Robert Kimberly

"But you must rid yourself of the grosslymaterial conception of an aristocracy, Mr. Kimberly,"said Nelson. "Our real aristocracy, I take it, isnot our material one, as Robert Kimberly insists.The true aristocrat, I hold, is the real but meregentleman."

"Exactly right," assented De Castro. "Thegentleman and nothing else is the thing."

"There is nothing more interesting than thegentleman," returned Robert Kimberly, "exceptthe gentleman plus the brute. But the exception isenormous, for it supplies our material aristocrat."

"You must remember, though, that ideas ofsuperiority and inferiority are very tricky,"commented Imogene. "And they persist for centuries.To the Naples beggar, even to-day, the Germansare 'barbarians.' And whenever I encounter thetwo I never can decide which is the aristocrat, thetraveller or the beggar."

"I read your speech at the New England dinnerlast night," said Imogene, turning to Nelson,"and I saw all the nice things that were said aboutit this morning."

"If credit were due anywhere it would be tothe occasion," returned Nelson. "There is alwayssomething now in such gatherings to suggest thediscomforting reflection that our best native stockis dying out."

Dolly looked distressed. "Oh, dear, are thoseunfortunate people still dying out? I've beenworrying over their situation for years. Can'tany one do anything?"

"Don't let it disturb you, Mrs. De Castro,"said Bryson.

"But I am afraid it is getting on my nerves."

"Nothing dies out that doesn't deserve to dieout," continued Bryson. "As to the peopleNelson speaks of, I incline to think they ought to dieout. Their whole philosophy of life has beenbad. Nature ought to be ashamed, of course, topass them by and turn to inferior races for herrecruits. But since all races are inferior to them, what can she do but take refuge with the despisedforeigner? The men and women that take lifeon the light-housekeeping plan may do so if theywill-for one generation. What may safely becounted on is that nature will find its workers inthe human hive even if it has to turn to the savagetribes."

"But the poor savages, doctor-they also are onthe verge of extinction, are they not?" demandedDolly.

"Then nature will provide its workers fromone unfailing source-from those we have alwayswith us, the poor and the despised. And it canbe depended on with equal certainty to cast thesatisfied, cultivated, and intellectual drones intoouter darkness."

"My dear, but the doctor is savage, isn't he?"Lottie Nelson made the appeal indolently toImogene. "We shall soon be asking, doctor," sheconcluded languidly, "which tribe you belong to."

"He would answer, the medical tribe,"suggested Fritzie.

"Speaking of savages," interposed Arthur DeCastro, "Charles and I were making a portageonce on the York River. On the trail I met twosuperb little Canadian lads-straight, swarthy, handsome fellows. They couldn't speak English.'You must be French,' I suggested, addressingthe elder by way of compliment in that tongue.Imagine my surprise when he answered withperfect composure, 'Non, monsieur. Nous sommesdes sauvages!'"

"For my part," said Imogene, "I am alwaysglad to hear Doctor Bryson defend families andmotherhood. I don't care how savage he gets."

"I defend motherhood because to me it is thehighest state of womanhood. Merely as aninstinct, its mysteries are a never-ending marvel."

Lottie Nelson looked patiently bored. "Oh, tell us about them, do, doctor."

"I will tell you of one," returned Brysonundismayed. "Take the young mother that brings herfirst child into the world; from the day of its birthuntil the day of that mother's death, her child isnever wholly out of her thought. The child maydie, may be forgotten by every one else on earth, may be to all other conscious existence in this worldas a thing that never was. But in its mother'sheart it never dies. I call that a mystery."

The doctor's glance as he finished fell on Alice'sface. He was sorry at once that he had spoken atall. Her eyes were fixed on him with a look ofacute pain.

Alice hardly knew Doctor Bryson, but what hesaw in the sadness of her face he quiteunderstood. And though they had never met, otherthan in a formal way, he never afterward felt thatthey were wholly strangers.

CHAPTER XXIV

"By the way, Nelson," said De Castro, "whatis there in this story in the afternoon papersabout Doane and Dora Morgan?"

"It is substantially true, I fancy. They haveeloped."

"From whom could they possibly be eloping?"asked Lottie.

"Why, you must know Doane has a wife and twolittle girls," exclaimed Dolly indignantly.

"I supposed his wife was divorced," returnedLottie helplessly. "Why wasn't she?"

