“But––aw––they serve as warnings; they show us the things we ought not to do, don’t you know.”
She smiled. “The sculptor who would chisel a beautiful form, does he set before him the misshapen body of a hunchback, in order that he may see what not to carve?” she asked. “And we who would transform the human sense of life into one of freedom from evil, can we build a perfect structure with such grewsome models as this before us? You don’t see it now,” she sighed; “you are in the world, and of it; and the world is deeply under the mesmeric belief of evil as a stern reality. But the day is coming when our musicians and authors will turn from such base material as this to nobler themes––themes which will excite our wonder and admiration, and stimulate the desire for purity of thought and deed––themes that will be beacon lights, and true guides. You don’t understand. But you will, some day.”
Mrs. Hawley-Crowles frowned heavily as she listened to this conversation, and she drew a sigh of relief when Carmen, sensing the futility of any attempt to impress her thought upon the young man, turned to topics which he could discuss with some degree of intelligence.
Late in the evening Ames dropped in and came directly to the Hawley-Crowles box. He brought a huge box of imported 126 candy and a gorgeous bouquet of orchids, which he presented to Carmen. Mrs. Hawley-Crowles beamed upon him like the effulgent midday sun.
“Kathleen wants you, Reggy,” Ames abruptly announced to the young man, whose lips were molding into a pout. “Little gathering up at the house. Take my car.” His huge bulk loomed over the younger man like a mountain as he took him by the shoulders and turned him toward the exit.
“But I wish to see the opera!” protested the youth, with a vain show of resistance.
Ames said nothing; but his domineering personality forced the boy out of the box and into the corridor.
“But––Uncle Wilton––!”
Ames laughed curtly. Then he took the seat which his evicted nephew had vacated, and bent over Carmen. With a final hopeless survey of the situation, Reginald turned and descended to the cloak room, muttering dire but futile threats against his irresistible relative.
“Now, little girl!” Ames’s manner unconsciously assumed an air of patronage. “This is the first real opportunity I’ve had to talk with you. Tell me, what do you think of New York?”