Part 7

“No. The first week we didn’t do anything. Then we got acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. March, and I began to really see something. But I supposed it was all balls and gaiety.”

“We must get up a few if you’re so fond of them,” Kendricks playfully suggested.

“Oh, I don’t know as I am. I never went much at home. Papa didn’t care to have me.”

“Ah, do you think it was right for him to keep you all to himself?” The girl did not answer, and they had both halted so abruptly that I almost ran into them. “I don’t quite make out where we are.” Kendricks seemed to be peering about. I plunged across the street lest he should ask me. I heard him add, “Oh yes; I know now,” and then they pressed forward.

We were quite near our hotel, but I thought it best to walk round the square and let them arrive first. On the way I amused myself thinking how different the girl had shown herself to him from what she had ever shown herself to my wife or me. She had really, this plain-minded goddess, a vein of poetic feeling, some inner beauty of soul answering to the outer beauty of body. She had a romantic attachment to her father, and this shed a sort of light on both of them, though I knew that it was not always a revelation of character.

XIII

WHEN I reached the hotel I found Miss Gage at the door, and Kendricks coming out of the office toward her.

“Oh, here he is!” she called to him at sight of me.

“Where in the world have you been?” he demanded. “I had just found out from the clerk that you hadn’t come in yet, and I was going back for you with a searchlight.”

“Oh, I wasn’t so badly lost as all that,” I returned. “I missed you in the crowd at the door, but I knew you’d get home somehow, and so I came on without you. But my aged steps are not so quick as yours.”

The words, mechanically uttered, suggested something, and I thought that if they were in for weirdness I would give them as much weirdness as they could ask for. “When you get along toward fifty you’ll find that the foot you’ve still got out of the grave doesn’t work so lively as it used. Besides, I was interested in the night effect. It’s so gloriously dark; and I had a fine sense of isolation as I came along, as if I were altogether out of my epoch and my environment. I felt as if the earth was a sort of _Flying Dutchman_, and I was the only passenger. It was about the weirdest sensation I ever had. It reminded me, I don’t know how, exactly of the feeling I had when I was young, and I saw the sunset one evening through the woods after a sleet-storm.”

They stared at each other as I went on, and I could see Kendricks’s fine eyes kindle with an imaginative appreciation of the literary quality of the coincidence. But when I added, “Did you ever read a poem about the end of the world by that City of Dreadful Night man?” Miss Gage impulsively caught me by the coat lapel and shook me.

“Ah, it was you all the time! I knew there was somebody following us, and I might have _known_ who it was!”

We all gave way in a gale of laughter, and sat down on the verandah and had our joke out in full recognition of the fact. When Kendricks rose to go at last, I said, “We won’t say anything about this little incident to Mrs. March, hey?” And then they laughed again as if it were the finest wit in the world, and Miss Gage bade me a joyful good-night at the head of the stairs as she went off to her room and I to mine.

I found Mrs. March waiting up with a book; and as soon as I shut myself in with her she said, awfully, “What _were_ you laughing so about?”

“Laughing? Did you hear me laughing?”

“The whole house heard you, I’m afraid. You certainly ought to have known better, Basil. It was very inconsiderate of you.” And as I saw she was going on with more of that sort of thing, to divert her thoughts from my crime I told her the whole story. It had quite the effect I intended up to a certain point. She even smiled a little, as much as a woman could be expected to smile who was not originally in the joke.

“And they had got to comparing weird experiences?” she asked.

“Yes; the staleness of the thing almost made me sick. Do you remember when we first compared our weird experiences? But I suppose they will go on doing it to the end of time, and it will have as great a charm for the last man and woman as it had for Adam and Eve when they compared _their_ weird experiences.”

“And was that what you were laughing at?”

“We were laughing at the wonderful case of telepathy I put up on them.”

Mrs. March faced her open book down on the table before her, and looked at me with profound solemnity. “Well, then, I can tell you, my dear, it is no laughing matter. If they have got to the weird it is very serious; and her talking to him about her family, and his wanting to know about her father, that’s serious too—far more serious than either of them can understand. I don’t like it, Basil; we have got a terrible affair on our hands.”

“Terrible?”

