Part 2

The Professor looked quizzical. “I fear you will find it rather slow for cursory reading.” Then his responsive manner getting the best of him he added with considerable effect: “It will give me the greatest pleasure to make it clear if I can.”

Carlotta took him up at once,--but on a topic she did know something about as well as he, and stated it after her own fashion.

“I noticed that one of the discussions was about the peculiar costumes of certain tribes. Now, I never did understand why the darker races should introduce brilliant colors in dress so much more naturally and effectively than we do.”

The Professor instantly looked at her own dress and thought it very effective, in excellent taste. Carlotta continued:

“Now, with us color is often so arbitrary, mere fashion, the arrangement artificial, and when the thing is unbecoming you feel just like a martyr;” then, musingly, “but he won’t find that in me.”

Professor Cultus laughingly replied that “he really knew little about dress”--which was a fib for an anthropologist--but he supposed that “Dame Fashion was a capricious jade who often made her reputation by producing whims to meet the demand for something new; she had certainly been known to introduce what was hideous to many, simply to cover up the defects of a favorite patron.”

Carlotta at once thought, “Well, there’s nothing hideous about me. I wonder what he means?”

The Professor once started, went on about the darker races using the primitive and secondary colors only with such marked effect; that they really knew little about hues and shades as our civilization differentiates colors and effects. He was then going on to add something about color in jewels adding great effect to rich costumes, when Carlotta gave a little start, drew her wrap about her and said she felt cold and chilly.

Fraulein at once suggested they should leave the deck for the saloon. Carlotta acquiesced as if very grateful, and begged the Professor to excuse her.

Of course he did so promptly, with sympathy excited by fear lest she might have suffered in consequence of his keeping her standing too long in a cold wind.

Nothing of the sort. It was the reference made to jewels by the Professor which had caused her impromptu nervous chill. Could he possibly have noticed the too many rings she wore and concluded she might be rather loud in her taste? That must be rectified at once,--so Carlotta caught a chill on the spot, merely a little sympathetic chill, but enough to get away and arrange things better for the next interview. Certainly her tact showed foresight as well as power to meet an emergency from her point of view.

She knew instinctively the value of sympathy as well as propinquity. She had gained her first point, an introduction; now for the second, sympathy: and she was not slow to act,--much quicker than the Professor dreamed of. She did things first and discussed them afterwards; that was one of her accomplishments which he often observed later on.

No sooner in her state-room than Miss Gains snatched off every ring, all but one, a fine ruby rich in color but not too large; “rubies never are,” she said, pensive. On this one she looked with much satisfaction, it would meet her requirements yet not excite suspicion, the removal of all might do so.

But why the ruby?

Carlotta was astute, like her papa, much more so than the Professor imagined,--he learned that also later on. What troubled her now was no new matter, and largely in her own imagination. A biologist would have told her it was inherited. Being a pronounced blonde of the florid type, vivacious, fond of excitement, she had often noticed that her hands became rather rosy in color. So the ardent yet astute Miss Gains had evolved the brilliant yet practical idea that the ruby would be “the very thing to throw the other red into the shade--people will notice the ruby and speak of that.” If she could not avoid being too rosy, in her own imagination, the ruby should take the blame.

Carlotta was politic also, like her papa, much more so than the Professor thought--he found that out also later on. So she retained the ruby only, and wore a red tocque when next on deck. She would no doubt have put on her golf jacket if on shore, so determined was she to make those hands look as refined as possible.

The Professor’s sympathy was now to be encouraged. If the too many rings were to be kept out of sight, it was far more important to keep the object of sympathy in sight. Carlotta determined not to get over that chill too soon,--not to remain so chilly that the state-room was the only warm place, but just chilly enough to seek convalescence wrapped up in a becoming garment, resting in an easy chair in some retired corner, or on deck where the lights illumined others, and not herself. Just chilly enough to require the little attentions of a sympathetic friend, whose sympathy she could make warmer as her own cold chill wore off.

