THEIR "RANK IS BUT THE GUINEA'S STAMP."
"And what does our Diogenes find to say?" said Mrs. Gower, gaily, as on the night of the 9th November she gathered a few friends to supper, after an evening at the Grand Opera House. "Come, Mr. Dale, like a good man, confess that Mrs. Langtry is worth letting your tub go to staves for."
"Well, on the whole, yes. I think she has improved."
"Improved! but I suppose one must be content with even such admission from you."
"But, my dear lady, when a man has seen the best that London, Paris, and New York can put on their theatre boards, what you in Canada offer is merely pour passez le temp."
"Yes, I suppose one grows to feel like that; but I am glad I have yet a few sights to see, if, by seeing everything, one loses one's zest for anything."
"But you surely do not admire her choice of plays?"
"No; but I do really deem her a born actress, as clever as she is charming."
"One could easily see, Mrs. Gower, that you got the worth of your ticket in emotional feeling," said Mr. Smyth, laughingly, "for you visibly trembled when 'ex-Captain Fortinbras' made his triumphant exposé."
"Malevolent wretch! a thrill of horror did run through me, as well as of pity for his unfortunate victim."
"My feelings are not so easily acted upon," said Mrs. Dale. "I was very coolly watching to see if she could disentangle herself from the villain's clutches, and her arms from her odious lace sleeves."
"The latter absorbed me," said lively Mrs. Smyth; "if I had such arms I should never cover them, not even in mid-winter; you ought to pay more for your ticket than we do, Elaine, you get more—more feelings—than we do."
"Yes, I must trouble you for some more oysters, Mr. Dale; 'nerve tissue is expensive,'" she laughingly answered.
"Her gowns, her robings, were in perfect taste," said Buckingham.
"Yes, Oscar Wilde would have breathed a sigh of satisfaction," said Mrs. Gower.
"Speaking of our color-blending pet," said Mrs. Dale, "he wishes his baby was a girl; he says girls drape so much better."
"Just fancy a thing like that living in our stirring times, and calling itself a man," said Dale, contemptuously; "picture him beside the two liberated Chicago Anarchists."
"Poor fellow! he would feel badly had the Communists the control of his wardrobe," said Mrs. Gower.
"His would be a capital garb for a surveyor," said Mrs. Smyth; "I wish Will would adopt it."
"Then would surveyors be on the increase when his measure would be taken," laughed Mrs. Gower.
"Lilian has vivid recollections of my last home-coming, when I was a mass of sticky York mud to my knees," said Smyth.
"I remember, Dale, you were disgusted at the Emma-Juch concert by reason of large hats and small chatter," said Buckingham. "What did you think of the manner of the audience to-night?"
"I think that, on the whole, when one considers the antecedents of the moneyed people of Toronto, that they behaved themselves better, showed more consideration for the feelings of others, in fact, ignored their fine feathers—remembering that they were not the only occupants of the theatre—better than at any other gathering of 'beauty and fashion' (in newspaper parlance), that I have made one at."
"Yes; so I thought," said Buckingham; "and at the theatre, one escapes the worrying nuisance of recalls, as felt at Toronto."
"I wish some star in the concert world would have the courage to insert after her name, no encore," said Mrs. Gower, "for though we do recall, it is astonishing how ennuyeux the best numbers are in repetition."
"Will did an awfully daring thing at the Carreno-Juch concert," said Mrs. Smyth, eagerly; "we had seats immediately behind the Cawsons; and you know, Elaine, what a rude, boisterous——"
"My dear," said her friend, in mock reproof; "they are in society! have, of course, the dollar, and, perforce, are fashionable! what in poor people we should designate as rude and underbred, we must call in the Cawsons, and that ilk, 'quite the thing, you know;' but proceed, ma chere."
"Well, Will fidgetted, and they chattered across each other in audible remarks, on acquaintances in the audience, on a luncheon they were to give, as to the war-paint of a lady friend who had been presented to Queen Victoria, when I, the meanest of her subjects (I use the words figuratively, as Burdette says), pitied royalty; but the climax was reached when in Raff's 'Ever of Thee,' a particular favorite of Will's, the 'unruly member' was heard with renewed vigor, when this husband of mine rose in his might, and to his feet, saying audibly, 'Come, let us try if the low price seats hold better-bred people.'"
"Bravo! bravo!" cried Buckingham.
