows. " I
write hopelessly," he continued, "because I live
in a hopeless time. My ' Sonnet to a Skull ' has
been praised, because " —

" It has not been praised," said Leander Prawle
firmly and severely.

Mr. Corson regarded Prawle with an amused
pity. " It has been praised by people whom you
don't know," he said, "and who don't want to
know you."

"It is horrible," enunciated Leander Prawle,
while he appealingly rolled toward Pauline his
dark eyes, which the confirmed pallor of his face
made still darker. "Mrs. Varick," he went on,
" I am sure that you will agree with me in assert-
ing that skulls and skeletons and disease are not
fit subjects for poetical treatment."

"Yes," answered Pauline, "I think that they are

136 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

not beautiful — and for this reason I should con-
demn them."

"Then you will make a great mistake, Mrs.
Varick," now quickly interposed Arthur Trevor.
He passed one hand backward along the yellow
mane of his hair while he thus spoke. But he
still kept an arm about the neck of his friend,
Corsou. "I maintain," he continued, " that Cor-
son has a perfect right to sing of autumnal things.
A corpse is as legitimate a subject as a sunset.
They are both morbid ; they both mean what is
moribund."

" Oh, but they are so different ! " exclaimed the
fat Miss Upton. " One is the work of Gawd, to
delight man, and the other is — oh, dear! the
other is — well, it 's only a mere dead body !
None of the great poets have ever written
in that dreadful style, Mr. Trevor. Of course,
I know that Mr. Corson has done some pow-
erful work, but is it right to give people the
shudders and horrors, as he does? Why not
have sunshine in poetry, instead of gloom and
misery ? "

"Sunshine is commonplace," said Arthur Tre-
vor.

" Very," said Mr. Corson.

"Sunshine means hope," declared Leandcr

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 137

Prawle. " It means evolution, development, pro-
gress."

" Art is art ! " cried Trevor. " Sing of what you
please, so long as your technique is good, so long
as you have the right chic, the right facon, the
right way of putting things ! "

"True," said Corson. "I write of skulls and
corpses because you can get new effects out of
them. They haven't been done to death, like
faith, and philanthropy, and freedom. Optimism
is so tiresome, nowadays. All the Greeks are
dead. Notre Dame stands intact, but the Par-
thenon is a ruin."

Leander Prawle shivered. " You can make
clever rhymes about charnel-houses," he said,
"but that is not poetry. You can deplore the
allurements of women with green eyes and stony
hearts, but you degrade womanhood while you do
so. You" —

" Are you not bored ? " whispered Kindelon, in
his mellow Irish brogue to Pauline, as he just
then stole to her side. " If so, let us walk away
together."

Pauline slipped her hand into his proffered arm.
"I was not bored," she said, as they moved off,
"but I was just beginning to be. Are there
nothing but belligerent poets here to-night?"

138 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" Oh, you will find other sorts of people."

" But, who are these three wranglers, Mr. Tre-
vor, Mr. Prawle, and Mr. Corson ? "

Kindelon laughed. " They are fanatics," he
said. " Each one believes himself a Milton in
ability."

" Are they successful ? "

"They send poems (with stamps inclosed) to
the magazines, and have them rejected. They
make believe to despise the magazines, but se-
cretly they would give worlds to see their names
in print. Heaven knows, the magazines print
rubbish enough. But they are sensible in reject-
ing Arthur Trevor's poems, which are something
in this style — I quote from memory : —

" ' The hot, fierce tiger-lily madly yearns
To kill with passionate poison the wild moth
That reels in drunken ecstasy above
Its gorgeous bosom. . . . '

" Or in rejecting that bald-pated posing Corson's
trash, which runs like this : —

" ' Death is far better than the loathsome lot
Of kissing lips that eoon must pale and rot,
Of clasping forms that soon must cease their breath
Within the black embrace of haughty death ! '

" Or in declining to publish Mr. Leander Prawle's

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 139

buncombe, which sounds somewhat after this
fashion :

" ' Man shall one clay develop to a god,

Though now he walks unwinged, unaureoled . . .
To-day we moil and mope — to-morrow's dawn
Shall bring us pinions to outsoar the stars.'

" That 's the sort of the thing this brave trio does.
All poets are partially mad, of course. But then
they are mad without being poets ; it 's this that
makes their lunacy so tiresome."

"And are they always quarrelling when they
meet?"

" Oh, they do it for effect. They are privately
very good friends. They are all equally obscure ;
they 've no cause, yet, to hate one another. If
one of them should get a book published before
either of the other two, they would probably both
abominate him in good earnest."

Just then a tall, sallow gentleman, with small,
gray eyes and a nose like the beak of a carnivo-
rous bird, laid his hand on Kindelon's sleeve.

"Powers has just asked me to write the
Fenimore Cooper article for his new American
Cyclopaedia," declared this gentleman, whose
name was Barrowe, and whom Pauline had al-
ready met.

140 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" Well, you 're precisely the man," replied Kin-
delon. " Nobody can do it better."

" Precisely the man ! " exclaimed Mr. Barrowe.
"Perhaps I would be if I were not so over-
whelmed with other duties — so unmercifully
handicapped." He turned to Pauline. " I am
devoted to literature, madam," he went on, " but
I am forced into commerce for the purpose of
keeping starvation away from my family and
myself. There is the plain, unvarnished truth.
And now, as it is, I return home after hours of
hard, uncongenial work, to snatch a short inter-
val between dinner-time and bed-time for whatever
I can accomplish with my poor tired pen. My
case is a peculiar and pathetic one — and this
Powers ought to understand it. But, no; he
comes to me in the coolest manner, and makes my
doing that article for him a question of actual
good-nature and friendly support. So, of course,
I consent. But it shows a great want of delicacy
in Powers. He knows well enough that I am
obliged to neglect many social duties — that I
should not even be here at this moment — that
besides my daily business I am besieged with
countless applications from literary people for all
sorts of favors. Why, this very week, I have
received no less than fourteen requests for ray

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 141

autograph. How are my wife and little ones to
live if I am perpetually to oblige inconsiderate
and thoughtless friends ? "

" Your complaints would indicate," said Kin de-
Ion, rather dryly, "that Powers has not offered
you the requisite cheque for proposed services."

Mr. Ban-owe gave an irritated groan. " Kin-
delon ! " he exclaimed, " do you know you can be
a very rude man when you want ? "

" You 've told me that several times before,
Barrowe," said Kindelon, quite jovially, moving
on with Pauline.

He did this briskly enough to prevent the in-
dignant Mr. Barrowe from making any further
reply.

" I 'in afraid you '11 have trouble with that
man," he said to Pauline, presently, "if you ad-
mit him into your salon"

" I have read some of his essays," she answered.
"They are published abroad, you know. I
thought them very clever."

"So they are — amazingly. But Barrowe him-
self is a sort of monomaniac. He believes that
he is the most maltreated of authors. He is for-
ever boring his friends with these egotistic lamen-
tations. Now, the truth of the matter is that he
has more to solidly congratulate himself upon

142 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

than almost any author whom I know. He was
sensible enough, years ago, to embark in com-
mercial affairs. I forget just what he does ; I
think he is a wholesale druggist, or grocer. He
writes brilliantly and with extraordinary speed.
His neglect of social duties, as he calls them, is
the purest nonsense. He goes wherever he is
asked, and finds plenty of time for work besides.
This request from Powers secretly pleases him.
The new Cyclopaedia is going to be a splendid
series of volumes. But Barrowe must have his
little elegiac moan over his blighted life."

" And the applications from fellow-authors ? "
asked Pauline. " The requests for autographs ? "

"Pshaw! those are a figment of his fancy, I
suspect. He imagines that he is of vast impor-
tance in the literary world. His sensitiveness is
something ridiculous. He 's a far worse monolo-
guist than I am, which is surely saying a great
deal ; but if you answer him he considers it an
interruption, and if you disagree with him he
ranks it as impertinence. I think he rather likes
me because I persistently, fearlessly, and relent-
lessly do both. But with all his faults, Barrowe
has a large, warm heart. Still, it 's astonishing
how a fine and true character can often enshroud
itself with repellent mannerisms, just as a firm

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 143

breadth of sea-rock will become overcrusted
with brittle barnacles. . . . Ah, Whitcomb, good
evening."

A corpulent man, with silver-gray hair and a
somewhat pensive expression, was the recipient of
Kindelon's last cordial sentence of salutation.
After he had made the needful introduction, Kin-
delon said, addressing Pauline while he regarded
Mr. Whitcomb, —

" This is the author of no less than five stan-
dard histories."

" Kindelon is very good to call them standard,
Mrs. Varick," said Mr. Whitcomb, in a voice quite
as pensive as his face. " I wish that a few thou-
sands more would only share his opinion."

" Oh, but they are gradually getting to do it,
my dear Whitcomb ! " declared Kindelon. " Don't
make any mistake on that point. A few days ago
I chanced to meet your publisher, Sours. Now,
an author must stand pretty sure of success when
his publisher pays him a round compliment."

" What did Sours say ? " asked Mr. Whitcomb,
with an almost boyish eagerness.

" He said," exclaimed Kindelon, " that Whit-
comb was our coming American historian.
There, my dear sir, what do you think of that?"

Mr. Whitcomb sadly shook his silver-gray head.

144 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

"I've been coming," he murmured, "ever since I
was twenty-eight, and I shall be fifty-seven next
May. I can't say that I think Sours's compliment
meant much. It 's got to be a sort of set phrase
about me, that I 'm coming. It never occurs to
anybody to say that I 've come, and I suppose it
will not if I live to bs eighty and totter round
with white hair. No, I shall always be coming,
coming. ..."

As the gentleman repeated this final word he
smiled with a kind of weary amiability, still
shaking his gray head; and a moment later he
had passed from sight.

"Mrs. Varick," now. said a cold, rasping voice
to Pauline, " have you managed to enjoy yourself,
thus far? If you recollect, we were introduced a
little while ago . . . Miss Cragge, you know."

" Oh, yes, I remember, Miss Cragge," said Pau-
line. "And I find it very pleasant here, I assure

you."

Miss Cragge had given Kiudelon a short nod,
which he returned somewhat faintly. She was a
lady of masculine height, with a square-jawed
face, a rather mottled complexion, and a pair of
slaty-blue eyes that looked at you very directly
indeed from beneath a broad, flat forehead. She
was dressed in a habit of some shabby gray stuff,

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 145

and wore at her throat a large antique cameo pin,
which might have been unearthed from an ances-
tral chest near the lavendered laces and faded
love-letters of a long-dead grandmother. She was
by no means an agreeable-looking lady ; she was
so ungentle in her quick, snapping speech and so
unfeminine in her gaunt, bony, and almost tower-
ing figure, that she promptly impressed you with
an idea of Nature having maliciously blended the
harsher traits of both sexes in one austere per-
sonality, and at the same time leaving the result
sarcastically feminine. She seldom addressed you
without appearing to be bent on something which
she thought you might have to tell her, or which
she would like you very much to reveal. Her
affirmations often had the sound of interroga-
tories. She had none of the tact, the grace, the
finesse of the ordinary "interviewer;" she went
to her task rough-handed and undcxterous.

"I'm glad you like it," she at once said to Pau-
line. " I know you' ve moved a good deal in
fashionable society, and I should be gratified to
learn how this change affects you."

" Quite refreshingly," returned Pauline.

"You don't feel like a fish out of water, then?"
said Miss Cragge, with a sombre little laugh. " Or
like a cat in a strange garret ? . . . I saw you at

146 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

the opera the other evening. You were with Mrs.
Poughkeepsie and her daughter ; I was down
stairs in the orchestra. I go a good deal to places
of amusement — in a professional way, you know;
I 'm a dead-head, as the managers call it — I help
to paper the house."

" You are rather too idiomatic, I fear," now said
Kindelon, with a chilly ring in his tones, "for
Mrs. Varick to understand you."

"Idiomatic is very good — excellent, in fact,"
replied Miss Cragge, with a pleasantry that barely
missed being morose. " I suppose you mean that
I am slangy. You 're always trying to snub me,
Kindelon, but I don't mind you. You can't snub
me — nobody can. I 'm too thick-skinned." Here
the strangely self-poised lady laughed again, if the
grim little sound that left her mirthless lips could
really be called a laugh. "I know the Pough-
keepsies by sight," she continued, re-addressing
Pauline, " because it 's my business as a newspaper
correspondent to get all the fashionable items that
I can collect, and whenever I 'm at any public
place of amusement where there's a chance of
meeting those upper-ten people, I always keep my
eyes and ears open as wide as possible. I 'm cor-
respondent for eight weekly papers outside of
New York, besides doing work for two of the city

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 147

dailies. I never saw anything like the craze for
society gossip nowadays. One good story from
high life, with a moderate spice of scandal in it, will
pay me six times as well as anything else. They
say I'm always hunting about for material, and
no wonder that I am. The thing is bread and
butter to me — and not much butter, either. You
see, the rich classes here are getting to represent
so large a body; so many people are trying to
push themselves into society. And when they
can't elbow their way into the swell balls and
parties, why, the next best thing is to read about
who were there, and what they had on, and who
led the German, and what they ate and drank,
and how the house was decorated. It seemed a
queer enough business for me, at first ; I started
with grand ideas, but I 've had to come down a
good many pegs ; I 've had to pull in my horns.
And now I don't mind it a bit ; I suppose Kin de-
Ion would say that I enjoyed it ... eh, Kindelon ?
Why, Mrs. Varick, I used to write book-reviews
for the New York ' Daily Criterion,' and my pay
kept growing less and less. One day I wrote a
very careful review of a book that I admired
greatly — it was George Eliot's ' Middlemarch,'
in. fact. The editor-in-chief sent for me. He
named the article, and then said, 'I hear that you

148 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

wrote it. It 's a very fine piece of work.' 4 Thank
you, sir,' I replied, with a tingle of gratification.
'Yes, a very fine piece of work, indeed,' continued
the editor ; ' I read it with much pleasure. But
don't do that sort of thing again, Miss Craggc — •
we 've no use for it on the ' Criterion.' After that
I became less ambitious and more mercenary.
There 's no use pounding against stone walls.
The reading public will have what it wants, and
if I don't give it to them, somebody else will be
only too glad to take my place. . . . By the way,
Mrs. Varick, do you think that Miss Poughkeepsie
is going to marry that Scotch earl — Lord Glen-
artney ? "

"I can't tell you, really," said Pauline. She
had made up her mind to dislike Miss Cragge
very much indeed. At the same time she felt a
certain pity for her.

Kindelon began to press quietly forward, and
Pauline, who still had his arm, by no means
resisted this measure.

"I've been very candid," called Miss Cragge,
while the two were slipping away from her. She
spoke with even more than her usual blunt, curt
manner. "It was because I knew Kindelon
would be apt to say hard things of me, and I
wanted to spike a few of his guns. But I hope
I have n't shocked you, Mrs. Varick."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 149

" Oh, not at all," said Pauline, as blandly as her
feelings would permit. . . .

"You were a good deal disgusted, no doubt,"
said Kindelon, when they were beyond Miss
Oagge's hearing.

" She is n't the most charming person I have
ever met," replied Pauline. " I will grant you
that."

"How amiably you denounce her! But I
forget," he added. "Such a little time ago you
were prepared to be exhilarated and . . . what
was the other word? . . to fraternize with most
of the company here." .

She chose not to heed the last stroke of light
irony.

" Are you and Miss Cragge enemies ? " she
asked.

"Well, I abominate her, and she knows it. I
rarely abominate anybody, and I think she knows
that also. To my mind she is a conscienceless,
hybrid creature. She is a result of a terrible
modern license — the license of the Press. There is
a frank confession, for a newspaper man like my-
self. But, between ourselves, I don't know where
modern journalism, in some of its ferocious phases,
is going to stop, unless it stops at a legislative
veto. Miss Cragge would sacrifice her best friend

150 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

(if she had any friends — which she hasn't) to
the requirements of what she calls 'an item.'
She thinks no more of assailing a reputation, in
her quest for so-termed ' material,' than a rat
would think of carrying off a lump of cheese.
She knows very well that I will never forgive
her for having printed a lot of libellous folly
about a certain friend of mine. He had written
a rather harmless and weak novel of New York
society, New York manners. Miss Cragge had
some old grudge against him ; I think it was on
account of an adverse criticism which she believed
him to have written regarding some dreary, ama-
teurish poems for whose author she had conceived
a liking. This was quite enough for Miss Cragge.
She fdled a column of the Rochester " Rocket," or
the Topeka " Trumpet," or some such sheet, with
irate fictions about poor Charley Erskine. He had
no redress, poor fellow ; she declared that he had
slandered a pure, high-minded lady in society here
by caricaturing her in his novel. She parodied
some of poor Charley's rather fragile verses ; she
accused him of habitually talking fatuous stuff at
a certain Bohemian sort of beer-garden which he
had visited scarcely five times within that same
year. Oh, well, the whole thing was so atrocious
that I offered my friend the New York "Asteroid"

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 151

in which to hurl back any epistolary thunder-
bolt he should care to manufacture. But Charley
would n't ; he might have written a bad novel and
worse poems, but he had sense enough to know that
his best scorn lay in severe silence. Still, apart
from all this, I have excellent reasons for shunning
Miss Cragge, and I have told you some of them.
She is the most aggravated form of the American
newspaper correspondent, prowling about and
seeking whom she may devour. I consider her
a dangerous person, and I advise you not to
allow her within your salon"

" Oh, I shan't," quickly answered Pauline.
" You need not have counselled me on that point.
It was quite unnecessary. I intend to pick and
choose." She gave a long, worried sigh, now,
which Kindelon just heard above the conversa-
tional hum surrounding them. " I am afraid it all
comes to picking and choosing, everywhere," she
went on. "Aunt Cynthia Poughkeepsie is per-
petually doing it in her world, and I begin to
think that there is none other where it must not
be done."

Kindelon leaned his handsome crisp-curled head
nearer to her own ; he fixed his light-blue eyes, in
which lay so warm and liquid a sparkle, intently
upon the lifted gaze of Pauline.

152 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" You are right," he said. " You will learn
that, among other lessons, before you are much
older. There is no such thing as not picking and
choosing. Whatever the grade of life, it is always
done by those who have any sort of social impulse.
I believe it is done in Eighth Avenue and Avenue
A, when they give parties in little rooms of tene-
ment houses and hire a fiddler to speed the dance.
There is always some Michael or Fritz who has
been ostracized. The O'Haras and the Schneiders
follow the universal law. Wherever three are
gathered together, the third is pretty sure to be of
questionable welcome. This is n't an ideal planet,
my dear lady, and ' liberty ' and ' fraternity ' are
good enough watchwords, but 'equality' never
yet was one; — if I didn't remember my Buckle,
my Spencer, my Huxley, and my dear old Whig
Macaulay, I should add that it never would be
one."

Just at this point Kindelon and Pauline found
themselves face to face with two gentlemen who
were both in a seemingly excited frame of mind.
Pauline remembered that they had both been pre-
sented to her riot long ago. She recollected their
names, too ; her memory had been nerved to meet
all retentive exigencies. The large, florid man,
with the bush of sorrel beard, was Mr. Bedlowe,

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 153

and the smaller, smooth-shaven man, with the con-
sumptive stoop and the professorial blue spectacles,
was Mr. Howe.

Mr. Howe and Mr. Bedlowe were two novelists
of very opposite repute. Kindelon had already
caught a few words from the latter, querulously
spoken.

"Ah, so you think modern novel-writing a sham,
my dear Howe ? " he said, pausing with his com-
panion, while either gentleman bowed recognition
to Pauline. " Is n't that rank heresy from the
author of a book that has just been storming the
town ? "

"My book didn't storm the town, Kindelon,"
retorted Mr. Howe, lifting a hand of scholarly
slimness and pallor toward his opaque goggles.
" I wish it had," he proceeded, somewhat wearily.
" No ; Bedlowe and I were having one of our old
quarrels. I say that we novelists of the Anglo-
Saxon tongue are altogether too limited. That
is what I mean by declaring that modern novel-
writing is a sham."

" He means a great deal more, I 'm sorry to
say," here cried Mr. Bedlowe, who had a habit of
grasping his sorrel beard in one hand and thrust-
ing its end toward his hirsute lips as though they
were about to be allured by some edible mouthful.

154 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" He means, Kindelon, that because we have n't
the shocking immoral latitude of the French race,
we can't properly express ourselves in fiction.
And he goes still further — Howe is always going
still further every fresh time that I meet him. He
says that if the modern novelist dared to express
himself on religious subjects, he would be an
agnostic."

" Precisely ! " cried Mr. Howe, with the pale
hand wavering downward from the eerie glasses.
" But he does n't dare ! If he did, his publisher
would n't publish him ! "

" My publisher publishes me ! " frowned Mr.
Bedlowe.

" Oh, you 're a pietist," was the excited answer.
"At least, you go in for that when you write your
novels. It pays, and you. do it. I don't say that
you do it because it pays, but "...

" You infer it," grumbled Mr. Bedlowe, " and
that 's almost the same as saying it." He visibly
bristled here. " I 've got a wholesome faith," he
proceeded, with hostility. " That 's why I wrote
'The Christian Knight in Armor' and 'The
Doubtful Soul Satisfied.' Each of them sold
seventy thousand copies apiece. There 's a proof
that the public wanted them — that they filled a
need."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 155

"So does the 'Weekly Wake-Me-Up,'" said
Mr. Howe, with mild disdain. " My dear Bed-
lowe, you have two qualities as a modern novel-
writer which are simply atrocious — I mean, plot
and piety. The natural result of these is popu-
larity. But your popularity means nothing. You
utterly neglect analysis" —

"I despise analysis ! "

" You entirely ignore style " —

" I express my thoughts without affectation."

"Your characters are wholly devoid of sub-
tlety "—

" I abhor subtlety ! "

" You preach sermons " —

" Which thousands listen to I "

" You fail completely to represent your time " —

"My readers, who represent my time, don't
agree with you."

" You end your books with marriages and
christenings in the most absurdly old-fashioned
way "—

" I end a story as every story should end. Sen-
sible people have a sensible curiosity to know what
becomes of hero and heroine."

"Curiosity is the vice of the vulgar novel-
reader. Psychological interest is the one sole in-
terest that should concern the more cultured mind.

156 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

And though you may sell your seventy thousand
copies, I beg to assure you that "...

"Had we not heard quite enough of that hot
squabble ? " said Kindelon to Pauline, after he had
pressed with her into other conversational regions,
beyond the assault and defence of these two inimi-
cal novelists.

" I rather enjoyed it," said Pauline.

" They would have presently dragged us into
their argument," returned Kindelon. " It was just
as well that we retired without committing our-
selves by an opinion. I should have sided with
Howe, though I think him an extremist."

" I know some of Mr. Bedlowe's novels," said
Pauline. " They are very popular in England. I
thought them simply dire."

"And Howe is a real artist. He has a sort of
cult here, though not a large one. What he says
is true enough, in the main. The modern novelist
dares not express his religious views, unless they
be of the most conventional and tame sort. And
how few fine minds are there to-day which are not
rationalistic, unorthodox ? A man like Bedlowe
coins money from his milk-and-water platitudes,
while Howe must content himself with the recog-
nition of a small though devout circle . . . Did
you meet the great American dramatist, by the

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 157

way ? I mean Mr. Osgood Paiseley. He is stand-
ing over yonder near the mantel . . . that slender
little man with the abnormally massive head."

" Yes, I met him," returned Pauline. " He is
coming this way."

" Have you any new dramatic work in prepara-
tion, Paiseley?" asked Kiiidelon, as the gentleman
who had just been mentioned now drew near him-
self and Pauline.

"Yes," was Mr. Paiseley's reply. He spoke
with a nasal tone and without much grammatical
punctilio. "I've got a piece on hand that I'm
doing for Mattie Molloy. Do you know her at
all? She does the song-and-dance business with
comedy variations. I think the piece '11 be a go ;
it '11 just suit her, I guess."

" Your last melodrama, ' The Brand of Cain,'
was very successful, was it not ? " pursued Kinde-
lon.

" Well," said Mr. Paiseley, as he threw back an
errant lock or two from his great width of swollen-
looking forehead, "I'm afraid it isn't going to
catch on so very well, after all. The piece is all
right, but the company can't play it. Cooke guys
his part because he don't like it, and does n't get a
hand on some of the strongest lines that have been
put into any actor's mouth for the past twenty

158 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

years — fact ! as sure as you 're born ! Moore
makes up horribly, and Kitty Vane is so over-
weighted that Miss Cowes, in a straight little
part of only a few lengths, gets away with her for
two scenes ; and Sanders is awfully preachy. If
T could have had my own say about casting the
piece, we'd have turned away money for six
weeks and made it a sure thing for the road. I
mean for the big towns, not the one-night places ;
it's got too many utility-people to make it pay
there. But I shan't offer anything more to the
stock-theatres ; after this, I 'm going to fit stars."

Pauline turned a covertly puzzled look upon her
companion. She seemed to be hearing a new lan-
guage. And yet, although the words were all
familiar enough, their collocation mystified her.

" You think there is more profit, then, in fitting
stars," said Kindelon, " if there is less fame ? "

Mr. Paiseley laughed, with not a little bitter-
ness. " Oh, fame," he said, " is the infirmity of
the young American dramatist. I 've outgrown
it. I used to have it. But what's the use of
fighting against France and England in the stock-
theatres? Give me a fair show there, and I can
draw bigger money than Dennery or Sardou —
don't you make any mistake ! But those foreign
fellows are always crowding us natives out of New

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 159

York. The managers hem and smirk over our
pieces, aiid say they 're good enough, but they 've
got something that's running well at the Porte
Sang Martang or the Odeun in Paris. The best
we can do is to have our plays done by a scratch
company at some second-rate house, or, if it's a
first-class house, they give us bad time. No, I
fit travelling stars at so much cash down, and so
much royalty afterward — that is, when I can't get
a percentage on the gross. I don't work any more
for fame ; I want my dinner." . . .

" Your friend takes a rather commercial view of
the American stage," said Pauline to Kindelon,
after they had again moved onward.

"I am sorry to say that it is almost the only
view taken by any of our dramatists. Paiseley
is thoroughly representative of his class. They
would all like to write a fine play, but they nearly
all make the getting of money their primary ob-
ject. Now, I do not believe that the lust of gain
has ever been a foremost incentive in the produc-
tion of any great mental achievement. Our novels
and poems are to-day better than our plays, I
think, because they are written with a more artis-
tic and a less monetary stimulus. The rewards of
the successful playwright may mean a fortune to
him; he always remembers that when he begins,

100 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

and he usually begins for the reason that he does
remember it." . . .

Pauline had glimpses of not a few more indi-
vidualities, that evening, before she at length took
her leave.

