Nobody

"My Father made them all!"

But there remained another aspect of the matter which raised otherfeelings in the girl's mind. The difference in education. Those peoplecould speak French, and Mr. Caruthers could speak Spanish, and Mr.Lenox spoke German. Whether well or ill, Lois did not know; but in anycase, how many doors, in literature and in life, stood open to them; which were closed and locked doors to her! And we all know, that eversince Bluebeard's time – I might go back further, and say, ever sinceEve's time – Eve's daughters have been unable to stand before a closeddoor without the wish to open it. The impulse, partly for good, partlyfor evil, is incontestable. Lois fairly longed to know what Tom and hissister knew in the fields of learning. And there were other fields.There was a certain light, graceful, inimitable habit of the world andof society; familiarity with all the pretty and refined ways and usesof the more refined portions of society; knowledge and practice ofproprieties, as the above-mentioned classes of the world recognizethem; which all seemed to Lois greatly desirable and becoming. Nay, thesaid "proprieties" and so forth were not always of the most importantkind; Miss Caruthers could be what Lois considered coolly rude, uponoccasion; and her mother could be carelessly impolite; and Mr. Lenoxcould be wanting in the delicate regard which a gentleman should showto a lady; "I suppose," thought Lois, "he did not think I would knowany better." In these things, these essential things, some of thefarmers of Shampuashuh and their wives were the peers at least, if notthe superiors, of these fine ladies and gentlemen. But in lesserthings! These people knew how to walk gracefully, sit gracefully, eatgracefully. Their manner and address in all the little details of life, had the ease, and polish, and charm which comes of use, and habit, andconfidence. The way Mr. Lenox and Tom would give help to a lady ingetting over the rough rocks of Appledore; the deference with whichthey would attend to her comfort and provide for her pleasure; thegrace of a bow, the good breeding of a smile; the ease of action whichcomes from trained physical and practised mental nature; these and agreat deal more, even the details of dress and equipment which are onlypossible to those who know how, and which are instantly seen to beexcellent and becoming, even by those who do not know how; all this hadappealed mightily to Lois's nature, and raised in her longings andregrets more or less vague, but very real. All that, she would like tohave. She wanted the familiarity with books, and also the familiaritywith the world, which some people had; the secure à plomb and theeasy facility of manner which are so imposing and so attractive to agirl like Lois. She felt that to these people life was richer, larger, wider than to her; its riches more at command; the standpoint higherfrom which to take a view of the world; the facility greater whichcould get from the world what it had to give. And it was a closed doorbefore which Lois stood. Truly on her side of the door there was verymuch that she had and they had not; she knew that, and did not fail torecognize it and appreciate it. What was the Lord's beautiful creationto them? a place to kill time in, and get rid of it as fast aspossible. The ocean, to them, was little but a great bath-tub; or avery inconvenient separating medium, which prevented them from goingconstantly to Paris and Rome. To judge by all that appeared, the skyhad no colours for them, and the wind no voices, and the flowers nospeech. And as for the Bible, and the hopes and joys which take theirsource there, they knew no more of it so than if they had beenMahometans. They took no additional pleasure in the things of thenatural world, because those things were made by a Hand that theyloved. Poor people! and Lois knew they were poor; and yet – she said toherself, and also truly, that the possession of her knowledge would notbe lessened by the possession of theirs. And a little pensivenessmingled for a few days with her enjoyment of Appledore. Meanwhile Mrs.Wishart was getting well.

"So they have all gone!" she said, a day or two after the Caruthersparty had taken themselves away.

"Yes, and Appledore seems, you can't think how lonely," said Lois. Shehad just come in from a ramble.

"You saw a great deal of them, dear?"

"Quite a good deal. Did you ever see such bright pimpernel? Isn't itlovely?"

"I don't understand how Tom could get away."

"I believe he did not want to go."

"Why didn't you keep him?"

"I!" said Lois with an astonished start. "Why should I keep him, Mrs.

Wishart?"

"Because he likes you so much."

"Does he?" said Lois a little bitterly.

"Yes! Don't you like him? How do you like him, Lois?"

"He is nice, Mrs. Wishart. But if you ask me, I do not think he hasenough strength of character."