"Very well put," said Dale; "short a time as I have been in Toronto, I have observed that for culture and refinement one must look to the people who live on modest incomes, or salaries; middle class is a phrase I find no use for. In this country there are the 'vulgar rich,' whose 'rank is but the guinea's stamp,' and well-bred poor; there are impoverished gentry, with an innate refinement showing in their too often struggling descendants; there are the moneyed people, lacking what filthy lucre cannot buy, namely, good breeding, and who never weary in parading their jewels, furniture and fine clothes."
"Very true," said Mrs. Gower; "I have frequently thought at some of our large social gatherings, that it is a pity one's blood cannot be analyzed instead of one's gown."
"What a resurrection there would be," said Buckingham; "not a few would long to pocket their own heads."
"A sympathetic artiste must feel any want of oneness in her audience," said Mrs. Dale; "I should throw my roll of music at them and retire."
"At which, dear, they would only give their unwearied cry of 'encore,'" said her hostess; "it is very evident we are all at one in a very decided distaste for mongrels; but, Mr. Buckingham, during your run on the Kingston and Pembroke rail you missed hearing the Rev. Jackson Wray."
"Yes; did he please you?"
"Extremely; both in his sermonizing and in his lecture on George Whitefield; he is eloquent, and his imagery and figurative language charmed me."
"Indeed; in that case I regret to have missed him. Did you hear him, Dale?"
"Yes, and though I regret the not being at one with Mrs. Gower in all things," he said, smilingly, "must say he pleased me not."
"Pleased you not!" echoed his hostess; "then I abandon you to your tub; the scholarly, the literary world, would be a desert did your sweeping criticisms prevail."
"But how so, Dale? one would almost make sure of finding in him a rather superior excellence, knowing that he holds a pulpit in such a city as your London."
"Granted, Buckingham; but not only at London, but over the whole Christianized world, mistakes are to be found in the pulpit."
"Oh, no, Dale, I cannot go with you; 'tis in the pew that mistakes exist."
"I go with you there, Buckingham," he replied, wilfully misunderstanding him; "the pew system is selling out the Gospel by the square foot," at which his friend laughed.
"Mr. Dale," asked Mrs. Gower, "do you never allow the critic within you to go to sleep, allow your really generous nature full play, and give yourself up to enjoyment?"
"I do; for instance, now, here is a real enjoyment; but, pray, do not dub me a critic."
"I fear I must in some of your moods; but see, the mere word, or the silvery chimes of midnight, are lending wings to your wife, and Mrs. Smyth: they are deserting us. Are you examining the heavens, dear?" she says, following Mrs. Dale to a window.
"Look quick, Mrs. Gower, he won't see you if you peer through the slats; and how awful! in among the bushes, out in that torrent of rain, there is a——"
"Don't alarm Mrs. Gower," said Buckingham, quietly, who had neared them unnoticed; "if there is anyone loitering about, let me open the shutters and window, and step out."
"Good night, Mrs. Gower," called Smyth, from the hall; "our carriage stops the way, and if I don't make a move, Lil never will," he says, meeting her.
"Mr. Dale is too fascinating," laughed his wife. "Good night, Elaine; Will thinks he hears baby crying, or he would not stir."
"Nice little baby, don't get in a fury 'cause mamma's gone to a play at the theatre," sang Smyth, jokingly.
"Did you really see anyone, Mrs. Dale?" had asked Buckingham, in a grave whisper.
"I really did; the—but hush, she returns."
"You look pale, Mrs. Gower," he said, kindly, "put me up anywhere to mount guard over you for to-night."
"Oh, no, I thank you, not for worlds," she said, nervously; but recovering herself, added, "you know I have Thomas, and Mrs. Dale may only have seen a shadow, like a cloud which will pass."
"Clouds sometimes precede a storm."
"But not always," she says, with a sudden resolve, "for if Mrs. Dale will stay with me all night, she will be its silver lining."
"Indeed, I shall with pleasure," she said, eagerly, adding, in mock condescension, "Good night, Mr. Dale."
"What do you mean, Ella; our cab is here?"
"I am going to stay with Mrs. Gower, Henry, so good night, dear; an extra blanket and night-cap must be my substitute," she said, as he kissed her good night.
"Good night, Mr. Dale; you are keeping up your character for generosity," said Mrs. Gower.
"Come along, Dale," said Buckingham, glad of the arrangement; "I shall be with you as far as the Rossin House."
