The High Heart Read online

  CHAPTER II

  At five minutes to three, precisely, I took my seat in the breakfastloggia.

  The front of the house with the garden looked toward Ochre Point Avenue.The so-called breakfast loggia was thrown out from the dining-room inthe direction of the sea. Here the family and their guests could gatheron warm evenings, and in fine weather eat in the open air. Paved withred tiles, it was furnished with a long oak table, ornately carved, andsome heavy old oak chairs that might have come from a monastery. Steamerchairs and wicker easy-chairs were scattered on the grass outside. Onthe left the loggia was screened from the neighboring property by ahedge of rambler roses that now ran the gamut of shades from crimson tosea-shell pink, while on the right it commanded a view of the twoterraces supporting the house, with their long straight lines offlowers. The house itself had been built piecemeal, and was now a low,rambling succession of pavilions or _corps de logis_, to which a seriesof rose-colored awnings gave the only unifying principle.

  Just now it was a house deserted by every one but the servants andmyself. Mrs. Rossiter, having gone out to luncheon, had been careful notto return, and even the children had been sent over to Mrs. JackBrokenshire, on the pretext of playing with her baby, but really to beout of the way. From Hugh I had had no sign of life since the previousafternoon. As to whether his father was coming as his enemy, his master,or his interpreter I could do nothing but conjecture.

  But as far as I could I kept myself from conjecturing; holding myfaculties in suspense. I had enough to do in assuring myself that I wasnot afraid--fundamentally. Superficially I was terrified. I should havebeen terrified had the great man but passed me in the hall and cast alook at me. He had passed me in the hall on occasions, but as he hadnever cast the look I had escaped. He had struck me then as a master ofthat art of seeing without seeing which I had hitherto thought of asfeminine. Even when he stopped and spoke to Gladys he seemed not to knowthat I occupied the ground I stood on. I cannot say I enjoyed thistreatment. I was accustomed to being seen. Moreover, I had lived withpeople who were courteous to inferiors, however cavalier with equals.The great J. Howard was neither courteous nor cavalier toward me, forthe reason that where I was he apparently saw nothing but a vacuum.

  Out to the loggia I took my work-basket and some sewing. Having no ideafrom which of the several approaches my visitor would come on me, I drewup one of the heavy arm-chairs and sat facing toward the sea. With thebasket on the table beside me and my sewing in my hands I feltindefinably more mistress of myself.

  It was a still afternoon and hot, with scarcely a sound but the poundingof the surf on the ledges at the foot of the lawn. Though the sky wasblue overhead, a dark low bank rose out of the horizon, foretelling achange of wind with fog. In the air the languorous scent of roses andhoneysuckle mingled with the acrid tang of the ocean.

  I felt extraordinarily desolate. Not since hearing what the lawyer hadtold me on the afternoon of my father's funeral had I seemed so entirelyalone. The fact that for nearly twenty-four hours Hugh had got no wordto me threw me back upon myself. "You'll be made to feel alone," Mr.Strangways had said in the morning; and I was. I didn't blame Hugh. Ihad purposely left the matter in such a way that there was nothing hecould say or do till after his father had spoken. He was probablywaiting impatiently; I had, indeed, no doubt about that; but the factremained that I, a girl, a stranger, in a certain sense a foreigner, wasto make the best of my situation without help. J. Howard Brokenshirecould grind me to powder--when he had gone away I should be dust.

  "If I do right, nothing but right can come of it."

  The maxim was my only comfort. By sheer force of repeating it I gotstrength to thread my needle and go on with my seam, till on the strokeof three the dread personage appeared.

  I saw him from the minute he mounted the steps that led up from theCliff Walk to Mr. Rossiter's lawn. He was accompanied by Mrs.Brokenshire, while a pair of greyhounds followed them. Having reachedthe lawn, they crossed it diagonally toward the loggia. Because of theheat and the up-hill nature of the way, they advanced slowly, which gaveme leisure to observe.

  Mrs. Brokenshire's presence had almost caused my heart to stop beating.I could imagine no motive for her coming but one I refused to accept. Ifthe mission was to be unfriendly, she surely would have stayed away; butthat it could be other than unfriendly was beyond my strength to hope.