" Well, how have you enjoyed it ? " asked Kin-
delon, as they were being driven home together.

" I have not entirely enjoyed it," was the slow
answer.

" You have been disappointed ? "

" Yes."

"But your purpose. of the salon still remains
good?" *

"Indeed it does!" she exclaimed with eager-
ness. " I shall begin my work — I shall issue my
invitations in a few days. Mrs. Dares will no
doubt supply me with a full list of names and
addresses."

" And you will invite everybody ? "

" Oh, by no means. I shall pick and choose."

"Beware of calamity!" said Kindelon. And
his voice was so odd a blending of the jocose and
serious that she could ill guess whether he were in
earnest or not.

VIII.

TDAULINE no^ began in' excellent earnest the
preparations for embarking upon her some-
what quaint enterprise. During the next three
or four days she saw a good deal of Kindelon.
They visited together the little editorial sanctum
in Spruce Street, where Mrs. Dares sat dictating
some of her inexhaustible " copy " to a pale and
rather jaded-looking female amanuensis. The
lady received her visitors with a most courteous
hospitality. Pauline had a sense of shocking idle-
ness as she looked at the great cumbrous writing-
desk covered with ink-stains, files or clippings of
newspapers, and long ribbon-like rolls of "proof."
Her own fine garments seemed to crackle ostenta-
tiously beside the noiseless folds of Mrs. Dares's
work-day cashmere.

"We shall not take up much of your valuable
time," she said to the large-eyed, serious little
lady. " We have called principally to ask a favor
of you, and I hope you will not think it a pre-
sumptuous request."

"I hope it is presumptuous," said Mrs. Dares,

161

1G2 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" for that, provided I can grant it at all, will make
it so much pleasanter to grant."

"You may be sure," cried Kindelon gayly to
Pauline, "that you have made a complete con-
quest of Mrs. Dares. She is usually quite miserly
with her compliments. She puts me on the
wretched allowance of one a year."

"Perhaps you don't deserve a more liberal in-
come," said Pauline. Then she re-addressed Mrs.
Dares. " I want to ask you," she proceeded, with
a shy kind of venture in her tone, "if you will
kindly loan me your visiting-book for a little
while."

" My visiting-book ? " murmured Mrs. Dares.
Then she slowly shook her head, while the pale
girl at the desk knitted her brows perplexedly, as
though she had encountered some tantalizing for-
eign word. " I would gladly lend it if I had one,"
Mrs. Dares went on; "but I possess no such ar-
ticle."

" Good gracious ! " exclaimed Pauline, with an
involuntary surprise that instantly afterward she
regretted as uncivil. " You have none ! "

But Mrs. Dares did not seem to detect the least
incivility in Pauline's amazement.

" No, my dear Mrs. Varick, I have no need of a
visiting-book, for I have no time to visit."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 163

" But you surely have some sort of list, have you
not?" now inquired Kindelon.

Mrs. Dares lightly touched her forehead. " Only
here in my memory," she said, "and that is deci-
dedly an imperfect list. My guests understand
that to be invited to one of my evenings is to be
invited to all. I suppose that in the fashionable
world," she proceeded, fixing her great dark eyes
on Pauline, "it is wholly different. There, mat-
ters of this sort are managed with much ceremony,
no doubt."

"With much trivial ceremony," said Pauline.
"A little scrap of pasteboard there represents an
individuality — and in just as efficient manner as
if it were truly the person represented. To be in
society, as it is called, is to receive a perpetual
shower of cards. I strongly doubt if many peo-
ple ever care to meet in a truly social way those
whose company they pretend to solicit. There are
few more perfect mockeries in that most false and
mocking life, than the ordinary visit of etiquette."
Pauline here gave a little meaning smile as she
briefly paused. "But I suppose you will under-
stand, Mrs. Dares," she continued, " that I regret
your having no regular list. I wanted to borrow
it — and with what purpose I am sure you can
readily imagine."

164 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

"Yes," was the reply. "My daughter Cora
shall prepare you one, however. She has an ad-
mirable memory. If she fails in the matter of
addresses, there is the directory as a help, you
know. And so your idea about the salon is un-
changed?"

" It is unalterable," said Pauline, with a laugh.
" But I hate so to trouble your daughter."

" She will not think it any trouble," said Kinde-
lon quickly.

Pauline looked at him with a slight elevation of
the brows. "You speak confidently for Miss
Cora," she said.

Kindelon lifted one hand, and waved it a trifle
embarrassedly. " Oh, I have always found her so
accommodating," he answered.

" Yes, Cora is always glad to please those whom
she likes," said Mrs. Dares. . . .

A little later Pauline and Kindelon took leave
of their hostess. They had been driven to Spruce
Street in the carriage of the former, and as they
quitted the huge building in which Mrs. Dares's
tiny sanctum was situated, Kindelon said to his
companion : " You shall return home at once ? "

Pauline gave a careless laugh. She looked
about her at all the commercial hurry and bustle
of the placarded, vehicle-thronged street. " I have

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 1C5

nowhere else to go just at present," she said.
" Not that I should not like to stay down town, as
you call it, a little longer. The noise and activity
please me. . . . Oh, by the way," she added, " did
you not say that you must repair to your
office?"

" The ' Asteroid ' imperatively claims me," said
Kindelon, taking out his watch. " Only twelve
o'clock," he proceeded; "I thought it later.
Well, I have at least an hour at your service
still. Have you any commands?"

"Where on earth could we pass your hour of
leisure ? " said Pauline. " It would probably not
be proper if I accompanied you into the office of
the 'Asteroid.'"

"It would be sadly dull."

" Then I will drive up town after I have left you
there."

" Why not remain down town, since the change
pleases you ? "

"Driving aimlessly about for a whole hour?"

"By no means. I have an idea of what we
might do. I think you might not find the idea at
all disagreeable. If you will permit, I will give
your footman an order, and plan for you a little
surprise."

" Do so, by all means," said Pauline lightsomely,

1C6 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

entering the carriage. "I throw myself upon
your mercy and your protection."

Kindelon soon afterward seated himself at her
side, and the carriage was immediately borne into
the clamorous region of what we term lower
Broadway.

"I hope I shall like your surprise," said Pau-
line, as she leaned back against the cushions, not
knowing how pretty she looked in her patrician
elegance of garb and person. u But we will not
talk of it; I might guess what it is if we did, and
that would spoil all. My faith in you shall be
blind and unquestioning, and I shall expect a pro-
portionately rich reward. . . . What gulfs of dif-
ference lie between that interesting little Mrs.
Dares and most of the women whom I have met !
People tell us that we must travel to see life. I
begin to think that one great city like New York
can give us the most majestic experience, if only
we know how to receive it. Take my Aunt
Cynthia Poughkeepsie, for example, and compare
her with Mrs. Dares ! A whole continent seems
to lie between them, and yet they are continually
living at scarcely a stone's-throw apart."

Kindelon gave a brisk, acquiescent nod.

" True enough," he said. " Travel shows us
only the outsides of men and women. We go

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 167

abroad to discover better what profits of obser-
vation lie at home "...

The carriage at length stopped.

" Is my surprise all ready to burst upon me ? "
asked Pauline, at this point.

"Yes. Its explosion is now imminent," said
Kindelon, with dry solemnity of accent.

Pauline, after she had alighted, surveyed her
surroundings for a moment, and then said, —

" I knew we were approaching the Battery, but
I did not suppose you meant to stop there. And
why have you stopped, pray ? "

Kindelon pointed toward a distant flash of water
glimpsed between the nude black boughs of many
high trees. "You can't think what a delightful
stroll we could take over yonder," he said, " along
the esplanade. The carriage could wait here for
us, you know."

"Certainly," acceded Pauline.

They soon entered the noble park lying on
their right. It was a day of unusual warmth for
that wintry season, but the air freshened and
sharpened as they drew further seaward. There
are many New Yorkers to whom our beautiful
Battery is but a name, and Pauline was one of
them. As she neared the rotund wooden building
of Castle Garden, a wholly novel and unexpected

168 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

sight awaited her. Not long ago one of the great
ocean-steamers had discharged here many German
immigrants, and some of these had come forth
from the big sea-fronting structure beyond, to
meet the stares of that dingy, unkempt rabble
which always collects, on such occasions, about its
doorways. Pauline and Kindelon paused to watch
the poor dazed -looking creatures, with their
pinched, vacuous faces, their timid miens, their
coarse, dirty bundles. The women mostly had
blond braids of hair matted in close coils against
the backs of their heads ; they wore no bonnets, and
one or two of them led a bewildered, dull-eyed child
by the hand, while one or two more clasped infants
to their breasts, wrapped in soiled shawls. The
men had a spare, haggard, slavish demeanor ; the
liberal air and sun, the very amplitude and bril-
liancy of sky and water, seemed to cow and de-
press them ; they slunk instead of walking ; there
was something in their visages of an animal sug-
gestion ; they did not appear entirely human, and
made you recall the mythic combinations of man
and beast.

" They are Germans, I suppose," said Kin-
delon to Pauline ; " or perhaps they hail from
some of the Austrian provinces. Many of my
own country people, the Irish, are not much

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW, 169

less shocking to behold when they first land
here."

" These do not shock me," said Pauline ; " they
sadden me. They look as if they had not wit
enough to understand whither they had come, but
quite enough to feel alarmed and distrustful of
their present environment."

" This drama of immigration is constantly un-
folding itself here, day after day," answered Kin-
delon. " It surely has its mournful side, but you,
as an American, ought by all meatis to discern its
bright one. These poor souls are the social refuse
of Europe ; they are the pathetic fugitives from
vile and time-honored abuses ; they are the dreary
consequences of kingdoms and empires. Their
state is almost brutish, as you see ; they don't
think themselves half as far above the brute as
you think them, depend upon it. They have had
manhood and womanhood crushed into the dust
for generations. It is as much their hereditary
instinct to fawn and crawl as it is for a dog to
bark or a cat to lap milk. They represent the
enlightened and thrifty peasantry over-sea. Bah !
how it sickens a man to consider that because a
few insolent kincrs must have their hands kissed

o

and their pride of rule glutted, millions of their
people are degraded into such doltish satires upon

170 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

humanity ! But I mentioned the bright side of
this question, from the American standpoint."

" Yes," said Pauline quickly, lifting her face to
his. " I hope it is really a bright side."

"It is — very. America receives these pitiful
wretches, and after a few short months they are
regenerated, transformed. There has never, in
the history of the world, been a nation of the
same magnificent hospitality as this. Before such
droves of deplorable beings any other nation
would shut her ports or arm her barriers, in
strong affright. But America (which I have al-
ways thought a much more terse and expressive
name than the United States) does nothing of the
sort. With a superb kindness, which has behind
it a sense of unexampled power, she bids them
all welcome. And in a little while the}' breathe
her vitalizing air with a new and splendid result.
They forget the soldiers who kicked them, the
tyrants who made them shoulder muskets in de-
fence of thrones, the taxes wrung from their scant
wages that princes might dance and feast. They
forget all this gross despotism; they begin to live;
their very frames and features change ; their mis-
erable past is like a broken fetter flung gladly
away. And America does all this for them —
this, which no other country has done or can do I "

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 171

He spoke with a fine heat, an impressive en-
thusiasm. Pauline, standing beside him, had
earnestly fixed her look upon his handsome, virile
face, noting the spark that pierced his light-blue
eyes, between the black gloss of their lashes, and
the little sensitive tremor that disturbed his nostril.
She had never felt more swayed by his force of
personality than now. She had never felt more
keenly than now that his manful countenance and
shape were both fit accompaniments of an impor-
tant and robust nature.

"And what does America really do with these
poor, maltreated creatures, after having greeted
and domesticated them ? " came her next words,
filled with an appealing sincerity of utterance.

Something appeared suddenly to have changed
Kindelon's mood. He laughed shortly and half
turned away.

" Oh," he said, in wholly altered voice, "if they
are Irish she sometimes makes Tammany politi-
cians of them, and if they are Germans she some-
times turns them into howling socialists."

" Do you mean what you say ? " exclaimed Pau-
line almost indignantly.

He bent his head and looked at her intently, for
a moment, with a covert play of mirth under the
crisp, dark flow of his mustache.

172 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

"I am afraid that I do," he replied, with another
laugh.

" Then you think this grand American hospital-
ity of which you have just spoken to be a failure
• — a sham?"

" No, no — far from that," he said rapidly, and
with recurring seriousness. "I was only going
back to the dark side of the question — that is all.
You know, I told you it had both its dark and its
bright side. . . . Come, let us leave this rabble.
You have not really seen the Battery yet. Its
true splendors lie just beyond." . . .

They were presently strolling along the stone-
paved esplanade, with its granite posts connected
by loops of one continuous iron chain work. To
the south they had a partial view of Brooklyn,
that city which is a sort of reflective and imitative
New York, with masts bristling from her distant
wharves and more than a single remote church-
spire telling of the large religious impulse which has
given her a quaint ecclesiastical fame. But west-
ward your eye could traverse the spacious bay
until it met the dull-red semicircle of Fort Colum-
bus, planted low and stout upon the shore of Gov-
ernor's Island, and the soft, swelling, purplish hills
of Staten Island, where they loomed still further
beyond. Boats of all shapes and kinds were pass-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 173

ing over the luminous waters, from the squat, ugly
tug, with its hoarse whistle, to the huge black
bulk of an Atlantic steamer, bound for transpon-
tine shores and soon to move majestically ocean-
ward through the fair sea-gate of the Narrows. A
few loiterers leaned against the stone posts, and a
few more lounged upon the seats ranged further
inland along this salubrious marine promenade.
Back among the turfy levels that stretched
broadly between the flagged pathways, you saw
the timorous green of hardy grass, where an
occasional pale wreath of anmelted snow yet
lingered. People were passing to and fro, with
steps that rang hollow on the hard pavement. If
you listened intently you could catch a kind of
dreamy hum from the vast city, which might al-
most be said to begin its busy, tumultuous life
here in this very spot, thence pushing through
many a life-crowded street and avenue, sheer on
to the rocky fields and goat-haunted gutters of
dreary Harlem.

" What a glorious bay it is ! " exclaimed Kinde-
lon, while he and Pauline stood on the breezy
esplanade. " There never was a city with more
royal approaches than New York."

" That fort yonder," said Pauline, " will per-
haps thunder broadsides, one day, at the fleet of

174 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

an invading enemy. This is still such a young
city compared with those of other lands. ... I
suppose these waters, centuries later, will see
grand sights, as civilization augments."

"Perhaps they may see very mournful ones,"
objected Kindelon.

"But you are an evolutionist," declared Pau-
line, with a priggish little pursing of the lips that
he found secretly very amusing. " You believe
that everything is working toward nobler condi-
tions, though you laughed at Leander Prawle, the
optimistic poet, the other evening, for his roseate
prophecies about the human race."

" Oh, I 'm an evolutionist," answered Kinde-
lon. " I believe it will all come right by-and-
by, like the gigantic unravelling of a gigantic
skein . . . But such views don't prevent me
from feeling the probability of New York being
reduced to ashes more than once in the coming
centuries."

" Oh, yes, I remember," said Pauline. " There
are often the apparent retrogressions — rhythmic
variations of movement which temporarily retard
all progress in societies."

Kindelon burst into one of his mellowest and
heartiest laughs. " You are delicious," he said,
" when you try to recollect your Herbert Spencer.

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 175

You make me think of a flower that has been
dropped among the leaves of an Algebra."

" I am not at all sure that I like your simile,"
said Pauline, tossing her head somewhat. " It is
pleasant to be likened to a flower, but in this case
it is rather belittling. And if it comes to recol-
lecting my Herbert Spencer, perhaps the process
is not one of very violent effort, either."

" Oh," said Kindelon ruefully, " I have offended

you."

A sunny smile broke from her lips the next
moment. "I can't be offended," she replied,
" when I think how you rebuked my absurd out-
burst of pedantry. Ah ! truly a little knowledge
is a dangerous thing, and I am afraid I have
very little. . . . How lovely it all is, here," she
proceeded, changing the subject, as they now be-
gan to move onward, while they still kept close
to the edge of the smooth-paven terrace. "And
what a pity that our dwelling-houses should all be
away from the water- ! My grandparents — or my
great-grandparents, I forget which — once lived
close to the Battery. I recollect poor mamma
telling me that I had an ancestress whom they
used to call the belle of Bowling Green."

"That was certainly in the days before com-
merce had seized every yard of these unrivalled

176 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

water-fronts," laughed Kindelon. "Babylon on its
Euphrates, or Nineveh on its Tigris, could not
eclipse New York in stately beauty if mansions
were built along its North and East rivers. But
trade is a tyrant, as you see. She concedes to
you Fifth Avenue, but she denies you anything
more poetic."

" I wonder who is the belie of Bowling Green
now?" said Pauline, looking up at her companion
with a serio-comic smile.

He shook his head. " I am afraid your favored
progenitress was the last of the dynasty."

" Oh, no," dissented Pauline, appearing to muse
a trifle. " I fancy there is still a belle. Perhaps
she has a German or an Irish name."

" It may be Kindelon," he suggested.

"No — it is something more usual than that.
If she is not a Schmitt I suspect that she is an
O'Brien. I picture her as pretty, but somewhat
delicate ; she works in some dreadful factory, you
know, not far away, all through the week. But
on Sunday she emerges from her narrow little
room in a tenement-house, brave and smart as you
please. The beaux fight for her smiles as they
join her, and she knows just how to distribute
them ; she is a most astute little coquette, in her
way."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 177

" And the beaux ? Are they worthy of her
coquetries?"

" Oh, well, she thinks them so. I fear that most
of them have soiled finger-nails, and that their
Sunday coats fit them very ill ... But now let
me pursue my little romance. The poor creature
is terribly fond of one of them. There is always
one, you know, dearer than the rest."

"Is there?" said Kindelon oddly. "You're
quite elucidating. I didn't know that."

" Don't be sarcastic," reproved Pauline with
mock grimness. " Sarcasm is always the death of
romance. I have an idea that the secretly-adored
one is more of a convert than all his fellows to
the beautifying influences of soap. His Sunday
face is bright and fresh; it looks conscientiously
washed."

" And his finger-nails? Does your imagination
also include those, or do they transcend its
limits?"

"I have a vague perception of their relative
superiority . . . Pray let me continue without
your prosaic interruptions. Poor little Mary . . .
Did 1 not say that her first name was Mary, by-
the-by?"

" I have been under the impression for several
seconds that you called her Bridget."

178 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

"Very well. I will call her so, if you insist.
Poor little Bridget, who steals forth, endimanch£e
and expectant, fails for an hour or two to catch a
glimpse of her beloved. She is beginning to be
sadly bored by the society of her present three,
four, or five admirers, when suddenly she sees the
Beloved approaching. Then she brightens and
becomes quite sparklingly animated. And when
her Ideal draws near, twirling a licorice cane —
I insist upon having her Ideal twirl a licorice
cane — she receives him with an air of the most
unconcerned indifference. It is exquisite to ob-
serve the calm, careless way in which she asks
him" . . .

"Pardon me," interrupted Kindelon, with a
short and almost brusque tone, "but is not this
gentleman coming toward us your cousin ? "

" My cousin ? " faltered Pauline.

" Yes — Mr. Courtlandt Beekman."

Pauline did not answer, for she had already
caught sight of Courtlandt, advancing in her own
direction from that of the South Ferry, which
she and Kindelon were now rather near. She
stopped abruptly in her walk, and perceptibly
colored.

A moment afterward Courtlandt saw both her-
self and her escort. He showed great surprise,

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 179

and then quickly conquered it. As he came for-
ward, Pauline gave a shrill, nervous laugh. "I
suppose you feel like asking me what on earth
I am doing here," she said, in by no means her
natural voice, and with a good deal of fluttered
insecurity about her demeanor.

" I should n't think that necessary," replied
Courtlandt. His sallow face had not quite its
usual hue, but nothing could be steadier than the
cool light of his eye. " It 's very evident that
you are taking a stroll with Mr. Kindelon." He
then extended his hand, cased in a yellow dogskin
glove, to Kindelon. "How are you ?" he said to
the man whom he entirely disliked, in a tone of
neutral civility.

"Very well, this pleasant day," returned Kin-
delon, jovially imperturbable. "And you, Mr.
Beekman ? "

" Quite well, thanks." He spoke as if he were
stating a series of brief commercial facts. "I
had some business with a man over in Brooklyn,
and took this way back to my office, which is only
a street or two beyond." He turned toward the
brilliant expanse of the bay, lifting a big silver-
knobbed stick which he carried, waving it right
and left. " Very nice down here, isn't it?" he
went on. His look now dwelt in the most casual

180 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

way upon Pauline. "Well, I must be off," he
continued. "I 've a lot of business to-day."

He had passed them, when Pauline, turning,
said composedly but sharply :

" Can't I take you to your office, Court ? "

" Thanks, no. I won't trouble you. It 's just a
step from here." He lifted his hat — an act which
he had already performed a second or so pre-
viously— and walked onward. He had not be-
trayed the least sign of annoyance all through
this transient and peculiarly awkward interview.
He had been precisely the same serene, quiescent,
demure Courtlandt as of old.

Pauline stood for some little time watching him
as he gradually disappeared. When the curve
near Castle Garden hid him, she gave an impa-
tient, irritated sigh.

" You seem vexed," said Kindelon, who had
been intently though furtively regarding her.

" I am vexed," she murmured. Her increased
color was still a deep rose.

"Is there anything very horrible in walking for
a little while on the Battery?" he questioned.

She gave a broken laugh. " Yes," she answered.
" I 'm afraid there is."

Kindelon shrugged his shoulders. " But surely
you are your own mistress ? "

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 181

" Rather too much so," she said, with lowered
eyes. "At least that is what people will say, I
suppose."

" I thought you were above idle and aimless
comments."

" Let us go back to the carriage."

" By all means, if you prefer it."

They reversed their course, and moved along
for some time in silence. " I think you must un-
derstand," Pauline suddenly said, lifting her eyes
to Kindelon's face.

" I understand," he replied, with hurt serious-
ness, " that I was having one of the pleasantest
hours I have ever spent, until that man accosted
us like a grim fate."

" You must not call my cousin Courtlandt ' that
man.' I don't like it."

" I am sorry," he said curtly, and a little dog-
gedly. " I might have spoken more ill of him,
but I did n't."

Pauline was biting her lips. " You have no
right to speak ill of him," she retorted. " He is
my cousin."

" That is just the reason why I held my tongue."

" You don't like him, then ? "

" I do not."

" I can readily comprehend it."

182 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

Kindelon's light-blue eyes fired a little under
their black lashes. " You say that in a way I do
not understand," he answered.

" You and Courtlandt are of a different world."

" I am not a combination of a fop and a parson,
if you mean that."

Pauline felt herself grow pale with anger as she
shot a look up into her companion's face.

" You would not dare say that to my cousin
himself," she exclaimed defiantly, " though you
dare say it to me ! "

Kindelon had grown quite pale. His voice
trembled as he replied. " I dare do anything
that needs the courage of a man," he said. " I
thought you knew me well enough to be sure
of this."

" Our acquaintance is a recent one," responded
Pauline. She felt nearly certain that she had
shot a wounding shaft in those few words, but
she chose to keep her eyes averted and not see
whether wrath or pain had followed its delivery.

A long silence followed. They had nearly
reached her carriage when Kindelon spoke.

" You are in love with your cousin," he said.

She threw back her head, laughing ironically.
" What a seer you are ! " she exclaimed. " Plow
did you guess that ? "

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 183

"All," he answered her, with a melancholy
gravity, " you will not deny it ! "

She repeated her laugh, though it rang less bit-
terly than before. She had expected him to meet
her irony in a much more rebellious spirit.

" I don't like to have my blood-relations abused
in my hearing," she said. " I am in love with all
of them, that way, if that is the way you mean."

" That is not the way I mean."

They were now but a few yards from the waiting
carriage. The footman, seeing them, descended
from his box, and stood beside the opened door.

" I shall not return with you," continued Kin-
delon, " since I perceive you do not wish my com-
pany longer. But I offer you my apologies for
having spoken disparagingly of your cousin. I
was wrong, and I beg your pardon."

"With the last words he extended his hand.
Pauline took it.

" I have not said that I did not wish your com-
pany," she answered, " but if you choose to infer
so, it is your own affair."

" I do infer so, and I infer more. . . . It is best
that I — I should not see you often, like this.
There is a great difference between you and me.
That cousin of yours hated me at sight. Your
aunt, Mrs. Poughkeepsie, hated me at sight as

184 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

well. Perhaps their worldly wisdom was by no
means to blame, either. . . . Oh, I understand
more than you imagine ! "

There was not only real grief in Kindelon's
voice, but an under-throb of real passion.

"Understand?" Pauline murmured. "What
do you understand ? "

" That you are as stanch and loyal as ever to
your old traditions. That this idea of change, of
amelioration, of casting aside your so-called patri-
cian bondage, has only thd meaning of a dainty
gentlewoman's dainty caprice . . . that " — •

His voice broke. It almost seemed to her as if
his large frame was shaken by some visible tremor.
She had no thought of being angry at him now.

She pitied him, and yet with an irresistible im-
pulse her thought flew to Cora Dares, the sweet-
faced young painter, and what she herself had of
late grown to surmise, to suspect. A sort of in-
voluntary triumph blent itself with her pity, on
this account.

She spoke in a kind voice, but also in a firm
one. She slightly waved her hand toward the
adjacent carriage. "Will you accompany me,
then ? " she asked.

He looked at her fixedly for an instant. Then
he shook his head. " No," he answered. " Good-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 185

by." He lifted his hat, and walked swiftly
away.

She had seen his eyes just before he went.
Their look haunted her. She entered the car-
riage, and was driven up town. She told herself
that he had behaved very badly to her. But she
did not really think this. She was inwardly
thrilled by a strange, new pleasure, and she had
shed many tears before reaching home.

IX.

r| THE excitement of Pauline had by no means
passed when she regained her home. Kin-
delon's last words still rang in her ears.

She declared to herself that it was something
horrible to have been called a dainty gentlewoman.
At the same time, she remembered the impetu-
osity of his address, and instinctively forgave
even while she condemned. Still, there remained
with her a certain severe resentful sense. u What
right," she asked herself, " has this man to under-
value and contemn my purpose ? Is it not based
upon a proper and worthy impulse ? Is egotism at
its root ? Is not a wholesome disgust there, in-
stead ? Have I not seen, with a radical survey, the
aimless folly of the life led by men and women
who presume to call themselves social leaders and
social grandees ? Has Kindelon any shred of ex-
cuse for telling me to my face that I am a mere
politic trimmer ? "

She had scarcely been home an hour before she
186

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 187

received a note from Cora Dares. The note was
brief, but very accurate in meaning. It informed
Pauline that Mrs. Dares had just sent a message
to her daughter's studio, and that Cora would be
glad to receive Mrs. Varick on that or any suc-
ceeding afternoon, with the view of a consultation
regarding the proposed list of guests.

