The Man Between: An International Romance

by Amelia E. Barr

  Produced by Charles Keller

  THE MAN BETWEEN

  An International Romance

  By Amelia E. Barr

  PART FIRST -- O LOVE WILL VENTURE IN!

  THE MAN BETWEEN

  CHAPTER I

  THE thing that I know least about is my beginning. For it is possibleto introduce Ethel Rawdon in so many picturesque ways that the choiceis embarrassing, and forces me to the conclusion that the actualcircumstances, though commonplace, may be the most suitable. Certainlythe events that shape our lives are seldom ushered in with pomp orceremony; they steal upon us unannounced, and begin their work withoutgiving any premonition of their importance.

  Consequently Ethel had no idea when she returned home one night froma rather stupid entertainment that she was about to open a new andimportant chapter of her life. Hitherto that life had been one of thesweetest and simplest character--the lessons and sports of childhoodand girlhood had claimed her nineteen years; and Ethel was just at thatwonderful age when, the brook and the river having met, she was feelingthe first swell of those irresistible tides which would carry her day byday to the haven of all days.

  It was Saturday night in the January of 1900, verging toward twelveo'clock. When she entered her room, she saw that one of the windows wasopen, and she stood a moment or two at it, looking across the straightmiles of white lights, in whose illumined shadows thousands of sleeperswere holding their lives in pause.

  "It is not New York at all," she whispered, "it is some magical citythat I have seen, but have never trod. It will vanish about six o'clockin the morning, and there will be only common streets, full of commonpeople. Of course," and here she closed the window and leisurely removedher opera cloak, "of course, this is only dreaming, but to dream waking,or to dream sleeping, is very pleasant. In dreams we can have men as welike them, and women as we want them, and make all the world happy andbeautiful."

  She was in no hurry of feeling or movement. She had been in a crowd forsome hours, and was glad to be quite alone and talk to herself a little.It was also so restful to gradually relinquish all the restraining gaudsof fashionable attire, and as she leisurely performed these duties, sheentered into conversation with her own heart--talked over with it theevents of the past week, and decided that its fretless days, full ofgood things, had been, from the beginning to the end, sweet as a cup ofnew milk. For a woman's heart is very talkative, and requires little tomake it eloquent in its own way.

  In the midst of this intimate companionship she turned her head, andsaw two letters lying upon a table. She rose and lifted them. One was aninvitation to a studio reception, and she let it flutter indeterminatelyfrom her hand; the other was both familiar and appealing; none of hercorrespondents but Dora Denning used that peculiar shade of blue paper,and she instantly began to wonder why Dora had written to her.

  "I saw her yesterday afternoon," she reflected, "and she told meeverything she had to tell--and what does she-mean by such a tantalizingmessage as this? 'Dearest Ethel: I have the most extraordinary news.Come to me immediately. Dora.' How exactly like Dora!" she commented."Come to me im-mediately--whether you are in bed or asleep--whetheryou are sick or well--whether it is midnight or high noon--come tome immediately. Well, Dora, I am going to sleep now, and to-morrow isSunday, and I never know what view father is going to take of Sunday. Hemay ask me to go to church with him, and he may not. He may want me todrive in the afternoon, and again he may not; but Sunday is father'shome day, and Ruth and I make a point of obliging him in regard to it.That is one of our family principles; and a girl ought to have a fewprinciples of conduct involving self-denial. Aunt Ruth says, 'Lifecannot stand erect without self-denial,' and aunt is usually right--butI do wonder what Dora wants! I cannot imagine what extraordinary newshas come. I must try and see her to-morrow--it may be difficult--but Imust make the effort"--and with this satisfying resolution she easilyfell asleep.

  When she awoke the church bells were ringing and she knew that herfather and aunt would have breakfasted. The feet did not trouble her. Itwas an accidental sleep-over; she had not planned it, and circumstanceswould take care of themselves. In any case, she had no fear of rebuke.No one was ever cross with Ethel. It was a matter of pretty generalbelief that whatever Ethel did was just right. So she dressed herselfbecomingly in a cloth suit, and, with her plumed hat on her head, wentdown to see what the day had to offer her.