  I had never seen her before except in glimpses or at a distance. Inoticed now that she was a little thing, looking the smaller for thestalwart six-foot-two beside which she walked. She was in white andcarried a white parasol. I saw that her face was one of the mostbeautiful in features and finish I had ever looked into. Each trait wasquite amazingly perfect. The oval was perfect; the coloring was perfect;mouth and nose and forehead might have been made to a measured scale.The finger of personified Art could have drawn nothing more exquisitethan the arch of the eyebrows, or more delicately fringed than the lids.It might have been a doll's face, or the face for the cover of anAmerican magazine, had it not been saved by something I hadn't the timeto analyze, though I was later to know what it was.

  As for him, he was as perfect in his way as she in hers. When I say thathe wore white shoes, white-duck trousers, a navy-blue jacket, and ayachting-cap I give no idea of the something noble in his personality.He might have been one of the more ornamental Italian princes ofimmemorial lineage. A Jove with a Vandyke beard one could have calledhim, and if you add to that the conception of Jove the Thunderer, Jovewith the look that could strike a man dead, perhaps the descriptionwould be as good as any. He was straight and held his head high. Hewalked with a firm setting of his feet that impressed you with the factthat some one of importance was coming.

  It is not my purpose to speak of this man from the point of view of theordinary member of the public. Of that I know next to nothing. I wasdimly aware that his wealth and his business interests made himsomething of a public character; but apart from having heard himmentioned as a financier I could hardly have told what his professionwas. So, too, with questions of morals. I have been present when, byhints rather than actual words, he was introduced as a profligate and ahypocrite; and I have also known people of good judgment who upheld himboth as man and as citizen. On this subject no opinion of mine would beworth giving. I have always relegated the matter into that limbo ofdisputed facts with which I have nothing to do. I write of him only as Isaw him in daily life, or at least in direct intercourse, and with thatmy testimony must end. Other people have been curious with regard tothose aspects of his character on which I can throw no light. To me hebecame interesting chiefly because he was one of those men who from akind of naive audacity, perhaps an unthinking audacity, don't hesitateto play the part of the Almighty.

  When they drew near enough to the loggia I stood up, my sewing in myhand. The two greyhounds, who had outdistanced them, came sniffing tothe threshold and stared at me. I felt myself an object to be stared at,though I had taken pains with my appearance and knew that I was neat.Neatness, I may say in passing, is my strong point. Where many othergirls can stand expensive dressing I am at my best when meticulouslytidy. The shape of my head makes the simplest styles of doing the hairthe most distinguished. My figure lends itself to country clothes andthe tailor-made. In evening dress I can wear the cheapest and flimsiestthing, so long as it is dependent only on its lines. I was satisfied,therefore, with the way I looked, and when I say I felt myself an objectto be stared at I speak only of my consciousness of isolation.

  I cannot affirm, however, that J. Howard Brokenshire stared at me. Hestared; but only at the general effects in which I was a mere detail.The loggia being open on all sides, he paused for half a second to takeit and its contents in. I went with the contents. I looked at him; butnothing in the glance he cast over me recognized me as a human being. Imight have been the table; I might have been the floor; for him I washardly in existence.

  I wonder if you have ever stood under the gaze of one who considered youtoo inferior for notice. T
he sensation is quite curious. It produces nothumiliation or resentment so much as an odd apathy. You sink in your ownsight; you go down; you understand that abjection of slaves which keptthem from rising against their masters. Negatively at least you concedethe right that so treats you. You are meek and humble at once; and yetyou can be strong. I think I never felt so strong as when I saw thatcold, deep eye, which was steely and fierce and most inconsistentlysympathetic all in one quick flash, sweep over me and pay me noattention. _Ecce Femina_ I might have been saying to myself, as apendant in expression to the _Ecce Homo_ of the Praetorium.

  He moved aside punctiliously at the lower of the two steps that led upto the loggia to let his wife precede him. As she came in I think shegave me a salutation that was little more than a quiver of the lids.Having closed her parasol, she slipped into one of the arm-chairs notfar from the table.

  Now that he was at close quarters, with his work before him, heproceeded to the task at once. In the act of laying his hat and stick ona chair he began with the question, "Your name is--?"

