CHAPTER XLIV
ONLY A MOOD
When Winn reached home, he found two messages awaiting him, one fromEthel Sherman asking him to call, and another bidding him journey to thehome of his boyhood and attend to a business matter at once. Hisbirthplace, an almost worthless hillside farm, had been leased tostrangers, but they had scarce obtained a living and, finally, havingdenuded it of about everything except the stones and the oldweather-beaten farmhouse, had deserted it, leaving three years' taxesunpaid.
And Winn, the sole heir, was now asked to come and pay them, or allowhis boyhood home to be sold for that purpose.
This, following the bitter disappointment of his Rockhaven trip, seemedthe last straw; and when he called upon Ethel, as perforce he felt hemust, he was in an unenviable frame of mind.
But she was sweetness personified.
"Why, Winn, my dear friend," she said, "what have I done to you thatyou should desert me so? It's been three weeks since I've set eyes uponyou except at church, and then you would not look at me."
"I don't imagine that you have suffered much," replied Winn, savagely,looking at an immense bunch of American Beauty roses on thecentre-table, and thinking of Simmons. "I am a worker in the hive thesedays, and 'sassiety' isn't for me."
Ethel looked at him and laughed.
"My dear boy," she said sweetly, "you ought to send your temper to thelaundry and feel grateful I wanted to see you. I refused an invitationto the opera this eve just to have a visit with you, and you come crossas two sticks."
"I'm sorry," he answered, "but I have troubles of my own, and life isn'tall a picnic. For instance, I've got to take a two-hundred-mile rideinto the country to-morrow, pay up the taxes, and find a tenant for theold farm. I've just returned from a business trip, away five days, andthe editor told me this afternoon if I wanted more time off now I'dbetter resign."
"He's a brute," said Ethel.
"No, he's a business man," replied Winn, "and I'm his servant, that isall. I don't intend to be much longer, or any man's for that matter."
"I'm so glad," she asserted, in the cooing, sympathetic tone a womanknows so well how to use; "you are capable of better things, Winn, and Ishall welcome the day when you are your own master."
Then Winn, his vexed spirit soothed by this woman's gentle sympathy, hisself-respect restored by her praise, looked at her admiringly. "Ethel,"he said, "you can mark the two extremes of womankind--angel ordevil--with equal facility. If ever I attempt a novel, you shall be theheroine."
"Better not," she laughed. "I've no sentiment, and a heroine without aheart would be a flat failure. No," she continued musingly, "I've noteven a little one. I used to think I had, but I've outgrown it.Sentiment on a woman's part these days is a weakness for men to trampleupon. Sister Grace had sentiment. Now she lives in four rooms and tendsbaby, while hubby escapes to the club. No, thanks. No sentiment in mine,please."
"I begin to think it's folly on either side," asserted Winn, soberly,"and especially in business. Jack says 'be good and you'll be lonesome,'and calls me a fool for being honest. You say I am out of my groove hereand that a woman with a heart is a stupid. I am inclined to think thatthere is no such thing as truth, honor, and sentiment except among oldfogies and children."
"There isn't and there is," responded Ethel, philosophically; "no one isall bad, or at least but few are, while not many are all good. Only, inmatters of the heart, a woman who has one is bound to suffer, unless shemeets and weds a young god, and gods are scarce in this day andgeneration."
"But is she likely to be the happier by marrying for money andposition?" queried Winn, pointedly.
"To the best of my observation--yes," she answered, understandingperfectly well what he meant. "And it's to obtain your opinion on thatvery subject I asked you to call."
Winn looked at her long and fixedly.
Once he had thought this girl the incarnation of all that was lovely andlovable. Young, handsome, and yet not of the Dresden china order, butwarm, passionate, full of life and good spirits. She was all that now,but hard-hearted, cool-headed, a diamond among her sex, but not a pansy.
