_ CHAPTER XX
Love that is ignorant, and hatred have almost the same ends.--BEN JONSON.
What if Jasper Wilmarth should prove that ardently desired person, a lover? Marcia Grandon wonders what she would do, what she had better do? The years are beginning to fly apace. True, Gertrude married at thirty, after she had lost her greatest attractions, and was quite indifferent whether she pleased or not. Marcia is past twenty-six, and it is but a step to thirty. If she could set up for a genius and have a pretty house of her own, but the house is out of the question, and to be confronted with Violet's youth and freshness every day in the year is much too bitter! Jasper Wilmarth is not a man to be proud of in society, unless it is for his very ugliness and the almost deformity. She thinks of Venus and Vulcan. She might call him playfully her Vulcan; at least, she could to her friends. She will have a house of her own, she will be
Mrs., and, after all, the world is much more tolerant to married women than to spinsters of an uncertain age. She is not invited with very young girls any more, but as Mrs. Wilmarth she can ask them to her house and patronize them. Then married women are allowed to flirt shamefully with
young men; and though Mr. Wilmarth cannot dance, she may have other partners. Altogether, she would be immeasurably better off, even if she did not care very much for him. But there would be a spice of romance, and somehow she half believes she could love him if she was
sure, and if he loved her. She has weakly and foolishly come to care for more than one who did not love her, to whom the attention was merely pastime, or perhaps amusement. She will be wary and learn first what his intentions really are.
So at the last moment she has a headache and will not go to Madame Lepelletier's. Mrs. Grandon's invitation is for a week, and Eugene takes her down in the morning, and loiters most of the day in the seductive house. When Floyd and Violet are out of the way, Marcia attires herself in a white cashmere dress and scarlet geraniums, and steals down to the drawing-room wrapped in a Shetland shawl, nervous, curious, and expectant. What if he should
not come?
It is not Jasper Wilmarth's intention to slight the gods. He is scrupulously dressed, and understands the courtesies of society, if he seldom has need of them. Marcia looks reasonably pretty in this handsome room, where there is just enough light to suggest, not enough to glare, and a subtile fragrance of heliotrope. He might marry women superior to Marcia Grandon who would not bring him her family prestige. They may dislike him, but they cannot quite crowd him out of everything.
Marcia receives him with much trepidation. Acute as he is, he does not understand her, for the simple reason that he does not give her credit for the shrewdness engendered by much experience. If she cannot have the marriage she will have the flirtation, and she suspects the latter.
He does soon set her mind at rest, and she is surprised at a positive offer of marriage. He makes it because he knows she will be the more ready to devise ways of meeting him.
"It is abrupt, I know," he begins, in a peculiarly apologetical tone, "but I wanted you to know my intentions. Circumstances might be rather against us if we undertook the orthodox courtship," and he smiles. "I am aware that I have not the graces of youth and comeliness, and for various reasons your family might oppose. But I am not a poor man, and I think--if a woman loved me--I want her to love me," he says, with sudden vehemence that looks like passion. "I want her to adore me, I want to know what it is to be loved in spite of my drawbacks!"
He has touched the right chord in Marcia's nature. She is always ready to adore when opportunity offers. And though she has loved numberless times, she is ready to begin over again, and yields to the masterful force that experiments with her. The touch of her hand is soft and tremulous, and her kisses are delicate, sweet. He gives himself up to an idiocy he does not believe in, and really enjoys the blissfulness, as an Eastern despot might enjoy the admiration of a new slave.
Marcia is supremely happy encircled by these strong arms. Before her closed eyes floats in magic letters her new name. She will not be the old maid of the family after all. If she did not know the world so well, she would be moved to show her gratitude, but it is much wiser to show her love.
"I shall want to see you," he says, "and we cannot always count on occasions like these. I must leave the opportunities largely to you. A note directed to my box will escape prying eyes. We can have walks together; why, we could even have drives if you were good enough to invite me."
"I should be delighted!" cries Marcia, exultantly.
"Only, we must not choose public thoroughfares." And his smile is fascinating to Marcia, who of late has had no really impassioned love-making.
He puts his arm around her as he stands up to go, and experiences a sort of tender contempt for her. He certainly could grow quite fond of this willing slave, and he will let himself enjoy all the pleasure that can be drained out of it.
Marcia opens the hall door for her lover and closes it again softly. She meets Briggs coming in from fastening the library windows.
"Briggs," she remarks, "that was Mr. Wilmarth. I had some special business with him. I have been drawing patterns; but I would rather his call should not be mentioned."
Briggs bows obediently.
In her own room Marcia gives way to a wild delight. She is sure she does not look to be over twenty, she is glad to be rather small, and can imagine how she will appear beside Mr. Wilmarth's broad shoulders and frowning face. Quite piquant and fairy-like, and then to love with one's whole soul, unsuspected by the sharp eyes of critical kindred, who do not appreciate her lover; to carry about a delicious secret, to plan and to steal out to promised interviews, and at last,--for he has hinted that he shall be a rather impatient wooer,--at last to surprise them by a marriage. She can hardly compose herself to sleep, so busy and excited are brain and nerves.
