“I’ll come, if you really want me; and I’ll try my best to behave nicely. But I can’t imagine why you have chosen to take us three girls under your wing; unless — ” with sudden intuition, “it’s for Uncle John’s sake.”
“That was it, at first,” replied Diana, rising to go; “but now that I’ve seen you I’m delighted to have you on your own account. Come early, dear; we must be ready to receive our guests by nine.”
“Nine o’clock!” reflected Patsy, when her visitor had gone; “why, I’m often in bed by that time.”
CHAPTER V
PREPARING FOR THE PLUNGE
John Merrick lived with the Doyles at their Willing Square apartments. There were but two of the Doyles — Patricia and her father, Major Doyle, a tall, handsome, soldierly man with white moustache and hair. The Major was noted as a “character,” a keen wit and a most agreeable type of the “old Irish gentleman.” He fairly worshipped his daughter, and no one blamed him for it. His business, as special agent and manager for his brother-in-law’s millions, kept the Major closely occupied and afforded John Merrick opportunity to spend his days as be pleased. The rich man was supposed to be “retired,” yet the care of his investments and income was no light task, as the Major found.
We are accustomed to regard extreme wealth as the result of hard-headed shrewdness, not wholly divorced from unscrupulous methods, yet no one could accuse John Merrick or his representative with being other than kindly, simple-hearted and honest. Uncle John says that he never intended to “get rich”; it was all the result of carelessness. He had been so immersed in business that he failed to notice how fast his fortune was growing. When he awoke to a realization of his immense accumulation he promptly retired, appointing Major Doyle to look after his investments and seeking personal leisure after many years of hard work. He instructed his agent to keep his income from growing into more capital by rendering wise assistance to all worthy charities and individuals, and this, as you may suppose, the Major found a herculean task. Often he denounced Uncle John for refusing to advise him, claiming that the millionaire had selfishly thrust the burden of his wealth on the Major’s broad shoulders. While there was an element of truth in this the burden it was not so heavy as to make the old soldier unhappy, and the two men loved and respected one another with manly cordiality.
Patricia was recognized as Uncle John’s favorite niece and it was understood she was to inherit the bulk of his property, although some millions might be divided between Beth and Louise “if they married wisely.” Neither Uncle John nor the Major ever seemed to consider Patsy’s marrying; she was such a child that wedlock for her seemed a remote possibility.
The Sunday afternoon following Diana Von Taer’s visit to the three nieces found the girls all congregated in Patsy’s own room, where an earnest discussion was being conducted. That left Uncle John to take his after-dinner nap in the big Morris chair in the living room, where Major Doyle sat smoking-sulkily while he gazed from the window and begrudged the moments Patsy was being kept from him.
Finally the door opened and the three girls trooped out.
“Huh! Is the conspiracy all cut-an’-dried?” growled the Major.
Uncle John woke up with a final snort, removed the newspaper from his face and sat up. He smiled benignantly upon his nieces.
“It’s all your fault, sor!” declared Major Doyle, selecting the little millionaire as the safest recipient of his displeasure. “Your foolishness has involved us all in this dreadful complication. Why on earth couldn’t you leave well-enough alone?”
Uncle John received the broadside with tolerant equanimity.
“What’s wrong; my dears?” he enquired, directing his mild glance toward the bevy of young girls.
“I am unaware that anything is wrong, Uncle,” replied Louise gravely. “But since we are about to make our debut in society it is natural we should have many things to discuss that would prove quite uninteresting to men. Really, Uncle John, this is a great event — perhaps the most important event of our lives.”
“Shucks an’ shoestrings!” grunted the Major. “What’s in this paper-shelled, painted, hollow thing ye call ‘society’ to interest three healthy, wide-awake girls? Tell me that!”
“You don’t understand, dear,” said Patsy, soothing him with a kiss.
“I think he does,” remarked Beth, with meditative brows. “Modern society is a man-made — or woman-made — condition, to a large extent artificial, selfish and unwholesome.”