And so far as he could judge, one who would seek and accept only agolden setting. Once he had loved her madly, now he enjoyed her keenwit, her veiled flatteries, her perfect poise, her polished sarcasm,realizing that she was likely to be an ornament to the man who won her,but never a heart companion. And now he admired her intensely, but lovedher not at all.
"Winn," she said at last, smiling, "have you analyzed me sufficiently toanswer my question now?"
"No," he replied evasively, "and I never can. I've learned one thing,and learned it well, and that is, it's folly to tell a woman truth insuch matters. They prefer lies that are flattering."
"Men never do, I suppose," she said, with a tinge of sarcasm.
"Oh, yes, they do," he admitted candidly; "men positively thirst forflattery--especially from a woman. But it is safer to tell them thetruth. They will in time forgive that, even if it hurts, but a womannever will."
"That's a man's estimate," she asserted, "not a woman's. My belief is,truth is an unsafe knife to use in either case. But you have notanswered my question."
"It's hard to do that," he responded, "for it all depends upon what awoman's idea of happiness is. You, who assert that you are without heartand believe sentiment a folly, would be miserable, if mated to a poorman, be he never so faithful in love. You want luxuries, fine gowns, andplenty of them, since you have beauty; you move in a circle where showis religion and extravagance a necessity. To you and your associates,these wants have become habits and rule you all."
Ethel sighed.
"We are a hollow set, I'll admit," she said, "and leave the price tag onall we give away; but still you do not answer my question."
"No, and no man or woman can," he responded. "As they say on the street,'it's a gamble either way.' If you marry for love and secure a cottage,you will sigh for a mansion. If you obtain the mansion and miss thelove, you will sigh for the cottage."
Then looking at the vase of roses standing near, as if they exhaled arevelation, he added slowly, "You will be true to your surroundings,Ethel, and whoever buys you will pay your price."
She flushed slightly.
"You put it into unvarnished words," she answered, laughing to concealthe hurt, "but I can't complain. I asked you for the truth." Then, inself-defence, she added, a little sadly, "It's not my fault, Winn, thatI am for sale; it's the fault of society and its dictum. I say at times,as I said to-night, that sentiment is folly; and then again comes ayearning for something sweeter, something better than this life of showand shallow platitudes. Occasionally I feel it all a mistake, and envyGrace. Last summer, when I was up in the mountains, we went driving oneday and stopped at a farmhouse to buy a glass of milk. The house was ahovel almost; two little children barefooted and bareheaded played undera tree, and inside a woman was singing. When she brought us the milk,she, too, was barefoot. We passed that way later, on our return, and shewas still singing at her work. And, in spite of her surroundings, therewas something in her voice that awoke my envy. Her life was povertypersonified; there wasn't another house in sight, and yet she washappy."
And Winn, wondering what this all meant and marvelling that thisimperative beauty, this leader of fashion, courted, flattered, andsought by all, could have one such touch of human feeling, looked at herin utter astonishment.
"Ethel," he said, "almost am I persuaded that you have a heart."
"You had better not," she answered, with a laugh that was a sneer, "youmight pity me, and then I should despise myself;" and, pulling out oneof the roses that drooped toward the table, she slowly picked it topieces.
"Life is but a succession of moods, Winn," she continued, after a pause;"and some contain the rustle of angels' wings and some the clicking ofdevils' teeth. At times I hate the whole world and envy the nuns I meetin the street, and then again I think them fools."
Then she arose and seated herself at
the piano. For a full ten minutesshe lightly touched the keys, now a few chords of dreamy waltz music,then a low, plaintive love song, and finally a bit of Sousa, while Winnquietly studied her.
Suddenly she turned.
"Winn," she said, looking him full in the face, "I am going to be veryrude. Tell me what made you go to Rockhaven?"
His eyes fell. "To see Jess Hutton," he answered, "and the quarry. Ibought it at the auction a month ago."
It was fairly well said, but not over well.
"Thanks," she replied, "and forgive my query. There is no need ofrepeating it."
And it was weeks after before it dawned on him what she wished to findout.
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