  "The first thing is coffee, and then, all being agreeable, Dora. I shallnot look further ahead," she thought.

  As she entered the room she called "Good morning!" and her voice waslike the voice of the birds when they call "Spring!"; and her face wasradiant with smiles, and the touch of her lips and the clasp of her handwarm with love and life; and her father and aunt forgot that she waslate, and that her breakfast was yet to order.

  She took up the reproach herself. "I am so sorry, Aunt Ruth. I only wanta cup of coffee and a roll."

  "My dear, you cannot go without a proper breakfast. Never mind the hour.What would you like best?"

  "You are so good, Ruth. I should like a nice breakfast--a breast ofchicken and mushrooms, and some hot muffins and marmalade would do.How comfortable you look here! Father, you are buried in newspapers. Isanyone going to church?"

  Ruth ordered the desired breakfast and Mr. Rawdon took out his watch--"Iam afraid you have delayed us too long this morning, Ethel."

  "Am I to be the scapegoat? Now, I do not believe anyone wanted to go tochurch. Ruth had her book, you, the newspapers. It is warm and pleasanthere, it is cold and windy outside. I know what confession would bemade, if honesty were the fashion."

  "Well, my little girl, honesty is the fashion in this house. I believein going to church. Religion is the Mother of Duty, and we should allmake a sad mess of life without duty. Is not that so, Ruth?"

  "Truth itself, Edward; but religion is not going to church and listeningto sermons. Those who built the old cathedrals of Europe had no ideathat sitting in comfortable pews and listening to some man talking wasworshiping God. Those great naves were intended for men and women tostand or kneel in before God. And there were no high or low standingor kneeling places; all were on a level before Him. It is our modernProtestantism which has brought in lazy lolling in cushioned pews; andthe gallery, which makes a church as like a playhouse as possible!"

  "What are you aiming at, Ruth?"

  "I only meant to say, I would like going to church much better if wewent solely to praise God, and entreat His mercy. I do not care to hearsermons."

  "My dear Ruth, sermons are a large fact in our social economy. When amillion or two are preached every year, they have a strong claim onour attention. To use a trade phrase, sermons are firm, and I believe amoderate tax on them would yield an astonishing income."

  "See how you talk of them, Edward; as if they were a commercialcommodity. If you respected them----"

  "I do. I grant them a steady pneumatic pressure in the region of morals,and even faith. Picture to yourself, Ruth, New York without sermons. Thedear old city would be like a ship without ballast, heeling over withevery wind, and letting in the waters of immorality and scepticism.Remove this pulpit balance just for one week from New York City, andwhere should we be?"

  "Well then," said Ethel, "the clergy ought to give New York a first-ratearticle in sermons, either of home or foreign manufacture. New Yorkexpects the very best of everything; and when she gets it, she opens herheart and her pocketbook enjoys it, and pays for it."

  "That is the truth, Ethel. I was thinking of your grandmother Rawdon.You have your hat on--are you going to see her?"

  "I am going to see Dora Denning. I had an urgent note from her lastnight. Sh
e says she has 'extraordinary news' and begs me to 'come toher immediately.' I cannot imagine what her news is. I saw her Fridayafternoon."

  "She has a new poodle, or a new lover, or a new way of crimping herhair," suggested Ruth Bayard scornfully. "She imposes on you, Ethel; whydo you submit to her selfishness?"

  "I suppose because I have become used to it. Four years ago I beganto take her part, when the girls teased and tormented her in theschoolroom, and I have big-sistered her ever since. I suppose we get tolove those who make us kind and give us trouble. Dora is not perfect,but I like her better than any friend I have. And she must like me, forshe asks my advice about everything in her life."

  "Does she take it?"

  "Yes--generally. Sometimes I have to make her take it."

  "She has a mother. Why does she not go to her?"

  "Mrs. Denning knows nothing about certain subjects. I am Dora's socialgodmother, and she must dress and behave as I tell her to do. Poor Mrs.Denning! I am so sorry for her--another cup of coffee, Ruth--it is notvery strong."