“Oh, Beth!” protested Louise. “You’re talking like a rank socialist. I can understand common people sneering at society, which is so far out of their reach; but a girl about to be accepted in the best circles has no right to rail at her own caste.”
“There can be no caste in America,” declared Beth, stubbornly.
“But there is caste in America, and will be so long as the exclusiveness of society is recognized by the people at large,” continued Louise. “If it is a ‘man-made condition’ isn’t it the most respected, most refined, most desirable condition that one may attain to?”
“There are plenty of honest and happy people in the world who ignore society altogether,” answered Beth. “It strikes me that your social stars are mighty few in the broad firmament of humanity.”
“But they’re stars, for all that, dear,” said Uncle John, smiling at her with a hint of approval in his glance, yet picking up the argument; “and they look mighty big and bright to the crowd below. It’s quite natural. You can’t keep individuals from gaining distinction, even in America. There are few generals in an army, for instance; and they’re ‘man-made’; but that’s no reason the generals ain’t entitled to our admiration.”
“Let’s admire ‘em, then — from a distance,” retorted the Major, realizing the military simile was employed to win his sympathy.
“Certain things, my dear Major, are naturally dear to a girl’s heart,” continued Uncle John, musingly; “and we who are not girls have no right to condemn their natural longings. Girls love dancing, pink teas and fudge-parties, and where can they find ‘em in all their perfection but in high society? Girls love admiration and flirtations — you do, my dears; you can’t deny it--and the male society swells have the most time to devote to such things. Girls love pretty dresses — ”
“Oh, Uncle! you’ve hit the nail on the head now,” exclaimed Patsy, laughing. “We must all have new gowns for this reception, and as we’re to assist Miss Von Taer the dresses must harmonize, so to speak, and — and — ”
“And be quite suited to the occasion,” broke in Louise; “and — ”
“And wear our lives out with innumerable fittings,” concluded Beth, gloomily.
“But why new dresses?” demanded the Major. “You’ve plenty of old ones that are clean and pretty, I’m sure; and our Patsy had one from the dressmaker only last week that’s fit for a queen.”
“Oh, Daddy! you don’t understand,” laughed Patsy.
“This time, Major, I fear you don’t,” agreed Beth. “Your convictions regarding society may be admirable, but you’re weak on the gown question.”
“If the women would only listen to me,” began the Major, dictatorially; but Uncle John cut him short.
“They won’t, sir; they’ll listen to no man when it comes to dressmaking.”
“Don’t they dress to captivate the men, then?” asked the Major, with fine sarcasm.
“Not at all,” answered Louise, loftily. “Men seldom know what a woman has on, if she looks nice; but women take in every detail of dress and criticise it severely if anything happens to be out of date, ill fitting or in bad taste.”
“Then they’re in bad taste themselves!” retorted the Major, hotly.
“Tut-tut, sir; who are you to criticise woman’s ways?” asked Uncle John, much amused. The Major was silenced, but he glared as if unconvinced.
“Dressmaking is a nuisance,” remarked Beth, placidly; “but it’s the penalty we pay for being women.”
> “You’re nothing but slips o’ girls, not out of your teens,” grumbled the Major. And no one paid any attention to him.
“We want to do you credit, Uncle John,” said Patsy, brightly. “Perhaps our names will be in the papers.”
“They’re there already,” announced Mr. Merrick, picking up the Sunday paper that lay beside him.
A chorus of exclamations was followed by a dive for the paper, and even the Major smiled grimly as he observed the three girlish heads close together and three pair of eager eyes scanning swiftly the society columns.
“Here it is!” cried Patsy, dancing up and down like a school-girl; and Louise read in a dignified voice — which trembled slightly with excitement and pleasure — the following item:
“Miss Von Taer will receive next Thursday evening at the family mansion in honor of Miss Merrick, Miss Doyle and Miss De Graf. These three charming debutantes are nieces of John Merrick, the famous tin-plate magnate.”
