“Here,” said Uncle John, musingly, “is a philosophy I did not expect from you, Von Taer. They tell me you’re one who stands on top the peak. And you were born that way, and didn’t have to climb. Seems to me you rather scorn the crowd that’s trying to climb to an eminence you never had to win. That wouldn’t be my way. And I suspect that if the crowd wasn’t trying to climb to you, your own position wouldn’t be worth a cotton hat.”
Von Taer had no answer to this criticism. Perhaps he scarcely heard it, for he appeared lost in a brown study. Finally he said:
“Will you permit my daughter to call upon your nieces, Mr. Merrick?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Then kindly give me their addresses.”
Uncle John wrote them on a slip of paper.
“You may now dismiss the subject from your mind, sir, as you lately advised me to do. Whatever may be accomplished in the direction you have suggested I will gladly undertake. If I succeed it will be exceedingly gratifying to us all, I am sure.”
Mr. Merrick left the office in a rather humbled and testy mood. He disliked to ask favors at any time and now felt that he had confided himself to the mercy of this callous aristocrat and met with a distinct rebuff.
But he had done it for the sake of his beloved nieces — and they would never know what humiliation this unsatisfactory interview had cost him.
CHAPTER III
DIANA
Diana Von Taer can not be called a type. She was individual. Aristocratic to her finger tips, she was unlike all other aristocrats. An admitted queen of society, her subjects were few and indifferent. She possessed ancient lineage, was highly accomplished, had been born to the purple, as the saying is; but none of these things conspired to make her the curious creature she was.
As we make her acquaintance she is twenty-three years of age — and looks eighteen. She is tall and slender and carries her handsome form with exquisite grace. Diana is never abrupt; her voice is ever modulated to soft, even tones; she rises from a chair or couch with the lithe, sinuous motion of a serpent uncoiling.
Her face, critically regarded, is not so admirable as her form. The features are a trifle too elongated, and their delicacy is marred by a nose a bit broad and unshapely and a mouth with thin lips primly set. Her dark eyes might be magnificent if wide open: but through the narrow slits of their lids, half hidden by long curling lashes, the eyes peer at you with a cold, watchful, intent gaze that carries a certain uncanny and disconcerting fascination.
Yet the girl is essentially feminine. If you refrain from meeting that discomfiting gaze — and her familiars have learned to avoid it — Diana impresses you as being graceful, dainty and possessed of charming manners. Her taste in dress is perfect. She converses fluently on many topics. It is her custom to rise at ten o’clock, whatever time she may have retired the night before; to read until luncheon; to devote the remainder of her day to the requirements of society.
Eligible young men of admitted social standing call upon Diana at such intervals as the proprieties require. They chatter “small talk” and are careful to address her with deference. With an exception to be referred to later these young men have no more thought of “flirting” with Miss Von Taer than they would with the statue of the goddess, her namesake. Her dinner parties and entertainments are very successful. She is greatly admired, per se, but has no intimate friends.
When her mother died, some years before, an aunt had come to live with Diana, and now posed as her chaperon. Mrs. Cameron was a stolid, corpulent lady, with a countenance perpetually placid and an habitual aversion to displaying intellect. Her presence in the establishment, although necessary, was frankly ignored. Fortunately she never obtruded herself.
Hedrik Von Taer was passionately devoted to his daughter. He alone, perhaps, of all the world, thoroughly understood her and appreciated her talents. She may have frightened him at times, but that only added to his admiration. In return Diana displayed a calm, but affectionate regard for her father.
Often after dinner these two would pass an hour together in a corner of the drawing-room, where the cold gray eyes of the man met the intent, half-veiled glance of the girl with perfect understanding. They talked of many things, including business. Hedrik had no secrets from his daughter.
The desperate condition of his finances, when he had been caught in a “corner” on wheat and nearly crushed, had not dismayed her in the least. It was she who had counseled him to appeal to John Merrick, since the name and fame of the eccentric millionaire were familiar to her as to him.
