Part 29 (1/2)
Three times had Endicott crossed the water to visit his wife and daughter during their stay abroad, and every time Michael had known and anxiously awaited some sign of his return. He had read the society columns now for two years solely for the purpose of seeing whether anything would be said about the Endicott family, and he was growing wondrously wise in the ways of the society world.
Also, he had come to know society a little in another way.
Shortly after his last interview with Endicott Miss Emily Holt, daughter of the senior member of the firm of Holt and Holt, had invited Michael to dine with her father and herself; and following this had come an invitation to a house party at the Holts' country seat. This came in the busy season of the farm work; but Michael, anxious to please his employers, took a couple of days off and went. And he certainly enjoyed the good times to the full. He had opportunity to renew his tennis in which he had been a master hand, and to row and ride, in both of which he excelled. Also, he met a number of pleasant people who accepted him for the splendid fellow he looked to be and asked not who he was. Men of his looks and bearing came not in their way every day and Michael was good company wherever he went.
However, when it came to the evenings, Michael was at a loss. He could not dance nor talk small talk. He was too intensely in earnest for society's ways, and they did not understand. He could talk about the books he had read, and the things he had thought, but they were great thoughts and not at all good form for a frivolous company to dwell upon. One did not want a problem in economics or a deep philosophical question thrust upon one at a dance. Michael became a delightful but difficult proposition for the girls present, each one undertaking to teach him how to talk in society, but each in turn making a miserable failure. At last Emily Holt herself set out to give him gentle hints on light conversation and found herself deep in a discussion of Wordsworth's poems about which she knew absolutely nothing, and in which Michael's weary soul had been steeping itself lately.
Miss Holt retired in laughing defeat, at last, and advised her protege to take a course of modern novels. Michael, always serious, took her at her word, and with grave earnestness proceeded to do so; but his course ended after two or three weeks. He found them far from his taste, the most of them too vividly portraying the sins of his alley in a setting of high life. Michael had enough of that sort of thing in real life, and felt he could not stand the strain of modern fiction, so turned back to his Wordsworth again and found soothing and mental stimulus.
But there followed other invitations, some of which he accepted and some of which he declined. Still, the handsome, independent young Adonis was in great demand in spite of his peculiar habit of always being in earnest about everything. Perhaps they liked him and ran after him but the more because of his inaccessibility, and the fact that he was really doing something in the world. For it began to be whispered about among those who knew--and perhaps Emily Holt was the originator--that Michael was going to be something brilliant in the world of worth-while-things one of these days.
The tickets that Endicott promised him had arrived in due time, and anxious to please his benefactor, even in his alienation, Michael faithfully attended concerts and lectures, and enjoyed them to the full, borrowing from his hours of sleep to make up what he had thus spent, rather than from his work or his study. And thus he grew in knowledge of the arts, and in love of all things great, whether music, or pictures, or great minds.
Matters stood thus when Starr appeared on the scene.
The young girl made her debut that winter, and the papers were full of her pictures and the entertainments given in her honor. She was dined and danced and recepted day after day and night after night, and no debutante had ever received higher praise of the critics for beauty, grace, and charm of manner.
Michael read them all, carefully cut out and preserved a few pleasant things that were written about her, looked at the pictures, and turned from the pomp and pride of her triumph to the little snapshot of herself on horseback in the Park with her groom, which she had sent to him when she was a little girl. That was his, and his alone, but these others belonged to the world, the world in which he had no part.
For from all this gaiety of society Michael now held aloof. Invitations he received, not a few, for he was growing more popular every day, but he declined them all. A fine sense of honor kept him from going anywhere that Starr was sure to be. He had a right, of course, and it would have been pleasant in a way to have her see that he was welcome in her world; but always there was before his mental vision the memory of her mother's biting words as she put him down from the glorified presence of her world, into an existence of shame and sin and sorrow. He felt that Starr was so far above him that he must not hurt her by coming too near. And so, in deference to the vow that he had taken when the knowledge of his unworthiness had first been presented to him, he stayed away.
Starr, as she heard more and more of his conquests in her world, wondered and was piqued that he came not near her. And one day meeting him by chance on Fifth Avenue, she greeted him graciously and invited him to call.
Michael thanked her with his quiet manner, while his heart was in a tumult over her beauty, and her dimpled smiles that blossomed out in the old childish ways, only still more beautifully, it seemed to him. He went in the strength of that smile many days: but he did not go to call upon her.
The days pa.s.sed into weeks and months, and still he did not appear, and Starr, hearing more of his growing inaccessibility, determined to show the others that she could draw him out of his sh.e.l.l. She humbled her Endicott pride and wrote him a charming little note asking him to call on one of the ”afternoons” when she and her mother held court. But Michael, though he treasured the note, wrote a graceful, but decided refusal.
This angered the young woman, exceedingly, and she decided to cut him out of her good graces entirely. And indeed the whirl of gaiety in which she was involved scarcely gave her time for remembering old friends. In occasional odd moments when she thought of him at all, it was with a vague kind of disappointment, that he too, with all the other things of her childhood, had turned out to be not what she had thought.
But she met him face to face one bright Sunday afternoon as she walked on the avenue with one of the many courtiers who eagerly attended her every step. He was a slender, handsome young fellow, with dark eyes and hair and reckless mouth. There were jaded lines already around his youthful eyes and lips. His name was Stuyvesant Carter. Michael recognized him at once. His picture had been in the papers but the week before as leader with Starr of the cotillion. His presence with her in the bright sunny afternoon was to Michael like a great cloud of trouble looming out of a perfect day. He looked and looked again, his expressive eyes searching the man before him to the depths, and then going to the other face, beautiful, innocent, happy.
Michael was walking with Hester Semple.
Now Hester, in her broadcloth tailored suit, and big black hat with plumes, was a pretty sight, and she looked quite distinguished walking beside Michael, whose garments seemed somehow always to set him off as if they had been especially designed for him; and after whom many eyes were turned as he pa.s.sed by.
Had it been but the moment later, or even three minutes before, Will French would have been with them and Michael would have been obviously a third member of the party, for he was most careful in these days to let them both know that he considered they belonged together. But Will had stopped a moment to speak to a business acquaintance, and Hester and Michael were walking slowly ahead until he should rejoin them.
”Look!” said Hester excitedly. ”Isn't that the pretty Miss Endicott whose picture is in the papers so much? I'm sure it must be, though she's ten times prettier than any of her pictures.”
But Michael needed not his attention called. He was already looking with all his soul in his eyes.
As they came opposite he lifted his hat with, such marked, deference to Starr that young Stuyvesant Carter turned and looked at him insolently, with a careless motion of his own hand toward his hat. But Starr, with brilliant cheeks, and eyes that looked straight at Michael, continued her conversation with her companion and never so much as by the flicker of an eyelash recognized her former friend.
It was but an instant in the pa.s.sing, and Hester was so taken up with looking at the beauty of the idol of society that she never noticed Michael's lifted hat until they were pa.s.sed. Then Will French joined them breezily.
”Gee whiz, but she's a peach, isn't she?” he breathed as he took his place beside Hester, and Michael dropped behind, ”but I suppose it'll all rub off. They say most of those swells aren't real.”
”I think she's real!” declared Hester. ”Her eyes are sweet and her smile is charming. The color on her cheeks wasn't put on like paint. I just love her. I believe I'd like to know her. She certainly is beautiful, and she doesn't look a bit spoiled. Did you ever see such eyes?”
”They aren't half as nice as a pair of gray ones I know,” said Will looking meaningfully at them as they were lifted smiling to his.