CHAPTER X
OLD TIES BROKEN
"Madge," said Graydon, rejoining her on the piazza, and giving herhis arm, while Mrs. Muir sat down to wait for her husband, "you weara rose like the one you sent me when we parted so long ago. Oh, but myheart was heavy then! Did you make this choice to-night by chance?"
"You have a good memory."
"You have not answered me."
"I shall admit nothing that will increase your vanity."
"You will now of necessity make my pride overweening."
"How is that? I hope to have a better influence over you."
"As I look at you I regard my pride as most pardonable and natural. Myold thoughts and hopes are realized beyond even imagination, although,looking at your eyes, in old times, I always had a high ideal of yourcapabilities. I should be a clod indeed if I were not proud of such asister to champion in society."
Madge's hearty laugh was a little forced as she said, "You have adelightfully cool way of taking things for granted. I'm no longer alittle sick girl, but, to vary Peggotty's exultant statement, a younglady 'growed.' You forgot yourself, sir, in your greeting; but thatwas pardonable in your paroxysm of surprise.
"What, Madge! Will you not permit me to be your brother?"
"What an absurd question!" she answered, still laughing. "You arenot my brother. Can I permit water to run up hill? You were likea brother, though, when I was a sick child in the queer oldtimes--kinder than most brothers, I think. But, Graydon, I am grownup. See, my head comes above your shoulder."
"Well, you are changed."
"For the better, in some respects, I hope you will find."
"I don't at all like the change you suggest in our relations, and amnot sure I will submit to it. It seems absurd to me."
"It will not seem so when you come to think of it," she replied,gravely and gently. "You think of me still as little Madge; I am nolonger little Madge, even to myself. A woman's instincts are usuallyright, Graydon."
"Oh, thank you! I am glad I am still 'Graydon.' Why do you not call me'Mr. Muir?'"
"Because I am perfectly rational. Because I regard you as almost thebest friend I have."
"Break up that confabulation," cried Mr. Muir to the young people, whohad paused and were confronting each other at the further end of thepiazza. "If you think Madge can explain herself in a moment or a weekyou are mistaken. Come to supper."
"My brother is right--you are indeed an enigma," he said,discontentedly.
"An enigma, am I?" she responded, smiling. "Please remember that mostof the world's enigmas were slowly found out because so simple."
As they passed from the dusky piazza to the large, brilliantly lightedsupper-room, with nearly all its tables occupied, he was curious toobserve how she would meet the many critical eyes turned toward her.Again he was puzzled as well as surprised. She walked at his side asthough the room were empty. There was no affectation of indifference,no trace of embarrassed or of pleased self-consciousness. From thefriendly glances and smiles that she received it was also apparentthat she had already made acquaintances. She moved with the easy,graceful step of perfect good breeding and assured confidence, and wasas self-possessed as himself. Was this the little ghost who had oncebeen afraid of her own shadow, which was scarcely less substantialthan herself?
They had been seated but a moment when Miss Wildmere entered alone. ToGraydon this appeared pathetic. He did not know that her mother wasso worn out from the journey, and so embarrassed by unaided efforts toget settled while still caring for her half-sick child, that shehad decided to make a slight and hasty repast in her own room. MissWildmere cared little for what took place behind the scenes, but wasusually superb before the footlights. Nothing could have been morecharming or better calculated to win general good-will than heradvance down the long room. In external beauty she was more strikingat first than Madge. She did not in the least regret that she mustenter alone, for she was not proud of her mother, and nothing drewattention from herself. She assumed, however, a slight and charmingtrace of embarrassment and perplexity, which to Graydon was perfectlyirresistible, and he mentally resolved that she should not much longerwant a devoted escort. Madge saw his glance of sympathy and strongadmiration, his smile and low bow as she passed, ushered forward bythe obsequious headwaiter, and her heart sank. In spite of all shehad attempted and achieved, the old cynical assurance came back toher--"You are nothing to Graydon, and never can be anything to him."She was pale enough now, but her eyes burned with the resolution notto yield until all hope was slain. She talked freely, and was mostfriendly toward Graydon, but there was a slight constraint in hismanner. The beautiful and self-possessed girl who sat opposite him wasnot little Madge whom it had been his pleasure to pet and humor. Sheevidently no longer regarded herself as his sister, but rather as acharming young woman abundantly able to take care of herself. She hadindeed changed marvellously in more respects than one, and he feltaggrieved that he had been kept in ignorance of her progress. Hebelieved that she had grown away from him and the past, as well asgrown up, according to her declaration. He recalled her apparentdisinclination for correspondence, and now thought it due toindifference, rather than an indolent shrinking from effort. Thesurprise she had given him seemed a little thing--an act due possiblyto vanity--compared with the sisterly accounts she might have writtenof her improvement. She had achieved the wonder without aid from him,and so of course had not felt the need of his help in any way. Inremembrance of the past he felt that he had not deserved to be soignored. Her profession of friendship was all well enough--there couldscarcely be less than that--but the Madge he had looked forward tomeeting again as of old no longer existed. Oh, yes, she should haveadmiration and exclamation points to her heart's content, but he hadcome from his long exile hungry for something more and betterthan young lady friends. He had long since had a surfeit of thesesemi-Platonic affinities. The girl who apparently had been refusingscores of men for his sake was more to his taste. His brother'srepugnance only irritated and incited him, and he thought, "I'll carryout his business policy to the utmost, but away from the office I ammy own man."