He related to Diana his interview with Mr. Merrick on his return home. He was saved. The three hundred thousand were now in the bank to his credit and he could weather the coming storm easily — perhaps with profit. In a tone half amused, half serious, he told her of the little millionaire’s desire to secure entrée into good society for his three nieces.
Diana laughed with her lips; her eyes never laughed. Then she took in her hand the paper containing the addresses of the three girls and regarded it thoughtfully.
“It is a curious request, mon pere,” she said, In her soft, even tones; “but one we cannot diplomatically disregard. Provided, however — ”
“Yes, Diana;” as she paused.
“Provided these prospective debutantes are not wholly impossible.”
“I realize that,” returned her father. “John Merrick is a great power in the city. He has been useful to me, and may be again. I have this chance to win him. But the man is very common clay, despite his wealth, and his three nieces are likely to be made of the same material. Should they prove impossible you cannot well descend to introducing them to our set.”
“I am not certain of that, sir,” said the girl, with a pretty shrug. “My position is too secure to be jeopardized by any error of this sort. I believe I may introduce these girls without risk. I shall not vouch for them too strongly, and after their debut they must stand or fall on their own merits.”
“It is something a Von Taer has never yet done,” remarked the man, gravely.
“To commercialize his social position? But, father dear, the age is fast commercializing everything. I think our especial set is as yet comparatively free from contamination by the ‘lately rich’; but even among us money has glossed many offenses that a generation ago would have meant social ostracism.”
He nodded.
“That is true, Diana.”
“Life with me is a bit dull, as well. Everlasting routine, however admirable, is tiresome. I scent amusement in this adventure, which I have decided to undertake. With your permission I will see these girls and quickly decide their fate. Should they prove not too dreadfully outré you may look to see them my especial protégés.”
“I leave all to your discretion, Diana,” returned Von Taer, with a sigh. “If, in the end, some of the more particular venture to reproach them.”
“It will not matter,” interrupted the daughter, lightly, as her dark eyes narrowed to a hair’s breadth. “Any who dares reproach Diana Von Taer will afford her interesting occupation. And to offset that remote contingency we shall permanently enslave the powerful John Merrick. I understand he is hard as nails in financial matters; but to us the man has disclosed his one weakness — ambition to promote his three nieces. Since we have discovered this vulnerable point, let us take advantage of it. I am satisfied the loan of three hundred thousand was but a lure — and how cleverly the man gauged us!”
Von Taer scowled.
“Get your wraps, Diana. The carriage is waiting, and we are due at Mrs. Doldringham’s crush.”
CHAPTER IV
THE THREE NIECES
The Von Taers did not affect motor cars. In some circles the carriage and pair is still considered the more aristocratic mode of conveyance. Established customs do not readily give way to fads and freaks.
Consulting her memoranda as she rode along; in her handsome, tastefully appointed equipage, Diana found that Louise Merrick, one of the three girls
she had set out to discover, was the nearest on her route. Presently she rang the bell at the Merrick residence, an eminently respectable dwelling; in a desirable neighborhood.
Diana could not resist a sigh of relief as her observant glance noted this detail. A dignified butler ushered her into a reception room and departed with her card.
It was now that the visitor’s nose took an upward tendency as she critically examined her surroundings. The furnishings were abominable, a mixture of distressingly new articles with those evidently procured from dealers in “antiquities.” Money had been lavished here, but good taste was absent. To understand this — for Miss Von Taer gauged the condition truly — it is necessary to know something of Mrs. Martha Merrick.
This lady, the relict of John Merrick’s only brother, was endowed with a mediocre mind and a towering ambition. When left a widow with an only daughter she had schemed and contrived in endless ways to maintain an appearance of competency on a meager income. Finally she divided her capital, derived from her husband’s life insurance, into three equal parts, which she determined to squander in three years in an attempt to hoodwink the world with the belief that she was wealthy. Before the three years were ended her daughter Louise would be twenty, and by that time she must have secured a rich parti and been safely married. In return for this “sacrifice” the girl was to see that her mother was made comfortable thereafter.