"Perhaps," suggested Fritzie, "there wasn't time."

"I don't care; Dora's life has been a veryunhappy one," persisted Lottie, "and frankly I amsorry for her."

"Even though she has run away with anotherwoman's husband," said Imogene.

"Don't you think she deserves a great deal ofsympathy, Robert?" asked Lottie, appealing toKimberly.

"I can't say that I do," he answered slowly."What moves one in any consideration of a situationof that kind is, in the first place, the standardsof those that fall into it. Who, for instance, canscrape up any interest in the affairs of theabandoned? Or of those who look on irregularrelations pretty much as they do on regular? Peopleto enlist sympathy in their troubles must respectthemselves."

The conversation drifted and Alice, withinrange of both tables, caught snatches of the talkat each. She presently heard Lottie Nelsonspeaking petulantly, and as if repeating a question toKimberly. "What do men most like, Robert?" Alicecould not see Kimberly's face, but sheunderstood its expression so well that she could imaginethe brows either luminously raised if Kimberlywere interested, or patiently flat if he were not.

"You ought to know," she heard Kimberlyanswer. "You have been very successful inpleasing them."

"And failed where I have most wanted to succeed.Oh, no. I am asking you. What do they like?"

The answer halted. "I can't tell you. To me,of course, few men seem worth pleasing."

"What should you do to please a man, if youwere a woman?"

"Nonsense."

"I'm asking purely out of curiosity," persistedLottie. "I have failed. I realize it and I shallnever try again. But at the end-I'd like to know."

"You probably would not agree with me,"answered Kimberly after a silence, "most womenwould not. Perhaps it would fail with mostmen-but as I say, most men wouldn't interest me, anyway. If I had it to try, I would appeal to aman's highest nature."

"What is his highest nature?"

"Whatever his best instincts are,"

"And then?"

"That's all."

"Oh, nonsense!"

"No, it isn't nonsense. Only I am not good atanalyzing. If I once caught a man in that wayI should know I had him fast forever. There isabsolutely no use in flinging your meretemptations at him. Keep those quietly in thebackground. He will go after them fast enough whenyou have made sure of him on the higher plane.If you are compelled to display your temptationsat the start, the case is hopeless. You havesurrendered your advantage of the high appeal.Trust him to think about the other side of it, Lottie.You can't suggest to him anything he doesn't know, and perhaps-I'm not sure-he prefers to turnto that side when he thinks you are not looking.The difficulty is," he concluded, speaking slowly,"even if you get him from the lower side, he won'tstay hooked. You know how a salmon strikes ata fly? All human experience shows that a manhooked from the side of his lower instincts, willsooner or later shake the bait."

"It must be something even to have him on thehook for a while, Robert."

"But you don't agree with me."

"No."

"No doubt, I'm wrong. And it isn't, Isuppose, of much consequence whether the men staycaught or not. I look at it, probably, with abusiness instinct. When I do anything, I want itto stay done forever. When I make a deal orfasten a point I want it to stay fastened for alltime. That is my nature. Now, that may notbe a woman's nature. You shouldn't have askedme, don't you see, because we 'begin' differently."

"I fancy that's it, Robert. We 'begin' differently."

"Try another seer-there is De Castro. Hereis Mrs. MacBirney. Mrs. MacBirney," Kimberlymoved so he could command Alice's attention,"Mrs. Nelson is trying to find out what a manlikes in a woman. I haven't been able to tellher-"

"It isn't that at all," smiled Lottie, wearily."Mr. Kimberly can tell. He won't."

Kimberly appealed to Alice. "It is a greatmistake not to trust your oracle when he is doing hisbest-don't you think so, Mrs. MacBirney?"

"I suppose an oracle is consulted on hisreputation-and it is on his reputation that his clientsshould rely," suggested Alice.

"Anyway," declared Lottie, rising, "I amgoing to try another."

Kimberly turned his chair as she walked awayso that he could speak to Alice. "Giving advice isnot my forte. Whenever I attempt it I disappointsomebody; and this time I had a difficultsubject. Mrs. Nelson wants to know what men likein women. A much more interesting subjectwould be, what women like in men. I shouldsuppose, in my blundering way, that sincerity wouldcome before everything else, Mrs. MacBirney.What do you think?"

"Sincerity ought to be of value."

"But there is a great deal else, you imply."