Miss Carlotta was diplomatic, as the Professor also found out. Once ensconced in that easy chair with the Professor to keep the chills off, her success was already assured. Her greatest triumph consisted undoubtedly in that she displayed such a bright intelligent appreciation of the Professor’s point of view about everything, anything from chalk and cheese to volcanoes and earthquakes, not omitting the science of games, especially ping-pong, and the usual dose of theosophy; and so much policy and diplomacy as to her own point of view, that to this day the intellectual scientist ascribes the results primarily to his own ability in courting.

It was in fact a double game of life and chances, the game of all games, of heart and head, that two can play at. Carlotta won for life, whereas the Professor began by taking chances. Propinquity at sea,--floating on the waves from which rose Aphrodite.

Of course it became evident to the Professor that Carlotta was precisely the person he most desired in life,--so appreciative, intellectually bright, much knowledge of the world for her age; and as she had incidentally remarked on one occasion, quite comfortable as to worldly goods;--although, to be frank, he laid little stress upon the latter at that time, having much confidence in his own resources. He was often glad of it, however, later on; it also proved one of the things he learned subsequently.

Before they left the steamer there was an understanding, and the way seemed smooth to expect a favorable consideration from Carlotta’s parental governor. Her mother was no longer living, which accounted for Carlotta’s being under the care of Fraulein.

As a matter of fact Anthony Gains was not surprised in the least when his daughter returned engaged to be married, and easily accepted the situation philosophically; indeed, rather congratulated himself that she had not been too independent, like some, but deigned to go through the formalities of making the announcement subject to his approval.

“Much better to avoid unnecessary fuss,” he said to himself, “and it gives me a good chance to spare the Professor’s feelings. In case they had given me the slip, I suppose a rumpus would have been in order. Carlotta’s sensible,--I know her well,--I’m glad she lived in the West before going to Europe.” Her father did know her well, much better really than he who then desired to take the chances. Papa also remembered with much satisfaction the young scientist who had given “plain talk to that jury.” He concluded he might be able to give plain talk to his household if emergency required it. Finally he told them frankly:

“Having gone through the mill myself, I guess you two can manage your own business first-rate. I don’t suppose you object if I coöperate.”

As his practical coöperation took effect even before the marriage, when he settled a handsome sum upon Carlotta, the Professor thought still more highly of his prospective father-in-law.

Not till all was over, the ceremony an accomplished fact, and the young people off on another tour apropos of the occasion,--not till then did Anthony Gains allow himself to whisper in a room where there was no telephone:

“They’ll be comfortable anyhow. These scientific fellows make so little they are not extravagant as a class. I guess it will be all right--God bless ’em.”

* * * * *

Such had been an early but important chapter in the experience of the immediate ancestors of Adele Cultus;--of her whom both the Doctor and Paul had admired,--Paul because she was practical, the Doctor because she was spiritual.

III

ADELE HERSELF

It is not so much what was said, as who said it and how they said it, that will convey an adequate impression of the charm exerted by Adele upon those she met. Of her two dozen desperately intimate friends at school, each had been known to exclaim, “Why, of course I know her; isn’t she just too lovely for anything?” and that covered the whole ground.

When during college days a coterie of Juniors decided to invite some Seniors to “a tea,”--not “to tea,” for all were excruciatingly academic at that period, there was a spirited debate as to the special duties of each girl during the function, but not the slightest doubt that Adele should head the Reception Committee. “Why, my dear, she’s just the one for that place. Don’t you see it? We’ll show them the proper ‘pose.’”

As a matter of fact, Adele did receive; also “poured out” at times; also introduced some strangers to her own kindred spirits to banish any feeling of uneasiness; and finally achieved the undoubted triumph of making two girls friends again, the girls much excited, holding diametrically opposite opinions upon the momentous question of Cleopatra’s cruelty to animals.