Pauline promptly resolved to visit Cora that
same day. She ordered her carriage, and then
countermanded the order. Not solely because of
the pleasant weather, and not solely because she
was in a mood for walking, did she thus alter her
first design. She reflected that there might be
a touch of apparent ostentation in the use of a
carriage to call upon this young self-supporting
artist. She even made a change of toilet, and
robed herself in a street costume much plainer
than that which she had previously worn.

Cora Dares's studio was on Fourth Avenue, and
one of many others in a large building which ar-
tists principally peopled. It was in the top floor of
this structure, and was reached, like her mother's
sanctum, by that most simplifying of modern
conveniences, the elevator. Pauline's knock at a
certain rather shadowy door in an obscure pas-
sage was at once answered by Cora herself.

The studio was extremely pretty ; you saw this

188 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

at a glance. Its one ample window let in a flood
of unrestricted sunlight. Its space was small,
and doubtless for this reason a few brilliant dra-
peries and effective though uncostly embellish-
ments had made its interior bloom and glow
picturesquely enough. But it contained no orna-
ment of a more alluring pattern than Cora her-
self, as Pauline soon decided.

" Pray don't let me disturb you in your paint-
ing," said the latter, after an exchange of greet-
ings had occurred. "I see that you were busily
engaged at your easel. I hope you can talk and
paint at the same time."

" Oh, yes," said Cora, with her bright, winsome
smile. She was dressed in some dark, soft stuff,
whose sombre hue brought into lovely relief the
chestnut ripples of her hair and the placid refine-
ment of her clear-chiselled face. " But if I am to
give you a list of names," she went on, "that will
be quite another matter."

"Oh, never mind the list of names," replied
Pauline, who had just seated herself. "I mean,
not for the present. It will be more convenient
for you, no doubt, to send me this list to-morrow
or next day. Meanwhile I shall be willing to wait
very patiently. I am in no great hurry, Miss
Dares. It was exceedingly kind of you to com-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 189

municate with me in this expeditious way. And
now, if you will only extend your benevolence a
little further and give an hour or two of future
leisure toward the development of my little plan,
I shall feel myself still more in your debt."

Cora nodded amiably. " Perhaps that would be
the better arrangement," she said. Her profile
was now turned toward Pauline, as she stood in
front of her canvas and began to make little
touches upon it with her long, slim brush. "I
think, Mrs. Varick, that I can easily send you the
list to-morrow. I will make it out to-night; I
shall not forget anybody ; at least I am nearly sure
that I shall not."

" You are more than kind," said Pauline. She
paused for a slight while, and then added : " You
spend all day here, Miss Dares ? "

"All day," was Cora's answer; and the face
momentarily turned in Pauline's direction, with
its glimpse of charming, dimpled chin, with the
transitory light from its sweet, blue, lustrous eyes,
affected her as a rarity of feminine beauty. " But
I often have my hours of stupidity," Cora con-
tinued. " It is not so with me to-day. I have
somehow seized my idea and mastered it, such as
it is. You can see nothing on the canvas as yet.
It is all obscure and sketchy."

190 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

"It is still very vague," said Pauline. "But
have you no finished pictures ? "

" Oh, yes, five or six. They are some yonder, if
you choose to look at them."

"I do choose," Pauline replied, rising. She
went toward the wall which Cora had indicated
by a slight wave of her brush.

The pictures were four in number. They were
without frames. Pauline examined each atten-
tively. She knew nothing of Art in a technical
and professional way ; but she had seen scores of
good pictures abroad ; she knew what she liked
without being able to tell why she liked it, and
not seldom it befell that she liked what was
intrinsically and solidly good.

"You paint figures as if you had studied in
foreign schools," she said, quite suddenly, turning
toward her hostess.

" I studied in Paris for a year," Cora replied.
"That was all mamma could afford for me.'' And
she gave a sad though by no means despondent
little laugh.

"You surely studied to advantage," declared
Pauline. " Your color makes me think of Henner
. . . and your flesh-tints, too. And as for these
two landscapes, they remind me of Daubigny. It
is a proof of your remarkable talent that you

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 191

should paint both landscapes and figure-pieces
with so much positive success."

Cora's face was glowing, now. " You have just
named two artists,'1 she exclaimed, "whose work
I have always specially admired and loved. If I
resemble either of them in the least, I am only
too happy and thankful ! "

Pauline was silent for several minutes. She
was watching Cora with great intentness. " Ah !
how I envy you ! " she at length murmured, and
as she thus spoke her voice betrayed excessive
feeling.

" I thought you envied nobody," answered Cora,
somewhat wonderingly.

Pauline gave a little soft cry. " You mean be-
cause I am rich, no doubt ! " she said, a kind of
melancholy sarcasm tinging her words.

"Riches mean a great deal," said Cora.

"But if you have no special endowment that
separates you from the rest of the world, you are
still a woman."

" I am not sorry to be a woman."

" No ! because you are a living pro-test against
the inferiority of our sex. You can do some-
thing ; you need not forever have men doing
something for }rou, like the great majority of us!"
Pauline's gray eyes had kindled, and her lips were

192 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

slightly tremulous as they began to shape her next
sentence. " Most of us are sorry to be women,"
she went on, " but I think a great many of us are
sorry to be the sort of women fate or circum-
stance makes us. There is the galling trouble.
If we have no gift, like yours, that can compel
men's recognition and respect, we must content
ourselves with being merged into the big common-
place multitude. And to be merged into the big
commonplace multitude is to be more or less
despised. This may sound like the worst kind of
cynicism, but I assure you, Miss Dares, that it is
by no means as flippant as that. I have seen
more of life than you . . . why not? You per-
haps have heard a fact or two about my past. I
have had a past — and not a pleasant one, either.
And experience (which is the name we give our
disappointments, very often) has taught me that if
we could see down to the innermost depth of any
good man's liking for any good woman, we would
find there an undercurrent of real contempt."

" Contempt ! " echoed Cora. She had slightly
thrown back her head, either in dismay or denial.

" Yes — contempt," asseverated Pauline. " I
believe, in all honesty, at this hour, that if the
charm which our sex exerts over the other — the
physical fascination, and the fascination of senti-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 193

ment, tenderness, idealization — had never existed,
we would have been literally crushed out of being
long ago. Men have permitted us to live thus far
through the centuries, not because we are weaker
than they, but because some extraordinary and
undiscoverable law has made them bow to our
weakness instead of destroying it outright. They
always destroy every other thing weaker than
themselves, except woman. They have no com-
punction, no hesitation. History will show you
this, if you accept its annals in an unbiassed spirit.
They either eat the lower animals, or else put
them into usages of the most severe labor. They
leave woman unharmed because Nature has so
commanded them. But here they are the slaves
of an edict which they obey more blindly, more
instinctively, than even the best of them know."

"I can't believe that these are ypur actual
views!" now exclaimed Cora. "I can't believe
that you rate the sacred emotion of love as some-
thing to be discussed like a mere scientific prob-
lem ! "

Pauline went up to the speaker and stood close
beside her while she responded, —

" Ah ! my dear Miss Dares, the love between
man and woman is entitled to no more respect
than the law of gravitation. Both belong to the

194 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

great unknown scheme. We may shake our heads
in transcendental disapprobation, but it is quite
useless. The loftiest affection of the human
heart is no more important and no more mysteri-
ous than the question of why Newton's apple fell
from the tree or why a plant buds in spring. All
causes are unknown, and to seek their solution is
to idly grope."

Cora was regarding Pauline, as the latter fin-
ished, with a look full of sad interest. "You
speak like . . . like some one whom we both
know," she said hesitatingly. "You speak as if
you did not believe in God."

"I do not disbelieve in God," quickly answered
Pauline. "The carelessly-applied term of 'athe-
ist ' is to my thinking a name fit only for some
pitiable braggart. He who denies the existence of
a God is pf no account among people of sense ;
but he who says, 'I am ignorant of all that con-
cerns the conceivability of a God' has full right
to express such ignorance."

Cora slowly inclined her head. "That is the
way I have heard him talk," she said, almost mus-
ingly. Then she gave a quick glance straight
into Pauline's watchful eyes. "I — I mean," she
added, confusedly, as if she had betrayed herself
into avowing some secret reflection, '> that Mr.

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 195

Kindelon has more than once spoken in a similar
way."

" Mr. Kindelon ? " replied Pauline, with a gentle,
peculiar, interrogative emphasis. "And did you
agree with him ? "

" No," swiftly answered Cora. " I have a faith
that he cannot shake — that no one can shake !
But he has not tried to do so ; I must render him
that justice."

Pauline turned away, with a faint laugh. "The
wise men, who have thought and therefore
doubted," she returned, " are often fond of ortho-
doxy in the women whom they like. They think
it picturesque."

She laughed again, and Cora's eyes followed her
as she moved toward the pictures which she had
previously been examining. " Let us change the
subject," she went on, with a note of cold com-
posure in her voice. " I see that you don't like
rationalism . . . Well, you are a poet, as your
pictures tell me, and few poets like to do more
than feel first and think afterward. . . . Are these
pictures for sale, Miss Dares ? "

Cora's answer came a trifle tardily. " Three of
them," she said.

" Which three ? " Pauline asked, somewhat care-
lessly, as it seemed.

196 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

"All but that study of a head. As you see, it
is scarcely finished."

" It is the one I should like to purchase. You
say it is not for sale ? "

" No, Mrs. Varick."

" It is very clever," commented Pauline, almost
as though she addressed her own thoughts. She
turned her face toward Cora's ; it wore an indefi-
nite flickering sort of smile. " Has it any name? "

" Oh, no ; it is a mere study."

" I like it extremely . . . By the way, is it a
portrait?"

Cora did not reply for several seconds. She
had begun to put little touches upon her canvas
again — or to seem as if she were so putting them.

" It 's not good enough to be called anything,"
she presently replied.

" I want it," said Pauline. She was looking
straight at the picture — a small square of rather
recklessly rich color. " I want it very much in-
deed. I . . I will give you a considerable sum
for it."

She named the sum that she was willing to
give, and in an admirably cool, loitering voice.
It was something that surpassed any price ever
proposed to Cora Dares for one of her paintings,
by several hundreds of dollars.

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 197

Cora kept silent. She was touching her can-
vas. Pauline waited. Suddenly she turned and
regarded her companion.

"Well? "she said.

Cora flung aside her brush. The two women
faced each other.

" I think you are cruel ! " cried Cora. It was
evident that she was nearly in straits for speech,
and her very lovely blue eyes seemed to sparkle
through unshed tears. "I — I told you that I
did not wish to sell the picture," she hurried on.
"I — I don't call it a picture at all, as I also told
you. It — it is far from being worth the price
that you have offered me. It . . it . ." And
here Cora paused. Her last words had a choked
sound.

Pauline was looking at her fixedly but quite
courteously.

"It is Ralph Kindelon's portrait," she said.

Cora started. " Well ! and if it is ! " she ex-
claimed.

Instantly, after that, Pauline went over to her
and took one of her hands.

" My dear Miss Dares," she said, with that sin-
gular sweetness which she could always throw
into her voice, " I beg you to forgive me. If you
really wish to retain that picture — and I see that

198 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

you do — why, then I would not take it from you
even as a voluntary gift. Let us speak no more on
the subject."

Cora gave a pained, difficult smile, now. She
looked full into Pauline's steady eyes for a brief
space, and then withdrew her own.

" Very well," she almost faltered, " let us speak
no more on the subject." . . .

" I have been horribly merciless," Pauline told
herself, when she had quitted Cora Dares's studio
about ten minutes later. " I have made that poor
girl confess to me that she loves Ralph Kindelon.
And how suited they are to each other ! She has
actual genius — he is brimming with intellectual
power. I have made a sad failure in my visit
to Cora Dares. ... I hope all my vain exploits
among these people, who are so different from the
people with whom my surroundings of fortune
and destiny have thus far brought me into natural
contact, will not result so disastrously."

Her thoughts returned to Kindelon, as she
walked homeward, and to the hostile terms on
which they had parted but a few hours ago.

"My project begins badly," she again mused.
" Everything about it seems to promise ill. But
it is too late to draw back. Besides, I am very far
from wishing to draw back. I am like an enthu-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 199

siastic explorer; I want to face new discoveries
in the very teeth of disaster."

On reaching home she had scarcely time to take
off her bonnet before the name of her cousin Court-
landt was brought to her by a servant. She went
down into the little reception-room to meet him,
with rather lively anticipations of being forced to
put herself on the defensive. Her sensations had
not been unlike those with which we regard the
lowering of the mercury in a thermometer, while
ordering extra fuel so as to be on guard against a
sudden chill.

Courtlandt was standing before the silver-grated
hearth-place ; he watched the black, tumbled blocks
of coal with eyes bent down upon their snapping
and crackling flames as Pauline appeared. He did
not immediately raise his eyes as her entering step
sounded. But when he did raise them, she saw
that he was clad in his old impregnable calm.

She sank into a chair, not far from the fire.
" Well," she said, with an amused smile playing
about her lips, " I suppose you have come to scold
me dreadfully."

" What makes you suppose so ? " he asked.

" You darted away, there at the Battery, as if
you were fearfully shocked."

" I don't think I darted away.

200 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" Oh, well, we won't split hairs. You would n't
stay, and you might easily have stayed. You
pleaded stress of business, and you had n't an}r,
or this appearance up-town at so early an hour
could n't have taken place."

" It is remarkable," said Courtlandt, with his
gravest serenity, " how you pierce through peo-
ple's pitiful disguises. You make me feel con-
science-stricken by a realization of my own de-
ceit."

" That is fortunate," said Pauline, with a slight,
curt laugh. " For then you will, perhaps, express
your disapprobation less impudently."

" I might speak pretty plainly to you and yet
not be at all impudent."

Pauline threw back her head with a defiant
stolidity. " Oh, speak as plainly as you please,"
she said. " I shall have my own views of just how
impudent you are. I generally have."

" You did something that was a good deal off
color for a woman who wants herself always re-
garded as careful of the proprieties. I found you
doing it, and I was shocked, as you say."

Pauline straightened herself in her chair. " I
don't know what you mean," she replied, a little
crisply, " by ' off color.' I suppose it is slang, and
I choose, with a good reason, to believe that it

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 201

conveys an unjustly contemptuous estimate of my
very harmless act. I took a stroll along that beau-
tiful Battery with a friend."

" With an adventuring newspaper fellow, you
mean," said Courtlandt, cool as always, but a little
more sombre.

Pauline rose. " I will stand a certain amount
of rudeness toward myself," she declared, " but I
will not stand sneers at Mr. Kindelon. No doubt
if you had met me walking with some empty-
headed fop, like Fyshkille, or Van Arsdale, you
would have thought my conduct perfectly proper."

" I 'd have thought it devilish odd," said Court-
landt, " and rather bad form. I 've no more re-
spect for those fellows than you have. But if you
got engaged to one of them I should n't call it a
horrible disaster."

Pauline smiled, with a threat of rising ire in
the smile. " Who thought of my becoming ' en-
gaged' to anybody?" she asked. And her accent-
uation of the word which Courtlandt had just
employed produced the effect of its being scorn-
fully quoted.

He was toying with the links of his watch-
chain, and he kept his eyes lowered while he said :
" Are you in love with this Kindelon chap ? "

She flushed to the roots of her hair. "I — I

202 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

shall leave the room," she said unsteadily, " if you
presume to talk any further in this strain."

" You are a very rich woman," pursued Court-
landt. What he said had somehow the effect of a
man exploding something with a hand of admira-
ble firmness.

Pauline bit her lips excitedly. She made a
movement as if about to quit the chamber. Then
some new decision seemed to actuate her. " Oh,
Court ! " she exclaimed reproachfully, " how can
you treat me in this< unhandsome way?"

He had lifted his eyes, now. " I am trying to
save you from making a ridiculous marriage," he
said. " I tried once before — a good while ago —
to save you from making a frightful one. My
attempt was useless then. I suppose it will be
equally useless now."

Pauline gave an agitated moan, and covered her
face with both hands. . . . Hideous memories had
been evoked by the words to which she had just
listened. But immediately afterward a knock
sounded at the partly closed door which led into
the hall. She started, uncovered her face, and
moved toward this door. Courtlandt watched her
while she exchanged certain low words with a
servant. Then, a little later, she approached him,
and he saw that her agitation had vanished, and

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 203

that it appeared to have so vanished because of a
strong controlling effort.

" Mr. Kindelon is here," she said, in abrupt un-
dertone. " If you do not wish to meet him you
can go back into the dining-room." She made a
gesture toward a portiere not far away. " That
leads to the dining-room," she went on. "Act
just as you choose, but be civil, be courteous, or
do not remain."

" I will not remain," said Courtlandt.

He had passed from the room some little time
before Kindelon entered it.

" You did not expect to see me," said the
latter, facing Pauline. His big frame had a cer-
tain droop that suggested humility and even con-
trition. He held his soft hat crushed in one
hand, and he made no sign of greeting with the
other.

" No," said Pauline softly, " I did not expect to
see you." She was waiting for the sound of the
hall-door outside ; she soon heard it, and knew
that it meant the exit of Courtlandt. Then she
went on : " but since you are here, will you not
be seated ? "

" Not until you have forgiven me ! " Kindelon
murmured. Between the rich, fervent, emotional
voice which now addressed her and the even regu-

204 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

larity of the tones she had just heard, what a
world of difference lay !

" You were certainly rude," she said, thinking
how chivalrously his repentance became him, and
how strong a creature he looked in this weaker
submissive phase. "You know that I had only
the most friendly feelings toward you. You ac-
cused me of actual hypocrisy. But I will choose
to believe that you did not mean to lose your
temper in that positively wild way. Yes, I for-
give you, and, in token of my forgiveness there is
my hand."

She extended her hand, and as she did so he
literally sprang forward, seizing it. The next in-
stant he had stooped and kissed it. After that he
sank into a near chair.

" If you had not forgiven me," he said, " I
should have been a very miserable man. Your
pardon makes me happy. Now I am ready to
turn over a new page of — of friendship — yes,
friendship, of course. I shall never say those
absurd, accusatory things again. What right have
I to say them? What right have I to anything
more than the honor of your notice, as long as
you choose to bestow it? I have thought every-
thing over ; I 've realized that the fact of your
being willing to know me at all is an immense
extended privilege ! "

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 205

Pauline still remained standing. She had half
turned from him while he thus impetuously spoke ;
she was staring down into the ruddy turmoil of
the fire.

" Don't say anything more with regard to the
little disagreement," she answered. " It is all
ended. Now let us talk of other things."

He did not answer, and she let quite a long
pause ensue while she still kept her eyes upon
the snapping coal-blocks. At length she con-
tinued, —

" I shall have the full list of Mrs. Dares's guests
quite soon. It has been promised me."

" Yes ? " she heard him say, a little absently.

" I shall, no doubt, have it by to-morrow morn-
ing," she went on. " Then I shall begin my ar-
rangements. I shall issue invitations to those
whom I wish for my guests. And I shall expect
you to help me. You promised to help me, as
you know. There will be people on the list whom
I have not yet met — a good many of them. You
shall tell me all about these, or, if you prefer, you
shall simply draw your pen through their names —
Why don't you ask me how I shall obtain this
boasted list?"

" You mean that Mrs. Dares will send it ? " she
heard him ask.

206 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

"No, I mean that I shall secure it from her
daughter."

" Her daughter ?"

"Yes — Cora. I have been to see Cora. I
visited her studio — By the way, what a good
portrait she has there of you. It is really an
excellent likeness."

She slowly turned and let a furtive look sweep
his face. It struck her that he was confused and
discomfited in a wholly new way.

" I think it a fair likeness," he returned. " But
I did not sit for it," he added quickly. " She
painted it from memory. It — it is for sale like
her other things."

" Oh, no, it is not for sale," said Pauline. She
saw his color alter a little as her gaze again
found stealthy means of scrutinizing it. " Miss
Cora told me that very decidedly. She wants
to keep it — no doubt as a precious memento. I
thought the wish very flattering — I — I won-
dered why you did not ask Cora Dares to marry
you."

She perceived that he had grown pale, now, as
he rose and said, —

" I think I shall never ask any woman to marry
me." He walked slowly toward the door, pausing
at a little distance from its threshold. "When

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 207

you want me," lie now proceeded, " will you send
for me ? Then I will most gladly come."

" You mean — about the salon ? " she ques-
tioned.

" Yes — about the salon. In that and all other
ways I am yours to command — "

When he had gone she sat musing before the fire
for nearly an hour. That night, at a little after
nine o'clock, she was surprised to receive a copious
list of names from Cora Dares, accompanied by a
brief note.

She sent for Kindelon on the following day, and
they spent the next evening together from eight
until eleven. He was his old, easy, gay, brilliant
self again. "What had occurred between them
seemed to have been absolutely erased from his
memory. It almost piqued her to see how per-
fectly he played what she knew to be a part.

Soon afterward her invitations were sent out for
the following Thursday. Each one was a simple
"At Home." She awaited Thursday with much
interest and suspense.

X.

l> Y nine o'clock on Thursday evening all her
~^^ guests had arrived. They comfortably filled
her two smart and brilliant drawing-rooms, but
quite failed to produce the crowded eifect notice-
able in Mrs. Dares's less ample quarters.

Pauline saw with pleasure that the fine pictures,
bronzes, and bric-a-brac which she had brought
from Europe were most admiringly noticed.
Small groups were constantly being formed be-
fore this canvas or that cabinet, table, and pedes-
tal. She had kept for some time quite close to
Mrs. Dares, having a practical sense of the little
lady's valuable social assistance on an occasion
like the present, apart from all personal feelings
of liking.

" You make it much easier for me," she said at
length, after the assemblage appeared complete
and no new arrivals had occurred for at least ten
minutes. " It was so kind of you to come, when
I know that you make a rule of not going any-
where."

208

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 209

" This was a very exceptional invitation, my
dear," answered Mrs. Dares. " It was something
wholly out of the common, you know."

" I understand," said Pauline, with her sweet-
est laugh. " You wanted to see your mantle de-
scend, after a manner, upon my younger shoulders.
You wanted to observe whether I should wear it
gracefully or not."

" I had few doubts on that point," was the slow,
soft reply.

" So you really think me a worthy pupil ? " con-
tinued Pauline, glancing about her with an air of
pretty and very pardonable pride.

" You have a most lovely home," said Mrs.
Dares, "and one exquisitely designed for the
species of entertainment which you are generous
enough to have resolved upon."

" Ah, don't say ' generous,' " broke in Pauline.
" You give me a twinge of conscience. I am
afraid my motive has been quite a selfishly ambi-
tious one. At least, I sometimes fancy so. How
many human motives are thoroughly disinterested?
But if I succeed with my salon — which before
long I hope to make as fixed and inevitable a
matter as the day of the week on which it is
held — the result must surely be a most salutary
and even reformatory one. In securing my guer-

210 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

don for work accomplished I shall have done so-
ciety a solid benefit ; and when I wear my little
crown I shall feel, unlike most royal personages,
that it is blessed by friends and not stained by the
blood of enemies."

Her tone was one of airy jest, but a voice at her
side instantly said, as she finished, —

" Do not be too sure of that. Very few crowns
are ever won without some sort of bloodshed."

She turned and saw Kindelon, who had over-
heard nearly all her last speech to Mrs. Dares.
Something in his manner lessened the full smile
on Pauline's lips without actually putting it to
flight.

" You speak as if you bore gloomy tidings," she
said.

Kindelon's eyes twinkled, though his mouth pre-
served perfect sobriety. " You have done precisely
what I expected you would do," he said, " in un-
dertaking an arbitrary selection of certain guests
and an arbitrary exclusion of certain others. You
have raised a growl."

"A growl ! " murmured Mrs. Dares, with a slight
dismayed gesture.

Pauline's face grew serious. " Who, pray, are
the growlers ? " she asked.

" Well, the chief one is that incorrigible and

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 211

irrepressible Barrowe. He lias his revolutionary
opinions, of course. He is always having revolu-
tionary opinions. He makes me think of the
Frenchman who declared that if he ever found
himself in Heaven his first impulse would be to
throw up barricades."

Pauline bit her lip. " Barricades are usually
thrown up in streets," she said, with a faint, ired
ring of the voice. " Mr. Barrowe probably forgets
that fact."

" Do you mean that you would like to show him
the street now? " asked Kindelon.

" I have not heard of what his alleged growl
consists."

" I warned you against him, but you thought it
best that he should be invited. Since you had de-
cided upon weeding, there was no one whom you
could more profitably weed."

" Mr. Barrowe has a very kind heart," here
asserted Mrs. Dares, with tone and mien at their
gentlest and sweetest. " He is clad with bristles,
if you please, but the longer you know him the
more clearly you recognize that his savage irrita-
bility is external and superficial."

" I think it very appropriate to say that he is
clad with bristles," retorted Kindelon. " It makes
me wish that I had reported him as grunting instead

212 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

of growling. In that case the simile would be per-
fect."

Mrs. Dares shook her head remonstratingly.
" Don't try to misrepresent your own good heart
by sarcasm," she replied. She spoke with her
unchangeable gravity; she had no lightsome mo-
ments, and the perpetually serious views which
she took of everything made you sometimes won-
der how and why it was that she managed to make
her smileless repose miss the austere note and
sound the winsome one.

" I am certain of not losing your esteem," ex-
claimed Kindelon, with all his most characteristic
warmth. " Your own heart is so large and kind
that everybody who has got to know it can feel
secure in drawing recklessly upon its charity."

Mrs. Dares made him no answer, for just then a
gentleman who had approached claimed her atten-
tion. And Pauline, now feeling that she and
Kindelon were virtually alone together, said with
abrupt speed, —

" You told me that this Mr. Barrowe had a kind
heart, in spite of his gruff, unreasonable manners.
You admitted as much, and so, remembering how
clever his writings are, I decided to retain him on
the list. But please tell me just what he has been
saying."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 213

" Oh, he 's tempestuous on the subject of your
having done any weeding at all. He thinks it
arrogant and patronizing of you. He thinks that
I am at the bottom of it; he always delights in
blaming me for something. He positively revels,
I suppose, in his present opportunity."

" But if he is indignant and condemnatory,"
said Pauline, "why does he not remain away? He
has the right of discountenancing my conduct by
his absence."

" Ah, you don't know him ! He never neglects
a chance for being turbulent. I heard him assert,
just now, that Miss Cragge had received a most
cruel insult from you."

