Hector Malot - "Clotilde Martory"

A.E.W. Mason - "Clementina"

Alexander Bain - "Moral Science; A Compendium of Ethics"

Arnold Bennett - "The Plain Man and His Wife"

Love the One You're With - by Emily Giffin
Moreover Technologies - Premier purveyor of real-time news and RSS feeds from across the Web

The Nanny Diaries - by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus
Ad -

Book Review: The Dream by Gurbaksh Chahal
by Emily Giffin A novel about life, love, the choices we make, the choices we didn't make, and the 'what if?' At the age of 33, Ellen Graham seems to have it all. Her husband, Andy, is a handsome, successful lawyer and the brother of her best friend,

A / B / C / D / E / F / G / H / I / J / K / L / M / N / O / P / R / S / T / U / V / W / Y / Z

Gordon Keith written by Thomas Nelson Page

T >> Thomas Nelson Page >> Gordon Keith




The occasion might have come sooner than she expected; but alas! Fate
was unkind. Keith was not conscious until he found that Lois Huntington
had left town how much he had thought of her. Her absence appeared
suddenly to have emptied the city. By the time he had reached his room
he had determined to follow her home. That rift of sunshine which had
entered his life should not be shut out again. He sat down and wrote to
her: a friendly letter, expressing warmly his pleasure at having met
her, picturing jocularly his disappointment at having failed to find
her. He made a single allusion to the Terpsichore episode. He had done
what he could, he said, to soothe his friend's ruffled feelings; but,
though he thought he had some influence with her, he could not boast of
having had much success in this. In the light in which Lois read this
letter, the allusion to the dancing-girl outweighed all the rest, and
though her heart had given a leap when she first saw that she had a
letter from Keith, when she laid it down her feeling had changed. She
would show him that she was not a mere country chit to be treated as he
had treated her. His "friend" indeed!

When Keith, to his surprise, received no reply to his letter, he wrote
again more briefly, asking if his former letter had been received; but
this shared the fate of the first.

Meantime Lois had gone off to visit a friend. Her mind was not quite as
easy as it should have been. She felt that if she had it to go over, she
would do just the same thing; but she began to fancy excuses for Keith.
She even hunted up the letters he had written her as a boy.

It is probable that Lois's failure to write did more to raise her in
Keith's estimation and fix her image in his mind than anything else she
could have done. Keith knew that something untoward had taken place, but
what it was he could not conceive. At least, however, it proved to him
that Lois Huntington was different from some of the young women he had
met of late. So he sat down and wrote to Miss Brooke, saying that he was
going abroad on a matter of importance, and asking leave to run down and
spend Sunday with them before he left. Miss Brooke's reply nearly took
his breath away. She not only refused his request, but intimated that
there was a good reason why his former letters had not been acknowledged
and why he would not be received by her.

It was rather incoherent, but it had something to do with "inexplicable
conduct." On this Keith wrote Miss Brooke, requesting a more explicit
charge and demanding an opportunity to defend himself. Still he received
no reply; and, angry that he had written, he took no further steps
about it.

By the time Lois reached home she had determined to answer his letter.
She would write him a severe reply.

Miss Abby, however, announced to Lois, the day of her return, that Mr.
Keith had written asking her permission to come down and see them. The
blood sprang into Lois's face, and if Miss Abby had had on her
spectacles at that moment, she must have read the tale it told.

"Oh, he did! And what--?" She gave a swallow to restrain her impatience.
"What did you say to him, Aunt Abby? Have you answered the letter?" This
was very demurely said.

"Yes. Of course, I wrote him not to come. I preferred that he should not
come."

Could she have but seen Lois's face!

"Oh, you did!"

"Yes. I want no hypocrites around me." Her head was up and her cap was
bristling. "I came very near telling him so, too. I told him that I had
it from good authority that he had not behaved in altogether the most
gentlemanly way--consorting openly with a hussy on the street! I think
he knows whom I referred to."

"But, Aunt Abby, I do not know that she was. I only heard she was,"
defended Lois.

"Who told you?"

"Mr. Wickersham."

"Well, _he_ knows," said Miss Abigail, with decision. "Though I think he
had very little to do to discuss such matters with you."

"But, Aunt Abby, I think you had better have let him come. We could have
shown him our disapproval in our manner. And possibly he might have some
explanations?"

"I guess he won't make any mistake about that. The hypocrite! To sit up
and talk to me as if he were a bishop! I have no doubt he would have
explanation enough. They always do."