As these thoughts passed through his mind, they began to impart to hismanner a tinge of gallantry, the beginning of a departure from his oldfraternal and affectionate ways. He was too well-bred to show piqueopenly, or to reveal a sense of injury during the first hours ofreunion, but he already felt absolved from being very attentive toa girl who not only had proved so conclusively that she could manageadmirably for herself, but who also had been so indifferent that shehad not needed his sympathy in her efforts or thought it worth whileto gladden him with a knowledge of her progress. He had loved her asa sister, and had given ample proof of this. He had maintained hisaffection for the Madge that he remembered. "But I have been told," hethought, bitterly, "that the young lady before me is a 'friend.' Shehas been a rather distant friend, if the logic of events counts foranything. Not satisfied with the thousands of miles that separated us,she has also withheld her confidence in regard to changes that wouldhave interested even a casual acquaintance."
Madge soon detected the changing expression of his eyes, the lesseningof simple, loving truth in his words, and while she was pained shefeared that all this and more would necessarily result from thebreaking up of their old relations. Her task was a difficult oneat best--perhaps it was impossible--nor had she set about it incalculating policy. Their old relations could not be maintained on herpart. Even the touch of his hand had the mysterious power to send athrill to her very heart. Therefore she must surround herself at oncewith the viewless yet impassable barriers which a woman can interposeeven by a glance.
As they rose, Graydon remarked, "I have helped you at supper, and yetone of my illusions has not vanished. The air at Santa Barbara musthave been very nourishing if your appetite was no better therethan here. Your strange 'sea-change' on that distant coast is stillmarvellous to me."
"Mary can tell you how ravenous I usually am. I do not meet friendsevery
day from whom I have been separated so long."
"It is a very ordinary thing for me to meet 'friends,'" he replied,_sotto voce_, "for I have many. I had hopes that I should meet one whowould be far more than a friend. I'm half inclined to go out to SantaBarbara and see if my little sister Madge is not still there."
"Do you think me a fraud?"
"Oh, no, only so changed that I scarcely know how to get acquaintedwith you."
"Even if I granted so much, which I do not, I might suggest thatone must be uninteresting indeed if she inspires no desire foracquaintance. But such talk is absurd between us, Graydon."
"Of course it is. You are so changed for the better that I canscarcely believe my eyes or ears, and my heart not at all. Of courseyour wishes shall be my law, and my wishes will lead me to seek youracquaintance with deep and undisguised interest. You see the troublewith me is that I have not changed, and it will require a little timefor me to adapt myself to the new order of things. I am now somewhatstunned and paralyzed. In this imbecile state I am both stupidand selfish. I ought to congratulate you, and so I do with all theshattered forces of my mind and reason. You have improved amazingly.You are destined to become a belle _par excellence_, and probably areone now--I know so little of what has occurred since we parted."
"You are changed also, Graydon. You used to be kind in the old days;"and she spoke sadly.