" Miss Cragge ! " exclaimed Pauline, with a flash
of her gray eyes. " I would not have such a crea-
ture as that in my drawing-rooms for a very great
deal ! Upon my word," she went on, with a sud-
den laugh that had considerable cold bitterness,
" this irascible personage needs a piece of my mind.
I don't say that I intend giving it to him, for I am
at home, and the requirements of the hostess mark
imperative limits. But I have ways left me of
showing distinct disfavor, for all that. Are there
any other acts of mine which Mr. Barrowe does
me the honor to disapprove ? "

" Oh, yes. I hear that he considers you have

214 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

acted most unfairly toward the triad of poets,
Leander Prawle, Arthur Trevor, and Rufus Cor-
son."

Pauline gave a smile that was really but a curl
of the lip. " Indeed ! " she murmured. " I was
rather amused by Mr. Prawle's poetic prophecy
of a divine future race ; it may be bad poetry, as
he puts it, but I thought it rather good evolution.
Then the Quartier Latin floridity of Mr. Trevor
amused me as well : I have always liked fervor of
expression in verse, and I am not prepared to say
that Mr. Trevor has always written ludicrous ex-
aggeration — especially since he reveres TlnSophile
Gautier, who is an enchanting singer. But when
it comes to treating with that morbid poseur, Mr.
Corson, who affects to see beauty in decay and cor-
ruption, and who makes a silly attempt to deify
indecency, I draw my line, and shut my doors."

" Of course you do," said Kindelon. " No doubt
if you had opened them to Mr. Corson, Ban-owe
would have been scandalized at your doing so.
As it is, he chooses to championize Mr. Corson
and Miss Cragge. He is a natural grumbler, a
constitutional fighter. By the way, he is coming
in our direction. Do you see him approaching ? "

" Oh, yes, I see him," said Pauline resolutely,
" and I am quite prepared for him."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 215

Mr. Barrowe presented himself at her side in
another minute or two. His tall frame accomplished
a very awkward bow, while his little eyes twinkled
above his beak-like nose, with a suggestion of re-
strained belligerence.

" Your entertainment is very successful, Mrs.
Varick," he began, ignoring Kindelon, who had
already receded a step or two.

" Have you found it so ? " returned Pauline
coolly. "I had fancied otherwise."

Mr. Barrowe shrugged his frail shoulders. " Your
rooms are beautiful," he said, " and of course you
must know that I like the assemblage ; it contains
so many of my good friends."

" I hope you miss nobody," said Pauline, after a
slight pause.

Mr. Barrowe gave a thin, acid cough. " Yes,"
he declared, " I miss more than one. I miss them,
and I hear that you have not invited them. I am
very sorry that you have not. It is going to cause
ill-feeling. Everybody knows that you took Mrs.
Dares's list — my dear, worthy friend's list. It is
too bad, Mrs. Varick ; I assure you that it is too
bad."

" I do not think that it is too bad," said Pauline
freezingly, with the edges of her lips. " I do not
think that it is bad at all. I have invited those
whom I wished to invite."

216 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" Precisely ! " cried Mr. Barrowe, with a shrill,
snapping sound in the utterance of the word.
" You have been wrongly advised, however —
horribly advised. I don't pretend to state who
has advised you, but if you had consulted me —
well, handicapped as I am by a hundred other
duties, bored to death as I am by people applying
for all sorts of favors, I would nevertheless, in so
good a cause, have willingly spared you some of
my valuable time. I would have told you by no
means to exclude so excellent a person as poor,
hard-working Miss Cragge. To slight her like
that was a very unkind cut. You must excuse
my speaking plainly."

" I must either excuse it or resent it," said
Pauline, meeting the glitter of Mr. Barrowe's
small eyes with the very calm and direct gaze
of her own. "But suppose I do the latter? It
has usually been my custom, thus far through
life, to resent interference of any sort."

" Interference ! " echoed Mr. Barrowe, with
querulous asperity. "Ah, madam, I think I re-
cognize just who has been advising you, now;
you make my suspicion a certainty." He glanced
irately enough toward Kindelon as he spoke the
last words.

Kindelon took a step or two forward, reaching

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 217

Pauline's side and pausing there. His manner, as
he began to speak, showed no anger, but rather
that blending of decision and carelessness roused
by an adversary from whom we have slight fear
of defeat.

"Come, Barrowe," he said, "if you mean me
you had better state so plainly. As it happens,
Mrs. Varick was advised, in the matter of not
sending Miss Cragge an invitation, solely by her-
self. But if she had asked my counsel it would
entirely have agreed with her present course."

" No doubt," almost snarled Mr. Barrowe. " The
ill turn comes to the same thing. We need not
split hairs. I made no personal reference to you,
Kindelon ; but if the cap fits you can wear it."

" I should like to hand it back to you with a
bunch of bells on it," said Kindelon.

" Is that what you call Irish wit ? " replied Mr.
Barrowe, while his lips grew pale. "If so, you
should save it for the columns of the 'Asteroid,'
which sadly needs a little."

" The ' Asteroid ' never prints personalities,"
returned Kindelon, with nonchalant mockery.
" It leaves that kind of journalism to your friend
Miss Cragge."

" Miss Cragge, sir," muttered Barrowe, " is a
lady."

218 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" I did not say she was a gentleman," retorted
Kindelon, "though her general deportment has
more than once cast a doubt upon her sex."

Mr. Barrowe gave a faint shiver. " I 'm glad I
have n't it on my conscience," he declared, " that I
injured an honest girl to gratify a mere spite."
He at once turned to Pauline, now. " Madam,"
he pursued, " I must warn you that your project
will prove a dire failure if you attempt to develop
it on a system of despotic preferences. We were
all glad to come to you, in a liberal, democratic,
intellectual spirit. But the very moment you un-
dertake the establishment of a society formed on a
basis of capricious likes and dislikes, I assure you
that you are building on sand and that your struc-
ture will fall."

" In that case, Mr. Barrowe," said Pauline,
stung by his unwarranted officiousness into the
employment of biting irony, "you can have no
excuse if you allow yourself to be buried in my
ruins."

She passed rapidly away, while Kindelon ac-
companied her. " You were quite right," came
his speedy encouragement, as they moved onward
together. " You showed that insufferable egotist
the door in the politest and firmest manner pos-
sible."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 219

" I was in my own house, though," said Pauline,
with ^an intonation that betokened the dawn of
repentance. "lie was very exasperating, truly,
but — I was in my own house, you know."

" Of course you were," exclaimed Kindelon,
"and he treated you as if it belonged to some-
body else. We are all apt to assert a proprietary
right when a fellow-citizen ventures to relieve us
of our purse, and I think a similar claim holds
good with regard to our self-respect."

Pauline presently came to a standstill. She
looked troubled, and her gaze remained down-
cast for a little while. But soon she lifted it
and met Kindelon's eyes steadily watching her.

"You don't think I was unjustifiably rude?"
she asked.

"No ; indeed I do not. I don't think you were
rude at all."

She was silent for a brief interval. Then she
said, without taking her eyes in the least from
her companion's face, —

" Do you believe that most women would have
acted the same ? "

"No," he said, with a quick, slight laugh, "be-
cause most women have neither your brains nor
your independence."

" And you like both in a woman ? "

220 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" I like both in you," he said, lowering his
handsome head a little as he uttered the words.

" Do 3'ou think Cora Dares would have acted
as I have done ? " Pauline asked.

He made an impatient gesture ; he appeared for
a moment distressed and embarrassed.

"You and Cora Dares are — are not the same,"
he said, almost stammeringly.

" Oh, I know that very well," answered Paul-
ine. "I have had very good reason to know that
we are not the same. We are extremely different.
By the way, she is not here to-night."

"Not here?" he repeated interrogatively, but
with a suggestion of drolly helpless duplicity.

Pauline raised one finger, shaking it at him for
an instant and no more. The gesture, transient
as it was, seemed to convey a world of signifi-
cance. No doubt Kindelon tacitly admitted this,
though his face preserved both its ordinary color
and composure.

" You are well aware that she is not here,"
Pauline said.

" Why do you say that ? " he asked.

" I think so."

" But perhaps you may be mistaken. Perhaps
you have merely fancied that I have noticed Miss
Cora's non-appearance."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 221

"Perhaps," Pauline repeated. She seemed to
be saying the word to her own thoughts. But
suddenly her manner became far less absent.
" Mrs. Dares told me that Miss Cora had a head-
ache to-night," she said, with brisk activity. "We
can all have headaches, you know," she went on,
" when we choose."

Kindelon nodded slowly. " I have heard that
it is an accommodating malady," he said, in tones
that were singularly lifeless and neutral.

Pauline put forth her hand, and let it rest on
his broad, strong arm for a second or two.

" Did Miss Cora have a headache ? " she asked.

He threw back his head, and shook it with
a sudden sound of his breath which resembled a
sigh of irritation, and yet was not quite that.

" Upon my word, I don't know ! " he cried
softly.

Just then Pauline found herself confronted by
Mr. Howe, the novelist. His stoop was very ap-
parent ; it seemed even more consumptive than
usual ; his slim hand was incessantly touching and
retouching his blue spectacles, which gleamed
opaque and with a goblin suggestion from the
smooth-shaven, scholarly pallor of his visage.

" Excuse me, Mrs. Varick," he began, " but I —
I wish to speak a word with you."

222 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

Pauline smiled and assumed an affable de-
meanor. It cost her an effort to do so, for cer-
tain acute reasons ; but she nevertheless achieved
good results.

" A great many words, Mr. Howe," she ans-
wered, " if you wish."

Mr. Howe gave a sickly smile. " Oh, I don't
ask a great man}'," he faltered ; and it at once
became evident that he was for some reason ill at
ease, disconsolate, abysmall}7 depressed.

"You are annoyed," said Pauline, chiefly be-
cause she found nothing else, as a would-be cour-
teous hostess, to say.

" Annoyed ? " came the hesitant reply, while
Mr. Howe rearranged his blue spectacles with a
hand that seemed to assume a new momentary
decisiveness. " I am grieved, Mrs. Varick. I am
grieved because a friend of mine has received a
slight from you, and I hope that it is an uninten-
tional slight. I — I want to ask you whether it
cannot be corrected. I allude to Mr. Bedlowe."

" Mr. Bedlowe ! " repeated Pauline amazedly.
She turned to Kindelon as she spoke.

" Oh, yes," came Kindelon's ready answer; "you
remember Bedlowe, of course."

" I remember Mr. Bedlowe," said Pauline,
sedately.

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 223

" Ah ! you seem to have forgotten him ! " ex-
claimed Mr. Howe, with a great deal of gentle-
manly distress. He had discontinued all manual
connection with his blue glasses ; he had even
pressed both hands together, in a rotatory, nervous
way, while he went on speaking. " I hope you
did not mean to leave poor Bedlowe out," he pro-
ceeded, with quite a funereal pathos. " The poor
fellow feels it dreadfully. I promised him I would
say nothing about the matter, and yet (as you see)
I have broken my promise."

" I think Mrs. Varick is sorry to see that you
have broken your promise," said Kindelon, shortly
and tepidly.

Mr. Howe glanced at Kindelon through his
glasses. He was obliged to raise his head as he
did so, on account of their differing statures.

" Kindelou ! " he cried, in reproach, " I thought
you were one of my friends."

"So I am," came Kindelon's reply, " and that is
why I don't like the pietistic novelist, Bedlowe,
who wrote ' The Christian Knight in Armor '
and the ' Doubtful Soul Satisfied.' "

If there could be the ghost of a cough, Mr.
Howe gave it. He again lifted his wan, lank
hand toward his spectacles.

" Oh, Kindelon," he remonstrated, " you must

224 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

not be as uncharitable as that. Bedlowe does the
best he can — and really, between ourselves, his
best is remarkably good. Think of his great
popularity. Think of the way he appeals to the
large masses. Think " —

But here Pauline broke in, with the merriest
laugh that had left her lips that night.

"My dear Mr. Howe!" she exclaimed, "you
forget that I heard a bitter wrangle between
you and Mr. Bedlowe only a few days ago. You
had a great many hard things to say of him then.
I hope you have not so easily altered your con-
victions."

"I — I have n't altered my convictions at all,"
stammered Mr. Howe, quite miserably. " But
between Bedlowe as a literary man, and — and
Bedlowe as a social companion — I draw a very
marked line."

Kindelon here put his big hand on Mr. Howe's
slight shoulder, jovially and amicably, while he
said, —

" Come, now, my dear Howe, you mean that
the analytical and agnostic novelist wants the
romantic and pietistic novelist, only for the pur-
pose of breaking a lance with him. You want
him for that reason and no other."

Mr. Howe removed his spectacles, and while he

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 225

performed this act it was evident that he was ex-
tremely agitated. The removal of his spectacles
revealed two very red-rimmed eyes, whose color
escaped all note because of their smallness.

"I — I want Mr. Bedlowe for no such reason,"
he asserted. " But I — 1 do not want to attend a
— so-called salon at which mere fashionable fancy
takes the place of solid hospitality."

"You forget," said Pauline, with rapid cool-
ness, " that you are speaking in the presence of
your hostess."

" He remembers only," came the fleet words of
Kindelon, "that he speaks at the prompting of
Barrowe."

Pauline tossed her head ; she was angry again.
"I don't care anything about Mr. Barrowe," she
asserted, with a very positive glance at the un-
spectacled Mr. Howe. " I should prefer to believe
that Mr. Howe expresses his own opinions. Even
if they are very rude ones, I should prefer having
them original."

" They are original," said Mr. Howe feebly, but
somehow with the manner of a man who possesses
a reserve of strength which he is unable to readily
command. " I do not borrow my opinions. I —
I think nearly all people must know this."

" I know it," said Pauline very tranquilly, and

226 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

with an accent suave yet sincere. " I have read
your novels, Mr. Howe, and I have liked them
very much. I don't say that this is the reason
why I have asked you here to-night, and I don't
say that my dislike of Mr. Bedlowe's novels is the
reason why I have not asked Mr. Bedlowe here
to-night. But I hope you will let my admiration
of your talent cover all delinquencies, and permit
me to be the judge of whom I shall choose and
whom I shall not choose for my guests."

Mr. Howe put on his spectacles. While he was
putting them on, he said in a voice that had a
choked and also mournfully reproachful sound, —

"I have no social gifts, Mrs. Varick. I can't
measure swords with you. I can only measure
pens. That is the trouble with so many of us
writers. We can only write ; we can't talk. I —
I think it grows worse with us, in these days
when one has to write with the most careful
selection of words, so as to escape what is now
called commonplace diction. We get into the
habit of striving after novelty of expression — -
we have to use our ' Thesaurus,' and search for
synonyms — we have to smoke excessively (a
good many of us) in order to keep our nerves at
the proper literary pitch — we have to take stimu-
lants (a good many of us — though I don't under-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 227

stand that, for I never touch wine) in order to
drag up the words and ideas from an underlying
stagnancy. Frankly, for myself, I talk quite ill.
But I don't want to have you think that I am
talking in another voice than my own. I don't
want, in spite of my failure as a man of words,
that you should suppose " —

" I suppose nothing, Mr. Howe," broke in
Pauline, while she caught the speaker's hand in
hers, gloved modishly up to the elbow with soft,
tawny kid. " I insist upon supposing nothing
except that you are glad to come here and will
be glad to come again. I know three or four of
your novels very well, and I know them so well that
I love them, and have read them twice or thrice,
which is a great deal to say of a novel, as even you,
a novelist, will admit. But I don't like Mr. Bed-
lowe's novels any more than you do ; and if Mr.
Barrowe has tried to set you on fire with his in-
cendiary feelings, I shall be excessively sorry.
You have written lovely and brilliant things ; you
know the human soul, and you have shown that
you know it. You may not have sold seventy thou-
sand copies, as the commercial phrase goes, but I
don't care whether you have sold seventy thousand
or only a plain seventy ; you are a true artist, all the
same. . . And now I am going to leave you, for

228 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

my other guests claim me. But I hope you will
not care for anything severe and bitter which that
dyspeptic Mr. Barrowe may say ; for, depend upon
it, he only wins your adherence because he is a
clever man on paper, and not because he is even
tolerable in the stern operations of real life.
Frankly, between ourselves, I am sure that he
makes a very bad husband, though he is always
talking of being handicapped by autograph-bores
and interviewers who keep him away from Mrs.
Barrowe. I suspect that Mrs. Barrowe must be
a very unhappy lady. And I 'in sure, on the other
hand, that Mrs. Howe is very happy — for I know
there is a Mrs. Howe, or you could n't describe the
American women as ably as you do. . . " Pauline
passed onward as she ended her final sentence.
Kindelon, still at her side, soon said to her, —

"What a clever farewell you made: you have
won Howe. You flattered him very adroitly. It 's
an open secret that his wife helps him in those
exquisite novels of his. She is his one type of
woman. I think that is why Howe will never be
great; he will always be exquisite instead. He
adores his wife, who hates society and always stays
at home. If Howe had once committed a genuine
fault it might have served posterity as a crystal-
lized masterpiece."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 229

Pauline shook her head with negative emphasis.
"I like him just as he is," she murmured. She
was silent for a moment, and then added, almost
plaintively : " My entertainment looks pleasant
enough, but I fear that it is all a disastrous fail-
ure."

"A failure?" echoed Kindelon, with no sympathy
in the interrogation.

" Yes, everybody is grumbling. I distinctly feel
it. It is not only that Barrowe has infected every-
bod}r ; it is that everybody has a latent hostility
towards anything like harmonious reunion."

" Is n't there a bit of pure imagination in your
verdict ? " Kindelon asked.

" Premonition," answered Pauline, " if you
choose to call it by that name." She stood, while
she thus spoke, under an effulgent chandelier,
whose jets, wrought in the semblance of candles,
dispersed from ornate metallic sconces a truly
splendid glow.

"We have a new arrival," he said. He was
glancing toward a near doorway while he spoke.
Pauline's eyes had followed his own.

" My aunt ! " she exclaimed. " And Sallie —
and Courtlandt, too!"

" Yes, Courtlandt, too — my friend, Courtlandt,"
said Kindelon oddly.

230 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" I told Aunt Cynthia she had best not come,"
murmured Pauline.

"And your cousin, Courtlandt?" said Kindelon.
" Did you tell him not to come?"

" I am sorry that they came — I somehow can't
help but be sorry ! " exclaimed Pauline, while she
moved towards the door by which she had seen her
kindred enter.

"Sorry? So am I," said Kindelon. He spoke
below his breath, but Pauline heard him.

XI.

T AM very glad to see you," Pauline was telling
her aunt, a little later. She felt, while she
spoke them, that her words were the merest
polite falsehood. " I did not suppose you would
care to honor me this evening — I mean all three
of you," she added, with a rather mechanical
smile in the direction of Miss Sallie and Court-
landt.

Mrs. Poughkeepsie promptly spoke. She was
looking about her through a pair of gold-rimmed
glasses while she did so. Her portliness was not
without a modish majesty ; folds of a black, close-
clinging, lace-like fabric fell about her large person
with much grace of effect; her severe nose ap-
peared to describe an even more definite arc than
usual.

" Sallie and I had nothing for to-night," said
Mrs. Poughkeepsie. " Lent began to-day, you
know, and there wasn't even a dinner to go to."

"I am pleased to afford you a refuge in your
social distress," returned Pauline. It flashed

231

232 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

through her mind that circumstance was draw-
ing upon her, to-night, for a good deal of bitter
feeling. What subtle thunder was in the air,
ready to sour the milk of human kindness to its
last drop ?

" My dear," murmured her aunt, temporarily
discontinuing her stares, and speaking more in.
reproach than conciliation, "you must not be so
very quick to take offence when none is intended."

Pauline gave a laugh which she tried to make
amiable. " It pleases me to think that no offence
was intended," she declared.

" Your little party was by no means a pis-aller
with me, dear Pauline," here stated Sallie, " what-
ever it may have been in mamma's case. I really
wanted so much, don't you know, to see these —
a — persons." The peculiar pause which Sallie
managed to make before she pronounced the word
"persons," and the gentle yet assertive accent
which she managed to place upon the word itself,
were both, in their way, beyond description. Not
that either was of the import which would render
description requisite, except from the point of
view which considers all weightless trifles valu-
able.

Pauline bit her lip. She had long ago thought
Sallie disqualified for contest by her native silli-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 233

ness. The girl had not a tithe of her mother's
brains ;. she possessed all the servitude of an echo
arid all the iraitativeness of a reflection. But like
most weak things she had the power to wound,
though her little sting was no doubt quite unin-
tentional at present.

Courtlandt here spoke. He was perfectly his
ordinary sober self as he said-, —

" I happened to drop in upon Aunt Cynthia to-
night, and she brought me here. I believe that I
come without an invitation. Don't I ? I 've for-
gotten."

" You have n't forgotten," contradicted Pauline,
though not at all unpleasantly. " You know I
did n't invite you, because I did n't think you
would care to come. You gave me every reason
to think so."

" That was very rude," commented Sallie, with
a rebuking look at Courtlandt. She had a great
idea of manners, but her reverence was quite
theoretical, as more than one ineligible and un-
desirable young gentleman knew, when she had
chosen to freeze him at parties with the blank, in-
different regard of a sphinx. " It is so odd, really,
Pauline," she went on, with her supercilious
drawl, which produced a more irritating effect
upon her cousin because apparently so spontane-

234 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

ous and unaffected — " it is so odd to meet people
whom one does not know. I have always been
accustomed to go to places where I knew every-
body, and bowed, and had them come up and
speak."

Pauline busied herself for an instant in smooth-
ing the creases of her long gloves between wrist
and elbow. " Don't you find it rather pleasant,
Sallie," she said, " to procure an occasional
change ? "

" It ought to be refreshing," struck in Court-
landt, neutrally.

" You can have people to talk to you this even-
ing, if you wish," pursued Pauline, while a cer-
tain sense that she was being persecuted by her
relatives waged war with a decorous recognition
of who and where she was.

Before Sallie could answer, Mrs. Poughkeepsie,
who had ceased her determined survey, said in her
naturally high, cool, suave tones, —

" Oh, of course we want you to present some of
them to us, Pauline, dear. We came for that,
Sallie and I. We want to see what has made you
so fond of them. They are all immensely clever,
of course. But one can listen and be instructed,
if one does not talk. Do they expect you to talk,
by the way ? Will they not be quite willing to do

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 235

all the talking themselves ? I have heard — I
don't just remember when or how — that they
usually are willing."

" My dear Aunt Cynthia," said Pauline, in a
low but not wholly composed voice, "you speak of
my guests as if they were the inmates of a mena-
gerie."

Mrs. Poughkeepsie threw back her head a very
little. The motion made a jewel of great price
and fine lustre shoot sparks of pale fire from the
black lace shrouding her ample bosom. She
laughed at the same moment, and by no means
ill-naturedly. " I am sure they would n't like to
have you suggest anything so dreadful," she said,
" you, their protectress and patroness."

"I am neither," affirmed Pauline stoutly.

Mrs. Poughkeepsie lifted her brow in surprise.
She almost lifted her august shoulders as well.
" Then pray what are you, my dear ? " she asked.

"Their hostess — and their equal," asserted
Pauline. She spoke with momentary serious-
ness, but immediately afterward she chose to as-
sume an air of careless raillery.

" Ah, Aunt Cynthia," she went on, " you don't
know how you make me envy you ! "

" Envy me, Pauline ? "

" Oh, yes ; you have settled matters so abso-

236

lutely. You have no misgivings, no distrusts.
You are so magnificently secure."

"I don't understand," politely faltered Mrs.
Poughkeepsie. She looked inquiringly at Court-
landt.

"It is metaphysics," Courtlandt at once said.
"They are a branch of study in which Pauline
has made great progress." His face remained so
completely placid and controlled that he might
have been giving the number of a residence or
recording the last quotation in stocks.

Sallie had become absorbed in staring here and
there, just as her mother had been a brief while
ago ; Mrs. Poughkeepsie was at a little distance
from her niece; Courtlandt stood close at Pau-
line's side, so that the latter could ask him, in an
undertone full of curt, covert imperiousness, —

" Did you come here to say and do rude things?"

" I never say nor do rude things if I can help
it," he answered, with a leaden stolidity in his
own undertone.

"Why did they come?" continued Pauline,
lowering her voice still more.

" You invited them, I believe. That is, at least,
my impression."

" I mentioned the affair. I never imagined they
would wish to come."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 237

" You see that you were mistaken. If I had
been you I would n't have given them the awful
opportunity."

" What awful opportunity ? " queried Pauline,
furtively bristling.

" Of coming," said Courtlandt.

" My dear Pauline," here broke in Mrs. Pough-
keepsie, " shall you not present anybody to us ? "

" Anyone whom you please to meet, Aunt," re-
sponded Pauline.

" But, my dear, we please to meet anyone. We
have no preferences. How can we have ? "

" This is torment," thought poor Pauline. She
glanced toward Courtlandt, but she might as well
have appealed to one of her chairs. " What shall
I do ? " her thoughts sped fleetly on. " This
woman and this girl would shock and repel whom-
ever I should bring to them. It would be like
introducing the North Pole and the South."

But her face revealed no sign of her perplexity.
She quietly put her hand within Courtlandt's arm.
"Come, Court," she said, with a very creditable
counterfeit of gay sociality, "let us find a few
devotees for Aunt Cynthia and Sallie."

" We shall find a good many," said Courtlandt,
as they moved away. " Have no fear of that."

"I am by no means sure that we shall find

238 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

any" protested Pauline, both with dismay and
antagonism.

"Pshaw," retorted Courtlandt. "Mention the
name. It will work like magic."

" The name ? What name ? "

" Poughkeepsie. Do you suppose these haphaz-
ard Bohemians would n't like to better themselves
if they could ? "

Pauline took her hand from his arm, though he
made a slight muscular movement of detention.

" They are not haphazard Bohemians," she said.
"You know, too, that they are not. They are
mostly people of intellect, of culture, of high and
large views. I don't know what you mean by
saying that they would 'like to better themselves.'
Where have they ever heard of Aunt Cynthia?
Her name would be simply a dead letter to
them."

Courtlandt gave a low laugh, that was almost
gruff, and was certainly harsh. " Where have
they ever heard of Aunt Cynthia?" he repeated.
"Why, she never dines out that the society
column of half-a-dozen newspapers does not re-
cord it, and her name would be very far from
a dead letter. It would be a decidedly living
letter."

" But you don't understand," insisted Pauline,

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 239

exasperatedly. " These people have no aims to
know the so-called higher classes."

"Excuse me," said Courtlandt, with superb
calm. "Everybody has aims to know the so-
called higher classes — if he or she possibly can.
Especially ' she '," he added in his colorless mono-
tone.