CHAPTER XXIII

GENERAL KEITH VISITS STRANGE LANDS

Just then the wheel turned. Interest was awaking in England in American
enterprises, and, fortunately for Keith, he had friends on that side.

Grinnell Rhodes now lived in England, dancing attendance on his wife,
the daughter of Mr. Creamer of Creamer, Crustback & Company, who was
aspiring to be in the fashionable set there.

Matheson, the former agent of the Wickershams, with whom Ferdy had
quarrelled, had gone back to England, and had acquired a reputation as
an expert. By one of the fortuitous happenings so hard to account for,
about this time Keith wrote to Rhodes, and Rhodes consulted Matheson,
who knew the properties. Ferdy had incurred the Scotchman's implacable
hate, and the latter was urged on now by a double motive. To Rhodes, who
was bored to death with the life he was leading, the story told by the
Wickershams' old superintendent was like a trumpet to a war-horse.

Out of the correspondence with Rhodes grew a suggestion to Keith to come
over and try to place the Rawson properties with an English syndicate.
Keith had, moreover, a further reason for going. He had not recovered
from the blow of Miss Brooke's refusal to let him visit Lois. He knew
that in some way it was connected with his attention to Terpsichore; he
knew that there was a misunderstanding, and felt that Wickersham was
somehow connected with it. But he was too proud to make any further
attempt to explain it.

Accordingly, armed with the necessary papers and powers, he arranged to
go to England. He had control of and options on lands which were
estimated to be worth several millions of dollars at any fair valuation.

Keith had long been trying to persuade his father to accompany him to
New York on some of his visits; but the old gentleman had never been
able to make up his mind to do so.

"I have grown too old to travel in strange lands," he said. "I tried to
get there once, but they stopped me just in sight of a stone fence on
the farther slope beyond Gettysburg." A faint flash glittered in his
quiet eyes. "I think I had better restrain my ambition now to migrations
from the blue bed to the brown, and confine my travels to 'the realms
of gold'!"

Now, after much urging, as Gordon was about to go abroad to try and
place the Rawson properties there, the General consented to go to New
York and see him off. It happened that Gordon was called to New York on
business a day or two before his father was ready to go. So he exacted a
promise that he would follow him, and went on ahead. Though General
Keith would have liked to back out at the last moment, as he had given
his word, he kept it. He wrote his son that he must not undertake to
meet him, as he could not tell by what train he should arrive.

"I shall travel slowly," he said, "for I wish to call by and see one or
two old friends on my way, whom I have not seen for years."

The fact was that he wished to see the child of his friend, General
Huntington, and determined to avail himself of this opportunity to call
by and visit her. Gordon's letter about her had opened a new vista
in life.

The General found Brookford a pleasant village, lying on the eastern
slope of the Piedmont, and having written to ask permission to call and
pay his respects, he was graciously received by Miss Abby, and more than
graciously received by her niece. Miss Lois would probably have met any
visitor at the train; but she might not have had so palpitating a heart
and so rich a color in meeting many a young man.

Few things captivate a person more than to be received with real
cordiality by a friend immediately on alighting at a strange station
from a train full of strangers. But when the traveller is an old and
somewhat unsophisticated man, and when the friend is a young and very
pretty girl, and when, after a single look, she throws her arms around
his neck and kisses him, the capture is likely to be as complete as any
that could take place in life. When Lois Huntington, after asking about
his baggage, and exclaiming because he had sent his trunk on to New York
and had brought only a valise, as if he were only stopping off between
trains, finally settled herself down beside the General and took the
reins of the little vehicle that she had come in, there was, perhaps,
not a more pleased old gentleman in the world than the one who sat
beside her.

"How you have grown!" he said, gazing at her with admiration. "Somehow,
I always thought of you as a little girl--a very pretty little girl."

She thought of what his son had said at their meeting at the ball.

"But you know one must grow some, and it has been eleven years since
then. Think how long that has been!"

"Eleven years! Does that appear so long to you?" said the old man,
smiling. "So it is in our youth. Gordon wrote me of his meeting you and
of how you had changed."

I wonder what he meant by that, said Lois to herself, the color mounting
to her cheek. "He thought I had changed, did he?" she asked tentatively,
after a moment, a trace of grimness stealing into her face, where it lay
like a little cloud in May.

"Yes; he hardly knew you. You see, he did not have the greeting that I
got."

"I should think not!" exclaimed Lois. "If he had, I don't know what he
might have thought!" She grew as grave as she could.