“Phoo!” growled the Major, during the impressive hush that followed; “that’s it, exactly. Your names are printed because you’re John Merrick’s nieces. If it hadn’t been for tin-plate, my dears, society never would ‘a’ known ye at all, at all!”
CHAPTER VI
THE FLY IN THE BROTH
Diana was an experienced entertainer and under her skillful supervision the reception proved eminently successful. Nor had she cause to be ashamed of the three protégées she presented to society, since capable modistes had supplemented their girlish charms and freshness with costumes pertinent to the occasion. Perhaps Patsy’s chubby form looked a little “dumpish” in her party gown, for some of Diana’s female guests regarded her with quiet amusement and bored tolerance, while the same critical posse was amazed and envious at Beth’s superb beauty and stately bearing. After all, it was Louise who captured the woman contingency and scored the greatest success; for her appearance was not only dainty and attractive but she was so perfectly self-possessed and responsive and bore herself so admirably under the somewhat trying; circumstances of a debut that she won the cordial goodwill of all whom she encountered. The hostess was elaborately gowned in white pompadour satin, trimmed with white chiffon and embroidered in pink roses and pearls. The Von Taer home was handsomely decorated for the occasion, since Diana never did anything by halves and for her own credit insisted on attention to those details of display that society recognizes and loves. Hundreds of long-stemmed American Beauties and Kentia palms were combined in beautifying the spacious hall, while orchids in marvelous variety nodded their blossoms in the great drawing-room, where the young-ladies received. These rare and precious flowers were arranged in bronze baskets with sprays of maidenhair. In the music room adjoining, great clusters of Madam Chantenay roses embellished the charming scene. Branches of cherry-blossoms, supplied by hot-houses, were banked in the lofty dining-room, where a Japanese pergola made of bamboo and lighted with red lanterns was erected at the upper end. The attendants here were Japanese girls in native costume, and the long table was laid with a lace cloth over pink satin, with butterfly bows of pink tulle. The table itself was decorated with cut-glass baskets of Cecil Brunner roses mingled with lilies of the valley and refreshments were distributed to the standing guests as they entered.
The affair was in the nature of a typical “crush,” for Diana’s list of eligibles included most of the prominent society folk then in town, and she was too important a personage to have her invitations disregarded. Beth and Patsy were fairly bewildered by the numerous introductions, until names became meaningless in their ears; but Louise, perfectly composed and in no wise distracted by her surroundings or the music of the orchestra and the perpetual buzz of conversation in the crowded rooms, impressed each individual upon her memory clearly, and was not likely to blunder in regard to names or individuality in the future. This is a rare talent, indeed, and scores, largely in one’s favor; for no one likes to think himself so unimportant as to be forgotten, under any circumstances.
It was during the thick of the reception that one of Miss Von Taer’s intimates, a graceful blond girl, suddenly seized her arm and whispered: “Oh, Diana! Guess who’s here — guess, my dear!”
Diana knew. Her eyes, always narrowed until the lashes shielded their sharp watchfulness, seldom missed observing anything of importance. She pressed her friend’s hand and turned again to the line of guests, while Louise, who had overheard the excited whisper, wondered casually what it might mean.
Soon after she knew. A tall, handsome young fellow was bowing before Diana, who — wonder of wonders! — for an instant unclosed her great eyes and shot an electric glance into his smiling face. The glance was brief as unexpected, yet it must have told the young man something, for he flushed and bowed again as if to hide his embarrassment. It also told Louise something, and her heart, which had given a quick bound at sight of the man’s face, began to cry out against Diana Von Taer’s artifices.
“Mr. Arthur Weldon,” said the hostess, in her soft voice; and now, as the young man turned an eager gaze on Louise and half extended his hand, the girl’s face grew pale and she imitated Diana to the extent of dropping her eyes and bowing with frigid indifference.
Standing close he whispered “Louise!” in a pleading tone that made Diana frown wickedly. But the girl was unresponsive and another instant forced him to turn to Beth.