Just then Pauline found herself confronted
by Miss Upton. The moon-like face of this
diminutive lady wore a flushed eagerness as she
began to speak.

" Oh, Mrs. Varick," she said, " I 've a great,
great favor to ask of you! I want you to intro-
duce me to your aunt, Mrs. Poughkeepsie."

" With pleasure," answered Pauline, feeling as
if the request had been a sort of jeer. "You
know my aunt by sight, then, Miss Upton ? "

" Oh, yes, I've known her for some time by
sight, Mrs. Varick. Miss Cragge pointed her out
to me one night at Wallack's. She had a box,
with her daughter and several other people. One
of them was an English lord — or so Miss Cragge
said . . . But excuse my mentioning my friend's
name, as you don't like her."

" Who told you that I did not like Miss
Cragge ? " asked Pauline, with abrupt crispness.

" Oh, nobody, nobody," hurried Miss Upton.

240 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" But you have n't invited her here to-night —
you left her out, you know. That was all. And
I thought ..."

" Are you a friend of Miss Cragge's ? " asked
Pauline.

" Oh, yes . . . that is, I know her quite well.
She writes dramatic criticisms, you know, and she
has seen me in amateur theatricals. She 's kind
enough to tell me that she does n't think that I
have a tragic soul in a comic body." Here Miss
Upton gave a formidably resonant laugh. " But
I 'm convinced that I have, and so I 've never
gone on the stage. But if I could get a few of
the very aristocratic people, Mrs. Varick, — like
yourself, and your aunt, Mrs. Poughkeepsie — to
hear me give a private reading or two, from
'Romeo and Juliet' or 'The Hunchback' or 'Par-
thenia', why, I should be prepared to receive a
new opinion, don't you understand, with regard to
my abilities. There is nothing like being en-
dorsed at the start by people who belong to the
real upper circles of society."

" Of course there is n't," said Courtlandt, speak-
ing too low for Miss Upton to catch his words,
and almost in the ear of Pauline. "Introduce
me," he went swiftly on. " I will save you the
bore of further introductions. You will soon see

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 241

how they will all flock about the great nabob,
though she may be ignorant of aesthetics, phil-
osophy, Emerson, Herbert Spencer, Carlyle, and
anybody you please."

Pauline turned and looked at him. There was
the shadow of a sparkle in the familiar brown
eyes — the eyes that she never regarded closely
without being reminded of her girlhood, even of
her childhood as well.

" It is a challenge then ? " she asked softly.

For a second he seemed not to understand her.
Then he nodded his head. "Yes — a challenge,"
he answered.

She gave an inward sigh. ... A little later she
had made the desired introduction. . . . Presently,
as Miss Upton moved away on Courtlandt's arm
in the direction of her aunt and Sallie, she burst
into a laugh, of whose loudness and acerbity she
was equally unconscious.

Martha Dares, appearing at her side, arrested
the laugh. Pauline grew promptly serious as she
looked into Martha's homely face, with its little
black eyes beaming above the fat cheeks and the
unclassic nose, but not beaming by any means so
merrily as when she had last given all its features
her full heed.

" You don't laugh a bit as if you were pleased,"

242 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

said Martha, in her short, alert way. " I hope
nothing has gone wrong."

" It seems to me as if everything were going
wrong," returned Pauline, with a momentary
burst of frankness which she at once regretted.

" Good gracious ! " said Martha. " I 'm aston-
ished to hear you tell me so."

" Forget that I have told you so," said Pauline,
throwing a little delicate repulsion into voice and
mien. "• By the way, your sister is not here to-
night, Miss Dares."

Martha's plump figure receded a step or two.

" No," she replied, in the tone of one somewhat
puzzled for a reply. " I came with my mother."

" And your sister had a headache."

" A headache," repeated Martha, showing what
strongly resembled involuntary surprise.

" Yes. So your mother told me."

" Well, it 's true," said Martha. Pauline was
watching her more closely than she perhaps de-
tected. u Cora's been working very hard, of late.
She works altogether too hard. I often tell her
so — Here comes Mr. Kindelon," Martha pur-
sued, very abruptly changing the subject, while
her gaze seemed to fix itself on some point behind
her companion. "• He wants to speak with you, I
suppose. I '11 move along — you see, I go about

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 243

just as I choose. What 's the use of my waiting
for an escort ? I 'm not accustomed to attentions
from the other sex, so I just behave as if it did n't
exist. That 's the wisest plan."

" But you surely need not be afraid of Mr. Kin-
delon," said Pauline.

" Oh, we 're not the best of friends just now,"
returned Martha. . . . She had passed quite fleetly
away in another instant. And while Pauline was
wondering at the oddity of her departure, Kinde-
lon presented himself.

" You and Jlartha Dares are not good friends?"
she quickly asked. She did not stop to consider
whether or no her curiosity was unwarrantable,
but she felt it to be a very distinct and cogent
curiosity.

Kindelon frowned. " I don't want to talk of
Martha Dares," he said, " and I hope that you do
not, either. She is a very unattractive topic."

" Is n't that a rather recent discovery ? "

" Oh, no — Shall we speak of something else ?
Your aunt's arrival, for instance. I see that she
is quite surrounded."

" Surrounded ? " replied Pauline falteringly.
Her eyes turned in the direction of Mrs. Pough-
keepsie and Sallie.

It was true. Seven or eight ladies and gentle-

244 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

men were gathered about the stately lady and her
daughter. Both appeared to be holding a little
separate and exclusive reception of their own.

" Courtlandt was right ! " exclaimed Pauline
ruefully, and with a stab of mortification. She
turned to meet the inquiring look of Kindelon.
" I thought Aunt Cynthia would be unpopular
here," she continued. " I supposed that no one
in my rooms to-night would care to seek her
acquaintance."

" This is a grandee," said Kindelon, " and so they
are glad enough to know her. If your cousin,
Mr. Beekmau, prophesied anything of that sort,
he was indeed perfectly right."

Pauline shook her head musingly. " Good
heavens ! " she murmured, " are there any people
in the world who can stand tests? I begin to
think not." Her speech grew more animated, her
eyes began to brighten indignantly and with an
almost tearful light. " Here am I," she went on,
" determined to encourage certain individuals in
what I believed was their contempt of social
frivolity and the void delusion which has been
misnamed position and birth. With a sort of polite
irony Aunt Cynthia appears and shows me that
I am egregiously wrong — that she can hold her
court here as well as at the most giddily fashion-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 245

able assemblage . . . Look ; my cousin has just
presented Mr. Whitcomb, the ' coming historian '
with the pensive face, and Mr. Paiseley, the great
American dramatist with the abnormal head.
How pleased they both seem ! They appear to
tingle with deference. Aunt Cynthia is patron-
izing them, I am sure, as she now addresses them.
She thinks them entirely her inferiors; she con-
siders them out of her world, which is the correct
world to be in, and there 's an end of it. You can
lay the Atlantic cable, you can build the Brooklyn
Bridge, but you can't budge the granitic preju-
dices of Aunt Cynthia . . . Yet why do they con-
sent to be patronized by her? Do they not know
and feel that she represents a mere sham? Do
they value her for what she is, or misvalue her
for something that she is not?"

Kindelon laughed a little gravely as he an-
swered : " I am afraid they do the former. And
in being what she is, she is a great deal."

" Surely not in the estimate of those who are at
all serious on the subject of living — those whom
superficialities in all conduct or thought weary
and even disgust."

" But these," said Kindelon, with one of his
band-sweeps, " are not that sort of people."

" I supposed a great many of them were."

246 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" You supposed wrongly."

Pauline gave a momentary frown, whose gloom
meant pain. And before her face had re-bright-
ened she had begun to speak. " But they cannot
care to do as Aunt Cynthia does — to trifle, to
idle."

" I fancy that a good many of them would trifle
and idle if they had your -aunt's facilities for that
employment — or lack of it."

"But they paint, they read, they write, they
think; they make poems, novels, dramas. They
are people with an occupation, an ideal. How
can they be interested in a fellow-creature who
does nothing with her time except waste it ? "

" She wastes it very picturesquely," replied Kin-
delon. " She is Mrs. Poughkeepsie ; she repre-
sents great prosperity, aristocratic ease, lofty
security above need. They read about her; they
should not do so, but that they do is more the
fault of modern journalism than theirs. Theoreti-
cally they may consider that she deserves their
hardest feelings ; but this has no concern whatever
with their curiosit}% their interest, their hope of
advancement."

u Their hope of advancement ! " echoed Pauline,
forlornly, almost aghast. u What possible hope of
advancement could they have from such a source?"

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 247

Her querulous question had scarcely ended
when she perceived that Arthur Trevor had pre-
sented himself at her side. The young poet was
exceedingly smart to-night. His tawny hair was
rolled off his wide brow with a sort of precise
negligence ; it looked as if a deliberative brush
and not a careless hand had so rolled it. He fixed
his dreamy blue eyes with steadfastness upon Paul-
ine's face before speaking.

"I am so sorry, Mrs. Varick," he began, giving
a distinct sigh and slowly shaking his head from
side to side. " I wonder if you know what I am
sorry about."

'• Oh, yes," returned Pauline, with a nervous
trill of laughter. " You have come to me with a
complaint on the subject of Mr. Rufus Corson.
You see, Mr. Trevor, rumor has forestalled you.
I heard that you were furious because I omitted to
ask your intimate enemy."

Arthur Trevor gave an exaggerated start ; it
was a very French start ; he lifted his blond eye-
brows as much as his shoulders. And he looked
at Kiridelon while he responded :

" Ah ! I see ! Kindelon has been telling you
horrid things. Kindelon hates us poets. These
men of the newspapers always do. But there is a
wide gulf between the poetry of to-day and the
newspapers of to-day."

248 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" Of course there is," quickly struck in Kindelon.
" That is why the modern newspaper is read so
much and the modern poetry so little."

Arthur Trevor chose to ignore this barbed re-
joinder. His dreamy eyes and general air of placid
reverie made such an attitude singularly easy of
assumption.

" Poor Rufus feels your slight," he said, address-
ing Pauline solely. " Why do you call him my
intimate enemy? We are the dearest of friends.
He adores decay, and sings of it. I do not sing
of it, but I adore it for its color. There is always
color in decay."

" Discolor," said Kindelon, with better wit than
grammar.

" Decay," pursued Arthur Trevor, " is the un-
tried realm of the future poet. Scarcely anj'thing
else is left him. He is driven to find a beauty in
ugliness, and there is an immense beauty in ugli-
ness, if one can only perceive it. The province of
the future poet shall be to make one perceive it."

" That is like saying," declared Kindelou, " that
the province of the future gentleman shall be to
make one perceive the courtesy in discourtesy or
the refinement in vulgarity."

Again Mr. Trevor ignored Kindelon. " Poor
Rufus was so much less to blame than Leander

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 249

Prawle," he continued. " And yet you invited
Leander Prawle. Prawle is so absurdly optimis-
tic. Prawle has absolutely no color. Prawle is
irretrievably statuesque and sculpturesque. It is
so nonsensical to be that in poetry. Sculpture is
the only art that gives an imperious rien ne va plus
to the imagination. Prawle should have been a
sculptor. He would have made a very bad one,
because his ideas are too cold even for marble.
But his poetry would not have been such an icy
failure if it had been carved instead of written."

" You need not put up with this kind of thing
any longer than you want," whispered Kinclelon
to Pauline. " Hostship, like Mr. Prawle's poetry,
remember, has its limitations."

Pauline pretended not to hear this audacious
aside. " Mr. Trevor," she said, making her voice
very even and collected, " I regret that I could not
quite bring myself to ask your friend. The Egyp-
tians, you recollect, used to have a death's-head at
their banquets. But that was a good many years
ago, and New York isn't Thebes . . . Please par-
don me if I tell you that I must leave you for a
little while."

As Pauline was passing him, Trevor lifted his
eyes toward the ceiling. He did so without a hint
of rhapsody, but in a sort of solemn exaltation.

250 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" New York is surely not Thebes ! " he exclaimed.
" Ah, if it only were ! To have lived in Thebes
for one day, to have got its real and actual color,
would be worth ten years of dull existence here ! "

" How I wish fate had treated him more to his
taste ! " said Kindelon, when Pauline and himself
were a little distance off. " He meant to make an
appeal for that mortuary Corson. He might bet-
ter have tried to perpetuate his own welcome at
your next salon"

" My next salon ! " echoed Pauline, with a laugh
full of fatigue and derision.

" What do you mean ? " he asked shortly.

" I mean that I had best give no other salon"
she replied. " I mean that this is a failure and
a mockery."

She looked full up into his eyes as she spoke.
They both paused. " So soon ? " questioned Kin-
delon, as if in soft amazement.

"Yes — so soon," she answered, with a quiver
in her voice and a slight upward movement of
both hands. " What is it all amounting to ? "

" What did I tell you?" he said.

" Oh, confirm your prophecy ? " she broke forth,
somewhat excitedly. "I know you warned me
against disappointment. Enjoy your satisfaction —
Look at Aunt Cynthia now. She is holding a per-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 251

feet court. How they do flock round Sallie and
herself, just as Courtlandt said that they would !
I feel that this is the beginning and the end. I
have misjudged, miscalculated, misinterpreted.
And I am miserably dejected ! "

Just then Martha Dares approached Pauline.
" Will you please introduce me to your aunt ? "
said Martha.

• " With the greatest pleasure, Miss Dares," re-
turned Pauline.

" Et tu Brute ? " said Kindelon, under his breath.
Pauline heard him, but Martha did not. . . .

A little later Courtlandt had joined her, and
Kindelon had glided away.

" Are you convinced ? " said Courtlandt.

"Convinced of what?" she retorted, with an
almost fierce defiance.

" Oh, of nothing, since you take it so fero-
ciously." She saw that his calm brown eyes
were coolly watching her face.

" When is your next salon ? " he asked. " Is it
to be a week from to-night? "

" It is never to be again," she answered.

She meant the words, precisely as she spoke
them. She longed for the entertainment to end,
and when it had ended she felt relieved, as if from
a painful tension and strain. Musing a little later

252 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

in her bed-chamber, before retiring, she began to
feel a slight change of mood. Had she not, after
all, expected, demanded, exacted, too much ? Was
she justified in giving way to this depression and
disappointment? Was she not more blamable in
deceiving herself than these people were in sur-
prising her ? She had been warned by Kindelon ;
she had, in a certain way, been warned by Mrs.
Dares. But these were not her desired band of
plain livers and high thinkers. They were very
far below any such elevated standard. They had
seemed to make a sort of selfish rush into her
drawing-rooms for the purpose of getting there,
and afterward boasting that they had got there.
She was by no means sure if the very quality and
liberality of her refreshments had not made for
them the prospect of another Thursday evening
offer increased allurements. Many of them were
full of the most distressing trivialities. The con-
duct of Mr. Barrowe had seemed to her atrociously
unpleasant. His action with regard to the ex-
cluded Miss Cragge struck her as a superlative
bit of impudence. If she went on giving more
receptions she would doubtless only accumulate
more annoyances of a similar sort.

No; the intellectual life of the country was
young, like the country itself. It was not only

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 253

young; it was raw and crude. To continue in
her task would be to fail hopelessly. She had
best not continue in it. She might be wrong in
abandoning it so soon ; there might be hope yet.
But, after all, she was undertaking no holy cru-
sade ; conscience made no demands upon her for
the perpetuation and triumph of her project. Let
it pass into the limbo of abortive efforts. Let it
go to make another stone in that infernal pathway
proverbially paved by good intentions. . . .

She slept ill that night, and breakfasted later
than usual. And she had scarcely finished break-
fasting when a card was handed her, which it
heightened her color a little to peruse.

The card bore Miss Cragge's name, and one
portion of its rather imposing square was filled
with the names of many Eastern and Western
journals besides, of which the owner evidently
desired to record that she was a special correspon-
dent. It seemed to Pauline, while she gazed at
the scrap of pasteboard, that this was exactly the
sort of card which a person like Miss Cragge
would be apt to use for presentation. She was at
a loss to understand why Miss Cragge could have
visited her at all, and perhaps the acquiescing
answer which she presently gave her servant was
given because curiosity surpassed and conquered
repulsion.

254 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

But after the servant had departed, Pauline
regretted that she had agreed to see Miss Cragge.
"What can the woman want of me?" she now
reflected, " except to abuse and possibly insult
me?"

Still, the word had been sent. She must hold
to it.

Pauline gave Miss Cragge a cool yet perfectly
courteous bow, as they met a little later.

" You are Miss Cragge, I believe," she said, very
quietly and amiably.

" Oh, I did n't suppose you 'd forgotten me so
soon ! " came the reproachful and rather unsteady
answer. Miss Cragge had risen some time before
Pauline entered the room, and her gaunt shape,
clad in scant gear, looked notably awkward. Her
street costume was untidy, shabby, and even be-
draggled. She held a bundle of newspapers, which
she shifted nervously from hand to hand.

" You wish to speak with me, then ? " said
Pauline, still courteously.

" Yes," returned Miss Cragge. It was evident
that she underwent a certain distinct agitation.
" I have called upon you, Mrs. Varick, because I
felt that I ought to do so."

" It is, then, a matter of duty, Miss Cragge ? "

" Yes — a matter of duty. A matter of duty

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 255

toward myself. Toward myself as a woman, you
know — I think that I have been wronged —
greatly wronged."

"Not wronged by me, I hope."

" Through you, by someone else."

" I do not understand you."

"I — I shall try to make myself plain."

" I trust you will succeed."

" Oh, I shall succeed," declared Miss Cragge,
gasping a little for breath as she now continued.
" I have an enemy, Mrs. Varick, and that enemy
is your friend. Yes, I mean Mr. Kindelon, of
course. He has set you against me. He has made
you shut your doors upon me. Oh, you need not
deny that this is true. I am perfectly certain of
its truth. I am always received by Hagar Wil-
liamson Dares. She is a noble, true woman, and
she lets me come to her house because she knows
I have my battle to fight, just as she has always
had her own, and that I deserve her sympathy and
her friendship. I don't maintain that I 've been
always blameless. A newspaper woman can't
always be that. She gives wounds, just as she
gets wounds. But I never did Ralph Kindelon
any harm in my life. He hates me, but he has no
business to hate me. I never cared much about
his hatred till now. But now he has shown

256 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

me that he is an active and dangerous enemy.
I mean, of course, about this affair of yours. I
wanted to be invited to your house last evening ;
I expected to be invited. I was on the Dareses'
list. I 'm going to be perfectly candid. It would
have been a feather in my cap to have come here.
I know exactly what your position in society is,
and I appreciate the value of your acquaintance.
If you had snubbed me of your own accord, I
would have pocketed the snub without a murmur.
I 'in used to snubbings ; I have to be, for I get a
good many. Nobody can go abroad picking up
society-items as I do, and not receive the cold
shoulder. But in this case it was no spontaneous
rebuff on your part; it was the malicious inter-
ference of a third party ; it was Kindelon's mean-
spirited persuasion used against me behind my
back. And it has been an injury to me. It 's
going to hurt me more than you think. It has
been found out and talked over that I was dropped
by you . . . Now, I don't want to be dropped. I
want to claim my rights — to ask if you will not
do me justice — if you will not waive any personal
concern with a private quarrel and allow me to
have the same chance that you have given so
many others. To put it plainly and frankly, Mrs.
Varick, I have come here this morning for the

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 257

purpose of asking you if you will uot give me an
invitation to your next entertainment."

All the time she had thus spoken, Miss Cragge
had remained standing. Pauline, who also stood,
had shown no desire that her visitor should sit.
She was biting her lip as Miss Cragge ended, and
her tones were full of a haughty repulsion as she
now said, —

" Really, I am unprepared to give you any an-
swer whatever. But you seem to demand an
answer, and therefore I shall give you one. You
are very straightforward with me, and so I do not
see why I should not be equally straightforward
with you."

Miss Cragge gave a bitter, crisp little laugh.
"I see what is coming," she said. "You think
me abominable, and you are going to tell me
so."

"I should not tell you if I thought it," replied
Pauline. " But I must tell you that I think you
unwarrantably bold."

" And you refuse me any other explanation ? "
now almost panted Miss Cragge. " You will not
give me even the satisfaction of knowing why you
have dropped me ? "

Pauline shook her head. "I do not recognize
your right to question me on that point," she re-

258 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

turned. " You assume to know my reason for not
having asked you here. I object to the form and
the quality of your question. I deny that I have
dropped you, as you choose to term it. I think
your present course a presumptuous one, and I
am ignorant of having violated any rights of
your own by not having sent you a card to my
reception. There are a great many other people
in New York besides yourself to whom I did not
send a card. Any quarrel between you and Mr.
Kindelon is a matter of no concern to me. And
as for my having dealt you an injury, that asser-
tion is quite preposterous. I do not for an instant
admit it, and since your attitude toward me is
painfully unpleasant, I beg that this conversation
may be terminated at once."

" Oh, you show me the door, do you ? " ex-
claimed Miss Cragge. She looked very angry as
she now spoke, and her anger was almost repul-
sively unbecoming. Her next words had the
effect of a harsh snarl. " I might have expected
just this sort of treatment," she proceeded, with
both her dingy-gloved hands manipulating the
bundle of newspapers at still brisker speed. " But
I 'm a very good hater, Mrs. Varick, and I 'm not
stamped on quite so easily as you may suppose. I
usually die pretty hard in such cases, and perhaps

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 259

you '11 find that your outrageous behavior will get
the punishment it merits. Oh, you needn't throw
back your proud head like that, as if I were the
dirt under your feet ! I guess you '11 be sorry
before very long. I intend to make you so if I
can ! "

Pauline felt herself turn pale. " You are inso-
lent," she said, " and I desire you to leave my
house immediately."

Miss Cragge walked to the door, but paused as
she reached its threshold, looking back across one
of her square shoulders with a most malevolent
scowl.

" You 've got no more heart than a block of
wood," she broke forth. " You never had any. I
know all about you. You married an old man for
his money a few years ago. He was old enough
to be your grandfather, and a wretched libertine
at that. You knew it, too, when you married
him. So now that you've got his money you 're
going to play the literary patron with it. And
like the cold-blooded coquette that you are, you 've
made Ralph Kindelon leave poor Cora Dares,
who 's madly in love with him, and dance atten-
dance on yourself. I suppose you think Kindelon
really cares for you. Well, you 're mightily mis-
taken if you do think so, and if he ever marries

260 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

you I guess it won't be long before he makes you
find it out ! "

Miss Cragge disappeared after the delivery of
this tirade, and as she closed the outer hall-door
with a loud slain Pauline had sank into a chair.
She sat thus for a longer time than she knew, with
hands knotted in her lap, and with breast and lips
quivering.

The vulgarity, the brutality of those parting
words had literally stunned her. It is no exag-
geration to state that Miss Cragge's reference to
her marriage had inflicted a positive agony of
shame. But the allusion to Cora Dares' s love for
Kindelon, and to Kindelon's merely mercenary
regard for herself, had also stabbed with depth and
suffering. Was it then true that this man's feel-
ings toward her were only the hypocritical sham
of an aim at worldly advancement ? " How shall
I act to him when we again meet ? " Pauline asked
herself. "If I really thought this charge true, I
should treat him with entire contempt. And have
I the right to believe it true ? This Cragge crea-
ture has a viperish nature. Should I credit such
information from such a source ? "

That was a day of days with poor Pauline.
She seemed to look upon Ralph Kindelon in a
totally new light. She realized that the man's

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 261

brilliant personality had made his society very
dear to her. She told herself that she cared for
him as she had cared for none other in her life.
But the thought that personal ambition was solely
at the root of his devotion affected her with some-
thing not far from horror.

By degrees the memory of Miss Cragge's final
outburst stung her less and less. The whole
speech had been so despicable, the intention to
wantonly insult had been so evident. After a
few hours had passed, Pauline found that she had
regained nearly all her customary composure. She
felt that if Kindelon should come that evening
she could discuss with him calmly and ration-
ally the almost hideous occurrence of the morn-
ing.

He did come, and she told him a great deal, but
she did not tell him all. No mention of Cora
Dares left her lips, nor of the acrid slur at his own
relations toward herself. He listened to the reci-
tal with a face that wrath paled, while it lit a
keener spark in his eyes. But he at length an-
swered in tones thoroughly controlled, if a little
husky and roughened :

" I can scarcely express to you my disgust for
that woman's conduct. I did not think her capa-
ble of it. She represents one of the most baleful

262 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

forces of modern times — the nearly unbridled
license of the newspaper. She has dipped her
pen for years into poisonous ink; she is one of
our American monstrosities and abominations.
Her threat of punishment to you would be ridicu-
lous if it were not so serious."

"You think that she will carry it out'/" asked
Pauline.

" I should not be at all surprised if she did so.''

" Do you mean that she may write some slander-
ous article about me ? "

" It is quite possible."

Pauline gave a plaintive sigh. " Oh, have I no
means of preventing her?" she exclaimed.

Kindelon shook his head negatively. " She at-
tacks from an ambuscade, nearly always," he an-
swered. " There is no such thing as spiking her
guns, for they are kept so hidden. Still, let us
hope for the best."

Pauline burst into tears. "What a wretched
failure I have made of it all ! " she cried. " Ah,
if I had only known sooner that my project would
bring such disaster upon me ! "

" It has brought no disaster as yet," said Kiu-
delon, with a voice full of the most earnest sym-
pathy.

" It has brought distress, regret, torment ! "

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 263

asseverated Pauline, still struggling with her
tears.

" Have you told me all ? " he suddenly asked,
with an acute, anxious look.

" All ? " murmured Pauline.

" Yes. Did that woman say anything more ? "

" Yes," Pauline answered, after a little silence,
with lowered eyes.

"Ah!" sounded Kindelon's exasperated sigh.
" I can almost guess what it was," he went on.
" She was not content, then, with saying atrocious
things of your marriage ; she must couple our
names together — yours and mine."

" She mentioned another name still," said Paul-
ine, who continued to gaze at the floor. " It was
the name of Cora Dares." Pauline lifted her eyes,
now ; they wore a determined, glittering look.
" She said that Cora Dares was madly in love with
you. ' Madly ' struck me as an odd enough word
to apply to that gentle, dignified girl."

" It might well do so ! " burst from Kindelon, in
a smothered voice. He rose and began to pace the
floor. She had never seen him show such an ex-
cited manner ; all his past volatility was as nothing
to it. And yet he was plainly endeavoring to re-
press his excitement. " However," he proceeded,
in a swift undertone, "this absurd slanjder need
not concern you."

264 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" You call it slander, as if you did not really
think it so," she said.

He paused, facing her. "Are you going to let
the venomous spite of an inferior win your respect-
ful credence ? " he questioned.