"In some respects I am changed," he said, earnestly; "and my affectionfor you is of such long standing and so deep that it prompts me tomake another protest." (They had strolled out upon the grounds andwere now alone.) "I have changed in this respect; I am no longer soyoung as I was, and am losing my zest for general society. I was wearyof residence abroad, where I could have scarcely the semblance ofa home, and, while I had many acquaintances and friends, I had nokindred. I'm sorry to say that the word 'friend,' in its referenceto young ladies, does not mean very much to me; or, rather, I havelearned from experience just what it does mean. A few years since Iwas proud of my host of young lady friends, and some I thought wouldcontinue to be such through life. Bah! They are nearly all married orengaged; their lives have drifted completely away from mine, as it wasnatural and inevitable that they should. We are good friends still,but what does it amount to? I rarely think of them; they never ofme, I imagine. We exert no influence on each other's lives, and addnothing to them. I never had a sister, but I had learned to love youas if you were one, and when I heard that you were to be of our familyagain, the resumption of our old relations was one of my dearestexpectations. It hurt me cruelly, Madge, when you laughed at theidea as preposterous, and told me that I had forgotten myself whenfollowing the most natural impulse of my heart. It seemed to me theresult of prudishness, rather than womanly delicacy, unless you havechanged in heart as greatly as in externals. You could be so muchto me as a sister. It is a relationship that I have always craved--asister not far removed from me in age; and such a tie, it appears tome, might form the basis of a sympathy and confidence that would beas frank as unselfish and helpful. That is what I looked forward to inyou, Madge. Why on earth can it not be?"
She was painfully embarrassed, and was glad that his words were spokenunder the cover of night. She trembled, for his question probed deep.How could she explain that what was so natural for him was impossiblefor her? He mistook her hesitation for a sign of acquiescence, andcontinued: "Wherein have I failed to act like a brother? During theyears we were together was I not reasonably kind and considerate? Youdid not think of yourself then as one of my young lady friends.Why should you now? I have not changed, and, as I have said, I havereturned hungry for kindred and the quieter pleasures of home. It istime that I was considering the more serious questions of life, and ofcourse the supreme question with a man of my years is that of a homeof his own. I have never been able to think of such a home and notassociate you with it. I can invite my sister to it and make her apart of it, but I cannot invite young lady friends. A sister can besuch a help to a fellow; and it seems to me that I could be of nolittle aid to you. I know the world and the men you will meet insociety. Unless you seclude yourself, you will be as great a belle asMiss Wildmere. You also have a fine property of your own. Will it benothing to have a brother at your side to whom you can speak franklyof those who seek your favor? Come, Madge, be simple and rational. Ihave not changed; my frank words and pleadings prove that I havenot. If we do not go back to the hotel brother and sister it will bebecause you have changed;" and he attempted to put his arm around herand draw her to him.
She sprang aloof. "Well, then, I have changed," she said, in a low,concentrated voice. "Think me a prude if you will. I know I am not.You are unjust to me, for you give me, in effect, no alternative.You say, 'Think of me as a brother; feel and act as if you were mysister,' when I am not your sister. It's like declaring that thereis nothing in blood--that such relations are questions of choice andwill. I said in downright sincerity that I regarded you as almost thebest friend I had, and I have not so many friends that the word meansnothing to me. I do remember all your kindness in the past--when haveI forgotten it for an hour?--but that does not change the essentialinstincts of my womanhood, and since we parted I've grown towomanhood. You in one sense have not changed, and I still am in yourmind the invalid child you used to indulge and fondle. It is not justto me now to ask that I act and feel as if there were a natural tiebetween us. The fact ever remains that there is not. Why should Ideceive you by pretending to what is impossible? Nature is strongerthan even your wishes, Graydon, and cannot be ignored."
She spoke hesitatingly, feeling her way across most difficult anddangerous ground, but her decision was unmistakable, and he said,quietly, "I am answered. See, we have wandered far from the house. Hadwe not better return?"
After a few moments of silence she asked, "Are you so rich in friendsthat you have no place for me?"
"Why, certainly, Madge," he replied, in cordial, offhand tones, "weare friends. There's nothing else for us to be. I don't pretend tounderstand your scruples. Even if a woman refused to be my wife Ishould be none the less friendly, unless she had trifled with me. Tomy man's reason a natural tie does not count for so much as the yearswe spent together. I remember what you were to me then, and what Iseemed to you. I tried to keep up the old feeling by correspondence.The West is a world of wonders, and you have come from it the greatestwonder of all."
"I hope I shall not prove to you a monstrosity, Graydon. I will trynot to be one if you will give me a chance."
"Oh, no, indeed; you promise to be one of the most charming youngladies I ever met."
"I don't promise anything of the kind," she replied, with a laugh thatwas chiefly the expression of her intense nervous tension. It jarredupon his feelings, and confirmed him in the belief that their longseparation had broken up their old relations completely, and that she,in the new career which her beauty opened before her, wished for noembarrassing relations of any kind.
"Well," he said, with an answering laugh, "I suppose I must take youfor what you are and propose to be--that is, if I ever find out."
In a few moments more, after some light badinage, he left her withMr. and Mrs. Muir on the piazza, and went to claim his waltz with MissWildmere.
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