  The voice had a crisp gentleness that seemed to come from the effort todespatch business with the utmost celerity and spend no unnecessarystrength on words. The fact that he must have heard my name from Hughwas plainly to play no part in our discussion. I was so unutterablyfrightened that when I tried to whisper the word "Adare" hardly a soundcame forth.

  As he raised himself from the placing of his cap and stick he wasobliged to utter a sharp, "What?"

  "Adare."

  "Oh. Adare!"

  It is not a bad name as names go; we like to fancy ourselves connectedwith the famous Fighting Adares of the County Limerick; but on J. HowardBrokenshire's lips it had the undiscriminating commonness of Smith orJones. I had never been ashamed of it before.

  "And you're one of my daughter's--"

  "I'm her nursery governess."

  "Sit down."

  As he took the chair at the end of the table I dropped again into thatat the side from which I had risen. It was then that something happenedwhich left me for a second in doubt as to whether to take it as comic orcatastrophic. His left eye closed; his left nostril quivered; he winked.To avoid having to face this singular phenomenon a second time I loweredmy eyes and began mechanically to sew.

  "Put that down!"

  I placed the work on the table and once more looked at him. The strikingeyes were again as striking as ever. In their sympathetic hardness therewas nothing either ribald or jocose.

  I suppose my scrutiny annoyed him, though I was unconscious of more thana mute asking for orders. He pointed to a distant chair, a chair in acorner, just within the loggia as you come from the direction of thedining-room.

  "Sit there."

  I know now that his wink distressed him. It was something which at thattime had come upon him recently, and that he could neither control norunderstand. A less imposing man, a man to whom personal impressivenesswas less of an asset in daily life and work, would probably have beenless disturbed by it; but to J. Howard Brokenshire it was a trial inmore ways than one. Curiously, too, when the left eye winked the rightgrew glassy and quite terrible.

  Not knowing that he was sensitive in this respect, I took my retreat tothe corner as a kind of symbolic banishment.

  "Hadn't I better stand up?" I asked, proudly, when I had reached mychair.

  "Be good enough to sit down."

  I seemed to fall backward. The tone had the effect of a shot. If I hadever felt small and foolish in my life it was then. I flushed to mydarkest crimson. Angry and humiliated, I was obliged to rush to my maximin order not to flash back in some indignant retort.

  And then another thing happened of which I was unable at the minute toget the significance. Mrs. Brokenshire sprang up with the words:

  "You're quite right, Howard. It's ever so much cooler over here by theedge. I never felt anything so stuffy as the middle of this place. Itdoesn't seem possible for air to get into it."

  While speaking she moved with incomparable daintiness to a chaircorresponding to mine and diagonally opposite. With the length and widthof the loggia between us we exchanged glances. In hers she seemed tosay, "If you are banished I shall be banished too"; in mine I tried toexpress gratitude. And yet I was aware that I might have misunderstoodboth movement and look entirely.

  My next surprise was in the words Mr. Brokenshire addressed to me. Hespoke in the soft, slightly nasal staccato which I am told had on hisbusiness associates the effect of a whip-lash.

  "We've come over to tell you, Miss--Miss Adare, how much we appreciateyour attitude toward our boy, Hugh. I understand from him that he'soffered to marry you, and that very properly in your situation you'vedeclined. The boy is foolish, as you evidently see. He meant nothing; hecould do nothing. You're probably not without experience of a similarkind among the sons of your other employers. At the same time, as youdoubtless expect, we sha'n't let you suffer by your prudence--"

  It was a bad beginning. Had he made any sort of appeal to me, howeverunkindly worded, I should probably have yielded. But the tradition ofthe Fighting Adares was not in me for nothing, and after a smotheringsensation which rendered me speechless I managed to stammer out:

  "Won't you allow me to say that--"

  The way in which his large, white, handsome hand went up was meant toimpose silence upon me while he himself went on:

  "In order that you may not be annoyed by my son's folly in the futureyou will leave my daughter's employ, you'll leave Newport--you'll bewell advised, indeed, in going back to your own country, which Iunderstand to be the British provinces. You will lose nothing, however,by this conduct, as I've given you to understand. Three--four--fivethousand dollars--I think five ought to be sufficient--generous, infact--"

  "But I've not refused him," I was able at last to interpose. "I--I meanto accept him."