  "Why should you be sorry for Mrs. Denning, Her husband is enormouslyrich--she lives in a palace, and has a crowd of men and women servantsto wait upon her--carriages, horses, motor cars, what not, at hercommand."

  "Yet really, Ruth, she is a most unhappy woman. In that little Westerntown from which they came, she was everybody. She ran the churches, andwas chairwoman in all the clubs, and President of the Temperance Union,and manager of every religious, social, and political festival; and herdays were full to the brim of just the things she liked to do. Her dressthere was considered magnificent; people begged her for patterns, andregarded her as the very glass of fashion. Servants thought it a greatprivilege to be employed on the Denning place, and she ordered her houseand managed her half-score of men and maids with pleasant autocracy.NOW! Well, I will tell you how it is, NOW. She sits all day in hersplendid rooms, or rides out in her car or carriage, and no one knowsher, and of course no one speaks to her. Mr. Denning has his Wall Streetfriends----"

  "And enemies," interrupted Judge Rawdon.

  "And enemies! You are right, father. But he enjoys one as much as theother--that is, he would as willingly fight his enemies as feast hisfriends. He says a big day in Wall Street makes him alive from head tofoot. He really looks happy. Bryce Denning has got into two clubs, andhis money passes him, for he plays, and is willing to love prudently.But no one cares about Mrs. Denning. She is quite old--forty-five, Idare say; and she is stout, and does not wear the colors and style sheought to wear--none of her things have the right 'look,' and of courseI cannot advise a matron. Then, her fine English servants take her houseout of her hands. She is afraid of them. The butler suavely tries toinform her; the housekeeper removed the white crotcheted scarfsand things from the gilded chairs, and I am sure Mrs. Denning had aheartache about their loss; but she saw that they had also vanished fromDora's parlor, so she took the hint, and accepted the lesson. Really,her humility and isolation are pitiful. I am going to ask grandmotherto go and see her. Grandmother might take her to church, and get Dr.Simpson and Mrs. Simpson to introduce her. Her money and adaptabilitywould do the rest. There, I have had a good breakfast, though I waslate. It is not always the early bird that gets chicken and mushrooms.Now I will go and see what Dora wants"--and lifting her furs with asmile, and a "Good morning!" equally charming, she disappeared.

  "Did you notice her voice, Ruth?" asked Judge Rawdon. "What a tone thereis in her 'good morning!'"

  "There is a tone in every one's good morning, Edward. I think people'ssalutations set to music would reveal their inmost character. Ethel'sgood morning says in D major 'How good is the day!' and her goodnight drops into the minor third, and says pensively 'How sweet is thenight!'"

  "Nay, Ruth, I don't understand all that; but I do understand the voice.It goes straight to my heart."

  "And to my heart also, Edward. I think too there is a measured music,a central time and tune, in every life. Quick, melodious natures likeEthel's never wander far from their keynote, and are therefore joyouslyset; while slow, irresolute people deviate far, and only come back afterpainful dissonances and frequent changes."

  "You are generally right, Ruth, even where I cannot follow you. I hopeEthel will be home for dinner. I like my Sunday dinner with both of you,and I may bring my mother back with me."

  Then he said "Good morning" with an intentional cheerfulness, and Ruthwas left alone with her book. She gave a moment's thought to the valueof good example, and then with a sigh of content let her eyes rest onthe words Ethel's presence had for awhile silenced:

  "I am filled with a sense of sweetness and wonder that such, littlethings can make a mortal so exceedingly rich. But I confess that thechiefest of all my delights is still the religious." (Theodore Parker.)She read the words again, then closed her eyes and let the honey of somesacred memory satisfy her soul. And in those few minutes of reverie,Ruth Bayard revealed the keynote of her being. Wanderings from it,caused by the exigencies and duties of life, frequently occurred; butshe quickly returned to its central and controlling harmony; andher serenity and poise were therefore as natural as was her niece'sjoyousness and hope. Nor was her religious character the result oftemperament, or of a secluded life. Ruth Bayard was a woman of thoughtand culture, and wise in the ways of the world, but not worldly. Herpersonality was very attractive, she had a good form, an agreeable face,speaking gray eyes, and brown hair, soft and naturally wavy. She was adistant cousin of Ethel's mother, but had been brought up with her inthe same household, and always regarded her as a sister, and Ethel neverremembered that she was only her aunt by adoption. Ten years older thanher niece, she had mothered her with a wise and loving patience, andher thoughts never wandered long or far from the girl. Consequently,she soon found herself wondering what reason there could be for DoraDenning's urgency.