"He said you were the sweetest and prettiest girl there, and that all
the beauty of New York was there, even the beautiful Mrs.--what is her
name? She was Miss Yorke."

Lois's face relaxed suddenly with an effect of sunshine breaking through
a cloud.

"Did he say that?" she exclaimed.

"He did, and more. He is a young man of some discernment," observed the
old fellow, with a chuckle of gratification.

"Oh, but he was only blinding you. He is in love with Mrs. Lancaster."

"Not he."

But Lois protested guilefully that he was.

A little later she asked the General:

"Did you ever hear of any one in New Leeds who was named Terpsichore?"

"Terpsichore? Of course. Every one knows her there. I never saw her
until she became a nurse, when she was nursing my son. She saved his
life, you know?"

"Saved his life!" Her face had grown almost grim. "No, I never heard of
it. Tell me about it."

"Saved his life twice, indeed," said the old General. "She has had a sad
past, but she is a noble woman." And unheeding Lois's little sniff, he
told the whole story of Terpsichore, and the brave part she had played.
Spurred on by his feeling, he told it well, no less than did he the part
that Keith had played. When he was through, there had been tears in
Lois's eyes, and her bosom was still heaving.

"Thank you," she said simply, and the rest of the drive was in silence.

When General Keith left Brookford he was almost as much in love with his
young hostess as his son could have been, and all the rest of his
journey he was dreaming of what life might become if Gordon and she
would but take a fancy to each other, and once more return to the old
place. It would be like turning back the years and reversing the
consequences of the war.

* * * * *

The General, on his arrival in New York, was full of his visit to
Brookford and of Lois. "There is a girl after my own heart," he declared
to Gordon, with enthusiasm. "Why don't you go down there and get
that girl?"

Gordon put the question aside with a somewhat grim look. He was very
busy, he said. His plans were just ripening, and he had no time to think
about marrying. Besides, "a green country girl" was not the most
promising wife. There were many other women who, etc., etc.

"Many other women!" exclaimed the General. "There may be; but I have not
seen them lately. As to 'a green country girl'--why, they make the best
wives in the world if you get the right kind. What do you want? One of
these sophisticated, fashionable, strong-minded women--a woman's-rights
woman? Heaven forbid! When a gentleman marries, he wants a lady and he
wants a wife, a woman to love him; a lady to preside over his home, not
over a woman's meeting."

Gordon quite agreed with him as to the principle; but he did not know
about the instance cited.

"Why, I thought you had more discernment," said the old gentleman. "She
is the sweetest creature I have seen in a long time. She has both sense
and sensibility. If I were forty years younger, I should not be
suggesting her to you, sir. I should be on my knees to her for myself."
And the old fellow buttoned his coat, straightened his figure, and
looked quite spirited and young.

At the club, where Gordon introduced him, his father soon became quite a
toast. Half the habitues of the "big room" came to know him, and he was
nearly always surrounded by a group listening to his quaint observations
of life, his stories of old times, his anecdotes, his quotations from
Plutarch or from "Dr. Johnson, sir."

An evening or two after his appearance at the club, Norman Wentworth
came in, and when the first greetings were over, General Keith inquired
warmly after his wife.

"Pray present my compliments to her. I have never had the honor of
meeting her, sir, but I have heard of her charms from my son, and I
promise myself the pleasure of calling upon her as soon as I have called
on your mother, which I am looking forward to doing this evening."

Norman's countenance changed a little at the unexpected words, for half
a dozen men were around. When, however, he spoke it was in a very
natural voice.

"Yes, my mother is expecting you," he said quietly. Mrs. Wentworth also
would, he said, be very glad to see him. Her day was Thursday, but if
General Keith thought of calling at any other time, and would be good
enough to let him know, he thought he could guarantee her being at home.
He strolled away.

"By Jove! he did it well," said one of the General's other acquaintances
when Norman was out of ear-shot.

"You know, he and his wife have quarrelled," explained Stirling to the
astonished General.

"Great Heavens!" The old gentleman looked inexpressibly shocked.

"Yes--Wickersham."

"That scoundrel!"

"Yes; he is the devil with the women."

Next evening, as the General sat with Stirling among a group, sipping
his toddy, some one approached behind him.

Stirling, who had become a great friend of the General's, greeted the
newcomer.

"Hello, Ferdy! Come around; let me introduce you to General Keith,
Gordon Keith's father."