"If Tom has let them carry him off against his will, he is ratherweak."

Lois made no answer. Had he? and had they done it? A vague notion ofwhat might be the truth of the whole transaction floated in and out ofher mind, and made her indignant. Whatever one's private views of thedanger may be, I think no one likes to be taken care of in thisfashion. Of course Tom Caruthers was and could be nothing to her, Loissaid to herself; and of course she could be nothing to him; but thathis friends should fear the contrary and take measures to prevent it, stirred her most disagreeably. Yes; if things had gone so, then Tomcertainly was weak; and it vexed her that he should be weak. Veryinconsistent, when it would have occasioned her so much trouble if hehad been strong! But when is human nature consistent? Altogether thisvisit to Appledore, the pleasure of which began so spicily, left rathera flat taste upon her tongue; and she was vexed at that.

There was another person who probably thought Tom weak, and who wascurious to know how he had come out of this trial of strength with hisrelations; but Mr. Dillwyn had wandered off to a distance, and it wasnot till a month later that he saw any of the Caruthers. By that timethey were settled in their town quarters for the winter, and there oneevening he called upon them. He found only Julia and her mother.

"By the way," said he, when the talk had rambled on for a while, "howdid you get on at the Isles of Shoals?"

"We had an awful time," said Julia. "You cannot conceive of anything soslow."

"How long did you stay?"

"O, ages! We were there four or five weeks. Imagine, if you can.

Nothing but sea and rocks, and no company!"

"No company! What kept you there?"

"O, Tom!"

"What kept Tom?"

"Mrs. Wishart got sick, you see, and couldn't get away, poor soul! andthat made her stay so long."

"And you had to stay too, to nurse her?"

"No, nothing of that. Miss Lothrop was there, and she did the nursing; and then a ridiculous aunt of hers came to help her."

"You staid for sympathy?"

"Don't be absurd, Philip! You know we were kept by Tom. We could notget him away."

"What made Tom want to stay?"

"O, that girl."

"How did you get him away at last?"

"Just because we stuck to him. No other way. He would undoubtedly havemade a fool of himself with that girl – he was just ready to do it – butwe never left him a chance. George and I, and mother, we surroundedhim," said Julia, laughing; "we kept close by him; we never left themalone. Tom got enough of it at last, and agreed, very melancholy, tocome away. He is dreadfully in the blues yet."

"You have a good deal to answer for, Julia."

"Now, don't, Philip! That's what George says. It is too absurd. Justbecause she has a pretty face. All you men are bewitched by prettyfaces."

"She has a good manner, too."

"Manner? She has no manner at all; and she don't know anything, out ofher garden. We have saved Tom from a great danger. It would be aterrible thing, perfectly terrible, to have him marry a girl who isnot a lady, nor even an educated woman."

"You think you could not have made a lady of her?"

"Mamma, do hear Philip! isn't he too bad? Just because that girl has alittle beauty. I wonder what there is in beauty, it turns all yourheads! Mamma, do you hear Mr. Dillwyn? he wishes we had let Tom havehis head and marry that little gardening girl."

"Indeed I do not," said Philip seriously. "I am very glad you succeededin preventing it But allow me to ask if you are sure you have succeeded? Is it quite certain Tom will not have his head after all? Hemay cheat you yet."

"O no! He's very melancholy, but he has given it up. If he don't, we'lltake him abroad in the spring. I think he has given it up. His beingmelancholy looks like it."

"True. I'll sound him when I get a chance."

The chance offered itself very soon; for Tom came in, and when Dillwynleft the house, Tom went to walk with him. They sauntered along FifthAvenue, which was pretty full of people still, enjoying the mild airand beautiful starlight.

"Tom, what did you do at the Isles of Shoals?" Mr. Dillwyn askedsuddenly.

"Did a lot of fishing. Capital trolling."

"All your fishing done on the high seas, eh?"

"All my successful fishing."

"What was the matter? Not a faint heart?"

"No. It's disgusting, the whole thing!" Tom broke out with heartyemphasis.

"You don't like to talk about it? I'll spare you, if you say so."

"I don't care what you do to me," said Tom; "and I have no objection totalk about it – to you."

Nevertheless he stopped.

