F. Marion Crawford

“ Because I love you still, as I have always loved you, because there is nothing in heaven or earth I would not do for you, because if you asked me for all I possessed at this moment, you should have it, to do what you like with it—though you shall have nothing of what is yours—because, to save you the least pain, I would take John Darche's place and go to prison and be called a rascal and a thief before all the world, for your sake, for your dear sake, Marion. ”

“ She was a woman without affectation.
"No," said Dolly thoughtfully, "I suppose you never had a chance. It is of no use, Marion dear," she added after a little pause, and in a different tone, as though she were tired of pretending a sort of subdued sympathy, "it is of no use at all! I can never be sorry, you know—so that ends it. Why, just think! You are free to marry any one you please, to begin life over again. How many women in your position ever had such a chance? Not but what you would have been just as free if you had got a divorce. ”

“ Vanbrugh, I should think," Dolly answered. "Think of what he has done, how devoted he has been in all this trouble. And then, the way she spoils him! Any one can see that she is ready to fall in love with him. If she were not as good as—as anything can be—as spring water and snow drops and angels' prayers, so to say, she would be in love with him already. But then, she is, you know."
"I cannot imagine a woman being in love with Vanbrugh," said Brett impatiently. ”

“ Dolly whispered the last words as Mrs. Willoughby [275] re-entered the room, and Vanbrugh rose to his feet, hardly realising that the crisis of his life had been reached with a laugh and a kiss, but quite as happy as Dolly herself in his thoroughly undemonstrative way. Both were, perhaps, a little ashamed of themselves when they remembered Marion Darche's trouble, and contrasted her anxiety with their own visions of a sunny future; and both felt all at once that they were out of place; if they could not be together without a third person, they wished to be alone. ”

“ Darche, I am the worst judge of architecture in the world—especially from photographs."
"Architecture, eh?" observed Vanbrugh, as he re-crossed the room with Dolly. "Rather hard on photographs of etchings from portraits."
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Dolly, laughing softly and looking back at Brett and Mrs. Darche. "They talk of love's temple, you know, and building up one's happiness—and lots of things of that sort—the architecture of the affections."
"You seem to care," said Vanbrugh, sitting down and laying the photographs upon his knees. ”

“ He liked to walk in Lexington Avenue, and to think of the roaring, screaming rush in Broadway. He liked to escape from sudden death on the Broadway crossing and to think of the perambulator and the boys on roller skates in Lexington Avenue; and again, he was fond of allowing his thoughts to wander down town to the strange regions which are bounded by the Bowery, Houston Street, the East River and Park Row. It amused him to watch his intensely American surroundings and to remember at the same time that New York is the third German city in the world. ”

“ Marion Darche left her husband more than ever convinced of the hopelessness of any attempt at a happier and more united existence. Faithful, brave, loving, a woman of heart rather than head, she encountered in every such effort the blank wall of a windowless nature, so to say—the dull opposition of a heartless intelligence incapable of understanding any natural impulse except that of self-preservation, and responding to no touch of sympathy or love. ”

“ You do not believe in fate? I do. Well, call it that you please. Circumstances arise which none of us, not the strongest of us, can govern. Whatever this secret is, it means a fact, it means that there is something, somewhere, which might come to [278] my knowledge, which might make me unutterably miserable, which you some day may not be able to keep from me. Does it not?"
"Yes, it does," said Brett, slowly. "I cannot deny that. You might, you may, come to know of it without my telling you."
"Then tell me now," said Marion earnestly. ”

“ Though Marion's dress was still smouldering and Brett was on his knees trying to extinguish the last spark with his own hands, she forgot her own danger, and almost tearing herself away from Brett she clasped the policeman's hand trying to drag it from Simon Darche's shoulder.
"Oh, sir," she cried in tearful entreaty, "pray let him go! He is innocent—he is ill! He will not think of escaping. Don't you see that we have kept it all from him?"
"Kept it all from me?" asked the old gentleman fiercely turning upon her. "What do you mean? Where is John? Where is John? I say!" ”

