Ancestors: A Novel
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XXIV
"I have had what is called a full day," said Gwynne, as he sank into achair beside Isabel. "Lunch with half a dozen of the cleverest and moststrenuous men I ever met--and not at Hofer's house, by the way, but outat the Cliff House, up in a tower, where we had a superb view of theocean and Golden Gate; then motored about the city for three hours, thendown to Burlingame for dinner, then back to supper at one of therestaurants. After over a year of social suspension I hardly knew how tobehave, especially to all the pretty women I met at the Club House atBurlingame,--who seemed to expect me to pay them compliments and flirtdesperately. I feel worn out, and on the verge of sighing for my lonelyranch."
"But you have enjoyed yourself," said Isabel, smiling. "It has done youa lot of good. You must grow straight downward to your roots. Then, whenyou shoot up again you will be a real American."
Gwynne made a wry face. "Not yet. Mrs. Hofer's father, Mr. Toole (who isnow retired and spends most of his time in about the most luxuriouslibrary I ever saw--we alighted in it for a few moments before swoopingdown to Burlingame) quoted Byron to me and is well up in Englishpolitics. There were several London newspapers and reviews on the table.Moreover, at the luncheon, Elton Gwynne was actually discussed for afew moments. All of which gave me pangs of homesickness. But althoughthey are all sufficiently versed in British politics, their interest isvery casual. Even national matters don't concern them particularly. Whatabsorbs them is the redemption of San Francisco; and after myexperiences last night I can't say I am surprised. The sort of municipalgovernment that permits and battens upon an unlimited variety of openvice must devour the entire city in time. Mr. Toole informed me, in theholy calm of his library, that reform is impossible; and certainly theprofessional grafters seem to be one of the few productions of thisState whose energy is not demoralized by the climate. But that must makethe fight more interesting. And hardly a degree less menacing is thisgigantic octapus of labor unionism--of inexcusable socialism. Well, weshall see! It makes one tingle."
"And do you never, in your inmost, contemplate returning to England?"asked Isabel, curiously.
Gwynne swung about and planted his elbows on the railing, clasping hishands about his head. For some moments he seemed absorbed in the mass oflights at the foot of the black hill-side. "I don't know," he said,finally. "It is possible that only my will keeps me from thinking aboutit. It may be that, having made up my mind before leaving England, Iaccomplished a final wrench and adjustment. I abstain from too muchself-analysis; but it is certain that down deep I often feel a tug atfamiliar strings. I don't pretend to know myself, for after all what iseach one of us but the composite of the race, always at war with a sparkof individuality. Some fine morning I may wake up, order my trunk to bepacked, and take the first train out of California."
"Oh, might you?"
"Well, of course, I should stop and say good-bye to you. That is if Idid not fall into a panic at the thought of a final encounter with thatterrible will of yours." He turned and met a pair of eyes that wereshining like a cat's in the dark. "You know that you have beenmanipulating the strings of my destiny!" he said, abruptly, andsurprised at himself. "I grew fearful of self-analysis and buried myselfin the law--jolly good antidote--but I am always conscious of a subtlepressure on my will--was. I have thrown it off. It was either that orleave."
"Perhaps you have felt freer since Saturday morning," said Isabel,cruelly.
His own eyes glittered, but if he blushed the darkness screened him."Quite true," he said, dryly, "The man-brute turned. And in the finalbattle, when the feminine principle is pitted against the masculine, Ifancy we shall know how to win the day. If we resort to primitivemethods it will be your own fault."
"I was invited for dinner to-morrow night, and had to decline because myarms are black-and-blue."
"I don't repent," said Gwynne, doggedly.
There was another silence, and then he asked: "Haven't you been tryingto manage me?"
"I have only been trying to steer you in a new country--to make things alittle easier--"
"You are not always frank. And that is not altogether what I mean. Ihardly know myself what I do mean. Before I arrived I thought it likelyI should ma--want to marry you. In many respects you were designed to bethe wife of an ambitious public man. With your beauty, and brains, yourgrand manner, and your subtlety--but it is the last that has put meoff. I have seen too many men managed by their wives. I never couldstand it. Doubtless my Celtic blood gives me the tiniest feminine drop.It is only the big uncomplicated oafs that don't mind being managed bytheir women. I should want the freest and most open companionship, butwith my will always in the ascendant--although no man would be moreindulgent to his wife."
"You will find thousands to answer all your requirements andlimitations."
"Much you know about it. True, this place is full of handsome andattractive women--topping! And they have a free wild grace, a stride, aswing--it is wonderful to watch them go up these hills. And I was vastlyentertained at luncheon, and at one or two of the houses where I wasafterward taken to call. But I doubt if I shall ever find anyone againthat possesses so many remarkable qualities in combination as your ownpuzzling unsatisfactory self."
"I am not in the least like Mrs. Kaye, and you thought she combinedevery quality under the sun."
"I expended the last of my calf love on Mrs. Kaye. I was blinded bypassion; but that my emotional depths were not even stirred wasmanifested by the rapidity of my convalescence. We were utterlyunsuited. In many respects I should have been ashamed of her. Blood mustalways tell in England--although in America--if Mrs. Hofer is atype--well, this is the land of reversed theories. Mrs. Kaye and I wouldhave been at swords' points in less than a year. The next time I choosea wife it will be with my judgment."
"And are you no longer capable of love?"
"Oh, love!" Once more Gwynne gazed down upon the sleepless city, wherethe lights seemed to powder the upper air with gold dust. "Perhaps. Itseemed to me that day in Park Lane that all the heat died out of myveins. I am only just beginning to feel alive once more. But I have nowish as yet to experience the passion of love again--not even with you;although if you would cry off in some respects I don't know but that Ishould still like to marry you."
"At least you could beat me if I did not behave."
He laughed. "I don't doubt I should want to. No, I'll never let myselfgo like that again; but I should be sure first that my will was thestronger of the two."
"You carefully abstain from proposing so that I cannot make the retort Ishould like to."
"You may. I know you won't have me. But that does not alter the factthat the same ancestral lines have given us an inconceivable number ofmolecules that are subtly responsive. The great cleavage hasaccomplished as many points of divergence and contrast. Therefore isthere, in me, at least, an insistent whisper for ancestral and longdenied rights. You will feel it in time--"
"How much you have thought about it!"
"My mind is pretty well oiled: it does not take me years to work out anyproposition. To tell you the truth, I have never put that undercurrentof consciousness into words until to-night. All the same, even if Iloved you, if I finally believed you to be the stronger of the two, Ishould take the next boat for England. California wouldn't hold me. AndI should not say good-bye."
"That would be a confession of weakness."
"It is one I'd be the better for making."
"Well, anyhow, as I am hostess I can order you to bed. It must be oneo'clock. I don't doubt you will find more than one affinity if you areawakening; that is merely the mating instinct. Good-night."
Far too hospitable and high-handed to incommode a guest, she did nottell him that Paula had gone, and that Stone had sauntered out in searchof a "bracer," and had not returned. Gwynne slept the sleep of theunburdened conscience, and returned to Rosewater by the firsttrain--Isabel was remaining in town for another day--ignorant not onlyof having violated the proprieties, but of the fact that a formerinhabita
nt of Rosewater lived not far from the foot of the bluff.