The Golden House | Page 7

did, for himself, was to marry
Edith Fletcher. The wedding, which took place some eight months
before the advent of the Spanish dancer, was a surprise to many, for the
girl had even less fortune than Jack, and though in and of his society
entirely, was supposed to have ideals. Her family, indeed, was an old
one on the island, and was prominent long before the building of the
stone bridge on Canal Street over the outlet of Collect Pond. Those
who knew Edith well detected in her that strain of moral earnestness
which made the old Fletchers such stanch and trusty citizens. The
wonder was not that Jack, with his easy susceptibility to refined beauty,
should have been attracted to her, or have responded to a true instinct

of what was best for him, but that Edith should have taken up with such
a perfect type of the aimlessness of the society strata of modern life.
The wonder, however, was based upon a shallow conception of the
nature of woman. It would have been more wonderful if the qualities
that endeared Jack to college friends and club men, to the mighty
sportsmen who do not hesitate, in the clubs, to devastate Canada and
the United States of big game, and to the border ruffians of Dakota,
should not have gone straight to the tender heart of a woman of ideals.
And when in all history was there a woman who did not believe, when
her heart went with respect for certain manly traits, that she could
inspire and lift a man into a noble life?
The silver clock in the breakfast-room was striking ten, and Edith was
already seated at the coffee-urn, when Jack appeared. She was as fresh
as a rose, and greeted him with a bright smile as he came behind her
chair and bent over for the morning kiss--a ceremony of affection
which, if omitted, would have left a cloud on the day for both of them,
and which Jack always declared was simply a necessity, or the coffee
would have no flavor. But when a man has picked a rose, it is always a
sort of climax which is followed by an awkward moment, and Jack sat
down with the air of a man who has another day to get through with.
"Were you amused with the dancing--this morning?"
"So, so," said Jack, sipping his coffee. "It was a stunning place for it,
that studio; you'd have liked that. The Lamons and Mavick and a lot of
people from the provinces were there. The company was more fun than
the dance, especially to a fellow who has seen how good it can be and
how bad in its home."
"You have a chance to see the Spanish dancer again, under proper
auspices," said Edith, without looking up.
"How's that?"
"We are invited by Mrs. Brown--"
"The mother of the Bible class at St. Philip's?"
"Yes--to attend a charity performance for the benefit of the Female
Waifs' Refuge. She is to dance."
"Who? Mrs. Brown?"
Edith paid no attention to this impertinence. "They are to make an
artificial evening at eleven o'clock in the morning."
"They must have got hold of Mavick's notion that this dance is

religious in its origin. Do you, know if the exercises will open with
prayer?"
"Nonsense, Jack. You know I don't intend to go. I shall send a small
check."
"Well, draw it mild. But isn't this what I'm accused of doing--shirking
my duty of personal service by a contribution?"
"Perhaps. But you didn't have any of that shirking feeling last night, did
you?"
Jack laughed, and ran round to give the only reply possible to such a
gibe. These breakfast interludes had not lost piquancy in all these
months. "I'm half a mind to go to this thing. I would, if it didn't break
up my day so."
"As for instance?"
"Well, this morning I have to go up to the riding-school to see a horse--
Storm; I want to try him. And then I have to go down to Twist's and see
a lot of Japanese drawings he's got over. Do you know that the birds
and other animals those beggars have been drawing, which we thought
were caricatures, are the real thing? They have eyes sharp enough to
see things in motion--flying birds and moving horses which we never
caught till we put the camera on them. Awfully curious. Then I shall
step into the club a minute, and--"
"Be in at lunch? Bess is coming."
"Don't wait lunch. I've a lot to do."
Edith followed him with her eyes, a little wistfully; she heard the outer
door close, and still sat at the table, turning over the pile of notes at her
plate, and thinking of many things--things