"Necessarily, I should think."

"As, for instance?"

"Unselfishness among other things," said Alice.

He objected frankly to her suggestion. "I don'tknow about unselfishness. I have my doubtsabout unselfishness. Are you sure?"

"Most ideals include it, I believe."

"I don't know that I have any ideals-abstractideals, that is. Though I once took quite aninterest in the Catholic Church."

"An academic interest."

"No, no; a real and concrete interest. I admireit greatly. I tried once to look into its claims.What in part discouraged me was the unpleasantthings Catholics themselves told me about their church."

"They must have been bad Catholics."

"I don't know enough about them to discriminatebetween the good and the bad. What, bythe way," he asked bluntly, "are you-a goodCatholic or a bad one?"

She was taken for an instant aback; then sheregarded him with an expression he did not oftensee in her eyes. "I am a bad one, I am ashamedto say."

"Then these I speak of must have been goodones," he remarked at once, "because they werenot in the least like you."

If he thought he had perplexed her he was soonundeceived. "There are varying degrees even ofbadness," she returned steadily. "I hope I shallnever fall low enough to speak slightingly of myfaith."

"I don't understand," he persisted, musing,"why you should fall at all. Now, if I were aCatholic I should be a good one."

"Suppose you become one."

He disregarded her irony. "I may sometime.To be perfectly frank, what I found most lackingwhen I looked into the question was somesufficient inducement. Of what use? I askedmyself. If by following Christianity and itsprecepts a man could make himself anything morethan he is-prolong his years, or recall his youth.If he could achieve the Titanic, raise himself tothe power of a demigod!" Kimberly's eyes shonewide at the thought, then they closed to acontrasting torpor. "Will religion do this for anyone? I think not. But fancy what that wouldmean; never to grow old, never to fall ill, neverto long for without possessing!" A disdainfulpride was manifest in every word of his utterance, but he spoke with the easy-mannered good-naturethat was his characteristic.

"A man that follows the dreams of religion,"he resumed but with lessening assurance, for Alicemaintained a silence almost contemptuous and hebegan to feel it, "is he not subject to the samefailures, the same pains, the same misfortunes thatwe are subject to? Even as the rest of us, he mustgrow old and fail and die."

"Some men, of course," she suggested withscant patience, "should have a differentdispensation from the average mortal."

Kimberly squirmed dissentingly. "I don't likethat phrase, 'the average mortal.' It has avillainously hackneyed sound, don't you think? No, for my part I should be willing to let everybody inon the greater, the splendid dispensation."

"You might be sorry if you did."

"You mean, there are men that should die-somethat should die early?"

"There are many reasons why it might not work."

He stopped. "That is true-it might not work,if universally applied. It would do betterrestricted to a few of us. But no matter; since wecan't have it at all, we must do the best we can.And the way to beat the game as it must beplayed in this world at present," he continuedwith contained energy, "is to fight for what wewant and defend it when won, against all comers.Won't you wish me success in such an effort,Alice?"

"I have asked you not to call me Alice."

"But wish me the success, won't you? It'sawfully up-hill work fighting alone. Two togethercan do so much better. With two the power israised almost to the infinite. Together we couldbe gods-or at least make the gods envy us."

She looked at him an instant without a word, and rising, walked to an anteroom whitherMacBirney, Lottie Nelson, De Castro, and Fritzie hadgone to play at cards.

CHAPTER XXV

When the season was fairly open theKimberlys made Alice the recipient of everyattention. A solidarity had always seemed, in anunusual degree, to animate the family. Theywere happy in their common interests and theirefforts united happily now to make Alice afavored one in their activities.

In everything proposed by Dolly or Imogene,Alice was consulted. When functions werearranged, guests lists were submitted to her.Entertainment was decided upon after Alice hadbeen called in. The result was a gay season evenfor Second Lake. And Dolly said it was theinflux of Alice's new blood into the attenuatedstrain at the lake that accounted for the successfulsummer. Alice herself grew light-hearted. Insocial affairs the battalions inclined to her side.Even Lottie Nelson could not stand out and wasfain to make such peace as she could.

In all of this Alice found consolation for theneglect of her husband. She had begun to realize thatthis neglect was not so much a slight, personalto her, as a subordination of everything to thepassion for money-getting. It is impossible toremain always angry and Alice's anger subsided inthe end into indifference as to what her husbandsaid or did.