"Have you changed your mind?"

"I shouldn't change my mind, if I lived to be as old as Methuselah!"

"That's right. Well, then, – the thing is going on?"

"It isn't going on! and I suppose it never will!"

"Had the lady any objection? I cannot believe that."

"I don't know," said Tom, with a big sigh. "I almost think she hadn't; but I never could find that out."

"What hindered you, old fellow?"

"My blessed relations. Julia and mother made such a row. I wouldn'thave minded the row neither; for a man must marry to please himself andnot his mother; and I believe no man ever yet married to please hissister; but, Philip, they didn't give me a minute. I could never joinher anywhere, but Julia would be round the next corner; or else Georgewould be there before me. George must put his oar in; and between themthey kept it up."

"And you think she liked you?"

Tom was silent a while.

"Well," said he at last, "I won't swear; for you never know where awoman is till you've got her; but if she didn't, all I have to say is, signs aren't good for anything."

It was Philip now who was silent, for several minutes.

"What's going to be the upshot of it?"

"O, I suppose I shall go abroad with Julia and George in the spring, and end by taking an orthodox wife some day; somebody with blue blood, and pretension, and nothing else. My people will be happy, and thefamily name will be safe."

"And what will become of her?"

"O, she's all right. She won't break her heart about me. She isn't thatsort of girl," Tom Caruthers said gloomily. "Do you know, I admire herimmensely, Philip! I believe she's good enough for anything. Maybeshe's too good. That's what her aunt hinted."

"Her aunt! Who's she?"

"She's a sort of a snapping turtle. A good sort of woman, too. I tookcounsel with her, do you know, when I found it was no use for me to tryto see Lois. I asked her if she would stand my friend. She was as sharpas a fish-hook, and about as ugly a customer; and she as good as toldme to go about my business."

"Did she give reasons for such advice?"

"O yes! She saw through Julia and mother as well as I did; and shespoke as any friend of Lois would, who had a little pride about her. Ican't blame her."

Silence fell again, and lasted while the two young men walked thelength of several blocks. Then Mr. Dillwyn began again.

"Tom, there ought to be no more shilly-shallying about this matter."

"No more! Yes, you're right. I ought to have settled it long ago, before Julia and mother got hold of it. That's where I made a mistake."

"And you think it too late?"

Tom hesitated. "It's too late. I've lost my time. She has given meup, and mother and Julia have set their hearts that I should give herup. I am not a match for them. Is a man ever a match for a woman, doyou think, Dillwyn, if she takes something seriously in hand?"

"Will you go to Europe next spring?"

"Perhaps. I suppose so."

"If you do, perhaps I will join the party – that is, if you will all letme."

So the conversation went over into another channel.

CHAPTER XVIII

MR. DILLWYN'S PLAN

Two or three evenings after this, Philip Dillwyn was taking his waydown the Avenue, not up it. He followed it down to nearly its lowertermination, and turned up into Clinton Place, where he presently runup the steps of a respectable but rather dingy house, rang the bell, and asked for Mrs. Barclay.

The room where he awaited her was one of those dismal places, a publicparlour in a boarding-house of second or third rank. Respectable, butforlorn. Nothing was ragged or untidy, but nothing either had the leastlook of home comfort or home privacy. As to home elegance, or luxury, the look of such a room is enough to put it out of one's head thatthere can be such things in the world. The ugly ingrain carpet, theungraceful frame of the small glass in the pier, the abominableportraits on the walls, the disagreeable paper with which they werehung, the hideous lamps on the mantelpiece; – wherever the eye looked,it came back with uneasy discomfort. Philip's eye came back to thefire; and that was not pleasant to see; for the fireplace was notproperly cared for, the coals were lifeless, and evidently moreeconomical than useful. Philip looked very out of place in thesesurroundings. No one could for a moment have supposed him to be livingamong them. His thoroughly well-dressed figure, the look of easyrefinement in his face, the air of one who is his own master, soinimitable by one whose circumstances master him; all said plainly thatMr. Dillwyn was here only on account of some one else. It could be nohome of his.