“ For the rest, the broad brow showed thought, if not intellect, and the mouth, rather large for the proportion of the lower face, but not at all heavy, told of strength and courage, if not of real firmness. Dolly Maylands was large, well grown, thin, fresh and thoughtful, with a dash of the devil, but of a perfectly innocent devil, only a little inclined to laugh at his own good works and to prefer play to prayers, as even angels may when they are very young and healthy, and have never done anything to be sorry for. ”

“ Everybody knows you are."
"You are quite sure that I am happy?"
"Unless you tell me that you are not."
"How oddly people judge us," exclaimed Vanbrugh. "Because a man behaves like a human being, and is not cross at every turn, and puts his shoulder to the wheel, to talk and be agreeable in society, everybody thinks he is happy."
"Of course." Dolly smiled. "If you were unhappy you would go and sit in corners by yourself and mope and be disagreeable. But you do not, you see. You are always 'on hand' as they call it, always ready to make things pleasant for everybody." ”

“ Putting all the facts we have together, there is certainly a possibility."
"I am very, very sorry," said Dolly, after a short pause.
"Poor Mrs. Darche!" exclaimed Vanbrugh. "After all these months of freedom she has had, it will break her heart."
"I was not thinking of Marion," answered Dolly.
"Of whom, then?" asked Vanbrugh.
"Of—of—some one else."
"Yes, I know."
"Yes," repeated Dolly with marked sympathy. "Will you not let me make you a nice cup of tea, Mr. Vanbrugh?"
"No, thanks."
"Will you not light a cigarette?" asked Dolly. "Here are some of your own." ”

“ Darche.
"I know you are one of the busiest men alive," said Vanbrugh quietly and without betraying the slightest astonishment.
"I should think so," said Simon Darche, "and I am very glad I am. Nothing keeps a man busy like being successful. And I may fairly say that I have been very successful—thanks to John, well—I suppose I may take a little credit to myself."
"Indeed you may," said Mrs. Darche readily.
Every one thought it wise and proper to join in a little murmur of approval, but Dolly was curious to see what the old gentleman would say next. ”

“ Miss Maylands frequently made use of this expression—a strong one in its way.
"I know I ought," answered Vanbrugh with humility.
"But you are not. You are a hypocrite, like all the rest of them." Dolly's face was grave, but she glanced at her companion as she spoke.
"Of course I am a hypocrite. Life is too short. A man cannot waste his time in hacking his way through the ice mountain of truth when he may trot round to the other side by the path of tact." ”

“ In her outward [34] manner and conversation Marion Darche seemed as well satisfied with her lot as she had been on the day of her marriage, when John had represented to her all that a man should be,—much that another man, whom she had loved, or liked almost to loving, in her early girlhood, had not been. The surface of her life was calm and unemotional, reflecting only the sunshine and storm of the social weather under which she had lived in the more or less close companionship of half a hundred other individuals in more or less similar circumstances. ”

“ There would not have been the danger of his coming back stealthily by night, which Marion felt was not imaginary so long as he was at large.
Yet she made no effort to obtain a divorce from the man whose name was a disgrace. On the contrary, so far as outward appearances were concerned, she made no change, or very little, in her life. Public opinion had been with her from the first, and society chose to treat her as a young widow, deserving every sympathy, who when the time of mourning should have expired, would return to the world, and open her doors to it. ”

“ Few streets in the world can be as quiet as Lexington Avenue at mid-day. It looks almost like Boston. Russell Vanbrugh loved New York in all its aspects and in all its particulars, singly and wholly, in winter and summer, with the undivided affection which natives of great capitals often feel for their own city. ”

“ She had an admirably even temper—a matter, like physical courage, which depends largely upon the action of the heart and the natural quality of the nerves—and under all ordinary circumstances she ate and slept like other people. She did not look at all like Helen or Clytemnestra, and her disposition was not in the least revengeful—a quiet, tall, fair young woman, whose clear eyes looked every one calmly in the face and whose strong white hands touched things delicately but could hold firmly when she chose; carrying herself straight through a crowd, as she bore herself upright through life. ”