“Yes, terrible. As long as he was interested in her simply from a literary point of view, though I didn’t like that either, I could put up with it; but now that he’s got to telling her about himself, and exchanging weird experiences with her, it’s another thing altogether. Oh, I never wanted Kendricks brought into the affair at all.”

“Come now, Isabel! Stick to the facts, please.”

“No matter! It was you that discovered the girl, and then something had to be done. I was perfectly shocked when you told me that Mr. Kendricks was in town, because I saw at once that he would have to be got in for it; and now we have to think what we shall do.”

“Couldn’t we think better in the morning?”

“No; we must think at once. I shall not sleep to-night anyhow. My peace is gone. I shall have to watch them every instant.”

“Beginning at this instant. Why not wait till you can see them?”

“Oh, you can’t joke it away, my dear. If I find they are really interested in each other I shall have to speak. I am responsible.”

“The young lady,” I said, more to gain time than anything else, “seems quite capable of taking care of herself.”

“That makes it all the worse. Do you think I care for her only? It’s Kendricks too that I care for. I don’t know that I care for her at all.”

“Oh, then I think we may fairly leave Kendricks to his own devices; and I’m not alarmed for Miss Gage either, though I do care for her a great deal.”

“I don’t understand how you can be so heartless about it, Basil,” said Mrs. March, plaintively. “She is a young girl, and she has never seen anything of the world, and of course if he keeps on paying her attention in this way she can’t help thinking that he is interested in her. Men never can see such things as women do. They think that, until a man has actually asked a girl to marry him, he hasn’t done anything to warrant her in supposing that he is in love with her, or that she has any right to be in love with him.”

“That is true; we can’t imagine that she would be so indelicate.”

“I see that you’re determined to tease, my dear,” said Mrs. March, and she took up her book with an air of offence and dismissal. “If you won’t talk seriously, I hope you will think seriously, and try to realise what we’ve got in for. Such a girl couldn’t imagine that we had simply got Mr. Kendricks to go about with her from a romantic wish to make her have a good time, and that he was doing it to oblige us, and wasn’t at all interested in her.”

“It does look a little preposterous, even to the outsider,” I admitted.

“I am glad you are beginning to see it in that light, my dear, and if you can think of anything to do by morning I shall be humbly thankful. _I_ don’t expect to.”

“Perhaps I shall dream of something,” I said more lightly than I felt. “How would it do for you to have a little talk with her—a little motherly talk—and hint round, and warn her not to let her feelings run away with her in Kendricks’s direction?” Mrs. March faced her book down in her lap, and listened as if there might be some reason in the nonsense I was talking. “You might say that he was a society man, and was in great request, and then intimate that there was a prior attachment, or that he was the kind of man who would never marry, but was really cold-hearted with all his sweetness, and merely had a passion for studying character.”

“Do you think that would do, Basil?” she asked.

“Well, I thought perhaps you might think so.”

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t,” she sighed.

“All that we can do now is to watch them, and act promptly, if we see that they are really in love, either of them.”

“I don’t believe,” I said, “that I should know that they were in love even if I saw it. I have forgotten the outward signs, if I ever knew them. Should he give her flowers? He’s done it from the start; he’s brought her boxes of Huyler candy, and lent her books; but I dare say he’s been merely complying with our wishes in doing it. I doubt if lovers sigh nowadays. I didn’t sigh myself, even in my time; and I don’t believe any passion could make Kendricks neglect his dress. He keeps his eyes on her all the time, but that may be merely an effort to divine her character. I don’t believe I should know, indeed I don’t.”

“I shall,” said Mrs. March.

XIV

WE were to go the next day to the races, and I woke with more anxiety about the weather than about the lovers, or potential lovers. But after realising that the day was beautiful, on that large scale of loveliness which seems characteristic of the summer days at Saratoga, where they have them almost the size of the summer days I knew when I was a boy, I was sensible of a secondary worry in my mind, which presently related itself to Kendricks and Miss Gage. It was a haze of trouble merely, however, such as burns off, like a morning fog, when the sun gets higher, and it was chiefly on my wife’s account.