  There was an instant of stillness during which one could hear thepounding of the sea.

  "Does that mean that you want me to raise your price?"

  "No, Mr. Brokenshire. I have no price. If it means anything at all thathas to do with you, it's to tell you that I'm mistress of my acts andthat I consider your son--he's twenty-six--to be master of his."

  There was a continuation of the stillness. His voice when he spoke wasthe gentlest sound I had ever heard in the way of human utterance. If itwere not for the situation it could have been considered kind:

  "Anything at all that has to do with me? You seem to attach noimportance to the fact that Hugh is my son."

  I do not know how words came to me. They seemed to flow from my lipsindependently of thought.

  "I attach importance only to the fact that he's a man. Men who are neveranything but their father's sons aren't men."

  "And yet a father has some rights."

  "Yes, sir; some. He has the right to follow where his grown-up childrenlead. He hasn't the right to lead and require his grown-up children tofollow."

  He shifted his ground. "I'm obliged to you for your opinion, but atpresent it's not to the point--"

  I broke in breathlessly: "Pardon me, sir; it's exactly to the point. I'ma woman; Hugh's a man. We're--we're in love with each other; it's all wehave to be concerned with."

  "Not quite; you've got to be concerned--with me."

  "Which is what I deny."

  "Oh, denial won't do you any good. I didn't come to hear your denials,or your affirmations, either. I've come to tell you what to do."

  "But if I know that already?"

  "That's quite possible--if you mean to play your game as doubtlessyou've played it before. I only want to warn you--"

  I looked toward Mrs. Brokenshire for help, but her eyes were fixed onthe floor, on which she was drawing what seemed like a design with thetip of her parasol. The greyhounds were stretched at her feet. I coulddo nothing but speak for myself, which I did with a calmness thatsurprised me.

  "Mr. Brokenshire," I interrupted, "you are a man and I'm a woman. What'smore, you're a strong man, while I'm a woman
with no protection at all.I ask you--do you think you're playing a man's part in insulting me?"

  His tone grew kind almost to affection. "My dear young lady, youmisunderstand me. Insult couldn't be further from my thoughts. I'mspeaking entirely for your own sake. You're young; you're very pretty; Iwon't say you've no knowledge of the world because I see you have--"

  "I've a good deal of knowledge of the world."

  "Only not such knowledge as would warrant you in pitting yourselfagainst me."

  "But I don't. If you'd leave me alone--"

  "Let us keep to what we're talking of. I'm sorry for you; I really am.You're at the beginning of what might euphemistically--do you know themeaning of the word?--be called a career. I should like to save you fromit; that's all. It's why I'm speaking to you very plainly and usinglanguage that can't be misunderstood. There's nothing original in yourproceeding, believe me. Nearly every family of the standing of mine hashad to reckon with something of the sort. Where there are young men, andyoung women of--what do you want me to say?--young women who mean to dothe best they can for themselves--let us put it in that way--"

  "I'm a gentleman's daughter," I broke in, weakly.

  He smiled. "Oh yes; you're all gentlemen's daughters. Neither is thereanything original in that."

  "Mrs. Rossiter will tell you that my father was a judge in Canada--"

  "The detail doesn't interest me."

  "No, but it interests me. It gives me a sense of being equal to--"

  "If you please! We'll not go into that."

  "But I must speak. If I'm to marry Hugh you must let me tell you who Iam."

  "It's not necessary. You're not to marry Hugh. Let that be absolutelyunderstood. Once you've accepted the fact--"

  "I could only accept it from Hugh himself."

  "That's foolish. Hugh will do as I tell him."

  "But why should he in this case?"

  "That again is something we needn't discuss. All that matters, my dearyoung lady, is your own interest. I'm working for that, don't you see,against yourself--"

  I burst out, "But why shouldn't I marry him?"

  He leaned on the table, tapping gently with his hand. "Because we don'twant you to. Isn't that enough?"

  I ignored this. "If it's because you don't know anything about me Icould tell you."

