The Man Between: An International Romance. Barr Amelia E.

and had lilies of the valley in my hair and on my breast; and father called me ‘his little angel’ and piously wondered ‘how I could be his daughter.’ All dinner time I tried to be angelic, and after dinner I sang ‘Little Boy Blue’ and some of the songs he loves; and I felt, when Basil’s card came in, that I had prepared the proper atmosphere for the interview.”

      “You are really very clever, Dora.”

      “I tried to continue singing and playing, but I could not; the notes all ran together, the words were lost. I went to mother’s side and put my hand in hers, and she said softly: ‘I can hear your father storming a little, but he will settle down the quicker for it. I dare say he will bring Mr. Stanhope in here before long.”

      “Did he?”

      “No. That was Bryce’s fault. How Bryce happened to be in the house at that hour, I cannot imagine; but it seems to be natural for him to drop into any interview where he can make trouble. However, it turned out all for the best, for when mother heard Bryce’s voice above all the other sounds, she said, ‘Come Dora, we shall have to interfere now.’ Then I was delighted. I was angelically dressed, and I felt equal to the interview.”

      “Do you really mean that you joined the three quarreling men?”

      “Of course. Mother was quite calm—calm enough to freeze a tempest—but she gave father a look he comprehended. Then she shook hands with Basil, and would have made some remark to Bryce, but with his usual impertinence he took the initiative, and told he: very authoritatively to ‘retire and take me with her’—calling me that ‘demure little flirt’ in a tone that was very offensive. You should have seen father blaze into anger at his words. He told Bryce to remember that ‘Mr. Ben Denning owned the house, and that Bryce had four or five rooms in it by his courtesy.’ He said also that the ‘ladies present were Mr. Ben Denning’s wife and daughter, and that it was impertinent in him to order them out of his parlor, where they were always welcome.’ Bryce was white with passion, but he answered in his affected way—‘Sir, that sly girl with her pretended piety and her sneak of a lover is my sister, and I shall not permit her to disgrace my family without making a protest.’”

      “And then?”

      “I began to cry, and I put my arms around father’s neck and said he must defend me; that I was not ‘sly,’ and Basil was not ‘a sneak,’ and father kissed me, and said he would settle with any man, and every man, who presumed to call me either sly or a flirt.”

      “I think Mr. Denning acted beautifully. What did Bryce say?”

      “He turned to Basil, and said: ‘Mr. Stanhope, if you are not a cad, you will leave the house. You have no right to intrude yourself into family affairs and family quarrels.’ Basil had seated mother, and was standing with one hand on the back of her chair, and he did not answer Bryce—there was no need, father answered quick enough. He said Mr. Stanhope had asked to become one of the family, and for his part he would welcome him freely; and then he asked mother if she was of his mind, and mother smiled and reached her hand backward to Basil. Then father kissed me again, and somehow Basil’s arm was round me, and I know I looked lovely—almost like a bride! Oh, Ethel, it was just heavenly!”

      “I am sure it was. Did Bryce leave the room then?”

      “Yes; he went out in a passion, declaring he would never notice me again. This morning at breakfast I said I was sorry Bryce felt so hurt, but father was sure Bryce would find plenty of consolation in the fact that his disapproval of my choice would excuse him from giving me a wedding present. You know Bryce is a mean little miser!”

      “On the contrary, I thought he was very; luxurious and extravagant.”

      “Where Bryce is concerned, yes; toward everyone else his conduct is too mean to consider. Why, father makes him an allowance of $20,000 a year and he empties father’s cigar boxes whenever he can do so without–”

      “Let us talk about Mr. Stanhope he is far more interesting. When are you going to marry him?”

      “In the Spring. Father is going to give me some money and I have the fortune Grandmother Cahill left me. It has been well invested, and father told me this morning I was a fairly rich little woman. Basil has some private fortune, also his stipend—we shall do very well. Basil’s family is one of the finest among the old Boston aristocrats, and he is closely connected with the English Stanhopes, who rank with the greatest of the nobility.”

      “I wish Americans would learn to rely on their own nobility. I am tired of their everlasting attempts to graft on some English noble family. No matter how great or clever a man may be, you are sure to read of his descent from some Scottish chief or English earl.”

      “They can’t help their descent, Ethel.”

      “They need not pin all they have done on to it. Often father frets me in the same way. If he wins a difficult case, he does it naturally, because he is a Rawdon. He is handsome, gentlemanly, honorable, even a perfect horseman, all because, being a Rawdon, he was by nature and inheritance compelled to such perfection. It is very provoking, Dora, and if I were you I would not allow Basil to begin a song about ‘the English Stanhopes.’ Aunt Ruth and I get very tired often of the English Rawdons, and are really thankful for the separating Atlantic.”

      “I don’t think I shall feel in that way, Ethel. I like the nobility; so does father, he says the Dennings are a fine old family.”

      “Why talk of genealogies when there is such a man as Basil Stanhope to consider? Let us grant him perfection and agree that he is to marry you in the Spring; well then, there is the ceremony, and the wedding garments! Of course it is to be a church wedding?”

      “We shall be married in Basil’s own church. I can hardly eat or sleep for thinking of the joy and the triumph of it! There will be women there ready to eat their hearts with envy—I believe indeed, Ethel, that every woman in the church is in love with Basil.”

      “You have said that before, and I am sure you are wrong. A great many of them are married and are in love with their own husbands; and the kind of girls who go to St. Jude’s are not the kind who marry clergymen. Mr. Stanhope’s whole income would hardly buy their gloves and parasols.”

      “I don’t think you are pleased that I am going to marry. You must not be jealous of Basil. I shall love you just the same.”

      “Under no conditions, Dora, would I allow jealousy to trouble my life. All the same, you will not love me after your marriage as you have loved me in the past. I shall not expect it.”

      Passionate denials of this assertion, reminiscences of the past, assurances for the future followed, and Ethel accepted them without dispute and without faith. But she understood that the mere circumstance of her engagement was all that Dora could manage at present; and that the details of the marriage merged themselves constantly in the wonderful fact that Basil Stanhope loved her, and that some time, not far off, she was going to be his wife. This joyful certainty filled her heart and her comprehension, and she had a natural reluctance to subject it to the details of the social and religious ceremonies necessary, Such things permitted others to participate in her joy, and she resented the idea. For a time she wished to keep her lover in a world where no other thought might trouble the thought of Dora.

      Ethel understood her friend’s mood, and was rather relieved when her carriage arrived. She felt that her presence was preventing Dora’s absolute surrender of herself to thoughts of her lover, and all the way home she marveled at the girl’s infatuation, and wondered if it would be possible for her to fall into such a dotage of love for any man. She answered this query positively—“No, if I should lose my heart, I shall not therefore lose my head”—and then, before she could finish assuring herself of her determinate wisdom, some mocking lines she had often quoted to love-sick girls went laughing through her memory—

        “O Woman! Woman! O our frail, frail sex!

        No wonder tragedies are made from us!

        Always the same—nothing but loves and cradles.”

      She found Ruth Bayard dressed for dinner, but her father was not present. That was