“Why, Arthur! are you here, then?” said the girl, in a surprised but cordial tone.
“That is not astonishing, Miss Beth,” he replied. “The puzzling fact is that you are here — and under such auspices,” he added, in a lower tone.
Patsy now claimed him, with a frank greeting, and Arthur Weldon could do little more than press her hand when the line forced him to move on and give place to others.
But this especial young fellow occupied the minds of all four girls long after the crowd had swallowed him up. Diana was uneasy and obviously disturbed by the discovery that he was known to the three cousins, as well as by the memory of his tone as he addressed Louise Merrick. Louise, who had read Diana’s quick glance with the accuracy of an intuitionist, felt a sudden suspicion and dislike for Diana now dominating her. Behind all this was a mystery, which shall be explained here because the reader deserves to be more enlightened than the characters themselves.
Arthur Weldon’s nature was a queer combination of weakness and strength. He was physically brave but a moral coward. The motherless son of a man wholly immersed in business, he had been much neglected in his youth and his unstable character was largely the result of this neglect. On leaving college he refused a business career planned for him by his father, who cast him off with scornful indifference, and save for a slim temporary allowance promised to disinherit him. It was during this period that Arthur met Louise and fell desperately in love with her. The girl appeared to return the young fellow’s devotion, but shrewd, worldly Mrs. Merrick, discovering that the boy was practically disinherited and had no prospects whatever, forbade him the house. Louise, until now but mildly interested in the young-man, resented her mother’s interference and refused to give him up. She found ways to meet Arthur Weldon outside her home, so that the situation had become complicated and dangerous when Uncle John seized his three nieces and whisked them off to Europe. Young Weldon, under an assumed name, followed and attached himself to the party; but John Merrick’s suspicions were presently aroused and on discovering the identity of the youth he forbade him or Louise to “make love” or even speak of such a thing during the remainder of the trip.
The young fellow, by manly acts on some occasions and grave weaknesses on others, won Uncle John’s kindly interest. The old gentleman knew human nature, and saw much to admire as well as condemn in Louise’s friend. Beth and Patsy found him a pleasant comrade, and after all love-making was tabooed they were quite a harmonious party. Finally the sudden death of Weldon’s father left him the possessor of a fortune. He returned to America to look after his newly-acquired business and became so immersed in it that
Louise felt herself neglected when she came home expecting him to dance attendance upon her as before. She treated him coldly and he ceased calling, his volatile and sensitive nature resenting such treatment.
It is curious what little things influence the trend of human lives. Many estrangements are caused by trifles so intangible that we can scarcely locate them at all.
At first the girl was very unhappy at the alienation, but soon schooled herself to forget her former admirer. Arthur Weldon, for his part, consoled himself by plunging into social distractions and devoting himself to Diana Von Taer, whose strange personality for a time fascinated him.
The business could not hold young Weldon’s vacillant temperament for long; neither could Diana. As a matter of fact his heart, more staunch than he himself suspected, had never wavered much from Louise. Yet pride forbade his attempting to renew their former relations. It was now some months since he had seen the girl, and his eager exclamation was wrested from him by surprise and a sudden awakening to the fact that his love for her had merely slumbered.
Diana, worldly, cold and calculating as was her nature, had been profoundly touched by Arthur’s devotion to her. Usually young men were soon repulsed by her unfortunate personality, which was not easily understood. Therefore her intense nature responded freely to this admirer’s attentions, and if Diana could really love she loved Arthur Weldon. He had never proposed to her or even intimated it was his intention to do so, but she conceived a powerful desire to win him and had never abandoned this motive when he grew cold and appeared to desert her. Just now he was recently back from Italy, where he had passed several months, and Diana’s reception was his first reappearance in society. The girl had planned to bring him to her side this evening and intended to exert her strongest fascinations to lure him back to his former allegiance; so her annoyance may be guessed when she found her three protégées seemingly more familiar with the young man than was she herself.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 451