I suppose that the great difference between her conscience and one originating outside of New England (if any conscience can originate outside of New England) is that it cannot leave the moral government of the universe in the hands of divine Providence. I was willing to leave so many things which I could not control to the Deity, who probably could that she accused me of fatalism, and I was held to be little better than one of the wicked because I would not forecast the effects of what I did in the lives of others. I insisted that others were also probably in the hands of the _somma sapienza e il primo amore_, and that I was so little aware of the influence of other lives upon my own, even where there had been a direct and strenuous effort to affect me, that I could not readily believe others had swerved from the line of their destiny because of me. Especially I protested that I could not hold myself guilty of misfortunes I had not intended, even though my faulty conduct had caused them. As to this business of Kendricks and Miss Gage, I denied in the dispute I now began tacitly to hold with Mrs. March’s conscience that my conduct had been faulty. I said that there was no earthly harm in my having been interested by the girl’s forlornness when I first saw her; that I did not do wrong to interest Mrs. March in her; that she did not sin in going shopping with Miss Gage and Mrs. Deering; that we had not sinned, either of us, in rejoicing that Kendricks had come to Saratoga, or in letting Mrs. Deering go home to her sick husband and leave Miss Gage on our hands; that we were not wicked in permitting the young fellow to help us make her have a good time. In this colloquy I did all the reasoning, and Mrs. March’s conscience was completely silenced; but it rose triumphant in my miserable soul when I met Miss Gage at breakfast, looking radiantly happy, and disposed to fellowship me in an unusual confidence because, as I clearly perceived, of our last night’s adventure. I said to myself bitterly that happiness did not become her style, and I hoped that she would get away with her confounded rapture before Mrs. March came down. I resolved not to tell Mrs. March if it fell out so, but at the same time, as a sort of atonement, I decided to begin keeping the sharpest kind of watch upon Miss Gage for the outward signs and tokens of love.

She said, “When you began to talk that way last night, Mr. March, it almost took my breath, and if you hadn’t gone so far, and mentioned about the sunset through the sleety trees, I never should have suspected you.”

“Ah, that’s the trouble with men, Miss Gage.” And when I said “men” I fancied she flushed a little. “We never know when to stop; we always overdo it; if it were not for that we should be as perfect as women. Perhaps you’ll give me another chance, though.”

“No; we shall be on our guard after this.” She corrected herself and said, “I shall always be looking out for you now,” and she certainly showed herself conscious in the bridling glance that met my keen gaze.

“Good heavens!” I thought. “Has it really gone so far?” and more than ever I resolved not to tell Mrs. March.

I went out to engage a carriage to take us to the races, and to agree with the driver that he should wait for us at a certain corner some blocks distant from our hotel, where we were to walk and find him. We always did this, because there were a number of clergymen in our house, and Mrs. March could not make it seem right to start for the races direct from the door, though she held that it was perfectly right for us to go. For the same reason she made the driver stop short of our destination on our return, and walked home the rest of the way. Almost the first time we practised this deception I was met at the door by the sweetest and dearest of these old divines, who said, “Have you ever seen the races here? I’m told the spectacle is something very fine,” and I was obliged to own that I had once had a glimpse of them. But it was in vain that I pleaded this fact with Mrs. March; she insisted that the appearance of not going to the races was something that we owed the cloth, and no connivance on their part could dispense us from it.

As I now went looking up and down the street for the driver who was usually on the watch for me about eleven o’clock on a fair day of the races, I turned over in my mind the several accidents which are employed in novels to bring young people to a realising sense of their feelings toward each other, and wondered which of them I might most safely invoke. I was not anxious to have Kendricks and Miss Gage lovers; it would be altogether simpler for us if they were not; but if they were, the sooner they knew it and we knew it the better. I thought of a carriage accident, in which he should seize her and leap with her from the flying vehicle, while the horses plunged madly on, but I did not know what in this case would become of Mrs. March and me. Besides, I could think of nothing that would frighten our driver’s horses, and I dismissed the fleeting notion of getting any others because Mrs. March liked their being so safe, and she had, besides, interested herself particularly in the driver, who had a family and counted upon our custom. The poor fellow came in sight presently, and smilingly made the usual arrangement with me, and an hour later he delivered us all sound in wind and limb at the racecourse.