"Oh, Henry," called his wife, as he was entering the cab, "don't forget the schools are on for to-morrow; Mrs. Gower says to come up at one, to luncheon; don't forget Garfield and Miss Crew; and tell Miss Crew to send me first thing, by electric despatch, 82 Yonge Street, my plum walking dress, and bonnet to match, and——"
"No more, dear, please; you should have given it to me in manuscript form, I fear I shall not remember it."
"Poor Capt. Cuttle, when found make a note on," said Mrs. Gower, jokingly, but rather nervously, peering out, in and among the dark bushes.
"I'll coach him," laughed Buckingham.
"Etc., etc., etc.," called out Mrs. Dale, as the hack rolls away.
As the friends turn from the door, Mrs. Gower herself seeing to the fastenings and putting the chain on, Thomas said:
"Beg pardon, ma'am, but can you step this way, please?"
"But, Thomas," she said, trying in vain to battle with her fate.
"Yes ma'am, I know it's a shame to be a pestering of you at this hour, but it's——"
"Very well, Thomas, I shall attend to it; excuse me, dear Mrs. Dale, for a few moments, and then we must really go to bed."
"That's all right; I know what the calls upon a housekeeper are."
Quick as a flash, on the exit of her hostess, the portière hangings are drawn, the gas at one end turned out, the window flown to.
"Yes, my lady crouches there still, and—yes, that is he on the kitchen steps; the light from the window points you out to me, my dear cupid—done up by a west-end tailor; the door opens, which shows me my kind hostess; and now for the woman—for ferret out this mystery I shall—for in some way, unknown to me, this gentleman and follower are worrying the life out of my friend."
With a waterproof on, noiselessly she opens the window and shutters; a step and the veranda is reached; with beckoning hand she endeavors to attract the attention of the woman, but without success, as she is wholly absorbed in watching the door by which the man entered. Afraid of attracting attention by calling out, she twists a couple of buttons off her waterproof, throwing them on to the gravel walk; her object is gained and defeated simultaneously, for the woman, taking fright, makes for the gate, at which Tyr, who had made his exit on the man making his entrée, swift as a deer, ran barking after her; but she is safe outside the gate, at which Mrs. Dale quiets Tyr, who has come up to her, rubbing his cold nose to her still colder hands. And now to make another attempt. In a few moments the gate is reached; yes, the woman is standing under the shade of a tree on the boulevard, the lamplight falling full upon Mrs. Dale.
"Down, Tyr, be quiet; down, I say. Come here, young woman; don't fear, I only wish to speak to you."
"I won't go there; let me alone, for I warn you, I am a desperate woman," she growled, in threatening tones, Tyr making a dash to be at her.
"Come here, Tyr, it's all right. But what is your trouble? If you will only trust me, I feel sure I can help you," she says, breathlessly, for she does not wish her friend to miss her.
"You help me! go away with your smooth serpent tongue; away to that other hussy, in her silks and jewels, robbing an honest woman of her——"
But her sentence was never finished, for the man is coming; and quick as a deer she is out of sight.
Mrs. Dale is quietly seated by the cheerful grate, apparently absorbed in "Cleveland's winning card," as given in Judge, when her hostess returns, looking sad and troubled.
"I don't know how it is I feel so nervous to-night, dear," she said, seeing to the window fastenings; "I am so glad you are with me, but you will find me very doleful."
"Not a bit of it, Mrs. Gower; I am no relation to an acquaintance of mine, who is not content unless one is making a buffoon of oneself for her especial delectation."
"I fear she would cut my acquaintance in my present mood. I am going to ask you a favor, dear; it is to call me Elaine; I shall feel less alone in this big world, and can talk to you more freely, hearing my Christian name. I dare say it is a childish fancy for a woman of my age, but——"
"But me—no buts. Elaine, we are true friends, and you have some secret trouble which I ought to share, else, what use is my friendship to you; you will tell it me, dear?" and the pretty Irish eyes look up into the dark ones bending over her with a questioning look.
"Tell me first, dear, did you recognize anyone in the garden to-night?"
"I did, Elaine."
At this, covering her face with her coldly nervous hands, she said, brokenly:
"God help me, I am driven by the winds, and tossed; I must sleep on it to-night, and if I feel strong enough, tell you all to-morrow."
"That's right, and to insure your being brave enough, you must take the best tonic, sleep; so let us mount," she said affectionately, rising and taking her friend's arm.
"Very well, dear; and the dropping rain shall be my lullaby in wooing the god of slumber."