When she graduated, valedictorian of her class, she made an address neither too long nor too short, not unlike her gown, precisely as it should be,--pointedly academic to start with and meet the case, then somewhat more colloquial, recalling the good times they all had passed, and concluding with a touching appeal “never to forget Alma Mater.” The entire class mentally promised they never would, “nor you either, Adele,” and she was deluged with so many future-correspondents that the prospect became really alarming.

When she made her début, scarcely an evening passed that some “man” did not tell her confidentially: “You look lovely to-night, Miss Cultus;” and when upon a certain full-dress occasion she sat with Mr. Warder on the stairway, presumably with none but the old stand-up clock to listen, the first remark she heard was, “Oh, I’m so glad, Miss Cultus, we can have a chat, alone!” “Alone!” exclaimed Adele. “Why, certainly, alone in the crowd,”--and as she drew her skirts aside to allow four other couples and a queue of waiters to pass, her clear responsive laugh appreciative of the situation, made Mr. Warder enjoy the public seclusion immensely.

Evidently there was a personal magnetism about Adele which affected all more or less, and many whose own characteristics were totally unlike hers.

At a glance anyone would have noticed her light hair flowing free, yet under control, tinged with sunlight, the sunlight of youth; hers was a fair complexion like her mother’s, yet with her father’s lustrous eyes. She was a blonde with dark eyes; once seen, a picture in the mind’s eye.

Her father’s facial expression played over her countenance, manifesting that responsive personal interest which drew many to her. Her mother, as we already know, could express that responsive attitude also, and exercise the personal influence when she chose, but with Adele it was spontaneous, perfectly natural, and her smile sincere, ingenuous, rather than ingenious, one of the most precious and potent gifts a woman can possess.

And some of her other gifts by heredity were also very evident, but modified. Dame Nature had been exceedingly kind, and given her as it were only those elements which intensified the better traits of the previous generations. Her active mind reminded one of her father’s intellectual ability in science, but it was so modified by her mother’s more comprehensive susceptibility and impressionability in many directions, her worldly wisdom and promptness, that in Adele it took a different turn from either one of the parents. Her social instincts could not be suppressed, but fundamentally they tended towards an appreciation and insight of the humanities and ethical subjects rather than the material interests one might look for in the granddaughter of Anthony Gains, or the intellectual abstractions which might have come from the Professor’s mode of thought.

Before graduating, some one asked her what she proposed to do after leaving college, for all felt a brilliant career was open. Adele was rather reserved in answering this question, and generally replied that there was so much which ought to be done in the world, no doubt she would be very busy. But to her mother she confided on one occasion her innermost thought, she “would like to work in the slums.” This so horrified Mamma that Adele’s name was entered upon the fashionable Assembly list for the coming season without delay, as an antidote in case of emergency, although somewhat premature as to time.

It would never do to oppose Adele. She was already unaccustomed to that sort of management, and would assert herself even if she regretted it afterwards. A compromise was in order. She did not go to work in the slums, and did attend fashionable functions with her mother, but after serious conversation with her father on the subject of the practice of medicine by women, and her own observations of the constant demand for trained nurses who would not upset the whole household, she concluded to look into that matter herself, and volunteered to serve in the hospital during war times.

“I must do something to help along; and nobody need know, unless I choose.” It was while thus serving that the Doctor and Paul had first met her, when the Doctor was a patient after his bicycle accident in a miniature cyclone. It was in the hospital that Doctor Wise had first read her hand, and made a note of it as approaching the psychic type more clearly than any other he had then met.