As little did it seem fitted to be the home of the lady who presentlyentered. A tall, elegant, dignified woman; in the simplest of dresses, indeed, which probably bespoke scantiness of means, but which could notat all disguise or injure the impression of high breeding andrefinement of manners which her appearance immediately produced. Shewas a little older than her visitor, yet not much; a woman in the primeof life she would have been, had not life gone hard with her; and shehad been very handsome, though the regular features were shadowed withsadness, and the eyes had wept too many tears not to have suffered lossof their original brightness. She had the slow, quiet manner of onewhose life is played out; whom the joys and sorrows of the world haveboth swept over, like great waves, and receding, have left the world abarren strand for her; where the tide is never to rise again. She was asad-eyed woman, who had accepted her sadness, and could be quietlycheerful on the surface of it. Always, at least, as far as goodbreeding demanded. She welcomed Mr. Dilhvyn with a smile and evidentgenuine pleasure.

"How do I find you?" he said, sitting down.

"Quite well. Where have you been all summer? I need not ask how you are."

"Useless things always thrive," he said. "I have been wandering aboutamong the mountains and lakes in the northern part of Maine."

"That is very wild, isn't it?"

"Therein lies its charm."

"There are not roads and hotels?"

"The roads the lumberers make. And I saw one hotel, and did not want tosee any more."

"How did you find your way?"

"I had a guide – an Indian, who could speak a little English."

"No other company?"

"Rifle and fishing-rod."

"Good work for them there, I suppose?"

"Capital. Moose, and wild-fowl, and fish, all of best quality. I wished

I could have sent you some."

"Thank you for thinking of me. I should have liked the game too."

"Are you comfortable here?" he asked, lowering his voice. Just then thedoor opened; a man's head was put in, surveyed the two people in theroom, and after a second's deliberation disappeared again.

"You have not this room to yourself?" inquired Dilhvyn.

"O no. It is public property."

"Then we may be interrupted?"

"At any minute. Do you want to talk to me, 'unter vier Augen'?"

"I want no more, certainly. Yes, I came to talk to you; and I cannot,if people keep coming in." A woman's head had now shown itself for amoment. "I suppose in half an hour there will be a couple of oldgentlemen here playing backgammon. I see a board. Have you not a cornerto yourself?"

"I have a corner," she said, hesitating; "but it is only big enough tohold me. However, if you will promise to make no remarks, and to 'makebelieve,' as the children say, that the place is six times as large asit is, I will, for once take you to it. I would take no one else."

"The honour will not outweigh the pleasure," said Dillwyn as he rose.

"But why must I put such a force upon my imagination?"

"I do not want you to pity me. Do you mind going up two flights ofstairs?"

"I would not mind going to the top of St. Peter's!"

"The prospect will be hardly like that."

She led the way up two flights of stairs. At the top of them, in thethird story, she opened the door of a little end room, cut off thehall. Dillwyn waited outside till she had found her box of matches andlit a lamp; then she let him come in and shut the door. It was a littlebit of a place indeed, about six feet by twelve. A table, covered withbooks and papers, hanging shelves with more books, a work-basket, atrunk converted into a divan by a cushion and chintz cover, and arocking-chair, about filled the space. Dillwyn took the divan, and Mrs.Barclay the chair. Dillwyn looked around him.

"I should never dream of pitying the person who can be contented here,"he said.

"Why?"

"The mental composition must be so admirable! I suppose you haveanother corner, where to sleep?"

"Yes," she said, smiling; "the other little room like this at the otherend of the hall. I preferred this arrangement to having one larger roomwhere I must sit and sleep both. Old habits are hard to get rid of. Nowtell me more about the forests of Maine. I have always had a curiosityabout that portion of the country."

He did gratify her for a while; told of his travels, and camping out; and of his hunting and fishing; and of the lovely scenery of the lakesand hills. He had been to the summit of Mount Kataydin, and he hadexplored the waters in 'birches;' and he told of odd specimens ofhumanity he had found on his way; but after a while of this talk Philipcame suddenly back to his starting point.

"Mrs. Barclay, you are not comfortable here?"

"As well as I can expect," she said, in her quiet, sad manner. Thesadness was not obtrusive, not on the surface; it was only thebackground to everything.

"But it is not comfort. I am not insulting you with pity, mind; but Iam thinking. Would you not like better to be in the country? in somepleasant place?"