This worldly and foolish design was confided to Louise when she was only seventeen, and her unformed mind easily absorbed her mother’s silly ambition. It was a pity, for Louise Merrick possessed a nature sweet and lovable, as well as instinctively refined — a nature derived from her dead father and with little true sympathy with Mrs. Merrick’s unscrupulous schemes. But at that age a girl is easily influenced, so it is little wonder that under such tuition Louise became calculating, sly and deceitful, to a most deplorable degree.
Such acquired traits bade fair in the end to defeat Mrs. Merrick’s carefully planned coup, for the daughter had a premature love affair with a youth outside the pale of eligibility. Louise ignored the fact that he had been disinherited by his father, and in her reckless infatuation would have sacrificed her mother without thought or remorse. The dreadful finale had only been averted by the advent of Uncle John Merrick, who had changed the life plans of the widow and her heedless daughter and promptly saved the situation.
John Merrick did not like his sister-in-law, but he was charmed by his lovely niece and took her at once to his affectionate old heart. He saw the faults of Louise clearly, but also appreciated her sweeter qualities. Under his skillful guidance she soon redeemed herself and regained control of her better nature. The girl was not yet perfect, by any means; she was to an extent artificial and secretive, and her thoughtless flirtations were far from wise; but her two cousins and her uncle had come to know and understand her good points. They not only bore patiently with her volatile nature but strove to influence her to demonstrate her inherent good qualities.
In one way her mother’s calculating training had been most effective. Louise was not only a dainty, lovely maid to the eye, but her manners were gracious and winning and she had that admirable self-possession which quickly endears one even to casual acquaintances. She did not impress more intimate friends as being wholly sincere, yet there was nothing in her acts, since that one escapade referred to, that merited severe disapproval.
Of course the brilliant idea of foisting her precious daughter upon the “select” society of the metropolis was original with Mrs. Merrick. Louise was well content with things as they were; but not so the mother. The rise from poverty to affluence, the removal of all cares and burdens from her mind, had merely fostered still greater ambitions. Uncle John’s generosity had endowed each of his three nieces with an ample fortune. “I want ‘em to enjoy the good things of life while they’re at an age to enjoy ‘em,” he said; “for the older one gets the fewer things are found to be enjoyable. That’s my experience, anyhow.” He also told the girls frankly that they were to inherit jointly — although not equally — his entire fortune. Yet even this glowing prospect did not satisfy Mrs. Merrick. Since all her plans for Louise, from the very beginning, had been founded on personal selfishness, she now proposed to have her daughter gain admission to recognized fashionable society in order that she might herself bask in the reflection of the glory so obtained and take her place with the proud matrons who formed the keystone of such society.
After carefully considering ways and means to gain her object she had finally conceived the idea of utilizing Mr. Merrick. She well knew Uncle John would not consider one niece to the exclusion of the others, and had therefore used his influence to get all three girls properly “introduced.” Therefore her delight and excitement were intense when the butler brought up Diana’s card and she realized that “the perfectly swell Miss Von Taer” was seated in her reception room. She rushed to Louise, who, wholly innocent of any knowledge of the intrigue which had led to this climax, opened her blue eyes in astonishment and said with a gasp:
“Oh, mother! what shall I do?”
“Do? Why, go down and make yourself agreeable, of course. It’s your chance, my dear, your great chance in life! Go — go! Don’t, for heaven’s sake, keep her waiting.”
Louise went down. In her most affable and gracious way she approached the visitor and said:
“It is very nice of you to call upon me. I am so glad to meet Miss Von Taer.”
Diana, passing conversational nothings with the young girl, was pleased by her appearance and self-possession. This aspirant for social honors was fresh, fair and attractive, with a flow of small talk at her tongue’s end.