  In the meantime Ethel had reached her friend's residence a new buildingof unusual size and very ornate architecture. Liveried footmen andwaiting women bowed her with mute attention to Miss Denning's suite, anabsolutely private arrangement of five rooms, marvelously furnishedfor the young lady's comfort and delight. The windows of her parloroverlooked the park, and she was standing at one of them as Ethelentered the room. In a passion of welcoming gladness she turned to her,exclaiming: "I have been watching for you hours and hours, Ethel. I havethe most wonderful thing to tell you. I am so happy! So happy! No onewas ever as happy as I am."

  Then Ethel took both her hands, and, as they stood together, she lookedintently at her friend. Some new charm transfigured her face; for herdark, gazelle eyes were not more lambent than her cheeks, though ina different way; while her black hair in its picturesquely arrangeddisorder seemed instinct with life, and hardly to be restrained. She wasconstantly pushing it back, caressing or arranging it; and her white,slender fingers, sparkling with jewels, moved among the crimped and wavylocks, as if there was an intelligent sympathy between them.

  "How beautiful you are to-day, Dora! Who has worked wonders on you?"

  "Basil Stanhope. He loves me! He loves me! He told me so last night--inthe sweetest words that were ever uttered. I shall never forget oneof them--never, as long as I live! Let us sit down. I want to tell youeverything."

  "I am astonished, Dora!"

  "So was mother, and father, and Bryce. No one suspected our affection.Mother used to grumble about my going 'at all hours' to St. Jude'schurch; but that was because St. Jude's is so very High Church, andmother is a Methodist Episcopal. It was the morning and evening prayersshe objected to. No one had any suspicion of the clergyman. Oh, Ethel,he is so handsome! So good! So clever! I think every woman in the churchis in love with him."

  "Then if he is a good man, he must be very unhappy."

  "Of course he is quite ignorant of their admiration, and therefore quiteinnocent. I am the only woman he loves, and he never even remembers mewhen he is in the sacred office. If you could see him come out of thevestry in his white surplice, with his rapt face and prophetic eyes
. Somystical! So beautiful! You would not wonder that I worship him."

  "But I do not understand--how did you meet him socially?"

  "I met him at Mrs. Taylor's first. Then he spoke to me one morning as Icame out of church, and the next morning he walked through the park withme. And after that--all was easy enough."

  "I see. What does your father and mother think--or rather, what do theysay?"

  "Father always says what he thinks, and mother thinks and says what Ido. This condition simplified matters very much. Basil wrote to father,and yesterday after dinner he had an interview with him. I expectedit, and was quite prepared for any climax that might come. I wore myloveliest white frock, and had lilies of the valley in my hair and onmy breast; and father called me 'his little angel' and piously wondered'how I could be his daughter.' All dinner time I tried to be angelic,and after dinner I sang 'Little Boy Blue' and some of the songs heloves; and I felt, when Basil's card came in, that I had prepared theproper atmosphere for the interview."

  "You are really very clever, Dora."

  "I tried to continue singing and playing, but I could not; the notes allran together, the words were lost. I went to mother's side and put myhand in hers, and she said softly: 'I can hear your father storming alittle, but he will settle down the quicker for it. I dare say he willbring Mr. Stanhope in here before long."

  "Did he?"

  "No. That was Bryce's fault. How Bryce happened to be in the house atthat hour, I cannot imagine; but it seems to be natural for him to dropinto any interview where he can make trouble. However, it turned out allfor the best, for when mother heard Bryce's voice above all the othersounds, she said, 'Come Dora, we shall have to interfere now.' ThenI was delighted. I was angelically dressed, and I felt equal to theinterview."

  "Do you really mean that you joined the three quarreling men?"