  "Oh, but we do know something about you. We know, for example, sinceyou compel me to say it, that you're a little person of no importancewhatever."

  "My family is one of the best in Canada."

  "And admitting that that's so, who would care what constituted a goodfamily in Canada? To us here it means nothing; in England it would meanstill less. I've had opportunities of judging how Canadians are regardedin England, and I assure you it's nothing to make you proud."

  Of the several things he had said to sting me I was most sensitive tothis. I, too, had had opportunities of judging, and knew that ifanything could make one ashamed of being a British colonial of any kindit would be British opinion of colonials.

  "My father used to say--"

  He put up his large, white hand. "Another time. Let us keep to thesubject before us."

  I omitted the mention of my father to insist on a theory as to which Ihad often heard him express himself: "If it's part of the subject beforeus that I'm a Canadian and that Canadians are ground between the upperand lower millstones of both English and American contempt--"

  "Isn't that another digression?"

  "Not really," I hurried on, determined to speak, "because if I'm asufferer by it, you are, too, in your degree. It's part of theAnglo-Saxon tradition for those who stay behind to despise those who goout as pioneers. The race has always done it. It isn't only the Britishwho've despised their colonists. The people of the Eastern Statesdespised those who went out and peopled the Middle West; those in theMiddle West despised those who went farther West." I was still quotingmy father. "It's something that defies reason and eludes argument. It'sa base strain in the blood. It's like that hierarchy among servants bywhich the lady's maid disdains the cook, and the cook disdains thekitchen-maid, and the proudest are those who've nothing to be proud of.For you to look down on me because I'm a Canadian, when the commonest ofEnglishmen, with precisely the same justification, looks down on you--"

  "Dear young lady," he broke in, soothingly, "you're talking wildly.You're speaking of things you know nothing about. Let us get back towhat we began with. My son has offered to marry you--"

  "He didn't offer to marry me. He asked me--he begged me--to marry him."

  "The way of putting it is of no importance."

  "Ah, but it is."

  "I mean that, however he expressed it--however you express it--theresult must be the same."

  I nerved myself to look at him steadily. "I mean to accept him. When heasked me yesterday I said I wouldn't give him either a Yes or a No tillI knew what you and his family thought of it. But now that I do know--"

  "You're determined to try the impossible."

  "It won't be the impossible till he tells me so."

  He seemed for a second or two to study me. "Suppose I accepted you aswhat you say you are--as a young woman of good antecedents and honorablecharacter. Would you still persist in the effort to force yourself on afamily that didn't want you?"

  I confess that in the language Mr. Strangways and I had used in themorning, he had me here "on the hip." To force myself on a family thatdidn't want me would normally have been the last of my desires. But Iwas fighting now for something that went beyond my desires--somethinglarger--something national, as I conceived of nationality--somethinghuman--though I couldn't have said exactly what it was. I answered onlyafter long deliberation.

  "I couldn't stop to consider a family. My object would be to marry theman who loved me--and whom I loved."

  "So that you'd face the humiliation--"

  "It wouldn't be humiliation, because it would have nothing to do withme. It would pass into another sphere."

  "It wouldn't be another sphere to him."

  "I should have to let him take care of that. It's all I can manage tolook out for myself--"

  There seemed to be some admiration in his tone.

  "Which you seem marvelously well fitted to do."

  "Thank you."

  "In fact, it's one of the ways in which you betray yourself. An innocentgirl--"

  I strained forward in my chair. "Wouldn't it be fair for you to tell mewhat you mean by the word innocent?"

  "I mean a girl who has no special ax to grind--"

  I could hear my foot tapping on the floor, but I was too indignant torestrain myself. "Even that figure of speech leaves too much to theimagination."

  He studied me again. "You're very sharp."

  "Don't I need to be," I demanded, "with an enemy of your acumen?"

  "But I'm not your enemy. It's what you don't seem to see. I'm yourfriend. I'm trying to keep you out of a situation that would kill you ifyou got into it."

  I think I laughed. "Isn't death preferable to dishonor?" I saw mymistake in the quickness with which Mrs. Brokenshire looked up. "Thereare more kinds of dishonor than one," I explained, loftily, "and to methe blackest would be in allowing you to dictate to me."