" We can't help believing certain things," said
Pauline, measuredly, " no matter who utters them.
I believed that Cora Dares was in love with you
before I heard Miss Cragge say it. Or, at least, I
seriously suspected as much. But of course this
could not be a matter of the least concern to my-
self, until" — And here she paused very sud-
denly.

" Well ? " he queried. « Until ? "—

She appeared to reflect, for an instant, on the
advisability of saying more. Then she lifted both
hands, with a tossing, reckless motion. "Oh,"
she declared, " not until that woman had the au-
dacity to accuse me of heartlessly standing in the
path of Cora Dares's happiness — of alienating
your regard from her — of using, moreover, a hate-
fully treacherous means toward this end — a means
which I should despise myself if I ever dreamed
of using ! " . . . Pauline's voice had begun to
tremble while she pronounced the latter word.

"I understand," he said. His own voice was
unsteady, though the anger had in great measure

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 265

left it. To her surprise, he drew quite near her,
and then seated himself close at her side. "If
you did truly care for me," came his next sen-
tence, "how little I should care what false witness
that woman bore against the attachment ! But
since that day down at the Battery, when I wore
my heart on my sleeve so daringly, I have made a
resolve. It will be your fault, too, if I fail to
keep it. And if I do fail, I shall fail most wretch-
edly. I — I shall make a sort of desperate leap
at the barrier which now separates you and
me."

"You say it will be my fault," was Pauline's
response. The color had stolen into her cheeks
before she framed her next sentence, and with a
most clear glow. " How will it be my fault ? "

" You must have given me encouragement," he
said, " or at least something that I shall take for
encouragement."

A silence followed. She was looking straight
at the opposite wall ; her cheeks were almost rose-
ate now ; a tearful light shone in her eyes as his
sidelong look watched them. " Perhaps," she fal-
tered, "you might take for encouragement what
I did not mean as such."

" Ah, that is cruel ! " he retorted.

She turned quickly; she put one hand on his

266 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

arm. " I did not wish to be cruel ! " she affirmed,
gently and very feelingly.

It seemed to her, then, that the strong arm on
which her hand rested underwent a faint tre-
mor.

" It is easy for you to be cruel, where I am con-
cerned."

" Easy ! " she repeated, rapidly withdrawing her
hand, and using a hurt intonation.

He leaned closer to her, then. " Yes," he said.
"And you know why. I have told you of the dif-
ference between us. I have told you, because I
am incessantly feeling it."

" There is a great difference," she answered, with
a brisk little nod, as though of relief and gratifi-
cation. "You have more intellect than I — far
more. You are exceptional, capable, important.
I am simply usual, strenuous, and quite of the
general herd. That is the only difference which
I will admit, although you have reproached me
for practising a certain kind of masquerade — for
secretly respecting the shadow and vanity called
caste, birth, place. Yes," she went on, with a soft
fervor that partook of exultation, while she turned
her eyes upon his face and thought how extraor-
dinary a face it was in its look of power and man-
liness, " I will accede to no other difference than

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 267

this. You are above me, and I will not let you
place yourself on my level ! "

She felt his breath touch her cheek, then, as he
replied : " You are so fine and high and pure that
I think you could love only one whom you set
above yourself — however mistakenly."

"My love must go with respect — always," she
said.

" I ain not worthy of your respect."

" Do you want me to credit Miss Cragge ? "

" Did she say that I was unworthy of it ? "

"I — I cannot tell you what she said on that
point. I would not tell you, though you begged
me to do so."

She saw a bitter smile cross his face, but it lin-
gered there merely an instant. "I can guess," he
avowed, " that she tried to make you believe I do
not really love you ! It is so like her to do
that."

"I — I will say nothing," stammered Pauline,
once more averting her eyes.

Immediately afterward he had taken her hand
in his own. She resisted neither its clasp nor its
pressure.

"You know that I love you," she now heard
him say, though the leap of her heart made his
words sound far off, confused, unreal. " You must

268 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

have known it days ago ! There — my resolve is
broken ! But what can I do ? You have stooped
downward from your high state by telling me that
I am better than you. I am not better than you,
Pauline! I am below you — all the world would
say so except yourself. But you don't care for the
world. Well, then I wril despise it, too, because
you bid me. I never respected what you represent
until you made me respect it by making me love
you. Now I respect and love it, both, because you
are a part of it. This is what your project, your
ambition, has come to. Ah ! how pitiful a failure !
you 're disgusted with your salon — you have been
ill-treated, rebuffed, deceived ! The little comedy
is played to the end — and what remains ? Only
a poor newspaper-fellow, a sort of Irish adventur-
ing journalist, who offers you his worthless heart
to do what you choose with it ! What will you
choose to do with it ? I don't presume to advise,
to demand — not even to ask ! If you said you
would marry Ralph Kindelon }^ou would be mak-
ing a horrible match ! Don't let us forget that.
Don't let us forget how Mrs. Poughkeepsie would
storm and scold ! "

He had both her hands in both his own, now.
She looked at him with eyes that sparkled and
swam in tears. But though she. did not withdraw

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 269

her hands, she receded from him while brokenly
saying :

"I — -I don't care anything about Aunt Cynthia
Poughkeepsie. But there — there is something
else that I do care about. It — it seems to steal
almost like a ghost between us — I can't tell why
— I have no real reason to be troubled as I am —
it is like a last and most severe distress wrought
by this failure of mine with all those new people.
. . It is the thought that }rou have made Cora
Dares believe that you meant to marry her."

Pauline's voice died away wretchedly, and she
drooped her head as the final faint word was
spoken. But she still let Kindelon hold her
hands. And his grasp tightened about them as
she heard him answer :

" I suppose Cora Dares may have believed that . .
But, good God ! am I so much to blame ? I had
never met you, Pauline. It was before I went to
Ireland the last time — I never asked her to
marry me — It was what they call a flirtation.
Am I to be held to account for it? Hundreds
of men have been foolish in this way before my-
self— Have you raised me so high only to dash
me down ? — Won't you speak ? Won't you tell
me that you forgive a dead fancy for the sake of a
living love ? Are you so cruel ? — so exacting ? "

270 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" I am not cruel," she denied, lifting her eyes. . .

It was a good many minutes later that she said
to him, with the tears standing on her flushed
cheeks, and her fluttered voice in truly sad case,

"I — I am going to accept the Irish adventuring
journalist (as — as he calls himself) for my hus-
band, though he — he has never really asked me
yet."

"He could not ask you," affirmed Kindelon,
with by no means his first kiss. "Like every
subject who wishes to marry a princess, he was
forced to recognize a new matrimonial code ! "

XII.

TDAULINE was surprised, during the several
ensuing days, to find how greatly her indigna-
tion toward Miss Cragge had diminished. The
new happiness which had come to her looked in a
way resultant, as she reflected upon it, from that
most trying and oppressive interview.

" I could almost find it in my heart to forgive
her completely," she told Kindelori, with a beam-
ing look.

" I wish that my forgiveness were to be secured
as easily," replied Kindelon.

"Your forgiveness from whom?" asked Paul-
ine, with a pretty start of amazement.

" Oh, you know. From your aunt, the vastly
conservative Mrs. Poughkeepsie, and her equally
conservative daughter."

Pauline gave a laugh of mock irritation. She
could not be really irritated ; she was too drenched
with the wholesome sunshine of good spirits.
"It is so ridiculous, Ralph," she said, "for you to
speak of my relations as if they were my custo-

271

272 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

dians or my patrons. I am completely removed
from them as regards all responsibility, all inde-
pendence. I wish to keep friends with them, of
course ; we are of the same blood, and quarrels
between kinspeople are always in odious taste.
But any very insolent opposition would make me
break with them to-morrow."

" And also with your cousin, Courtlandt Beek-
man ? " asked Kindelon, smiling, though not very
mirthfully.

Pauline put her head on one side. " I draw a
sharp line between him and the Poughkeepsies,"
she said, either seeming to deliberate or else doing
so in good earnest. " We were friends since chil-
dren, Court and I," she proceeded. "I should
hate not to keep friends with Court always."

" You must make up your mind to break with
him," said Kindelon, with undoubted gravity.

" And why ? " she quickly questioned.

" He abominates me."

" Oh, nonsense ! And even if he does, he will
change in time ... I thought of writing him
to-day," Pauline slowly proceeded. "But I did
not. I have put off all that sort of thing shame-
fully."

" All that sort of thing ? "

"Yes — writing to people that I am engaged, you

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 273

know. That is the invariable custom. You must
announce your intended matrimonial step in due
form."

He looked at her with a pitying smile which she
thought became him most charmingly. " And you
have procrastinated from sheer dread, my poor
Pauline ! " he murmured, lifting her hand to his
lips and letting it rest against them. " Dread of
an explosion — of a distressing nervous ordeal.
How I read your adroit little deceits ! "

She withdrew her hand, momentarily counter-
feiting annoyance. " You absurd would-be seer ! "
she exclaimed. " No, I '11 call you a raven. But
you can't depress me by your ominous wing-flap-
ping! I thought Aunt Cynthia would drop in
yesterday; I thought most certainly that she
would drop in to-day. That is my reason for not
making our engagement transpire through letter."

" I see," said Kindelon, with a comic, quizzical
sombreness. "You didn't want to open your
guns on the enemy ; you were waiting for at least
a show of offensive attack. . . "

But, as it chanced, Mrs. Poughkeepsie did
drop in upon Pauline at about two o'clock the
next day. She came unattended by Sallie, but
she had important and indeed momentous news to
impart concerning Sallie. As regarded Pauline's

274 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

engagement, she was, of course, in total ignorance
of it. But she chose to deliver her own supreme
tidings with no suggestion of impulsive haste.

" You are looking very well," she said to Paul-
ine, as they sat on a yielding cachemire lounge
together, in the little daintily-decked lower recep-
tion-room. " And, my dear niece," she continued,
" you must let me tell you that I am full of con-
gratulations at your not being made ill by what
happened here the other evening. Sallie and I
felt for you deeply. It was so apparent to us that
you would never have done it if you had known
how dreadfully it would turn out . . . But there is
no use of raking up old by-gones. You have seen
the folly of the whole thing, of course. My dear,
it has naturally got abroad. The Hackensacks
know it, and the Tremaines, and those irrepres-
sible gossips, the Desbrosses girls. But Sallie and
I have silenced all stupid scandals as best we
could, and merely represented the affair as a
capricious little pleasantry on your part. You
have n't lost caste a particle by it — don't fancy
that you have. You were a Van Corlear, and
you 're now Mrs. Varick, with a great fortune ; and
such a whim is to be pardoned accordingly."

Pauline was biting her lips, now. "I don't
want it to be pardoned, Aunt Cynthia," she said,

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 275

"and I don't hold it either as a capricious pleas-
antry or a whim. It was very serious with me. I
told you that before."

" Truly you did, my dear," said Mrs. Poughkeep-
sie. She laughed a mellow laugh of amusement,
and laid one gloved hand upon Pauline's arm. " But
you saw those horrible people in your drawing-
rooms, and I am sure that this must have satisfied
you that the whole project was impossible . . . en
Vair, my dear, as it unquestionably was. Why,
I assure you that Sallie and I laughed together for
a whole hour after we got home. They were
nearly all such droll creatures! It was like a
fancy-ball without the mask, you know. Upon
my word, I enjoyed it after a fashion, Pauline ; so
did Sallie. One woman always addressed me as
' ma'am.' Another asked me if I ' resided on the
Fifth Avenue.' Still another . . . (no, by the
way, that was n't a woman ; it was a man) . . .
inquired of Sallie whether she danced the Lancers
much in fashionable circles. . . . Oh, how funny
it all was ! And they did n't talk of books in the
least. I supposed that we were to be pelted with
quotations from living and dead authors, and
asked all kinds of radical questions as to what we
had read. But they simply talked to us of the
most ordinary matters, and in a very extraordinary

276 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

way . . . However, let us not concern ourselves
with them any more, my dear. They were horrid,
and you know they were horrid, and it goes with-
out saying that you will have no more to do with
them."

" I thought some of them horrid," said Pauline,
with an ambiguous coolness, " though perhaps I
found them so in a different way from yourself."

Mrs. Poughkeepsie repeated her mellow laugh,
and majestically nodded once or twice as she
did so.

"Well, well, my dear," she recommenced, "let
us dismiss them and forget them ... I hope you
are going out again. You have only to signify a
wish, you know. There will not be the slightest
feeling in society — not the slightest."

"Realty?" said Pauline, with an involuntary
sarcasm which she could not repress.

But her aunt received the sarcasm in impervious
good faith. " Oh, not the slightest feeling," she
repeated. "And I do hope, Pauline," she went
on, with a certain distinct yet unexplained altera-
tion of manner, " that you will make your rentrge,
as it were, at a little dinner I shall give Sallie next
Thursday. It celebrates an event." Here Mrs.
Poughkeepsie paused and looked full at her niece.
" I mean Sallie's engagement."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 277

"Sallie's engagement?" quickly murmured
Pauline. The latter word had carried an instant
personal force of reminder.

" Yes — to Lord Glenartney. You met him
once or twice, I believe."

" Lord Glenartney ! " softly iterated Pauline.
She was thinking what a gulf of difference lay,
for the august social intelligence of her aunt, be-
tween the separate bits of tidings which she and
Mrs. Poughkeepsie had been waiting to impart,
each to each.

" Yes, Glenartney has proposed to dear Sallie,"
began the lady, waxing promptly and magnifi-
cently confidential. "Of course it is a great
match, even for Sallie. There can be no doubt
of that. I don't deny it ; I don't for an instant
shut my eyes to it ; I consider that it would justly
subject me to ridicule if I did. Lord Glenartney
was not expected to marry in this country ; there
was no reason why he should do so. He is im-
mensely rich ; he has three seats, in England and
Scotland. He is twice a Baron, besides being
once an Earl, and is first cousin to the Duke of
Devergoil. Sallie has done well; I wish every-
body to clearly understand, my dear Pauline, that
I think Sallie has done brilliantly and wonderfully
well. A mother always has ambitious dreams for

278 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

her child . . . can a mother's heart help having
them? But in my very wildest dreams I never
calculated upon such a marriage for my darling
child as this!"

Pauline sat silent before her aunt's final out-
burst of maternal fervor. She was thinking of the
silly caricature upon all manly worthiness that the
Scotch peer just named had seemed to her. She
was thinking of her own doleful, mundane mar-
riage in the past. She was wondering what ma-
lign power had so crooked and twisted human
wisdom and human sense of fitness, that a woman
endowed with brains, education, knowledge of
right and wrong, should thus exult (and in the
sacred name of maternity as well !) over a union
of this wofully sordid nature.

"I — I hope Sallie will be happy," she said,
feeling that any real doubt on the point might
strike her aunt as a piece of personal envy. " Cu-
riously enough," she continued, " J, also have to
tell you of an engagement, Aunt Cynthia."

Mrs. Poughkeepsie raised her brows in surprise.
" Oh, you mean poor dear Lily Schenectady. I 've
heard of it. It has come at last, my dear, and he
is only a clerk on about two thousand a year, be-
sides not being of the direct line of the Auchin-
closses, as one might say, but merely a sort of

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 279

obscure relation. Still, it is said that he has fair
expectations ; and then you know that poor dear
Lily's freckles are a drawback, and that she has
been called a spotted lily by some witty persons,
and that it has really become a nickname in
society, and " —

" I did not refer to Lily Schenectady," here in-
terrupted Pauline. "I spoke of myself."

The mine had been exploded. Pauline and Mrs.
Poughkeepsie looked at each other.

" Pauline ! " presently came the faltered an-
swer.

" Yes, Aunt Cynthia, I spoke of myself. I am
engaged to Mr. Kindelon."

"Mr. Kindelon!"

" Yes. I am sure you know who he is."

"Oh, I know who he is." Mrs. Poughkeepsie
spoke these words with a ruminative yet aston-
ished drawl.

"Well, I am engaged to him," said Pauline,
stoutly but not over-assertively. She had never
looked more composed, more simply womanly
than now.

Mrs. Poughkeepsie rose. It always meant some-
thing when this lady rose. It meant a flutter of
raiment, a deliberation of readjustment, a kind of
superb, massive dislocation.

280 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" I am horrified ! " exclaimed the mother of the
future Countess Glenartney.

Pauline rose, then, with a dry, chill gleam in
her eyes. " I think that there is nothing to hor-
rify you," she said.

Mrs. Poughkeepsie gave a kind of sigh that in
equine phrase we might call a snort. Her large
body visibly trembled. She rapidly drew forth a
handkerchief from some receptacle in her ample-
flowing costume, and placed it at her lips. Paul-
ine steadily watched her, with hands crossed a
little below the waist.

" I do so hope that you are not going to faint,
Aunt Cynthia," she said, with a satire that par-
took of strong belligerence.

Mrs. Poughkeepsie, with her applied handker-
chief, did not look at all like fainting as she
glanced above the snowy cambric folds toward her
niece.

"I — I never faint, Pauline ... it is not my
way. I — I know how to bear calamities. But
this is quite horrible ... it agitates me accor-
dingly. I — I have nothing to say and yet I — I
have a great deal to say."

" Then don't say it ! " now sharply rang Paul-
ine's retort.

" Ah ! you lose your temper ? It is just what

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 281

I might have thought — under the circumstan-
ces!"

Pauline clenched her teeth together for a short
space, to keep from any futile disclosure of anger.
And presently she said, with a shrill yet even
directness, —

"What, pray, are the circumstances? I tell
you that I am to marry the man whom I choose
to marry. You advised me — you nearly forced
me, once — to marry the man whom it was an
outrage to make my husband ! "

" Pauline ! "

" What I tell you is true ! He whom I select is
not of your world ! And, by the way, what is your
world ? A little throng of mannerists, snobs, and
triflers ! I care nothing for such a world ! I
want a larger and a better. You say that I have
failed in my effort to break down this barrier
of conservatism which hedged me about from my
birth . . . Well, allow that I have failed in that !
I have not failed in finding some true gold from
all that you sneer at as tawdry dross ! . . . Taw-
dry ! I did well to chance upon the word ! What
was that gentlemanly bit of vice whom you were
so willing I should marry a few years ago ?
You 've just aired your tenets to me ; I '11 air a
few of mine to you now. We live in New York,

282 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

you and I. Do you know what New York means ?
It means what America means — or what America
ought to mean, from Canada to the Gulf! And
that is — exemption from the hateful bonds of
self-glorifying snobbery which have disgraced
Europe for centuries ! You call yourself an aris-
tocrat. How dare you do so ? You dwell in a
land which was washed with the blood, less than
a century ago, of men who died to kill just what
you boast of and exalt ! Look more to your
breeding and your brains, and less to your so-
called caste ! I come of your own race, and can
speak with right about it. What was it, less than
four generations ago? You call it Dutch, and
with a grand air. It flowed in the veins of immi-
grant Dutchmen, who would have opened their
eyes with wonder to see the mansion you dwell
in, the silver forks you eat with ! They dwelt in
wooden shanties and ate with pewter forks . . .
Your objection to my marriage with Ralph Kin-
delon is horrible — that and nothing more ! He
towers above the idiot whom you are glad to have
Sallie marry ! What do I care for the little
'lord'? You bow before it; I despise it. You
call my project, my dream, my desire, a failure . . .
I grant that it is. But it is immeasurably above
that petty worship of the Golden Calf, which you

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

name respectability and which I denounce as only
a pitiful sham ! The world is growing older, but
you don't grow old with it. You close your eyes
to all progress. You get a modish milliner, you
keep your pew in Grace Church, you drop a big
coin into the plate when a millionaire hands it to
you, and you are content. Your contentment is
a pitiful fraud. Your purse could do untold good,
and yet you keep it clasped — or, if you loose the
clasp, you do it with a flourish, a vogue, an 6dat.
. . . Mrs. Amsterdam has done the same for this
or that asylum or hospital, and so you, with fash-
ionable acquiescence, do likewise. And you —
you, Cynthia Poughkeepsie, who tried to wreck
my girlish life and almost succeeded — you, who
read nothing of what great modern minds in their
grandly helpful impulse toward humanity are try-
ing to make humanity hear — you, who think the
fit set of a patrician's gown above the big struggle
of men and women to live — you, who immerse
yourself in idle vanities and talk of everyone out-
side your paltry pale as you would talk of dogs —
you dare to upbraid me because I announce to
you that I will marry a man whom power
of mind makes your superior, and whom natu-
ral gifts of courtesy make far more than your
equal 1 "

284 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

As Pauline hotly finished she saw her aunt re-
cede many steps from her.

"Oh, this — this is frightful!" gasped Mrs.
Poughkeepsie. " It — it is the theatre ! You will
go. on the stage, I suppose. It seems to me you
have done everything but go on the stage, already !
That would be the crowning insult to yourself—
to your family ! "

" I shan't go on the stage," shot Pauline, " be-
cause I have no talent for it. If I had talent,
perhaps I would go. I think it a far better life
for an American woman than to prate triumph-
antly about marrying her daughter to a titled
English fool!"

Mrs. Poughkeepsie uttered a cry, at this point.
She passed from the room, and Pauline, overcome
with the excess of her disclaimer, soon afterward
sank upon a chair . . .

An almost hysterical fit of weeping at once
followed ... It must have been a half-hour later
when she felt Kindeloii's face lowered to her own.
He had nearly always come, since their engage-
ment, at more or less unexpected hours.

"Some hateful thing has happened," he said
very tenderly ; " whom have you seen ? Why do
you sob so, Pauline ? Have you seen her ? Has
Cora Dares been here?"

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 285

Pauline almost sprang from her chair, facing
him. "Cora Dares," she cried, plaintively and
with passion. " Why do you mention her name
now?"

Kindelon folded her in his strong arms. " Paul-
ine," he expostulated, "be quiet! I merely
thought of what you yourself had told me, and of
what I myself had told youl What is it, then,
since it is not she ? Tell me, and I will listen as
best I can."

She soon began to tell him, leaning her head
upon his broad breast, falteringly and with occa-
sional severe effort.

" I — I was wrong," she at length finished. " I
should not have spoken so rashly, so madly . . .
But it was all because of you, Ralph — because of
my love for you ! "

He pressed her more closely within the arms
that held her.

" I don't blame you ! " he exclaimed. " You
were wrong, as you admit that you were wrong
. . . but I don't blame you ! "

XTIL

r I THAT night was an almost sleepless one for
Pauline, and during the next morning she
was in straits of keen contrition. Theoretically
she despised her aunt, but in reality she despised
far more her own loss of control. Her self-humili-
ation was so pungent, indeed, that when, at twelve
o'clock on this same day, Courtlandt's card was
handed to her, she felt a strong desire to escape
seeing him, through the facile little falsehood of a
" not at home." But she concluded, presently,
that it would be best to face the situation at once,
since avoidance would be simply postponement.
Courtlandt was as inevitable as death ; he must
be met sooner or later.

She met him. She did not expect that he would
offer her his hand, and she made no sign of offer-
ing her own. He was standing near a small table,
as she entered, and his attention seemed much oc-
cupied with some exquisitely lovely roses in a vase
of aerial porcelain. He somehow contrived not
286

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 287

wholly to disregard the roses while he regarded
Pauline. It was very cleverly done, and with that
unconscious quiet which stamped all his clever
doings.

" These are very nice," he said, referring to the
roses. He had a pair of tawny gloves grasped in
one hand, and he made an indolent, whipping
gesture toward the vase while Pauline seated her-
self. But he still remained standing.

" Yes," she replied, as we speak words automati
cally. " They are rare here, but I know that kind
of rose in Paris."

" Did your future husband send them ? " asked
Courtlandt. His composure was superb. He did
not look at Pauline, but with apparent carelessness
at the flowers.

" Yes," she said ; and then, after a slight pause,
she added : " Mr. Kindelon sent them."

Courtlandt fixed his eyes upon her face, here.
" Was n't it rather sudden ? " he questioned.

" My engagement ? "

" Your engagement."

" Sudden ? Well, I suppose so."

" I did n't expect it quite yet."

She gave a little laugh which sounded thin and
paltry to her own ears. " That means you were
prepared for it, then ? "

288 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" Oh, I saw it coming."

" And Aunt Cynthia has told you, no doubt."

" Yes. Aunt Cynthia has told me. I felt that
I ought to drop in with my congratulations."

Pauline rose now ; her lips were trembling, and
her voice likewise, as she said : —

" I do hope that you give them sincerely,
Court."

" Oh, if you put it in that way, I don't give
them at all."

" Then you came here to mock me ? "

" I don't know why I came here. I think it
would have been best for me not to come. I
thought so when I decided to come. Probably
you do not understand this. I can't help you, in
that case, for I don't understand it myself."

" I choose to draw my own conclusions, and
they are kindly and friendly ones. Never mind
how or what I understand. You are here, and
you have said nothing rude yet. I hope you are
not going to say anything rude, for I have n't the
heart to pick a quarrel with you — one of our old,
funny, soon-healed quarrels, you know. I am too
happy, in one way, and too repentant in another."

" Repentant ? "

" Yes. I said frightful things yesterday to Aunt
Cynthia. I dare say she has repeated them."

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 289

" Oh, yes, she repeated every one of them."

"And no doubt with a good deal of wrathful
embellishment ! " here exclaimed Pauline, brist-
ling.

" Do you think they would bear decoration ?
Would n't it be like putting a cupola on the apex
of the Trinity Church steeple ? "

" Not at all ! " cried Pauline. " I might have
said a great deal worse! Oceans and continents
lie between Aunt Cynthia and myself! And I
told her so ! "

" Really ? I thought you were at pretty close
quarters with each other, judging from her account
of the row."

" There was no row I " declared Pauline, draw-
ing herself up very finely. " What did she accuse
me of saying, please ? "

u Oh, I forget. She said you abused her like a
pickpocket for not liking the man you 're engaged
to."

Pauline shrugged her shoulders, in the manner
of one who thinks better of the angry mood, and
handsomely abjures it. " Positively, Courtlandt,"
she said, " I begin to think you had no purpose
whatever in coming here to-day."

His sombre brown eyes began to sparkle, though
quite faintly, as he now fixed them upon her. " I

290 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

certainly had one purpose," he said. She saw
that his right hand had thrust itself into the
breast of his coat, as though it searched there for
something. " I wanted to show you this, as I im-
agined that you don't see the horrid little sheet
called ' The Morning Monitor,' " he proceeded.

" * The Morning Monitor ' ! " faltered Pauline,
with a sudden grievous premonition, as she watched
her cousin draw forth a folded newspaper. " No,
I never heard of it."

" It has evidently heard of you," he answered.
" I never read the vilely personal little affair. But
a kind friend showed me this issue of to-day. Just
glance at the second column on the second page —
the one which is headed ' The Adventures of a
Widow' — and tell me what you think of it."