  "Of course. Mother was quite calm--calm enough to freeze a tempest--butshe gave father a look he comprehended. Then she shook hands withBasil, and would have made some remark to Bryce, but with his usualimpertinence he took the initiative, and told he: very authoritativelyto 'retire and take me with her'--calling me that 'demure little flirt'in a tone that was very offensive. You should have seen father blazeinto anger at his words. He told Bryce to remember that 'Mr. Ben Denningowned the house, and that Bryce had four or five rooms in it by hiscourtesy.' He said also that the 'ladies present were Mr. Ben Denning'swife and daughter, and that it was impertinent in him to order them outof his parlor, where they were always welcome.' Bryce was white withpassion, but he answered in his affected way--'Sir, that sly girl withher pretended piety and her sneak of a lover is my sister, and I shallnot permit her to disgrace my family without making a protest.'"

  "And then?"

  "I began to cry, and I put my arms around father's neck and said he mustdefend me; that I was not 'sly,' and Basil was not 'a sneak,' and fatherkissed me, and said he would settle with any man, and every man, whopresumed to call me either sly or a flirt."

  "I think Mr. Denning acted beautifully. What did Bryce say?"

  "He turned to Basil, and said: 'Mr. Stanhope, if you are not a cad, youwill leave the house. You have no right to intrude yourself into familyaffairs and family quarrels.' Basil had seated mother, and wasstanding with one hand on the back of her chair, and he did not answerBryce--there was no need, father answered quick enough. He said Mr.Stanhope had asked to become one of the family, and for his part hewould welcome him freely; and then he asked mother if she was of hismind, and mother smiled and reached her hand backward to Basil. Thenfather kissed me again, and somehow Basil's arm was round me, and I knowI looked lovely--almost like a bride! Oh, Ethel, it was just heavenly!"

  "I am sure it was. Did Bryce leave the room then?"

  "Yes; he went out in a passion, declaring he would never notice meagain. This morning at breakfast I said I was sorry Bryce felt so hurt,but father was sure Bryce would find plenty of consolation in the factthat his disapproval of my choice would excuse him from giving me awedding present. You know Bryce is a mean little miser!"

  "On the contrary, I thought he was very; luxurious and extravagant."

  "Where Bryce is concerned, yes; toward everyone else his conduct is toomean to consider. Why, father makes him an allowance of $20,000 a yearand he empties father's cigar boxes whenever he can do so without----"

  "Let us talk about Mr. Stanhope he is far more interesting. When are yougoing to marry him?"

  "In the Spring. Father is going to give me some money and I have thefortune Grandmother Cahill left me. It has been well invested, andfather told me this morning I was a fairly rich little woman. Basil hassome private fortune, also his stipend--we shall do very well. Basil'sfamily is one of the finest among the old Boston aristocrats, and he isclosely connected with the English Stanhopes, who rank with the greatestof the nobility."

  "I wish Americans would learn to rely on their own nobility. I am tiredof their everlasting attempts to graft on some English noble family.No matter how great or clever a man may be, you are sure to read of hisdescent from some Scottish chief or English earl."

  "They can't help their descent, Ethel."

  "They need not pin all they have done on to it. Often father frets me inthe same way. If he wins a difficult case, he does it naturally, becausehe is a Rawdon. He is handsome, gentlemanly, honorable, even a perfecthorseman, all because, being a Rawdon, he was by nature and inheritancecompelled to such perfection. It is very provoking, Dora, and if Iwere you I would not allow Basil to begin a song about 'the EnglishStanhopes.' Aunt Ruth and I get very tired often of the English Rawdons,and are really thankful for the separating Atlantic."

  "I don't think I shall feel in that way, Ethel. I like the nobility; sodoes father, he says the Dennings are a fine old family."

  "Why talk of genealogies when there is such a man as Basil Stanhope toconsider? Let us grant him perfection and agree that he is to marryyou in the Spring; well then, there is the ceremony, and the weddinggarments! Of course it is to be a church wedding?"

  "We shall be married in Basil's own church. I can hardly eat or sleepfor thinking of the joy and the triumph of it! There will be women thereready to eat their hearts with envy--I believe indeed, Ethel, that everywoman in the church is in love with Basil."

