The gray, blazing eyes of the speaker were met by Mr. Gould's, calm, cold, hard as steel, and his voice, low and level, was saying: "We will not discuss my conduct here, if you please—your office perhaps," as I fled down the entry to my own room.
Mr. Daly sent for me at the end of the play to demand my story of the unexpected meeting. Had I received any note, any message beforehand? Had we any common acquaintance? What had he said to me—word for word, what had he said?
I thought of the gentle voice, the piercing eyes that had grown so kind, the friendly promise, and somehow I felt it would be scoffed at—I rebelled. I would only generalize. He had called me an honest girl, had said the city praised me; but when I got home I told my mother all, who was greatly surprised, since she had had only the newspaper Gould in her mind—a sort of human spider, who wove webs—strong webs—that caught and held his fellow-men.
His words came true. I saw trouble of many kinds and colors. More than once I thought of his promise, but I had learned much ill of human nature in a limited time, and I was afraid of everyone. Knowing much of poor human nature now, and looking back to that evening, recalling every tone, every shade of expression, I am forced to believe Mr. Jay Gould was perfectly honest and sincere in his offer of assistance.
If this incident seems utterly incredible at first, it is because you are thinking of Mr. Gould wholly in his character of "The Wizard of Wall Street;" but turn to the domestic side of the man, think of his undying love for, his unbroken loyalty and devotion to, the wife of his choice, who, as mother of his little flock, never ceased to be his sweetheart.
Is it so improbable, then, that his heart, made tender by love for one dear woman, sheltered and protected, might feel a throb of pity for another woman, unsheltered and alone, whose poverty he saw would be a cruel stumbling-block in her narrow path? I think not.
Who that "she" was whose aid he would have asked in my behalf I do not know, can never know; but it always gives me an almost childish pleasure to imagine it was the sweet, strong woman who was his wife. At all events, Mr. Gould that night furnished me with a pleasant memory, and that is a thing to be thankful for.
The first time I saw Mr. Fisk in the green-room he was surrounded by a smiling, animated party, and as he advanced a step, expectantly, I disappeared. I have been told that he laughed at his own disappointment and the suddenness of some claim upon my attention. The second time, I was in the room when he entered, and at my swift departure he reddened visibly, and, after a moment, said: "If you were not all such good friends of mine, I should think someone had been making a bugaboo of me to scare that young woman."
"Oh," laughed one of the men, "she's from the West and is a bit wild yet."
"Well," he replied, "it doesn't matter where she's from, New York's got her now and means to keep her. I'd like to offer her a word of welcome and congratulation, but she won't give a chap any margin," and he resumed his conversation.