Pauline took the newspaper with unsteady hand.
She sank into her chair again, and began to read
the column indicated. The journal which she
now held was one of recent origin in New York,
and it marked the lowest ebb of scandalous news-
paper license. It had secured an enormous circu-
lation; it was already threatening to make its
editor a Croesus. It traded, in the most unblush-
ing way, upon the curiosity of its subscribers for
a knowledge of the peccadilloes, imprudences, and
general private histories of prominent or wealthy

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 291

citizens. It was a ferret that prowled, prodded,
bored, insinuated. It was utterly lawless, utterly
libellous. It left not even Launcelot brave nor
Galahad pure. It was one of those detestable
opportunities which this nineteenth century, not-
withstanding a thousand evidences of progress,
thrusts into the hands of cynics and pessimists to
rail against the human nature of which they them-
selves are the most melancholy product. It had
had suits brought against it, but the noble sale of
its copies rendered its heroic continuation possible.
Truth, crushed to earth, may rise again, but scur-
rilous slander, in the shape of " The Morning Mon-
itor," remained capably erect. It fed and throve
on its own dire poison.

Pauline soon found herself reading, with misty
eyes and indignant heart-beats, a ^. •"" ^f baleful
biography of herself, in which her career, from her
rash early marriage until her recent entertainment
of certain guests, was mercilessly parodied, ridi-
culed, vilified. These pages will not chronicle in
any unsavory details what she read. It was an
article of luridly intemperate style, dissolute gram-
mar, and gaudy rhetoric. It bit as a brute bites,
and stung as a wasp stings, without other reason
that that of low, dull spleen. It mentioned no
other name than Kindelon's, but it shot from that

292 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

one name a hundred petty shafts of malign innu-
endo.

" Oh, this is horrible ! " at length moaned Paul-
ine. She flung the paper down; the tears had
begun to stream from her eyes. " What shall I
do against so hideous an attack ? "

Courtlandt was at her side in an instant. He
caught her hand, and the heat of his own was like
that of fever.

" Do but one thing ! " he said, with a vehemence
all the more startling because of his usual unvaried
composure. " Break away from this folly once
and forever ! You know that I love you — that I
have loved you for years ! Don't tell me that you
don't know it, for at the best you 've only taught
yourself to forget it ! I 've never said that I
loved you before, but what of that? You have
seen the truth a hundred times — in my sober
way of showing it ! I 've never thought that you
returned the feeling ; I don't even fancy so now.
But I 'm so fond of you, Pauline, that I want you
to be my wife, merely liking and respecting me.
I hate to shame myself by even speaking of your
money, but you can sign that all away to some
hospital to-morrow, if you please — you can get it
all together and throw it into the North River, as
far as I am concerned ! Send Kindelon adrift —

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 293

jilt him ! On my soul I beg this of you for your
own future happiness more than anything else !
I don't say that it will be a square or right thing
to do. But it will save you from the second hor-
rible mistake of your life ! You made one, that
death saved you from. But this will be worse.
It will last your lifetime. Kindelon is n't of your
monde, and never can be. There is so much in
that. I am not speaking like a snob. But he has
no more sense of the proprieties, the nice exter-
nals, the way of doing all those thousand trifling
things, which, trifling as they are, make up three-
quarters of actual existence, than if he were an
Indian, a Bedouin, or a gypsy ! Before Heaven,
Pauline, if I thought such a marriage could bring
you happiness, I 'd give you up without a mur-
mur I I 'm not fool enough to die, or pine, or even
mope because of any woman on the globe not car-
ing for me ! But now, by giving me the right to
guard you — by making me so grateful to you
that only the rest of my life can fitly show my
gratitude, you will escape calamity, distress, and
years of remorse ! "

1 It had hardly seemed to her, at first, as if Court-
landt were really speaking ; this intensity was so
entirely uncharacteristic of him ; these rapid tones
and spirited glances were so remote from his

294 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

accustomed personality. Yet by degrees she re-
cognized not alone the quality of the change, but
its motive and source. She could not but feel
tenderly toward him then. She was a woman,
and he had told her that he loved her ; this bore
its inevitable condoning results.

And yet her voice was almost stern as she now
said to him, rising, and repelling the hand by
which he still strove to clasp her own, —

" I think you admitted that if I broke my en-
gagement with Ralph Kindelon it would not be —
I use your own words, Court — the square or right
thing to do ... Well, I shall not do it ! There,
I hope you are satisfied."

He looked at her with a surpassing pain. His
hands, while they hung at his sides, knotted them-
selves. " Oh, Pauline," he exclaimed, " I am not
satisfied ! "

She met his look steadily. The tears in her
eyes had vanished, though those already shed
glistened on her cheeks. " Very well. I am
sorry. I love Ralph Kindelon. I mean to be his
wife."

" You meant to be Varick's wife."

" It is horrible for you to bring that up ! " she
cried. " Here I commit no mistake. He is a man
of men ! He loves me, and I love him. Do you

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 295

know anything against him — outside of the codes
and creeds that would exclude him from one of
Aunt Cynthia's dancing-classes?"

" I know this against him ; he is not true. He
is not to be trusted. He rings wrong. He is not
a gentleman — in the sense quite outside of Aunt
Cynthia's definition."

" It is false ! " exclaimed Pauline, crimsoning.
" Prove to me," she went on, with fleet fire, " that
he is not true — not to be trusted. I dare you to
prove it."

He walked slowly toward the door. " It is an
intuition," he said. " I can't prove it. I could as
soon tell you who wrote that villainous thing in
the newspaper there."

Pauline gave a laugh of coldest contempt.
" Oh," she cried, " in a moment more you will be
saying that he wrote it ! "

Courtlandt shook his head. The gesture con-
veyed, in some way, an excessive and signal sad-
ness.

" In a moment more," he answered, " I shall be
saying nothing to you. And I don't know that I
shall ever willingly come into your presence again.
Good-by."

Pauline gave no answer, sinking back into her
seat as he disappeared.

296 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

Her eye lighted upon the fallen newspaper while
she did so. Its half-cruinpled folds made her for-
get that her cousin was departing. She suddenly
sprang up again, and caught the sheet from the
floor. A fire was blazing near by. She hurried
toward the grate, intending to destroy the printed
abomination.

But, pausing half-way, she once more burst into
tears. A recollection cut her to the heart of how
futile would be any attempt, now, to destroy the
atrocious wrong itself. That must live and work
its unmerited ill.

" And to this dark ending," she thought, with
untold dejection, " has come my perfectly honest
ambition — my fair and proper and wholesome
plan ! " And then, abruptly, her tearful eyes be-
gan to sparkle, while a bright, mirthless smile
touched her lips.

" But I can at least have my retort," she decided.
" He will help me — stand by me in this miserable
emergency. I will send for him, — yes, I will send
for Ralph at once ! He will do just as I dictate,
and I know what I shall dictate ! Miss Cragge
wrote that base screed, and Miss Cragge shall
suffer accordingly I "

XIV.

O HE sent for Kindelon at once, but before her
message could possibly have reached the office
of the " Asteroid," he presented himself.

He had recently seen the article, and told her so
with a lover-like tenderness that she found bal-
samic, if not precisely curative.

" It is fiendish," he at length said, " and if I
thought any man had done it I would thrash him
into confessing so. But I am nearly sure that a
woman did it."

" Miss Cragge ? "

" Yes."

" You can't thrash her, Ralph. But you can
punish her."

"How?"

"Through your own journal — the 'Asteroid.'
You can show the world just what a virago
she is."

" No," he replied, after a reflective pause, " that
can't be."

" Can't be ! " exclaimed Pauline, almost hysteri-

297

298 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

cally reproachful. "The 'Asteroid' can call the
' Herald,' the ' Times ' and the ' Tribune ' every
possible bad name; it can fly at the throats of
politicians whom it doesnrt indorse; it can seethe
and hiss like a witch's caldron in editorials about
some recent regretted measure at Alban}r ! But
when I ask it to defend me against slanderous
ridicule it refuses — it " —

" Ah," cried Kindelon, interrupting her, " it re-
fuses because it is powerless to defend you."

" Powerless ! "

" Qui ^excuse s'accuse. Any attempted vindi-
cation would be merely to direct the public eye
still more closely upon this matter. All evil
things hold' within themselves the germ of their
own destruction. Let this villainy die a natural
death, Pauline; to fight it will be to perpetuate
its power. In the meanwhile I can probably gain
a clue to its authorship. But I do not promise,
mind. No, I do not promise ! "

"And this is all!" faltered Pauline. "Oh,
Ralph, according to your argument, every known
wrong should be endured because of the notoriety
which attaches to the redressing of it."

He looked very troubled and very compassionate
as he answered her. " The notoriety is in many
cases of no importance, my love. If I were

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 299

coarsely assailed, for instance, I should not hesi-
tate to openly confront my assailant. But with a
pure woman it is different; and with some pure
women — yourself I quote as a most shining ex-
ample of these latter — it is unspeakably different I
The chastity of some names is so perfect that any
touch whatever will soil it."

" If so, then mine has been soiled already ! "
cried Pauline. "Oh," she went on, "you men
are all alike toward us women ! Our worst crime
is that you yourselves should talk about us ! To
have your fellow-men say, ' This woman has been
rendered the object of a scandalous insult, but has
retaliated with courage,' is to make her seem in
your eyes as if the insult were really a deserved
one ! Whenever we are prominent, except in a
social way, we are called notorious. If our hus-
bands are drunkards or brutes who abuse us, and
we fly to the refuge of the divorce-court, we are
notorious. If we go on the stage, no matter how
well we may guard our honest womanhood there,
we are notorious. If we turn ministers, doctors,
lecturers, philanthropists, political agitators, it is
all the same; we are observed, discussed, criti-
cised ; hence we are notorious. Now, I 've never
rebslled against this finely just system, though
like nearly all other yoked human beings I have

300 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

indulged certain private views upon my own bond-
age. And in my case it was hardly a bondage.
. . . Except for certain years where discontent
was in a large measure remorse, I have been lifted
by exceptional circumstance above those pangs
and torments which I have felt certain must have
beset many another woman through no act of
her own. But now an occasion suddenly dawns
when I find myself demanding a man's full jus-
tice. To tell me that I can't get it because I
am a woman is no answer whatever. I want it,
all the same."

Kindelon gazed at her with a sort of woe-begone
amazement. " I don't tell you that you can't get
it, as far as it is to be had," he almost groaned.
" I merely remind you that this is the nineteenth
century, and neither the twentieth nor the twenty-
first."

Pauline gave a fierce little motion of her shapely
head. " I am reminded of that nearly every day
that I live," she retorted. " You fall back, of
course, upon public opinion. All of you always
do, where a woman is concerned, whenever you
are cornered. And it is so easy to corner you —
to make you swing at us this cudgel of ' domes-
tic retirement ' and ' feminine modesty.' I once
talked for two hours in Paris with one of the

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 301

strongest French radical thinkers of modern times.
For the first hour and a half he delighted me ; he
spoke of the immense things that modern scientific
developments were doing for the human race.
For the last half-hour he disgusted me. And
why ? I discovered that his ' human race ' meant
a race entirely masculine. He left woman out of
the question altogether. She might get along the
best way she could. When he spoke of his own
sex he was superbly broad ; when he spoke of ours
he was narrower than any Mohammedan with a
harem full of wives and a prospective Paradise
full of subservient houris."

Kindelon rose and began to pace the floor,
with his hands clasped behind him. "Well," he
said, in a tone of mild distraction, " I 'm very
sorry for your famous French thinker. I hope
you don't want me to tell you that I sympathize
with him."

" I 'm half inclined to believe it ! " sped Paul-
ine. " If my cousin Courtlandt had spoken as
you have done, I should have accepted such ideas
as perfectly natural. Courtlandt is the incarna-
tion of conventionalism. He is part of the rush in
our social wheelwork, and yet he makes it move
more slowly. He could no more pull up his win-
dow-shades and let in fresh sunshine than you

302 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW,

could close your shutters and live in his decorous
demijour !"

Kindeloii still continued his impatient pacing.
" I'm very glad of your favorable comparison," he
said, with more sadness than satire. He abruptly
paused, then, facing Pauline. " What is it, in
Heaven's name, that you want me to do ? "

" You should not ask ; you should know ! " she
exclaimed. Her clear-glistening eyes, her flushed
cheeks, and the assertive, almost imperious posture
of her delicate figure made her seem to him a
rarely beautiful vision as he now watched her.
" Reflect, pray reflect," she quickly proceeded,
" upon the position in which I now stand ! I at-
tempted to do what if I had been a much better
woman than I am it would not at all have been a
blameworthy thing to do. The result was failure;
it was failure through no fault of my own. I
found myself in a clique of wrangling egotists,
and not in a body of sensible co-operative sup-
porters. Chief among these was Miss Cragge,
whose repulsive traits I foresaw — or rather you
aided me to foresee them. I omitted her from my
banquet (very naturally and properly, I maintain),
and this is the apple of discord that she has
thrown." Here Pauline pointed to the fatal news-
paper, which lay not far off. " Of course," she

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 303

went on, with a very searching look at Kindelon,
" there can be no doubt that Miss Cragge is the
offender! I, for my part, am certain of it; you,
for yours, are certain as well, unless I greatly err.
But this makes your refusal to publicly chastise
her insolence all the more culpable ! "

" Culpable ! " he echoed, hurrying toward her.
" Pauline ! you don't know what you are saying !
Have I the least pity, the least compunction to-
ward that woman ? "

Pauline closed her eyes for an instant, and
shook her head, with a repulsing gesture of one
hand. " Then you have a very false pity toward
another woman — and a very false compunction
as well," she answered.

"How can I act, situated as I am?" he cried,
with sharp excitement. " You have not yet al-
lowed our engagement to transpire. What visible
or conceded rights have I to be your defender ? "

" You are unjust," she said. . " I give you every
right. That article insinuates that I am a sort of
high-bred yet low-toned adventuress. No lad//
could feel anything but shame and indignation at
it. Besides, it incessantly couples your name with
mine. . . . And as for right to be my champion in
exposing and rebuking this outrage, I — I give you
every right, as I said."

304 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW,

" I desire but one," returned Kindelon. His
voice betrayed no further perturbation. He seated
himself at her side, and almost by force took both
her hands in the strong grasp of both his own.

" What right ? " she questioned. Her mood of
accusation, of reproach, was not yet quieted; her
eyes still sparkled from it; her restless lips still
betrayed it.

" The right," he answered, " of calling you my
wife. As it is, what am I ? A man far below you
in all worldly place, who has gained from you a
matrimonial promise. Marry me ! — marry me at
once ! — to-morrow ! — and everything will be dif-
ferent ! Then you shall have become mine to de-
fend, and I will show you how I can defend what
is my own ! "

" To-morrow ! " murmured Pauline.

" Yes, to-morrow ! You will say it is too soon.
You will urge conventionalism now, though a min-
ute ago you accused me of urging it ! When you
are once my wife I shall feel empowered to law-
fully befriend you ! "

" Lawfully ! " she repeated. " Can you not do
so manfully, as it is ? "

"No — not without the interfering claims and
assertions of your family ! "

" I have no real family. And those whom you

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 305

call such are without the right of either claim or
assertion, as regards any question of what I choose
or do not choose to do ! "

He still retained her hands; he put his lips
against her cheek; he would not let her with-
draw, though she made a kind of aggrieved effort
to do so.

" They have no rights, Pauline, and yet they
would overwhelm me with obloquy! As your
husband — once as your wedded, chosen husband,
what should I care for them all ? I would laugh
at them ! Make it to-morrow ! Then see how I
will play my wife's part, and fight her battle ! " . . .

They talked for some time after this in lowered
tones . . . Pauline was in a wholly new mood
when she at length said, —

" To-morrow, then, if you choose."

" You mean it ? You promise it ? "

" I mean it — and I promise it, since you seem
so doubtful."

" I am doubtful," he exclaimed, kissing her,
" because I can scarcely dream that this sudden
happiness has fallen to me from the stars ! " . . .

When he had left her, and she was quite alone,
Pauline found her lips murmuring over the words,
in a sort of mechanical repetition : " I have prom-
ised to marry him to-morrow."

306 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

She had indeed made this vow, and as a very
sacred erne. And the more that she reflected upon
it the more thoroughly praiseworthy a course it
seemed. Her nearest living relations were the
Poughkeepsies and Courtlandt. She had quar-
relled with both — or it meant nearly the same
thing. There was no one left to consult. Besides,
even if there had been, why should she consult
any third party in this affair, momentous though
it was ? She loved ; she was beloved. She was
a widow with a great personal, worldly indepen-
dence. She had already been assailed; what mat-
tered a little more assailance ? For most of those
who would gossip and sneer she had a profound
and durable contempt -. . . Why, then, should she
regret her spoken word ?

And yet she found herself not so much regret-
ting it as fearing lest she might regret it. She
suddenly felt the need, and in keenest way, of a
near confidential, trustworthy friend. But her
long residence abroad had acted alienatingly
enough toward all earlier American friendships.
She could think of twenty women — married, or
widows like herself — who would have received
her solicited counsel with every apparent sign of
sympathy. But with all these she had lost the
old intimate sense ; new ground must be broken

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 307

in dealing with them ; their views and creeds were
what her own had been when she had known and
prattled platitudes with them before her dolorous
marriage : or at least she so chose to think, so
chose to decide.

" There is one whom I could seek, and with
whom I could seriously discuss the advisability of
such a speedy marriage," at length ran Pauline's
reflections. " That one is Mrs. Dares. Her large,
sweet, just mind would be quite equal to telling
me if I am really wrong or right . . . Still, there
is an obstacle — her daughter, Cora. Yet that
would make no difference with Mrs. Dares. She
would be above even a maternal prejudice. She is
all gentle equity and disinterested kindliness. I
might see her alone — quite alone — this evening.
Neither Cora nor the sister, Martha, need know
anything. I would pledge her to secrecy before I
spoke a word ... I will go to her ! I will go to
Mrs. Dares, and will ask her just what I ought to
do."

This resolve strengthened with Pauline after she
had once made it. The hour was now somewhat
late in the afternoon. She distrusted the time of
Mrs. Dares's arrival up-town from her work, and
decided that the visit had best be paid at about
seven o'clock that same evening.

308 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

A little later she was amazed to receive the card
of Mr. Barrowe. She went into her reception-
room to see this gentleman, with mingled amuse-
ment and awkwardness ; she was so ignorant what
fatality had landed him within her dwelling.

" I scarcely know how to greet you, Mr. Bar-
rowe," she said, after giving a hand to her guest.
" You and I parted by no means peacefully last
night, and I — I am (yes, I confess it !) somewhat
unprepared "...

At this point Mr. Barrowe made voluble inter-
ruption. His little twinkling eyes looked smaller
and acuter than before, and his gaunt, spheroidal
nose had an unusual pallor as it rose from his
somewhat depressed cheeks.

" You need n't say you are unprepared, Mrs.
Varick ! " he exclaimed. " I am unprepared my-
self. I had no idea of visiting you this afternoon.
I had no idea that you would again give me the
pleasure of receiving me. Handicapped as I am,
myself, by visits, letters, applications, mercantile
matters, I have insisted, however, on getting rid of
all — yes, all trammels."

Here Mr. Barrowe paused, and Pauline gently
inclined her head, saying, —

" That is very good of you. Pray proceed."

"Proceed I" cried Mr. Barrowe. He had al-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 309

ready seated himself, but he now rose, approached
Pauline, took her hand, and with an extravagant
gallantry which his lank body caused closely to
verge upon the ludicrous, lifted this hand cere-
moniously to his pale lips. Immediately afterward
he resumed his seat. And at once he recom-
menced speaking.

" I feel that I — I owe you the most profound
of apologies," he declared, with a hesitation that
seemed to have a sincere emotional origin. "Handi-
capped as I am by a hundred other matters, be-
sieged as I am by bores who want my autograph,
by people who desire me to write for this or that
journal, by people who desire consultation with
me on countless literary or even commercial sub-
jects, I nevertheless have felt it a question of con-
science to pay you this visit."

" A question of conscience ? " said Pauline,
suavely.

" Yes, Mrs. Varick. I — I have seen that strin-
gently objectionable article in the . . . ahem . . .
the ' Morning Monitor.' May I ask if you also
have seen it ? And pray be sure that when I thus
ask I feel confident you must have seen it, since
bad tidings travel quickly, and "...

" Yes, Mr. Barrowe, I have seen it," said Paul-
ine, interrupting another thin, diplomatic sort of

310 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

cough on the part of her visitor. " And I should
be glad if you could tell me what devoted foe
wrote it."

Mr. Barrowe now trembled with eagerness.
"I — I can tell you!" he exclaimed. l- It — it
was that unhappy Miss Cragge ! I had in > sooner
read it, in my office this morning, than 1 was at-
tacked by a conviction — an absolute conviction
— that she wrote it. Handicapped, besieged as
I am . . . but let that pass "...

"Yes — let that pass," softly cried Pauline,
meaning no discourtesy, yet bent upon reaching
the bare fact and proof. " You say that you are
sure that Miss Cragge wrote the article ? "

" Positively certain," asseverated Mr. Barrowe.
" I went to the lady at once. I found her at her
desk in the office of — well, let us not mind ivhat
newspaper. I upbraided her with having written
it ! I was very presumptuous, perhaps — very dic-
tatorial, but I did not care. I had stood up for
the lady, not many evenings ago, at the risk of
your displeasure."

" The lady ! " repeated Pauline, half under her
breath, and with a distinct sneer. " Go on, please,
Mr. Barrowe. Did Miss Cragge confess?"

" Miss Cragge did not confess. But she showed
such a defiant tendency not to confess -- she

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 311

treated me with such an overbearing pugnacious-
ness and disdain, that before I had been five
minutes in her society I had no doubts whatever
as to the real authorship of the shocking article.
And now, Mrs. Varick, I wish to offer you my
most humble and deferential apologies. I wish to
tell you how deeply and sincerely sorry I am for
ever having entered into the least controversy
with you regarding that most aggressive and veno-
mous female ! For, my dear madam, besieged and
handicapped though I may be by countless "...

" Don't offer me a word of apology, Mr. Bar-
rowe ! " here struck in Pauline, jumping up from
her seat and seizing the hand of her guest. " It
is quite needless ! I owe you more than you owe
me ! You have told me the name of my enemy,
of which I was nearly certain all along." And
here Pauline gave the gentleman's bony and ca-
daverous face one of those glances which those
who liked her best thought the most charming.

" I had been told," she went on, with a very
winning intonation, " that you have a large, warm
heart!"

" Who — who told you that ? " murmured Mr.
Barrowe, evidently under the spell of his hostess's
beauty and grace.

" Mr. Kindelon," Pauline said, gently.

312 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" Kindelon ! " exclaimed Mr. Barrowe, " why he
is my worst enemy, as — as I fear, my dear madam,
that Miss Cragge is yours ! "

"Oh, never mind Miss Cragge," said Pauline,
with a sweet, quick laugh ; " and never mind Mr.
Kindelon, either. I have only to talk about you,
Mr. Barrowe, and to tell you that I have never yet
met a good, true man (for I am certain that you are
such) who stood in his own light so persistently
as you do. You have an immense talent for
quarrelling," she went on, with pretty seriousness.
" Neglect it — crush it down — be yourself !
Yourself is a very honest and agreeable self to be.
I am always on the side of people with good in-
tentions, and I am sure that yours are of the best.
A really bitter-hearted man ruffles people, and so
do you. But your motives for it are as different
from his as malice is different from dyspepsia. I
am sure you are going to reform from this hour."

" Reform ? " echoed Mr. Barrowe.

Pauline gave a laugh of silver clearness and
heartiest mirth. As often happens with us when
we are most assailed by care, she forgot all present
misery for at least the space of a minute or so.

" Yes," she cried, with a bewitching glee quite
her own and by no means lost upon her somewhat
susceptible listener, "you are going to conform

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 313

the Mr. Barruwe of real life to the Mr. Barrowe
who writes those brilliant, judicial, and trenchant
essays. Oh, I have read them ! You need not
fancy that I am talking mere foundationless flat-
tery such as you doubtless get from many of those
people who . . . well, who handicap you, you
know . . . And your reformation is to begin at
once. I am to be your master. I have a lot of
lessons to teach ! "

" When are your instructions to begin ? " said
Mr. Barrowe, with a certain awkward yet positive
gallantry. " I am very anxious to receive them."

" Your first intimation of them will be a request
to dine with me. Will you accept? — you and
your wife of course/'

"But my wife is an invalid. She never goes
anywhere."

" I hope, however, that she sometimes dines."

" Yes, she dines, poor woman . . . incidentally."

" Then she will perhaps give me an incidental
invitation to break bread . . . Oh, my dear Mr.
Barrowe, what I mean is simply that I want to
know you better, and so acquire the right to tell
you of a few superficial faults which prevent
all the world from recognizing your kindly soul.
I ..."

But here Pauline paused, for a servant entered

314 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW,

with a card. She glanced at the card, and made
an actually doleful grimace.

"Mr. Leander Prawle is here," she said to her
visitor.

Mr. Barrowe gave a start. " In that case I must
go," he said. "I once spoke ill of that young
gentleman's most revered poem, and since then he
has never deigned to notice me."

" But you will not forget the dinner, and what
is to follow," said Pauline, as she shook hands.

" No," Mr. Barrowe protested. " If 3-011 cleave
my heart in twain I shall try to live the better
with the other half of it."

"I should not like to cleave it in twain," said
Pauline. "It is too capable and healthy a heart
for that. I should only try to make it beat with
more temperate strokes . . Au revoir, then. If you
should meet Mr. Prawle outside, tell him that you
are sorry."

" Sorry ? But his poem was abominable ! "

"All the more reason for you to be magnani-
mously sorry . . Ah, here he is ! "

Here Mr. Leander Prawle indeed was, but as
he entered the room Mr. Barrowe slipped past
him, and with a suddenness that almost prevented
his identification on the part of the new-comer . .

"Mrs. Varick," exclaimed Leander Prawle,

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 315

while he pressed the hand of his hostess. "I
came here because duty prompted me to come."

"I hope pleasure had a little to do with the
matter, Mr. Prawle," said Pauline, while indicat-
ing a lounge on which they were both presently
seated.

Mr. Prawle looked just as pale as when Pauline
had last seen him, just as dark-haired, and just as
dark-eyed ; but the ironical fatigue had somehow
left his visage ; there was a totally new expression
there.

" I suppose," he began, with his black eyes very
fixedly directed upon Pauline's face, " that you
have heard of the . . the ' Morning Monitor's '
outrageous ..."