The General, with a pleasant smile on his face, rose from his chair and
turned to greet the newcomer. As he did so he faced Ferdy Wickersham,
who bowed coldly. The old gentleman stiffened, put his hand behind his
back, and with uplifted head looked him full in the eyes for a second,
and then turned his back on him.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Stirling, for declining to recognize any one
whom you are good enough to wish to introduce to me, but that man I must
decline to recognize. He is not a gentleman."

"I doubt if you know one," said Ferdy, with a shrug, as he strolled away
with affected indifference. But a dozen men had seen the cut.

"I guess you are right enough about that, General," said one of them.

When the General reflected on what he had done, he was overwhelmed with
remorse. He apologized profusely to Stirling for having committed such
a solecism.

"I am nothing but an irascible old idiot, sir, and I hope you will
excuse my constitutional weakness, but I really could not recognize
that man."

Stirling's inveterate amiability soon set him at ease again.

"It is well for Wickersham to hear the truth now and then," he said. "I
guess he hears it rarely enough. Most people feed him on lies."

Some others appeared to take the same view of the matter, for the
General was more popular than ever.

Gordon found a new zest in showing his father about the city. Everything
astonished him. He saw the world with the eyes of a child. The streets,
the crowds, the shop-windows, the shimmering stream of carriages that
rolled up and down the avenue, the elevated railways which had just been
constructed, all were a marvel to him.

"Where do these people get their wealth?" he asked.

"Some of them get it from rural gentlemen who visit the town," said
Gordon, laughing.

The old fellow smiled. "I suspect a good many of them get it from us
countrymen. In fact, at the last we furnish it all. It all comes out of
the ground."

"It is a pity that we did not hold on to some of it," said Gordon.

The old gentleman glanced at him. "I do not want any of it. My son,
Agar's standard was the best: 'neither poverty nor riches.' Riches
cannot make a gentleman."

Keith laughed and called him old-fashioned, but he knew in his heart
that he was right.

The beggars who accosted him on the street never turned away
empty-handed. He had it not in his heart to refuse the outstretched
hand of want.

"Why, that man who pretended that he had a large family and was out of
work is a fraud," said Gordon. "I'll bet that he has no family and
never works."

"Well, I didn't give him much," said the old man. "But remember what
Lamb said: 'Shut not thy purse-strings always against painted distress.
It is good to believe him. Give, and under the personate father of a
family think, if thou pleasest, that thou hast relieved an indigent
bachelor.'"

A week later Gordon was on his way to England and the General had
returned home.

It was just after this that the final breach took place between Norman
Wentworth and his wife. It was decided that for their children's sake
there should be no open separation; at least, for the present. Norman
had business which would take him away for a good part of the time, and
the final separation could be left to the future. Meanwhile, to save
appearances somewhat, it was arranged that Mrs. Wentworth should ask
Lois Huntington to come up and spend the winter in New York, partly as
her companion and partly as governess for the children. This might stop
the mouths of some persons.

When the proposal first reached Miss Abigail, she rejected it without
hesitation; she would not hear of it. Curiously enough, Lois suddenly
appeared violently anxious to go. But following the suggestion came an
invitation from Norman's mother asking Miss Abigail to pay her a long
visit. She needed her, she said, and she asked as a favor that she
would let Lois accept her daughter-in-law's invitation. So Miss Abby
consented. "The Lawns" was shut up for the winter, and the two ladies
went up to New York.

As Norman left for the West the very day that Lois was installed, she
had no knowledge of the condition of affairs in that unhappy household,
except what Gossip whispered about her. This would have been more than
enough, but for the fact that the girl stiffened as soon as any one
approached the subject, and froze even such veterans as Mrs. Nailor.

Mrs. Wentworth was far too proud to refer to it. All Lois knew,
therefore, was that there was trouble and she was there to help tide it
over, and she meant, if she could, to make it up. Meanwhile, Mrs.
Wentworth was very kind, if formal, to her, and the children, delighted
to get rid of the former governess, whom they insisted in describing as
an "old cat," were her devoted slaves.

Yet Lois was not as contented as she had fondly expected to be.

She learned soon after her arrival that one object of her visit to New
York would be futile. She would not see Mr. Keith. He had gone
abroad.--"In pursuit of Mrs. Lancaster," said Mrs. Nailor; for Lois was
willing enough to hear all that lady had to say on this subject, and it
was a good deal. "You know, I believe she is going to marry him. She
will unless she can get a title."

"I do not believe a title would make any difference to her," said Lois,
rather sharply, glad to have any sound reason for attacking Mrs. Nailor.

"Oh, don't you believe it! She'd snap one up quick enough if she had the
chance."

"She has had a plenty of chances," asserted Lois.