“Really,” thought the fastidious visitor, “this one, at least, will do me no discredit. If she is a fair sample of the others we shall get along very nicely In this enterprise.”
To Louise she said, before going:
“I’m to have an evening, the nineteenth. Will you assist me to receive? Now that we are acquainted I wish to see more of you, my dear, and I predict we shall get along famously together.”
The girl’s head swam. Help Miss Von Taer to receive! Such an honor had been undreamed of an hour ago. But she held her natural agitation under good control and only a round red spot Upon each cheek betrayed her inward excitement as she prettily accepted the invitation. Beneath their drooping lashes Diana’s sagacious eyes read the thoughts of the girl quite accurately. Miss Von Taer enjoyed disconcerting anyone in any way, and Louise was so simple and unsophisticated that she promised to afford considerable amusement in the future.
By the time Diana had finished her brief call this singular creature had taken the measure of Louise Merrick in every detail, including her assumption of lightness and her various frivolities. She understood that in the girl were capabilities for good or for evil, as she might be led by a stronger will. And, musingly, Diana wondered who would lead her.
As for Louise, she was enraptured by her distinguished visitor’s condescension and patronage, and her heart bounded at the thought of being admitted to the envied social coterie in which Diana Von Taer shone a bright, particular star.
The second name in the list of John Merrick’s nieces was that of Elizabeth De Graf. She lived at a good private hotel located in an exclusive residence district.
It was true that Elizabeth — or “Beth,” as she was more familiarly called — was not a permanent guest at this hotel. When in New York she was accustomed to live with one or the other of her cousins, who welcomed her eagerly. But just now her mother had journeyed from the old Ohio home to visit Beth, and the girl had no intention of inflicting her parent upon the other girls. Therefore she had taken rooms at the hotel temporarily, and the plan suited her mother excellently. For one thing, Mrs. De Graf could go home and tell her Cloverton gossips that she had stopped at the most “fashionable” hotel in New York; a second point was that she loved to feast with epicurean avidity upon the products of a clever chef, being one of those women who l
ive to eat, rather than eat to live.
Mrs. De Graf was John Merrick’s only surviving sister, but she differed as widely from the simple, kindly man in disposition as did her ingenious daughter from her in mental attainments. The father, Professor De Graf, was supposed to be a “musical genius.” Before Beth came into her money, through Uncle John, the Professor taught the piano and singing; now, however, the daughter allowed her parents a liberal income, and the self-engrossed musician devoted himself to composing oratorios and concertas which no one but himself would ever play.
To be quite frank, the girl cared little for her gross and selfish parents, and they in turn cared little for her beyond the value she afforded them in the way of dollars and cents. So she had not lived at home, where constant quarrels and bickerings nearly drove her frantic, since Uncle John had adopted her. In catering to this present whim of her mother, who longed to spend a few luxurious weeks in New York, Beth sacrificed more than might be imagined by one unacquainted with her sad family history.
Whimsical Major Doyle often called Uncle John’s nieces “the Three Graces”; but Beth was by odds the beauty of them all. Splendid brown eyes, added to an exquisite complexion, almost faultless features and a superb carriage, rendered this fair young girl distinguished in any throng. Fortunately she was as yet quite unspoiled, being saved from vanity by a morbid consciousness of her inborn failings and a sincere loathing for the moral weakness that prevented her from correcting those faults. Judging Beth by the common standard of girls of her age, both failings and faults were more imaginary than real; yet it was her characteristic to suspect and despise in herself such weaknesses as others would condone, or at least regard leniently. For here was a girl true and staunch, incapable of intrigue or deceit, frank and outspoken, all these qualities having been proven more than once. Everyone loved Beth De Graf save herself, and at this stage of her development the influence of her cousins and of Uncle John had conspired to make the supersensitive girl more tolerant of herself and less morbid than formerly.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 449