  "You have said that before, and I am sure you are wrong. A great many ofthem are married and are in love with their own husbands; and the kindof girls who go to St. Jude's are not the kind who marry clergymen. Mr.Stanhope's whole income would hardly buy their gloves and parasols."

  "I don't think you are pleased that I am going to marry. You must not bejealous of Basil. I shall love you just the same."

  "Under no conditions, Dora, would I allow jealousy to trouble my life.All the same, you will not love me after your marriage as you have lovedme in the past. I shall not expect it."

  Passionate denials of this assertion, reminiscences of the past,assurances for the future followed, and Ethel accepted them withoutdispute and without faith. But she understood that the mere circumstanceof her engagement was all that Dora could manage at present; andthat the details of the marriage merged themselves constantly in thewonderful fact that Basil Stanhope loved her, and that some time, notfar off, she was going to be his wife. This joyful certainty filled herheart and her comprehension, and she had a natural reluctance to subjectit to the details of the social and religious ceremonies necessary, Suchthings permitted others to participate in her joy, and she resented theidea. For a time she wished to keep her lover in a world where no otherthought might trouble the thought of Dora.

  Ethel understood her friend's mood, and was rather relieved when hercarriage arrived. She felt that her presence was preventing Dora'sabsolute surrender of herself to thoughts of her lover, and all the wayhome she marveled at the girl's infatuation, and wondered if it wouldbe possible for her to fall into such a dotage of love for any man. Sheanswered this query positively--"No, if I should lose my heart, I shallnot therefore lose my head"--and then,
before she could finish assuringherself of her determinate wisdom, some mocking lines she had oftenquoted to love-sick girls went laughing through her memory--

  "O Woman! Woman! O our frail, frail sex! No wonder tragedies are made from us! Always the same--nothing but loves and cradles."

  She found Ruth Bayard dressed for dinner, but her father was notpresent. That was satisfactory, for he was always a little impatientwhen the talk was of lovers and weddings; and just then this topic wasuppermost in Ethel's mind.

  "Ruth," she said, "Dora is engaged," and then in a few sentences shetold the little romance Dora had lived for the past year, and its happyculmination. "Setting money aside, I think he will make a very suitablehusband. What do you think, Ruth?"

  "From what I know of Mr. Stanhope, I should doubt it. I am sure hewill put his duties before every earthly thing, and I am sure Dora willobject to that. Then I wonder if Dora is made on a pattern large enoughto be the moneyed partner in matrimony. I should think Mr. Stanhope wasa proud man."

  "Dora says he is connected with the English noble family of Stanhopes."

  "We shall certainly have all the connections of the English nobility inAmerica very soon now--but why does he marry Dora? Is it her money?"

  "I think not. I have heard from various sources some fine things ofBasil Stanhope. There are many richer girls than Dora in St. Jude's. Idare say some one of them would have married him."

  "You are mistaken. Do you think Margery Starey, Jane Lewes, or any ofthe girls of their order would marry a man with a few thousands ayear? And to marry for love is beyond the frontiers of such women'sintelligence. In their creed a husband is a banker, not a man to beloved and cared for. You know how much of a banker Mr. Stanhope couldbe."

  "Bryce Denning is very angry at what he evidently considers his sister'smesalliance."

  "If Mr. Stanhope is connected with the English Stanhopes, themesalliance must be laid to his charge."

  "Indeed the Dennings have some pretenses to good lineage, and Brycespoke of his sister 'disgracing his family by her contemplatedmarriage.'"

  "His family! My dear Ethel, his grandfather was a manufacturer oftin tacks. And now that we have got as far away as the Denning'sgrandfather, suppose we drop the subject."

  "Content; I am a little tired of the clan Denning--that is theiroriginal name Dora says. I will go now and dress for dinner."

  Then Ruth rose and looked inquisitively around the room. It was as shewished it to be--the very expression of elegant comfort--warm and light,and holding the scent of roses: a place of deep, large chairs with noodds and ends to worry about, a room to lounge and chat in, and wherethe last touch of perfect home freedom was given by a big mastiff who,having heard the door-bell ring, strolled in to see who had called.