The musicale is a success, one of the enviable events of the season, and there is a most charming supper afterward. Violet's enjoyment is so perfect that she takes herself quite to task for not being better friends with madame, since Mr. Grandon really desires it. Why should she allow that old dead-and-gone ghost to walk in this bright present? She is never troubled about Cecil's mother, and Mr. Grandon must have loved her; she is never jealous of Cecil. This is nothing like jealousy, she tells herself; it is a peculiar distrust; she does not want madame to gain any influence over
her. She is ready enough to admit and to admire her wonderful beauty, but her presence seems like some overpowering fragrance that might lull one into a dangerous sleep.
And yet Violet finds, as the time goes on, that she does come into her life and smooths it mysteriously. Laura has less of that insolent superiority when madame is present, and Mrs. Grandon seems more gentle. Then madame can convey bits of society counsel so delicately, she always seems to know just when Violet is not quite certain of any step.
"I should really have loved her at first," Violet half admits to herself, "if nothing had been said."
Gertrude and the professor are going to Mexico, and will not be back for some time. Everybody is planning for summer. Laura talks of a run over to Europe; the Vandervoorts take Newport as a matter of course, and send thither carriages and horses. Mrs. Latimer spends a few days at Grandon Park, and ends by taking the cottage with Denise, after she has had a luncheon within its charmed precincts. Madame lingers and is undecided, then what she considers a very fortunate incident settles her at Grandon Park, with a lovely cottage, horses, and an elderly half invalid for companion.
About the middle of May, Marcia Grandon makes her grand
coup de grace. She fancies she has had it all her own way, that she has planned; but some one behind was gently manipulating the cords of his puppet. There have been delicious stolen interviews, notes, and the peculiar half-intrigue, half-deception Marcia so loves. Violet has remarked an odd change in her; Mrs. Grandon has been a good deal occupied, and has grown accustomed to her daughter's vagaries, so no one has paid any special heed. Marcia has ordered a
trousseau in the city, and one fine morning goes down in her airiest manner, and in pearl silk is made Mrs. Wilmarth. From thence they send out cards, and Marcia writes to her mother, to Laura, who comes in haste, and is both angry and incredulous; angry that Jasper Wilmarth should have been brought into the family, when she had done it the honor to connect it with the Vandervoorts and Delancys.
Marcia is quite resplendent in silk and lace, and does look blissfully content.
"What an awful fool you have made of yourself!" is the tender salutation, since Mr. Wilmarth is not present. "What you ever could see in
that man passes my comprehension! He may do for business, but if
I understand rightly, Floyd is not over-fond of him. I suppose that was why you married on the sly?"
"I married to please myself," says Marcia, bridling, "and I dare say you did the same. I have a husband who is kind and generous and noble, who loves me and whom I love, and if fate has in some ways treated him unkindly, he shall learn that there is one woman in the world brave enough to make it up to him."
She repeats this almost like a lesson learned by rote.
"Bosh," returns Laura, with contemptuous superiority. "I dare say you thought it would be the last chance!"
"Oh, I have heard of women marrying even at forty," retorts Marcia, with a shrill little laugh.
"And to do it in that way! Whatever possessed you to make such an idiot of yourself. To bring
that man in the family!"
"You forget he is my husband, Mrs. Delancy," and Marcia braves her resolutely.
At this moment the door opens and the obnoxious person enters, having heard his wife's last sentence. He walks straight up to Laura, with determination in every line of his countenance.
"Ah, Mrs. Delancy," he says, and then adds in a meaning tone, with a kind of bitter suavity, "I suppose we do not need to be introduced. Although I never was much of a visitor in my late partner's household, I have known you all, and I suppose am entitled to a little friendly recognition for Marcia's sake. We have taken our step in a most unorthodox manner, but it suited ourselves, our only apology."
"Extremely unorthodox," says Laura, in a biting tone.
"But we propose to make it orthodox as soon as possible. Marcia, brave girl, would have married me in the face of any staring audience. She might have had a younger and handsomer bridegroom, but she can hardly have a husband who will care more tenderly for her."
Laura is rather checked in her angry career. She dare not brave these steel-gray eyes.
"We are all very much surprised; at least I am, having heard no word or hint of it."
"We did keep our secret pretty well, I believe," and he glances fondly at Marcia.
"Well," replies Laura, rising, "I suppose the best wish of all is that you may not regret your step in haste."
"It was not so hasty as that," and he laughs, with the flavor of one who has won.
Laura makes her adieus coldly, feeling outgeneralled by his evident determination not to be put down.
"What are we to do?" she asks of madame, half an hour later. "This horrid reception staring us in the face! Of course people will go out of curiosity. Marcia always did delight in being talked about."
"But is her husband so horribly unpresentable?" and madame's beautiful eyes are filled with sympathy.
"Oh, you can present
anything here in New York, that is the worst of it!" cries Laura, angrily. "That is why I like Newport. And Marcia is so utterly silly."