"You do not call this a pleasant place?" she said, with her faintsmile. "Now I do. When I get up here, and shut the door, I am my ownmistress."

"Would you not like the country?"

"It is out of my reach, Philip. I must do something, you know, to keepeven this refuge."

"I think you said you would not be averse to doing something in theline of giving instruction?"

"If I had the right pupils. But there is no chance of that. There aretoo many competitors. The city is overstocked."

"We were talking of the country."

"Yes, but it is still less possible in the country. I could not findthere the sort of teaching I could do. All requisitions of that sort, people expect to have met in the city; and they come to the city forit,"

"I do not speak with certain'ty," said Philip, "but I think I know aplace that would suit you. Good air, pleasant country, comfortablequarters, and moderate charges. And if you went there, there is work."

"Where is it?"

"On the Connecticut shore – far down the Sound. Not too far from New

York, though; perfectly accessible."

"Who lives there?"

"It is a New England village, and you know what those are. Broad grassystreets, and shadowy old elms, and comfortable houses; and the sea notfar off. Quiet, and good air, and people with their intelligence alive.There is even a library."

"And among these comfortable inhabitants, who would want to be troubledwith me?"

"I think I know. I think I know just the house, where your coming wouldbe a boon. They are not very well-to-do. I have not asked, but I aminclined to believe they would be glad to have you."

"Who are they?"

"A household of women. The father and mother are dead; the grandmotheris there yet, and there are three daughters. They are relations of anold friend of mine, indeed a connection of mine, in the city. So I knowsomething about them."

"Not the people themselves?"

"Yes, I know the people, – so far as one specimen goes. I fancy they arepeople you could get along with."

Mrs. Barclay looked a little scrutinizingly at the young man. His facerevealed nothing, more than a friendly solicitude. But he caught thelook, and broke out suddenly with a change of subject.

"How do you women get along without cigars? What is your substitute?"

"What does the cigar, to you, represent?"

"Soothing and comforting of the nerves – aids to thought – powerful helpsto good humour – something to do – "

"There! now you have it. Philip you are talking nonsense. Your nervesare as steady and sound as a granite mountain; you can think withouthelp of any extraneous kind; your good-humour is quite as fair as mostpeople's; but – you do want something to do! I cannot bear to have youwaste your life in smoke, be it never so fragrant."

"What would you have me do?"

"Anything! so you were hard at work, and doing work."

"There is nothing for me to do."

"That cannot be," said she, shaking her head.

"Propose something."

"You have no need to work for yourself," she said; "so it must be forother people. Say politics."

"If ever there was anything carried on purely for selfish interests, itis the business you name."

"The more need for some men to go into it not for self, but for thecountry."

"It's a Maelstrom; one would be sure to get drawn in. And it is a dirtybusiness. You know the proverb about touching pitch."

"It need not be so, Philip."

"It brings one into disgusting contact and associations. My cigar isbetter."

"It does nobody any good except the tobacconist. And, Philip, it helpsthis habit of careless letting everything go, which you have got into."

"I take care of myself, and of my money," he said.

"Men ought to live for more than to take care of themselves."

"I was just trying to take care of somebody else, and you head me off!You should encourage a fellow better. One must make a beginning. And Iwould like to be of use to somebody, if I could."

"Go on," she said, with her faint smile again. "How do you propose that

I shall meet the increased expenditures of your Connecticut paradise?"

"You would like it?" he said eagerly.

"I cannot tell. But if the people are as pleasant as the place – itwould be a paradise. Still, I cannot afford to live in paradise, I amafraid."

"You have only heard half my plan. It will cost you nothing. You haveheard only what you are to get – not what you are to give."

"Let me hear. What am I to give?"

"The benefits of your knowledge of the world, and knowledge ofliterature, and knowledge of languages, to two persons who need and arewith out them all."

"'Two persons.' What sort of persons?"

"Two of the daughters I spoke of."

Mrs. Barclay was silent a minute, looking at him.

"Whose plan is this?"

"Your humble servant's. As I said, one must make a beginning; and thisis my beginning of an attempt to do good in the world."

"How old are these two persons?"

"One of them, about eighteen, I judge. The other, a year or two older."