From the Doctor’s point of view Adele’s hand was indeed suggestive, but not so purely psychical as to intimate mysticism to excess. It was rather that of a vivid idealist than a moody mystic,--too much intellectuality in the upper part, as well as assertion in the thumb and clearness in the head-line, not to influence and modify the natural tendency and scope as shown by the general form. It was not the hand of one whose vague aspirations after the good but unattainable would lead to extremes either in the activities of communism or socialistic vagaries, nor in the opposite direction towards the passive life of an ascetic. Either one would have soon disgusted Adele. It was the hand of one who endeavored to be logical, and did have common sense; yet in the exuberance of feeling sometimes put her hero upon a pedestal only to find the pedestal had a crack in it and the hero was in danger. As to the hero himself, he was never affected; she remained true to her hero, no sawdust in him; but she certainly did put him quietly aside on the shelf when she found herself beyond his point of view. She simply put him on the shelf to “think it out for himself,” as she had done for herself,--and in consequence had more would-be heroes following in her train, striving to catch up, than is generally found in the domain of hero worship.

Youth has its sway. Adele was most delightfully enthusiastic at times, often bent upon what she called “having a good time.” Then she was a picture worthy of Fortuny’s art in a sunny Spanish patio; but in quieter moments as introspective as one of Millais’ peasants; rather over-confident in her own resources, having really not met as yet any opposition worthy of the name, unless perhaps a weak patient who refused to take medicine. Then she took a sip herself, and told him “Now you’ve got to take it,” and he did,--because her actions spoke louder even than her words.

Her father had several times told her to read the world as if it were a book, and she had heard her mother refer to certain society leaders who acted a part that did not suit their own style. She determined to know and read all passers-by, from cooks with a sauce-pan to princesses with a crooked coronet, including Tom, Dick and Harry of course; and she found it so highly interesting, that when about eighteen she thought she might--yes--she might, in time,--write a novel herself; in fact she did write the title page, and the chapter on “Direful Conflict,” in which the sauce-pan and coronet almost came to blows. Whether to make that chapter the beginning of her novel or the ending, proved the poser, so it too was put upon the shelf with the heroes.

The most interesting thing to people is people themselves. Adele’s maternal instincts told her this very soon.

Things are of real value about in proportion to the effort they cost. Her instincts from her father suggested this, but she did not believe it at first. It might be, but was not pleasant to think of. She knew well enough that all that glitters is not gold, but sometimes thought that glitter might be when it wasn’t. When she found herself deceived in this respect her conclusions took a pronounced feminine form of expression. “Mother! I don’t think so very much of Mr. Upham they all talk about. He tries to show off--absurdly condescending, and talks as if he knew more about it than anybody else. Nobody really thinks of what he says, only of him. I think him a bore.”

“Well, don’t let him know it, my dear,” promptly answered Mrs. Cultus. “One has to become accustomed to trifles. I generally look the other way and avoid them.”

“I’m not going through the world on stilts, anyhow,” laughed Adele.

“No, my dear, I trust not, nor on a bicycle either; neither is becoming.”

Adele watched her father whenever they went out together, with almost precocious interest. She wished to discover how he made himself so agreeable to others and finally concluded that “Father’s manners are perfection.” She followed her father’s advice quite as naturally as she did her mother’s, the wisdom of which often appealed to her also; but in spite of her affection for both, she soon began to perceive there was something much more subtle in life than worldly wisdom. Things seen were by no means so potent as some other things unseen. She would use the world, but not let it use her. “I shall soon be used up myself” was the way she expressed it after having had rather too much of a good time.

Without actually formulating the pros and cons in her own mind, she really decided not to attempt any part unless she could do justice to it under the stimulus of her own approval.

Things seen, and never ignored, were already becoming subservient to things unseen.

Such was Adele as a girl, and during the few years when her college experience was prime factor in her life.

IV

ADELE HEARS THE WORDS OF A SONG

There was just enough of chilly winter left to make the springtime fascinating and a wood fire still acceptable in the cozy library where Doctor Wise and his younger friend Paul Warder sat together expecting guests. They occupied bachelor apartments in common. A delicious aroma from wood logs permeated the atmosphere.