"But Mr. Wilmarth?"
"I hate the sight of him, and Marcia used to say everything about him. He's humpbacked or something, and looks like a tiger. Well, I
do wish her joy if ever he should get in a tantrum. You see, after all, the idea of bringing such a man in the family. Floyd's marriage was bad enough."
"But your
petite sister-in-law does improve wonderfully."
"Don't call her anything to me," says Laura, disdainfully. "She is simply Floyd's wife. I only wish we were going to sail this very day and get out of all the
escalandre."
Madame laughs comfortingly. Laura resolves to go up to Grandon Park to see in what estimation the marriage is held there.
They are surprised and puzzled. Mrs. Grandon's mortification is a little assuaged, and in her secret heart she is thankful Marcia has done no worse. She has been lawfully married by a reputable clergyman, she is staying at a fashionable hotel, and will no doubt have a stylish reception. She has married a man who can not only keep her in comfort, but who is likely to keep her out of any further imprudences, and therefore one need have no care or anxiety about the future. The step certainly has some compensations to her, if they are and must remain unconfessed to the world.
"I do regret it," Floyd says, candidly, "for I am afraid Marcia's romance has led her into an unwise step. I cannot imagine Jasper Wilmarth being tender to a woman. I have never been able to like or admire him, or, for that matter, trust him, and our views seldom accord. I suppose the secret of it was that Marcia was afraid of opposition."
"But what are you going to do, recognize them at once?"
"If at all, why not at once? Why make a little stir and gossip? We shall never be altogether friendly," and Floyd paces the room, for he sees this step complicates business matters still further, "but we can keep people from commenting upon our unfriendliness."
"Of course they will come back here to live, and it might be awkward for you," returns Laura, rather elated that they are not likely to stay in the city. "Well, if there
is nothing else to do----"
"We may as well put a pleasant face on the matter and swallow our bitter pill," says Floyd, with a smile of concession.
"Do you know," says Violet, afterward, with a touch of timidity that is quite entrancing, "I cannot help admiring Marcia's courage in marrying a man she loved, even if he was not--and he
is quite dreadful," with a shivering incoherence. "I saw him when he came to Canada, and he made me think of an ogre. Yet it would be very hard if the whole world hated you for something you could not help, like a deformity."
"I have known several instances of men worse deformed than Mr. Wilmarth being extravagantly loved," says Grandon, thinking how nearly this man might have been her fate, and wondering if she could have reconciled herself to it. "But we are very apt to connect warped bodies with warped minds, and I must confess to a distaste for either. I should like to be sure it was--regard that brought them together."
She remembers that Marcia is rather peculiar, always taking sudden fancies and then dropping them. This she never can give up, never.
"What thought so perplexes that wise little face," asks her husband.
"Oh, she must have loved him or she could not have married him," she says, still thinking of Marcia.
"Does that follow, I wonder?"
"Why, she had her choice, you know, there was no other reason for her to marry him," she answers, innocently.
He wonders just now what Violet St. Vincent would have done had a choice been hers! He is well aware that she obeyed her father, and that he was not distasteful to her. She is sweet and dutiful and fond, not at all exacting, and has the obedience of a well-trained child. Does he care for anything more? Could he have it if he
did care, if he desired it ardently?
Mrs. Jasper Wilmarth's reception is a crush. It would seem that no one stayed away, and it looks as if they might have brought cousins and aunts. She is in pale blue silk and velvet, and looks very pretty, for Marcia brightens up wonderfully with becoming dress. Mr. Wilmarth's tailor has made the best of his figure, and he brings out the training of years agone, when he had some ambitions. Society decides that it must have been merely a whim, for the man is certainly well enough, and really adores her. Even Laura wonders how Marcia managed to inspire this regard, and decides that the marriage is not so bad, after all, and she shall never have Marcia to chaperone.
Floyd Grandon and his wife are down in the early part of the evening. This is really Mr. Wilmarth's triumph. The greeting is courteous, if formal, and the man has come to
him, Jasper Wilmarth. As a member of the Grandon family, he is not to be overlooked. As a man, he can win a wife as well as the more favored ones, and there are women present with much less style and prettiness than Marcia.
His whim has not proved so foolish, after all, and Marcia is at present bewildered and conquered by the power he holds over her, brought for a little while out of her silly self by an ennobling regard.
After their reception they take a short tour, and return to Westbrook, where Mr. Wilmarth has engaged his house. Marcia has a house-furnishing craze, and goes to and fro in her pony carriage, ordering with the consequence of a duchess. Mrs. Latimer comes up to the cottage and gets settled, quite charming Denise by her delightful ways. Madame seems in no especial haste, but she promises, after some solicitation from Floyd, to spend a few days with them and give her advice about the
fete that is to introduce his wife into society, as well as to celebrate her birthday. It is quite time that Violet was known to the world as the mistress of the house and his wife. He is oddly interested in her dress and all her belongings, and her delight is exquisite to witness. _