“ But this gentleman here, he showed me the papers, that there was trouble about John Darche, so I just let them bring me, which I had no call to do, barring I liked, being a sailor man and quick on my feet."
"Well then, who are you?" asked Brett. "And where is John Darche?"
"John Darche is dead, sir, and I buried him on the Patagonian shore."
"Dead?" cried Brett. The colour rushed to his face, and for a moment the room swam with him. "Can you prove that, my man?" ”

“ And yet he was not the only bad man in the world. What does a girl know of the man she is to marry? She sees him day after day, of course, but she only sees the best side of him. She knows nothing of what he does, nor of what he thinks when he is not with her, but she imagines it all, in [286] her own way, with no facts to guide her. Then comes marriage. How could I know?"
"Indeed, it would have been hard for any girl to guess what sort of man John Darche was."
"Please do not talk about that."
"And how do you know that I am any better man than John Darche?" asked Brett, suddenly. ”

“ If she chose to go through the form of mourning, he would go through the form of respecting it while it lasted. Society is the better for most of its conventionalities, a fact of which one may easily assure oneself by spending a little time in circles that make bold to laugh at appearances. A man may break the social barriers for a great object's sake, or out of true passion—as sheer necessity may force a man to sleep by the road side. ”

“ Simon Darche was undoubtedly a bore. Since bores exist and there is no other name for them, the strong word has some right to pass into the English language. The old gentleman belonged to the unconscious and self-complacent variety of the species, which is, on the whole, less unbearable than certain others. Generally speaking, it is true that people who are easily bored are bores themselves, but there are many very genuine and intolerable bores who go through life rejoicing and convinced that their conversation is a blessing and their advice a treasure to those who get it. ”

“ Many a better man has done the same before him and many a worse may try hereafter. But the result always has been the same and in all likelihood always will be. The most refined and perfect artificiality is not nature even to him who most earnestly wishes to believe it is, and the time must inevitably come in all such lives when nature, being confronted with her image, finds it but a caricature and dashes it to pieces in wrath.
Brett's existence was indeed much more artificial than that of his old love. ”

“ Those who love New York, even to the smell of its mud, know the strange charm of its days and evenings in late spring. Like the charm of woman, the charm of certain great cities can never be explained by those who feel it to those who do not. There [187] were flowers in the library, and Dolly sat down near the windows and breathed the sweet quiet air before she spoke.
"Harry Brett is ill," she said.
"Ill? Seriously?" Marion had started slightly at the news.
"Not ill at home," explained Dolly. "Mr. Vanbrugh spoke of it the other night." ”

“ There is no essential difference between a man's feeling for the woman he loves and his feeling for anything else he wants."
"And I fill the situation admirably. Is that what you mean?" inquired Marion with some scorn.
"If you choose to put it in that way."
"And that is what you call being loved?"
"Yes—being wanted. It comes to that. All the rest is illusion—dream-stuff, humbug, 'fake' if you do not object to Bowery slang."
"Are you going out?" asked Mrs. Darche, losing patience altogether.
"No. But I am going upstairs to see the old gentleman. It is almost the same." ”

“ Why it is enough to kill any ordinary woman on the spot! To think that that infernal blackguard may not be dead after all." [244]
"You seem to feel rather strongly on the subject," observed Greene. "Are you engaged to marry Mrs. Darche too?"
"Nonsense!" ejaculated Brown. "I am in earnest. Just put yourself in her position."
"For my part I had rather not," replied Goss with a smile. "But I agree with Brown. A more unmitigated blackguard than John Darche never breathed the unholy air of Wall Street. The only decent thing about him was his suicide, and now virtue is to be cheated of that." ”

“ She was not lacking in pride, and if she had believed that Harry Brett no longer loved her, she would have still been strong enough to bury the memory of him out of sight and beyond danger of resurrection. But he did not behave in such a way as to convince her of that. A woman's instinct is rarely wrong in telling her whether she is loved or not, unless she is confronted with a man of superior wickedness or goodness. The strength which breeds great virtues and great vices lends that perfect control of outward manner which is called diabolical or heroic according to circumstances. ”