"Well, it may serve Mr. Keith a good turn. He looked very low down for a
while last Spring--just after that big Creamer ball. But he had quite
perked up this Fall, and, next thing I heard, he had gone over to
England after Alice Lancaster, who is spending the winter there. It was
time she went, too, for people were beginning to talk a good deal of the
way she ran after Norman Wentworth."

"I must go," said Lois, suddenly rising; "I have to take the children
out."

"Poor dears!" sighed Mrs. Nailor. "I am glad they have some one to look
after them." Lois's sudden change prevented any further condolence.
Fortunately, Mrs. Nailor was too much delighted with the opportunity to
pour her information into quite fresh ears to observe Lois's expression.

* * * * *

The story of the trouble between Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth was soon public
property. Wickersham's plans appeared to him to be working out
satisfactorily. Louise Wentworth must, he felt, care for him to
sacrifice so much for him. In this assumption he let down the barriers
of prudence which he had hitherto kept up, and, one evening when the
opportunity offered, he openly declared himself. To his chagrin and
amazement, she appeared to be shocked and even to resent it.

Yes, she liked him--liked him better than almost any one, she admitted;
but she did not, she could not, love him. She was married.

Wickersham ridiculed the idea.

Married! Well, what difference did that make? Did not many married women
love other men than their husbands? Had not her husband gone
after another?

Her eyes closed suddenly; then her eyelids fluttered.

"Yes; but I am not like that. I have children." She spoke slowly.

"Nonsense," cried Wickersham. "Of course, we love each other and belong
to each other. Send the children to your husband."

Mrs. Wentworth recoiled in horror. There was that in his manner and look
which astounded her. "Abandon her children?" How could she? Her whole
manner changed. "You have misunderstood me."

[Illustration: "Sit down. I want to talk to you."]

Wickersham grew angry.

"Don't be a fool, Louise. You have broken with your husband. Now, don't
go and throw away happiness for a priest's figment. Get a divorce and
marry me, if you want to; but at least accept my love."

But he had overshot the mark. He had opened her eyes. Was this the man
she had taken as her closest friend!--for whom she had quarrelled with
her husband and defied the world!

Wickersham watched her as her doubt worked its way in her mind. He could
see the process in her face. He suddenly seized her and drew her to him.

"Here, stop this! Your husband has abandoned you and gone after another
woman."

She gave a gasp, but made no answer.

She pushed him away from her slowly, and after a moment rose and walked
from the room as though dazed.

It was so unexpected that Wickersham made no attempt to stop her.

A moment later Lois entered the room. She walked straight up to him.
Wickersham tried to greet her lightly, but she remained grave.

"Mr. Wickersham, I do not think you--ought to come here--as often as you
do."

"And, pray, why not?" he demanded.

Her brown eyes looked straight into his and held them steadily.

"Because people talk about it."

"I cannot help people talking. You know what they are," said Wickersham,
amused.

"You can prevent giving them occasion to talk. You are too good a friend
of Cousin Louise to cause her unhappiness." The honesty of her words was
undoubted. It spoke in every tone of her voice and glance of her eyes.
"She is most unhappy."

Wickersham conceived a new idea. How lovely she was in her soft blue
dress!

"Very well, I will do what you say There are few things I would not do
for you." He stepped closer to her and gazed in her eyes. "Sit down. I
want to talk to you."

"Thank you; I must go now."

Wickersham tried to detain her, but she backed away, her hands down and
held a little back.

"Good-by."

"Miss Huntington--Lois--" he said; "one moment."

But she opened the door and passed out.

Wickersham walked down the street in a sort of maze.



CHAPTER XXIV

KEITH TRIES HIS FORTUNES IN ANOTHER LAND

In fact, as usual, Mrs. Nailor's statement to Lois had some foundation,
though very little. Mrs. Lancaster had gone abroad, and Keith had
followed her.

Keith, on his arrival in England, found Rhodes somewhat changed, at
least in person. Years of high living and ease had rounded him, and he
had lost something of his old spirit. At times an expression of
weariness or discontent came into his eyes.

He was as cordial as ever to Keith, and when Keith unfolded his plans he
entered into them with earnestness.

"You have come at a good time," he said. "They are beginning to think
that America is all a bonanza."

After talking over the matter, Rhodes invited Keith down to the country.

"We have taken an old place in Warwickshire for the hunting. An old
friend of yours is down there for a few days,"--his eyes twinkled,--"and
we have some good fellows there. Think you will like them--some of
them," he added.