She had, moreover-if it were a stimulus-thecontinual stimulus of Kimberly's attitude.Without insincerity or indifference he accommodatedhis interest in her to satisfactory restraint. Thisgave Alice the pleasure of realizing that herfirmness had in nowise estranged him and that withoutbeing turbulent he was always very fond of her.She knew he could look to many other women forwhatever he chose to ask of favor, yet apparently helooked to her alone for his pleasure in womankind; and in a hundred delicate ways he allowed her tofeel this.

A handsome young Harvard man came to herat the lake seeking an opening in the refineries.His people were former Colorado acquaintanceswhom Alice was extremely desirous of obliging.She entertained her visitor and tried vainly tointerest her husband in him. MacBirney promisedbut did nothing, and one day Dolly calling atCedar Lodge found Alice writing a note to thecollege boy, still waiting in town on MacBirney'sempty promises, telling him of the failure of herefforts and advising him not to wait longer.

"But why worry?" asked Dolly, when Alice toldher. "Speak to Robert about it. He will placehim within twenty-four hours."

"I can't very well ask a favor of that kind fromMr. Kimberly, Dolly."

"What nonsense! Why not?"

Alice could not say precisely why. "After myown husband hasn't found a way to place him!"she exclaimed.

Dolly did not hesitate. "I will attend to it.Give me his address. Football, did you say?Very good."

Within a week the young man wrote Alice-fromthe Orange River refineries, where he was,he picturesquely said, knee-deep in sugar-thathe had actually been before the sugar magnate,Robert Kimberly himself, adding with theimpetuous spelling of a football man, that theinterview had been so gracious and lasted so longhe had grown nervous about the time Mr. Kimberlywas giving him.

Kimberly never referred to the matter nor didAlice ever mention it to him. It was merelypleasant to think of. And in such evidences asthe frequent letters from her protégé she read herinfluence over the man who, even the chronicle ofthe day could have told her, had she needed theconfirmation, extorted the interest of the worldin which he moved; and over whom, apparently,no woman other than herself could claim influence.

She came tacitly to accept this position towardKimberly. Its nature did not compromise herconscience and it seemed in this way possible bothto have and not have. She grew to lean upon thethought of him as one of the consoling supports inher whirling life-the life in which reflection neverreached conclusion, action never looked forwardto result, and denial had neither time nor place.

The pursuit of pleasure, sweetened by thatphilanthropy and the munificent almsgiving whichwas so esteemed by those about her, made upher life. Alice concluded that those of her circleseverely criticised by many who did not knowthem, did much good. Their failings, naturally, would not condemn them with critics who, likeherself, came in contact with them at their best.

Some time after the placing of the young collegeman, Alice, running in one morning on Dollyfound her in tears. She had never before seenDolly even worried and was at once all solicitude.For one of the very few times in her life, itappeared, Dolly had clashed with her brother Robert.Nor could Alice get clearly from her what thedifference had been about. All that was evidentto Alice was that Dolly was very much grieved andmortified over something Kimberly had said ordone, or refused to say or do, concerning adistinguished actress who upon finishing anAmerican tour was to be entertained by Dolly.

Alice in the afternoon was over at Imogene's.Robert Kimberly was there with his brother.Afterward he joined Imogene and Alice under theelms and asked them to drive. While Imogenewent in to make ready Alice poured a cup of teafor Kimberly. "I suppose you know you havemade Dolly feel very bad," she said with a colorof reproach.

Kimberly responded with the family prudence."Have I?" Alice handed him the tea and heasked another question. "What, pray, do youknow about it?"

"Nothing at all except that she is hurt, and thatI am sorry."

"She didn't tell you what the difference was?"

"Except that it concerned her coming guest."

"I offered Dolly my yacht for her week. Shewanted me to go with the party. Because Ideclined, she became greatly incensed."

"She thought, naturally, you ought to haveobliged her."

"I pleaded I could not spare the time. Shehas the Nelsons and enough others, anyway."

"Her answer, of course, is that your time is your own."

"But the fact is, her guest made the request.Dolly without consulting me promised I would go, and now that I will not she is angry."

"I should think a week at sea would be adiversion for you."

"To tag around a week in heavy seas withwraps after a person of distinction? And pacethe deck with her on damp nights?"

"That is unamiable. She is a very great actress."