There was music also, for the eye as well as the ear. The firelight played in crescendo and diminuendo, with now and again marked rhythm and very peculiar accents. The sound of wheels reverberated clearly in the cool night air and ceased opposite the portal. An expectant waiting, but no response, no frou-frou from silken skirts passing along the hallway as anticipated. Instead, Benson,--Benson the butler, his countenance a foot long.

“Some one, sir!”

“I presume so.”

“Some one, with his--his trunk.”

“His trunk!” The Doctor lowered the bridge of his nose, and peered at Benson over his eye-glasses.

“Yes, sir! a big one.”

“What’s that for? What will he do with it? What will we do with it?”

“Show him up, Benson,” said Paul, promptly; “trunk and all.”

Paul’s eyes twinkled as he vanished through the doorway.

“Never heard of such a thing,” mused the Doctor, “bringing a trunk to a musicale. Must be some mistake! Benson! I say, Benson! Show him next door.”

“Not yet I hope,” and amid shouts of laughter in rushed two fellows,--Paul bringing Henri Semple--“Harry”--of all their musical friends the one most welcome and opportune.

The Doctor was delighted, and gave him a good squeeze--no time for much else.

“Benson! put Mr. Semple’s trunk in his own room, you know the one I mean; and now, Harry, if you don’t get inside that trunk quickly as possible the state of the country will not be safe, an invasion is threatened at any minute. Put on your regimentals at once, and help us out.”

Semple, who understood the Doctor’s lingo from many years back, took in the situation at a glance. He had hardly time to laugh about the Doctor’s being “the same old chappie as ever,” when he was literally thrust towards the stairway, to follow the trunk, and put on his evening clothes.

The episode had been one of Paul’s agreeable surprises so often had in store for the Doctor.

Semple’s name had appeared upon the passenger list of an ocean flyer just arrived. Paul sought him by telephone, caught him, and insisted upon his coming. Semple, already in traveler’s shape, had “hustled” to reach his old friends. The time was short, but Harry in true American fashion had “got there”--that was all, with the regimentals ready to be put on.

It is not necessary to produce the bachelor’s visiting list and mark off all those who honored the occasion with their presence. Paul always made it a point to have plenty of men on hand at his entertainments; whether at chit-chat-musicale or conversational game of whist, all went off with a rush. Those who took their pleasure more seriously were furnished excellent opportunity in the library, while the conversational music-racket progressed in the parlor.

The trio, Doctor, Paul and Semple, were already standing in line, like three serenaders in white waistcoats, when Mrs. Maxwell was ushered in. She had kindly consented to act as matron, knowing all so well; in fact had entertained both Paul and Semple at her picturesque cottage, “The Kedge.” Her vivacious presence at once brought with it a breezy atmosphere from the romantic coast of Maine, where “The Kedge” stood perched like a barnacle upon a boulder, and the winds wafted white spray falling like a lace mantle upon dahlias and nasturtiums at her feet.

And with her Miss Dorothy, her niece, whose charming letters the winter previous from Ischl had given vivid pictures of experience abroad, Vienna life, and Egyptian mysteries known only to herself and the Sphinx.

A dozen or more soon followed. Conversation already at its height when Professor and Mrs. Cultus entered, also their daughter Adele whom the Doctor had before met under such peculiar circumstances at the hospital. Adele looked radiant, having brought with her an intimate friend, Miss Winchester, for whom she had requested an invitation. The Doctor greeted them with both hands, for he had already detected the devotion which had sprung up between these two girls. They seemed a host in themselves wherever they went. He made Miss Winchester feel at home at once, and she accepted the situation promptly; she had the happy faculty of doing that sort of thing. The Doctor enjoyed her frankness. She was like, yet very unlike Adele; no doubt much in common between them, yet of a very different temperament. The inquisitive Doctor perceived this at a glance. “Must read her hand,” he cogitated, for his interest in Adele made him curious to know more of the one to whom Adele seemed especially devoted.