An Original Belle | Page 9

that within it there was entire liberty, beyond it a will like
adamant. They got on admirably together, for she craved nothing
further in the way of liberty and companionship than was accorded her,
while he soon recognized that the prize carried off from other
competitors could no more follow him into his realm of thought and
action than she could accompany him on a campaign. At last he had
concluded philosophically that it was just as well. He was engaged in
matters that should not be interfered with or babbled about, and he
could come and go without questioning. He had occasionally thought:
"If she were such a woman as I have read of and imagined,--if she

could supplement my reason with the subtilty of intuition and the
reticence which some of her sex have manifested,--she would double
my power and share my inner life, for there are few whom I can trust.
The thing is impossible, however, and so I am glad she is content."
As for Marian, she had promised, in his view, to be but a charming
repetition of her mother, with perhaps a mind of larger calibre. She had
learned more and had acquired more accomplishments, but all this
resulted, possibly, from her better advantages. Her drawing-room
conversation seemed little more than the ordinary small talk of the day,
fluent and piquant, while the girl herself was as undisturbed by the vital
questions of the hour and of life, upon which he dwelt, as if she had
been a child. He knew that she received much attention, but it excited
little thought on his part, and no surprise. He believed that her mother
was perfectly competent to look after the proprieties, and that young
fellows, as had been the case with himself, would always seek pretty,
well-bred girls, and take their chances as to what the women who might
become their wives should prove to be.
Marian looked with awakening curiosity and interest at the face before
her, yet it was the familiar visage of her father. She had seen it all her
life, but now felt that she had never before seen it in its true
significance--its strong lines, square jaw, and quiet gray eyes, with their
direct, steady gaze. He had come and gone before her daily, petted her
now and then a little, met her requests in the main good-humoredly,
paid her bills, and would protect her with his life; yet a sort of dull
wonder came over her as she admitted to herself that he was a stranger
to her. She knew little of his work and duty, less of his thoughts, the
mental realm in which the man himself dwelt. What were its landmarks,
what its characteristic features, she could not tell. One may be familiar
with the outlines of a country on a map, yet be ignorant of the scenery,
productions, inhabitants, governing forces, and principles. Her very
father was to her but a man in outline. She knew little of the thoughts
that peopled his brain, of the motives and principles that controlled his
existence, giving it individuality, and even less of the resulting action
with which his busy life abounded. Although she had crossed the
threshold of womanhood, she was still to him the self-pleasing child
that he had provided for since infancy; and he was, in her view, the
man to whom, according to the law of nature and the family, she was to

look for the maintenance of her young life, with its almost entire
separation in thoughts, pleasures, and interests. She loved him, of
course. She had always loved him, from the time when she had
stretched forth her baby hands to be taken and fondled for a few
moments and then relinquished to others. Practically she had dwelt
with others ever since. Now, as a result, she did not understand him,
nor he her. She would miss him as she would oxygen from the air. Now
she began to perceive that, although he was the unobtrusive source of
her life, home, education, and the advantages of her lot, he was not
impersonal, but a human being as truly as herself. Did he want more
from her than the common and instinctive affection of a child for its
parent? If to this she added intelligent love, appreciation, and sympathy,
would he care? If she should be able to say, "Papa, I am kin to you, not
merely in flesh and blood, but in mind, hope, and aspiration; I share
with you that which makes your life, with its success and failure, not as
the child who may find luxurious externals curtailed or increased, but
as a sympathetic woman who understands the more vital changes in
spiritual vicissitude,"--if she could truthfully say all this, would he be