Kimberly continued to object. "Suppose sheshould be seasick. I once went out with her andshe professed to be ill every morning. I had tosit in her cabin-it was a stuffy yacht of DeCastro's-and hold her hand."

"But you are so patient. You would not mind that."

"Oh, no; I am not in the least patient. TheKimberlys are described as patient when they aremerely persistent. If I am even amiable, amiability is something quite other than patience.Patience is almost mysterious to me. Francis isthe only patient man I ever have known."

"In this case you are not even amiable. We allhave to do things we don't want to do, to obligeothers. And Dolly ought to be obliged."

"Very well. If you will go, I will. What doyou say?"

"You need not drag me in. I shall have guestsof my own next week. If Dolly made a mistakeabout your inclination in the affair it would beonly generous to help her out."

"Very well, I will go."

"Now you are amiable."

"They can put in at Bar Point and I will jointhem for the last two days. I will urge McEntee, the captain, to see that they are all sick, ifpossible, before I come aboard. Then they will notneed very much entertaining."

"How malicious!"

"Not a bit. Dolly is a good sailor. Her guestcares nothing for me. It is only to have anAmerican at her heels."

"They say that no one can resist her charm.You may not escape it this time."

A fortnight passed before any news came toAlice from the yachting party. Then Fritzie camehome from Nelsons' one day with an interestingaccount of the trip. Until the story was all told,Alice felt gratified at having smoothed over Dolly'sdifficulty.

"They were gone longer than they expected,"said Fritzie. "Robert was having such a goodtime. Lottie Nelson tells me Dolly's guest madethe greatest sort of a hit with Robert. He didn'tlike her at first. Then she sang a song thatattracted him, and he kept her singing that songall the time. He sat in a big chair near the pianoand wouldn't move. The funny thing was, shewas awfully bored the way he acted. By the way, you must not miss the golf to-morrow. Everybodywill be out."

Alice hardly heard the last words. She wasthinking about Kimberly's entertaining thecelebrity. Every other incident of the voyage had beenlost upon her. When she found herself alone herdisappointment and resentment were keen. Someunaccountable dread annoyed her. He was then, she reflected, like all other men, filled with mereprofessions of devotion.

Something more disturbed her. The incidentrevealed to her that he had grown to be morein her thoughts than she realized. Racks andthumb-screws could not have dragged from her theadmission that she was interested in him. It wasenough that he professed to be devoted to herand had been led away by the first nod of anotherwoman.

CHAPTER XXVI

The golf course and the casino were crowdednext day when Alice arrived. Yet amongthe throng of men and women, her interest layonly in the meeting of one, as in turn his interestin all the summer company lay only in seekingAlice. She had hardly joined Imogene and thelake coterie when Kimberly appeared.

The players had driven off and the favorites, ofwhom there were many, could already be trailedacross the hills by their following. When the"out" score had been posted, De Castro suggestedthat the party go down to the tenth hole to followthe leaders in.

A sea-breeze tempered the sunshine and thelong, low lines of the club-house were gaylydecorated. Pavilions, spread here and there amongthe trees, gave the landscape a festival air.

On the course, the bright coloring of groups ofmen and women moving across the fields madea spectacle changing every moment in brilliancy.

Kimberly greeted Alice with a graciousexpectancy. He was met with a lack of responsenothing less than chilling. Surprised, though fairlyseasoned to rebuffs, and accepting the unexpectedmerely as a difficulty, Kimberly set out to beentertaining.

His resource in this regard was not scanty butto-day Alice succeeded in taxing his reserves. In hishalf-mile tramp with her in the "gallery,"punctuated by occasional halts, he managed but onceto separate her from the others. The sun annoyedhim. Alice was aware of his lifting his straw hatfrequently to press his handkerchief to beads ofperspiration that gathered on his swarthyforehead, but she extended no sympathy.

In spite of his discomfort, however, his eyesflashed with their accustomed spirit and his doggedperseverance in the face of her coldness began toplead for itself. When the moving "gallery" hadat last left them for an instant behind, Kimberlydropped on a bench under the friendly shade ofa thorn apple tree.

"Sit down a moment, do," he begged, "until Iget a breath."

"Do you find it warm?"

"Not at all," he responded with negligible irony."It is in some respects uncommonly chilly." Hespoke without the slightest petulance. "ForHeaven's sake, tell me what I have done!"