Love, The Fiddler | Page 9

Frank!" she broke out. "There's something wrong
in a system that gives a girl millions of dollars to do just as she likes
with. I don't care what they say to the contrary; I believe women were
meant to belong to men, to live in semi-slavery and do what they are
told, to bring up children and travel with the pots and pans, and find
their only reward in pleasing their husbands."
"I wouldn't care to pass an opinion," said Frank. "Some of them are
happy that way, no doubt."
"What does anybody want except to be happy?" she continued, in the
same strain of resentment. "Isn't that what all are trying for as hard as
they can? I'd like to go out in the street and stop people as they came
along and ask them, the one after the other: 'Would you tell me if you
are happy?' And the one that said 'yes' I'd give a hundred dollars to!"
"As like as not it would be some shabby fellow with no overcoat," said
Frank.
"Now you can go away!" she exclaimed suddenly. "I don't know what's
the matter with me, Frank. I think I'm going to cry! Go, go!" she cried
imperiously, as he still stood there.
Frank bowed and obeyed, and his last glimpse, as he closed the door,
was of her at the window, looking down disconsolately into the street
below.
III
Spring was well begun when the Minnehaha sailed for Europe to take
her place in the mimic fleets that were already assembling. As like
seeks like, so the long, swift white steamer headed like a bird for her
faraway companions, and arrived amongst them with colours flying,
and her guns roaring out salutes. By herself she was greedy for every
pound of steam and raced her engines as though speed were a matter of
life and death; but, once in company, she was content to lag with the
slowest, and suit her own pace to the stately progress of the schooners
and cutters that moved by the wind alone. She found friends amongst
all nations, and, in that cosmopolitan society of ships, dipped her flag
to those of England, France, Holland, Belgium, and Germany.
It was a wonderful life of freedom and gaiety. A great yacht carries her
own letter of introduction, and is accorded everywhere the courtesies of

a man-of-war, to whom, in a sense, she is a sister. Official visits are
paid and returned; naval punctilio reigns; invitations are lavished from
every side. There is, besides, a freemasonry amongst those splendid
wanderers of the sea, a transcendent Bohemianism, that puts them
nearly all upon a common footing. A holiday spirit is in the air, and
kings and princes who at home are hidden within walls of triple brass,
here unbend like children out of school, and make friends and gossip
about their neighbours and show off their engine-rooms and their ice
plant and some new idea in patent boat davits after the manner of very
ordinary mortals. Not of course that kings and princes predominate, but
the same spirit prevailed with those who on shore held their heads very
high and practised a jealous exclusiveness. Amongst them all Florence
Fenacre was a favourite of favourites. Young, beautiful, and the
mistress of a noble fortune, there was everything to cast a glamour
about this charming American who had come out of the unknown to
take all hearts by storm.
Her haziness about distinctions of rank filled these Europeans with an
amused amazement. There was to them something quite royal in her
naivety and lack of awe; in her high spirit, her vivacity, and her
absolute disregard of those who failed to please her. She convulsed one
personage by describing another as "that tiresome old man who's really
too disreputable to have tagging around me any longer"; and had a
quarrel and a making up with a reigning duke about a lighter of coal
that their respective crews had come to blows over. Everybody adored
her, and she seldom put to sea without a love-sick yacht in her wake.
Of course, here as elsewhere, every phase of human character was
displayed, and most conspicuous of all amongst the evil was the
determination of many to win Florence's millions for themselves. Amid
that noble concourse of vessels, every one of which stood for a princely
income, there were adventurers as needy and as hungry as any sharper
in the streets of New York. There is an aristocratic poverty, none the
less real because three noughts must be added to all the figures, that
first surprised and then disgusted the pretty American. Her first
awakening to the fact was when, as a special favour, she sold her best
steam launch to a French marquise at the price