  "My dear young woman, I dictate to men--"

  "Oh, to men!"

  "I see! You presume on your womanhood. It's a common American expedient,and a cheap one. But I don't stop for that."

  "You may not stop for womanhood, Mr. Brokenshire; but neither doeswomanhood stop for you."

  He rose with an air of weary patience. "I'm afraid we sha'n't gainanything by talking further--"

  "I'm afraid not." I, too, rose, advancing to the table. We confrontedeach other across it, while one of the dogs came nosing to his master'shand. I had barely the strength to gasp on: "We've had our talk and yousee where I am. I ask nothing but the exercise of human liberty--and themeasure of respect I conceive to be due to every one. Surely you, anAmerican, a representative of what America is supposed to stand fo
r,can't think of it as too much."

  "If America is supposed to stand for your marrying my son--"

  "America stands, so I've been told by Americans, for the reasonablefreedom of the individual. If Hugh wants to marry me--"

  "Hugh will marry the woman I approve of."

  "Then that apparently is what we must put to the test."

  I was now so near to tears that I suppose he saw an opening to his ownadvantage. Coming round the table, he stood looking down at me with thatexpression which I can only describe as sympathetic. With all thedominating aggressiveness which either forced you to give in to him orurged you to fight him till you dropped, there was that about him whichleft you with a lingering suspicion that he might be right. It was theman who might be right who was presently sitting easily on the edge ofthe table, so that his face was on a level with my own, and saying in akindly voice:

  "Now look here! Let's be reasonable. I don't want to be unfair to you,or to say anything a man isn't justified in saying to a woman. I'mwilling to throw the whole blame on Hugh--"

  "I'm not," I declared, hotly.

  "That's generous; but I'm speaking of myself. I'm willing to throw thewhole blame on Hugh, because he's my son. I'll absolve you, if you like,because you're a stranger and a girl, and consider you a victim--"

  "I'm not a victim," I insisted. "I'm only a human being, asking for ahuman being's rights."

  He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, rights! Who knows what rights are?"

  "I do. That is," I corrected, "I know my own."

  "Oh, of course! One always knows one's own. One's own rights areeverything one can get. Now you can't get Hugh; but you can get fivethousand dollars. That's a lot of money. There are men all over theUnited States who'd cut off a hand for it. You won't have to cut off ahand. You only need to be a good, sensible little girl and--get out."Perhaps he thought I was yielding, for he tapped his side pocket as hewent on speaking. "It won't take a minute. I've got a check-book here--astroke of the pen--"

  My work was lying on the table a few inches away. Leaning forwarddeliberately I put it into the basket, which I tucked under my arm. Ilooked at Mrs. Brokenshire, who was leaning forward and looking at me. Iinclined my head with a slight salutation, to which she did not respond,and turned away. Of him I took no notice.

  "So it's war."

  I was half-way to the dining-room when I heard him say that. As I pausedto look back he was still sitting sidewise on the edge of the table,swinging a leg and staring after me.

  "No, sir," I said, quietly. "It takes two to fight, and I should neverthink of being one."

  "You know, of course, that I shall have no mercy on you."

  "No, sir; I don't."

  "Then you can know it now. I'm sorry for you; but I can't afford tospare you. Bigger things than you have come in my way--and have beenblasted."

  Mrs. Brokenshire made a quick little movement behind his back. It toldme nothing I understood then, though I was able to interpret it later. Icould only say, in a voice that shook with the shaking of my whole body:

  "You couldn't blast me, sir, because--because--"

  "Yes? Because--what? I should like to know."

  There was a robin hopping on the lawn outside and I pointed to it. "Youcouldn't blast a little bird like that with a bombshell."

  "Oh, birds have been shot."

  "Yes, sir; with a fowling-piece; but not with a howitzer. The one is toobig; the other is too small."

  I was about to drop him a little courtesy when I saw him wink. It was agrotesque, amusing wink that quivered and twisted till it finallyclosed the left eye. If he had been a less handsome man the effect wouldhave been less absurd.

  I made my courtesy the deeper, bending my head and lowering my eyes soas to spare him the knowledge that I saw.