I watched in vain for signs of uncommon tenderness in the two young people. If anything they were rather stiff and distant with each other, and I asked myself whether this might not be from an access of consciousness. Kendricks was particularly devoted to Mrs. March, who, in the airy detachment with which she responded to his attentions, gave me the impression that she had absolutely dismissed her suspicions of the night before, or else had heartlessly abandoned the affair to me altogether. If she had really done this, then I saw no way out of it for me but by an accident which should reveal them to each other. Perhaps some one might insult Miss Gage—some ruffian—and Kendricks might strike the fellow; but this seemed too squalid. There might be a terrible jam, and he interpose his person between her and the danger of her being crushed to death; or the floor of the grand stand might give way, and everybody be precipitated into the space beneath, and he fight his way, with her senseless form on his arm, over the bodies of the mangled and dying. Any of these things would have availed in a novel, and something of the kind would have happened, too. But, to tell the truth, nothing whatever happened, and if it had not been for that anxiety on my mind I should have thought it much pleasanter so.

Even as it was I felt a measure of the hilarity which commonly fills me at a running race, and I began to lose in the charm of the gay scene the sense of my responsibility, and little by little to abate the vigilance apparently left all to me. The day was beautiful; the long heat had burned itself out, and there was a clear sparkle in the sunshine, which seemed blown across the wide space within the loop of the track by the delicate breeze. A vague, remote smell of horses haunted the air, with now and then a breath of the pines from the grove shutting the race-ground from the highway. We got excellent places, as one always may, the grand stand is so vast, and the young people disposed themselves on the bench in front of us, but so near that we were not tempted to talk them over. The newsboys came round with papers, and the boys who sold programmes of the races; from the bar below there appeared from time to time shining negroes in white linen jackets, with trays bearing tall glasses of lemonade, and straws tilted in the glasses. Bookmakers from the pool-rooms took the bets of the ladies, who formed by far the greater part of the spectators on the grand stand, and contributed, with their summer hats and gowns, to the gaiety of the _ensemble_. They were of all types, city and country both, and of the Southern dark as well as the Northern fair complexion, with so thick a sprinkling of South Americans that the Spanish gutturals made themselves almost as much heard as the Yankee nasals. Among them moved two nuns of some mendicant order, receiving charity from the fair gamblers, who gave for luck without distinction of race or religion.

I leaned forward and called Kendricks’s attention to the nuns, and to the admirable literary quality of the whole situation. He was talking to Miss Gage, and he said as impatiently as he ever suffered himself to speak, “Yes, yes; tremendously picturesque.”

“You ought to get something out of it, my dear fellow. Don’t you feel copy in it?”

“Oh, splendid, of course; but it’s your ground, Mr. March. I shouldn’t feel it right to do anything with Saratoga after you had discovered it,” and he turned eagerly again to Miss Gage.

My wife put her hand on my sleeve and frowned, and I had so far lost myself in my appreciation of the scene that I was going to ask her what the matter was, when a general sensation about me made me look at the track, where the horses for the first race had already appeared, with their jockeys in vivid silk jackets of various dyes. They began to form for the start with the usual tricks and feints, till I became very indignant with them, though I had no bets pending, and did not care in the least which horse won. What I wanted was to see the race, the flight, and all this miserable manoeuvring was retarding it. Now and then a jockey rode his horse far off on the track and came back between the false starts; now and then one kept stubbornly behind the rest and would not start with them. How their several schemes and ambitions were finally reconciled I never could tell, but at last the starter’s flag swept down and they were really off. Everybody could have seen perfectly well as they sat, but everybody rose and watched the swift swoop of the horses, bunched together in the distance, and scarcely distinguishable by the colours of their riders. The supreme moment came for me when they were exactly opposite the grand stand, full half a mile away—the moment that I remembered from year to year as one of exquisite illusion—for then the horses seemed to lift from the earth as with wings, and to skim over the track like a covey of low-flying birds. The finish was tame to this. Mrs. March and I had our wonted difference of opinion as to which horse had won, and we were rather uncommonly controversial because we had both decided upon the same horse, as we found, only she was talking of the jockey’s colours, and I was talking of the horse’s. We appealed to Kendricks, who said that another horse altogether had won the race, and this compromise pacified us.

We were all on foot, and he suggested, “We could see better, couldn’t we, if we went farther down in front?” And Mrs. March answered—