"Yes, Mr. Prawle," Pauline broke in. "I have
heard all about it."

" And it has pained you beyond expression ! "
murmured the young poet. " It must have done
so!"

"Naturally," replied Pauline.

"It . . it has made me suffer ! " asserted the
new visitor, laying one slim, white hand upon the
region of his heart.

" Really ? " was the answer. " That is very
nice and sympathetic of you."

Mr. Prawle regarded her with an unrelaxed and

316 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

very fervid scrutiny. He now spoke in lowered.
an4 emotional tones, leaning toward his hearer
so that his slender body made quite an exagger-
ated curve.

"My whole soul," he said, "is brimming with
sympathy ! "

Pauline conquered her amazement at this en-
tirely unforeseen outburst.

"Thanks very much," she returned. "Sym-
pathy is always a pleasant thing to receive."

Mr. Prawle, still describing his physical curve,
gave a great sigh. " Oh, Mrs. Varick," he mur-
mured, " I should like to kill the man who wrote
that horrible article."

" Suppose it were a woman," said Pauline.

" Then I should like to kill the woman ! . .
Mrs. Varick, will you pardon me if I read you

. . a few lines which indignation com yes,

combined with reverence — actual reverence —
inspired me to write after reading those disgrace-
ful statements? The lines are — are addressed
to yourself. With — with your permission, I-
I will draw them forth."

Without any permission on Pauline's part.
however, Mr. Prawle now drew forth the manu-
script to which he had referred. His long
pale fingers underwent a distinct tremor as he

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 817

unrolled a large crackling sheet of foolscap. And
then, when all, so to speak, was ready, he swept
his dark eyes over Pauline's attentive coun-
tenance. " Have I your permission ? " he falter-
ingly inquired.

" It is granted, certainly, Mr. Pravvle."
After "a slight pause, and in a tone of sepul-
chrally monotonous quality, the young gentleman
read these lines : —

" White soul, what impious voice hath dared to blame
With virulent slander thine unsullied life ?
Methinks that nosv the very stars should blush
In their chaste silver stateliness aloft !
Methinks the immaculate lilies should droop low
For very shame at this coarse obloquy,
The unquarried marble of Pentelicus
Deny its hue of snow, and even the dawn
Forget her stainless birthright for thy sake !
Cursed the hand that wrote of thee such wrong;
Cursed the pen such hand hath basely clasped ;
Cursed the actual ink whose ..."

" My dear Mr. Prawle ! " exclaimed Pauline, at
this point ; " I must beg you not to make me the
cause of so terrible a curse ! Indeed, I cannot
sanction it. I must ask you to read no more."

She was wholly serious. She forgot to look
upon the humorous side of Mr. Prawle's action ;
his poem, so called, addressed her jarred nerves

318 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

and wounded spirit as a piece of aggravating im-
pudence. The whole event of his visit seemed
like a final jeer from the sarcastic episode recently
ended.

He regarded her now witli a sorrowful astonish-
ment. "You — you wish rue to read no more!"
he exclaimed.

"Yes, if you please," said Pauline, controlling
her impatience as best she could.

" But I — I wrote it especially for you ! " he
proceeded. " I have put my soul into it ! I con-
sider it in many ways the most perfect thing that
I have ever done. I intended to include it in my
forthcoming volume, ' Moonbeams and Mountain-
Peaks,' under the title of ' Her Vindication.'
Even the grossly material poetic mind of Arthur
Trevor, to whom I read it a few hours ago, ad-
mitted its sublimity, its spirituality ! "

" I will admit both, also," said Pauline, whose
mood grew less and less tolerant of this self-poised
fatuity. " Only, I must add, Mr. Prawle, that it
would have been better taste for you to haAre left
this exasperating affair untouched by your some-
what saintly muse. And I shall furthermore re-
quest that you do not include the lines in your
' Moonbeams and Hill-Tops,' or " —

" Mountain-Peaks ! " corrected Mr. Prawle, ris-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 319

ing with a visible shudder. " Oh, Mrs. Varick,"
he went on, "I see with great pain that you are
a most haughty and ungenerous lady ! You —
you have smitten me with a fearful disappoint-
ment ! I came here brimming with the loftiest
human sympathy ! I believed that to-day would
be a turning-point in my existence. I confidently
trusted that after hearing my poem there would
be no further obstacle in my career of great-
ness ! "

Pauline now slowly left her seat. Unhappy as
she was, there could be no resisting such mag-
nificent opportunities of amusement as were now
presented to her.

" Your career of greatness ? " she quietly re-
peated. " Did I hear you properly, Mr. Prawle ? "

Her guest was refolding his manuscript with an
aggrieved and perturbed air. As he put the paper
within a breast-pocket he rolled his dark eyes
toward Pauline with infinite solemnity.

'"You doubt, then," he exclaimed, "that I am
born to be great — supremely great ? Ah, there
is no need for me to put that question now! I
had thought otherwise before . . when you smiled
upon me, when you seemed to have read my poems,
to be familiar with my growing fame ! "

"You mistake," said Pauline. " I never meant

320 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

to show you that I had read your poems. If I
smiled upon you, Mr. Prawle, it was from courtesy
only."

" Horrible ! " ejaculated the young poet. He
clasped his hands together in a somewhat theatri-
cally despairing way, and for an instant lowered
his head. "I — I thought that you were pre-
pared to indorse, to assist my genius ! " he soon
proceeded, levelling a look of strong appeal at
Pauline. " I thought that you had separated my
poetic veracity from the sham of Trevor and
Corson ! I — I thought, Mrs. Varick, that in you
I had found a true worshipper ! "

Pauline was at last amused. "I usually reserve
my worship for divinities, Mr. Prawle," she said,
" and I have found but a few of these in all the
history of literature."

" I see ! " cried her companion, " you mean that
I am not a genius ! "

"• I did not say so. But you have given me no
proof of it."

" No proof of it ! What was the poem I have
just read ? "

" It was . . well, it was resonant. But I objected
to it, as I have told you,, on personal grounds."
As she went on, Pauline tried to deal with a rather
insubordinate smile of keen, sarcastic enjoyment.

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. B21

" So you really think," she continued, " that you
possess absolute genius ? "

" I am certain of it ! " cried Mr. Prawle.

" That is a very pleasant mental condition."

" Do you doubt it ? ... Ah ! I see but too
plainly that you do ! "

" Frankly," said Pauline, " I do."

Mr. Prawle flung both his hands towards the
ceiling. " It is Kindelon's work," he cried, with
an effect of very plaintive lamelitation. " Kiude-
loii is among those who yet oppose me."

" Mr. Kindelon is not responsible for my opin-
ions," said Pauline. " However, you probably
have other opponents ? "

"Their name is legion! But why should I care?
Do you join their ranks ? . . . Well, Shelley almost
died because of being misunderstood ! I had hoped
that you would assist me in — yes, in the publica-
tion of my book of poems, Mrs. Varick. I do not
mean that I wrote to you, for this reason, the poem
which you have just refused to hear me read. Far
from it ! I only mean that T have cherished the
idea of securing in you a patron. Yes, a patron !
I am without means to bring forth ' Moonbeams
and Mountain-Peaks.' And I had hoped that
after hearing me read what I have already told
you is my most nobly able creation, you

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

would . . . consent, as a lover of art, of genius,
of ..."

" I understand," said Pauline. " You wish me
to assist you in the publication of your volume.1'
She was smiling, though a trifle wearily. " Well,
Mr. Prawle, I will do it."

" You will do it ! "

"Yes. You shall have whatever cheque you
write me for" . . She approached Prawle and
laid her hand upon his arm. "But you must
promise me to destroy 'Her Vindication' — not
even to think of publishing it. Do you?"

" Yes . . if you insist."

" I do insist . . Well, as I said, write to me for
the amount required."

Prawle momentarily smiled, as if from extreme
gratitude. And then the smile abruptly faded 1Y< >m
his pale face. " I will promise ! " he declared. " But
. . oh, it is so horrible to think that you help me
from no real appreciation of my great gifts — that
you do so only from charity ! "

"Charity is not by any means a despicable
virtue."

"From a great millionaire to a poor poet — yes !
The poet has a sensitive soul ! He wants to be-
loved for his verses, for his inspiration, if he i .
a true poet like myself!"

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 323

"And you believe yourself a true poet, Mr.
Prawle?"

"I?"

It is impossible to portray the majesty of Mr.
Prawle's monosyllabic pronoun. " If I am not
great," he enunciated slowly, "then no one has
been or ever will be great. I have a divine mis-
sion. A truly and positively divine mission."

Pauline gave a little inscrutable nod. "A divine
mission is a very nice thing to have. I hope you
will execute it."

" I shall execute it ! " cried Mr. Prawle. " All
the poets, on every side of me, are singing about
The Past. I, and I alone, sing of The Future.
I set evolution to music . . what other poet has
done that? I wrest from Buckle, Spencer, Tyn-
dall, Huxley — from all the grand modern thinkers,
in fact — their poetic and yet rationalistic elements !
If you had heard my poem to yourself through —
if you had had the patience, I — I may add, the
kindliness, to hear it through, you would have
seen that my terminus was in accord with the
prevailing theories of Herbert Spencer's noble
philosophy "...

" Shall I ever cling to or love Herbert Spencer
again ? " thought Pauline, " when I see him made
the shibboleth of such intellectual charlatans as
this?"

324 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

" In accord," continued Mr. Prawle, " with every-
thing that is progressive and imbigoted. I finished
with an allusion to the Religion of Humanity. I
usually do, in all my poems. That is what makes
them so unique, so incomparable ! "

Pauline held out her hand in distinct token of
farewell.

" Belief in one's self is a very saving quality,"
she said. "I congratulate you upon it."

Mr. Prawle shrank offendedly toward the door.
"You dismiss me!" he burst forth. "After I
have bared my inmost soul to you, you dismiss
me!"

Pauline tossed her head, either from irritation
or semi-diversion. "Ah, you take too much for
granted ! " she said, withdrawing her hand.

Mr. Prawle had raised himself to his full height.
" I refuse your assistance ! " he ejaculated. " You
offer it as you would offer it to a pensioner — a
beggar! And you — you, have assumed the right
of entertaining and fostering literary talent ! 1
scarcely addressed you at your last reception . .
I waited. I supposed that in spite of Kindelou's
known enmity, some of your guests must have
told you how immense were my deserts — how
they transcended the morbid horrors of Rul'us
C' )ison, and the glaring superficialities of Arthur

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 325

Trevor. But I discover, plainly enough, that you
are impervious to all intellectual greatness of
claim. I will accept no aid from you ! — none
whatever ! But one day, when the name of Le-
ancler Prawle is a shining and a regnant one, you
will perhaps remember how miserably you failed
to value his merits, and shrink with shame at the
thought of your own pitiable misjudgment ! " . . .

"Thank Heaven that monstrosity of literary
vanity has removed itself!" thought Pauline, a
little later, when Leander Prawle had been heard
very decisively to close the outer hall-door. "And
now I must dwell no longer on trifles — I must
concern myself with far weightier matters."

The coming marriage to Kindelon on the mor-
row seemed to her fraught with untold incentive
for reflection. " But I will not reflect," she soon
determined. " I will at once try to see Mrs. Dares,
and let her reflect for me. She is so wise, so
capable, so admirable ! I have consented because
I love ! Let her, if she shall so decide, dissuade
me because of experiences weightier than even my
own past bitter ones ! "

The hour of her resolved visit to Mrs. Dares
had now arrived. In a certain way she congratu-
lated herself upon the distracting tendency of both
Mr. Barrowe's and Mr. Prawle's visits. "They

326 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

have prevented me," she mused, "from dwelling
too much upon my own unhappy situation. Mr.
Barrowe is a very sensible fool, and Mr. Prawle is
a very foolish fool. They are both, in their way,
taunting and satiric radiations from the dying
bonfire of my own rash ambition. They are both
reminders to me that I, after all, am the greatest
and most conspicuous fool. Some other woman,
more sensible and clever than I, will perhaps seek
to establish in New York a social movement where
intellect and education are held above the last
Anglomaniac coaching-drive to Central Park, or
the last vulgarly-select cotillon at Delmonico's.
But it will be decades hence. I don't know how
many . . but it will be decades . . All is over, now.
I face a new life; I have ended with my salon.
Only one result has come of it — Ralph Kindelon.
Thank Heaven, he is a substantial result, though
all the rest are shadow and illusion ! "

Pauline soon afterwards started on foot for the
residence of Mrs. Dares. It was nearly dusk. She
had determined to set before this good and trusted
woman every detail of her present discomfort, and
while confessing her matrimonial promise as re-
garded the marriage with Kindelon on the morrow,
to exhort counsel, advice, guidance, justification.
Being a woman, and having made up her mind,

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 327

justification may have been the chief stimulus of
her devout pilgrimage.

The great bustling city was in shadow as she
rang the bell at Mrs. Dares's residence.

A strange, ominous, miserable fear was upon
her while she did so. She could not account for
it; she strove to shake it off. She remembered
her own reflections: "All is over now. I face
a new life."

But she could not dismiss the brooding dread
while she waited the answer of her summons at
Mrs. Dares's door.

XV.

rHHE tidy young negress opened the door soon
afterwards. Pauline asked for Mrs. Dares.
The answer came that Mrs. Dares was at home.

" I wish to see her alone," said Pauline.

" Miss Cora 's got a gent'man in the back room,"
came the answer, "but there's nobody right
here."

Between "right here" and the "back room,"
Pauline was soon shown the difference. As she
sat in a little prettily-furnished apartment, awaiting
the appearance of Mrs. Dares, she readily appre-
hended that some sort of a chamber lay behind.
This was, reasonably, the Dareses' dining-room.
But she heard voices from be}rond the rough deco-
rative woollen tapestry which intervened in heavy
concealing folds.

At first, seated quietly and thinking of just
what she should say to Mrs. Dares, Pauline quite
disregarded these voices.

"I shall tell the plain, unvarnished truth," she
328

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 329

reflected. "I shall not leave a single detail. I
shall trust her judgment absolutely."

A moment later she started, with a recognizing
sense that she had heard a familiar tone from one
of the voices behind the tapestry. Evidentty
a man was speaking. She rose from her seat.
She had approached the curtain instinctively be-
fore realizing her act. A new impulse made her
withdraw several steps from it. But the voice had
been Kindelon's, and she now clearly heard Kin-
delon speak again.

u Cora ! " she heard him say, " there are certain
wrongs for which no reparations can be given. I
know that the wrong I have done you is of this
sort. I don't attempt to exculpate myself. I
don't know why I came here to bid you this fare-
well. It was kind of you to consent to see me.
Hundreds of other women would have refused,
under like conditions. But you have often said
that you loved me, and I suppose you love me
still. For this reason you may find some sort of
consolation hereafter in the thought that I have
made an ambitious marriage which will place me
high in the esteem of the world, which will give
my talents a brilliant chance, which will cause
men and women to point to me as a man who has
achieved a fine and proud success. . . Good-by,

330 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

Cora . . . Let me take your hand once — just
once — before I go. I '11 grant you that I 've be-
haved like a scamp. I'll grant everything that
can be said in my own disfavor. Good heavens !
don't look at me in that horribly reproachful way,
you — you make me willing to renounce this mar-
riage wholly ! Cora, I will do so if }~ou '11 pardon
the past ! I '11 come back to you, I '11 devote my
future life to you ! only tell me that you forgive
and forget ! "

"No, no," Pauline now heard a struggling and
seemingly agonized voice reply. "There is no
undoing what you have done. Keep your promise
to her, as you have broken your faith with me. I
do not say that my love is dead yet ; I think it will
not die for a long time . . . perhaps not for years.
But my respect is wholly dead. . . I will not
touch your hand ; I will not even remain longer
in your presence. I — I have no vengeful feeling
toward you. I wish you all future happiness. If
you shine hereafter as your talents deserve, I shall
hear of your fame, your triumph, with no shadow
of bitterness in ray soul. And my chief hope, my
chief anxiety, will be for the woman whom you
have married. I know her enough to know that
she is full of good impulses, full of true and fine
instincts. You will go to her with an aching con-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 331

science and a stained honor. But I pray that
after she has lifted you into that place which you
seek to gain through her, she may never know
you as I have known you — never wake to iny
anguish of disappointment — never realize my
depths of disillusion ! "

Pauline waited to hear no more. She thrust
aside the drapery of the doorway and passed into
the next room.

Cora uttered a swift and smothered cry. Kin-
delon gave a terrible start. Then a silence fol-
lowed. It seemed to Pauline a most appreciable
silence. She meant and wished to break it, yet
her speech kept defying her will, and resisted her
repeated effort at due control. But at length she
said, looking straight at Kindelon, —

"I have heard — I did not mean to hear — r- 1
don't want you to say a single word — there is
nothing for you to say. I simply appear before you
— before you both ! I — I think that is enough.
I know every thing now. You . . must have
been certain that if I had previously known —
that if you had not told me a falsehod I . . I . .
should never "...

And then poor Pauline reeled giddily, putting
forth both hands in a piteous, distraught way . . .
When Kindelon caught her she had already lost
consciousness. . . .

332 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

The sense of blank was a most acute one when
she awoke. Her first clear thought was, "How
long have I been unconscious ? " . . . And then
came remembrance, and with remembrance the
pain of a deep-piercing hurt.

No one was near by except Mrs. Dares. Paul-
ine lay upon a lounge ; she felt the yielding of
cushions beneath her head and shoulders. Her
first audible sign of revived consciousness was a
little tremulous laugh.

u That 's you, Mrs. Dares ? " she then said. "I —
I must have fainted. How funny of me ! I — I
never fainted before."

Mrs. Dares put both arms about her, and kissed
her twice, thrice, on the cheek.

" My poor, dear, unhappy lady ! " she said. " I
am sorry — so miserably sorry."

Pauline repeated her tremulous laugh. She
was beginning to feel the reassertion of physical
strength. "I — I came here to see only you, Mrs.
Dares," she now said, " but it was fated otherwise.
And . . . and yet it has all been better — far
better." Here she laughed again, and a little
hysterically. " Oh, how superb a failure I 've
made of it, haven't I? I thought the 'Morning
Monitor' had dealt me my last coup. But one
other still remained ! "

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 333

She lay silent for some little time, after this,
and when Mrs. Dares presently spoke to her the
lids which had dropped over her eyes did not lift
themselves. It was so sweet, so tender, so ex-
quisitely gentle a voice that it brought not the
slightest exciting consequences.

" He is greatly to blame. I do not excuse him
any more than you will. But you must not think
the worst of him. You must think him weak, but
you must not think him entirely base. I look at
his conduct with impartial eyes. I try to look at
everybody with impartial eyes. He was far be-
low you in the social scale — that is the phrase
which means inferiority nowadays, and I am
afraid it will mean inferiority for many a year to
come. He had engaged himself to my dear Cora.
He meant to marry her. Then he met you.
Everything about you dazzled and charmed him.
It was yourself as much as your position, your
wealth, your importance. He cared for you; he
was enchanted by you ; his nature is not a deep
nature, though his intellect is large and keen. He
is almost the typical Irishman, this Kindelon —
the Irishman who, in statesmanship, in gover-
nance, in administrative force, has left poor Ireland
what she is to-day. He meant well, but he had
not enough morale to make this well-meaning

334 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

active and cogent. The temptation came, and he
yielded at once. There was no premeditated dis-
honor. The strain was put upon him and he
could not bear the strain — that is all. Such men
as he never can bear such a strain. There was
not a hint of coldbloodedness in his conduct —
there was none of the fortune-hunter's deliberate
method. There was, indeed, 110 method at all ;
there was nothing except an inherent moral feeble-
ness. Brilliant as he is, exceptional as he is, he
can no more help consent and acquiescence in any
matter which concerns his personal, selfish desires,
than the chameleon can help taking the tints of
what surrounds it. And I do not believe that he
knows, at this hour, whether he loves you or my
poor Cora the best. That is he — that is Kindelon
— that is the fascinating, distressing race that he
represents. He loved you both ; his big, expansive
Irish heart was quite capable of doing that. But
his insecure, precarious conscience was incapable
of pointing to him the one straight, imperative
path. Hence your own sorrow, my dear, ill-used
lady, and hence the sorrow of my poor unfortu-
nate Cora ! "

Pauline's eyes slowly unclosed as Mrs. Dares's
last words were spoken.

" You speak like a sybil ! " she murmured.

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 335

"But you speak too late. If I had only talked
with you a little sooner ! I should have been so
prepared for such words then ! Now they only
come to me like mockery and . . . and sarcasm ! "

Again Mrs. Dares stooped and kissed her.

" God knows," she said, " that I mean them for
neither ! "

" God help me from believing that you do ! "
answered Pauline. She raised herself, and flung
both arms about Mrs. Dares's neck, while a sud-
den paroxysm of sobs overmastered and. swayed
her.

XVI.

~T3 Y a little after nine o'clock, this same evening,
^-^ Pauline was driven in a carriage to her own
residence.

She alighted with excellent composure, rang the
bell and was promptly admitted.

But she had no sooner entered the hall than she
found herself face to face with Courtlandt.

He was in evening dress ; he looked thoroughly
his old self-contained self. Pauline passed at once
into the little reception-room just off the hall.
Courtlandt followed her. She sank into a chair,
slowly untying the strings of her bonnet. A
brisk fire crackled on the hearth; she stared
into it.

" So you came to me," she said, with a kind of
measured apathy.

"Yes," said Courtlandt. "I obeyed the mes-
sage that you sent me."

Pauline impetuously turned and looked at him.
The fire-light struck her face as she did so, and he
saw that her gray eyes were swimming in tears.
336

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 337

She made no attempt to master her broken
voice. " O Court," she said, " it was ever so
good of you to come ! I almost doubted if you
would! I should have remembered that you —
well, that you cared for me in another than a
merely cousinly way. But there was no one else
— that is, no one near me in blood. It is won-
derful how we think of that blood-kinship when
something dreadful happens to us. We may not
recall it for years, until the blow comes. Then
we feel its force, its bond, its claim ... I want
you to sit down beside me, Court, and quietly
listen. You were always good at listening. Be-
sides, you will have an immense satisfaction, pres-
ently ; you will learn that your prophecies regard-
ing Mm were correct. My eyes are open — and in
time. I shall never marry him. I shall never
marry any one again. And now, listen." . . .

For a long time, after this, Courtlandt showed
himself the most patient of auditors. But he was
silent for a good space after his cousin had at
length ended, while the fire sputtered and fumed
behind the silver filigrees that bordered its hearth,
as though it were delivering some adverse, exas-
perated commentary upon poor Pauline's late dis-
closures.

But presently Courtlandt spoke. " I think you

338 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

have had a very fortunate escape," he said. "And
I hope you mean, now, to come back and be one
of us, again."

" What a way of putting it ! " she exclaimed,
with a great quivering sigh.

'" There 's no other way to put it. Theory 's one
thing and practice another. As long as the world
lasts there will be a lot of people in every land
who are better and hold themselves better than a
huge lot of other people. One can argue about
this matter till he or she is black in the face ;
it 's no use, though ; the best way to get along is
to take things as you find them. You and I
did n't make society, so we 'd better not try to
alter it."

Pauline gave a weary little smile. Her tears
had ceased; she was staring into the fire with
hard, dry, bright eyes.

" O Court," she said, with a pathetic little touch
of her old cruelty, " I 'm afraid you don't shine
as a philosopher. You are better as a prophet;
what do you say of Cora Dares and him ? Will
they marry?"

"Yes," returned Courtlandt unhesitatingly.
"And I dare say he will make her an excellent
husband. Did n't you tell me that she was an
artist? . . . Well, he's an editor, a sort of general

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 339

scribbler, so they will be on a delightful equality.
They '11 marry. You say I 'm a prophet ; depend
upon it, they '11 marry sooner or later."

" You make me recall that you are Aunt Cyn-
thia's nephew," said Pauline, with another weary
smile. She was in a very miserable mood. Her
wound still bled, and would bleed, as she knew,
for many a day.

Courtlandt's preposterously trite and common-
place little axiom had already begun to echo itself
in a kind of rhythmical mockery through her dis-
tressed brain : " The best way to get along is to
take things as you find them."

Was it the best way, after all ? Was thinking
for one's self and living after one's own chosen
fashion nothing but a forlorn folly ? Was passivity
wisdom, and individualism a snare?

The fire crackled on. There was more silence
between the two cousins. The hour was growing
late ; outside, in the streets, you heard only the
occasional rolling of carriage-wheels.

" By the way, speaking of Aunt Cynthia, Court,
— will she ever notice me again ? "

" Certainly she will."

" Is ii't she furious ? "

" That newspaper article has repressed her fury.
She 's enormously sorry for you. Aunt Cynthia

340 THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW.

would never find it hard, you know, to be enor-
mously sorry for a Van Coiiear ; she came so near
to being one herself; a Schenectady is next door
to it."

" Yes, I understand," mused Pauline. She was
still staring into the fire. " There is that clannish
feeling that conies out strong at such a time . .
Court, I will write to her."

" Do, by all means."

" Not an apology, you know, but a . . well, a
sort of pacific proposal."

" Do, you '11 find it will be all right, then.
Aunt Cynthia would never put on any grand airs
to one of her own race ; she has too much respect
for it." . . .

The longest silence of all now ensued. The fire
had ceased to crackle ; its block of crumbled coal
looked like the fragments of a huge crushed ruby.
Pauline did not know that Courtlandt was watch-
ing her when she suddenly heard him say, —

" You 're going to have a hard fight, Pauline,
but you '11 come out of it all sound — never fear.
I suppose he was the sort of chap to play the mis-
chief with a woman, if she once gave him a
chance."

" O Court," came the melancholy answer, " I
was n't thinking of him, just then. I was think-

THE ADVENTURES OF A WIDOW. 341

ing of what my life has meant ! It seems to me,
now, like a broken staircase, leading nowhere.
Such a strange, unsatisfactory life, thus far!"

"All lives are that, if we choose to look on them
so," returned Courtlandt. " It is the choosing or
not choosing to look on them so that makes all the
difference . . Besides, you are young yet."

" Oh, I am seventy years old ! " she cried, with
a little fatigued moan.

" In a year from now you will have lapsed back
into your normal age."

" I can't believe it ! "

" Wait and see."

" Ah, I shall have to do a good deal of waiting —
for nothing whatever ! "

" I too shall wait," said Courtlandt grimly.

She suddenly turned and scanned his face. "For
what ? " she sharply questioned.

" For you."

Pauline threw back her head, with a brief, bitter
laugh. " Then you will have to wait a long time ! "
she exclaimed, with sorrowful irony.

"I expect to do that," answered Courtlandt,
more grimly still. "And I am a good prophet.
You told me so."

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