Grace's education had been a broken one: now sent to a foreign school for a year, when her father went to Australia, now left in her aunt's charge, to the tuition of governesses and masters. It is doubtful whether she had profited much by either. What she was she had made herself, more than had been made by instruction. She was not accomplished; but her bright, quick intelligence, and keen delight in books, stood her in good stead in her intercourse with all the clever men who flocked to her father's house. She had been in the world five years when he died, and was now nearly six-and-twenty. Early youth had had for her its usual illusions, its usual disappointments, but they had not embittered, they had only strengthened, the sweet, fresh nature, which retained a healthy capacity for enjoyment.
Within the past year she had suffered the keenest trouble she had yet known, and consequent upon this, and upon their divergent views, had occurred the nearest approach to estrangement between aunt and niece which they had ever known. It is not necessary in this place to enter into the nature of the cloud which had arisen, and had darkened the sky in that small household. Of course, Mordaunt Ballinger sided with his aunt—he always did in any family discussion—and Grace consequently pent up her hopes and her disappointments in silence, and with a brave face that told nothing. She did not go quite so much into the world during the following months, neither would she altogether shun society; and when the suggestion came from Mordaunt that she and Mrs. Frampton should accompany him to America, she hailed the idea. Change of scene, change of people, change of thought—she felt that all this was the best thing for her just now.
Mrs. Frampton was an odd combination of the child of nature and the woman of the world. Clever, impulsive, strong in her affections, unjust and implacable in her hatreds, often humorous, sometimes sarcastic, even at her own expense, she possessed an extraordinarily sound, clear judgment in all business matters, and such as concerned temporal welfare and advancement. There was no sacrifice she would not have made for her nephew and her niece; but her devotion to Grace was perhaps even greater than to Mordaunt, though between him and herself there had never been a difference, and between her and Grace so many. This last subject of division, and the withdrawal of Grace's confidence, the feeling that there was one forbidden subject between them, had tried the elder woman sorely. She had been very bitter about it until Grace's demeanor had shown her that there could no longer be any discussion; if she attempted to renew it her niece left the room. In her inward heart she admired the noble-minded, resolute girl all the more for her attitude, though she never admitted that she did so. She spoke of it to Mordaunt as "reprehensible folly," which was justly punished—"but, thank goodness! there is an end, once and forever, to all that." She was delightfully inconsistent—it made her the amusing and provoking person she was—in all that did not pertain to hard-headed calculation and worldly perspicacity.
Mordaunt Ballinger found himself, at his father's death, with all the expensive habits that are bred in the life he was leading, and but very moderate means. Sir Henry's pension, of course, died with him; so did a considerable income, which he had enjoyed as chairman of certain railway and other companies. His son resolved to rent his country-house, which was too expensive for him to keep up, and he left the Guards. The constituency which his father had represented offered to nominate him in the late baronet's place, and after a little hesitation he accepted the proposal, and was elected. These steps he had not taken without consulting Mrs. Frampton, whose influence had also been wisely exercised in restraining him from embarking in sundry speculations. His thoughts had now been turned for some time past to America, as an Eldorado, where he might improve his fortunes, as certain friends of his had done. Not that he meant to give up Parliament, leave England and all its pleasures, and live upon a ranch. That would not have suited Mordaunt at all. But there was "real estate" in some of the rising cities, silver mines, shares in canned-meat companies—railways, tramways, waterworks; surely in some of these he might find a good investment that would bring him in eight or ten per cent. Mrs. Frampton's present terror was that her nephew would be induced by some designing person to risk considerable sums in that land of reckless speculation. When he proposed, therefore, that she and Grace should accompany him on a visit to the United States, she jumped at the suggestion. To see the Americans chez eux was the thing of all others she had always wished. It was odd that she had never been heard to express the wish before, but no one was surprised at anything Mrs. Frampton said. She suddenly remembered that she had some dear friends, the Hurlstones, in New York. It was eight years since she had seen or heard of them, but she would write to them at once; she felt sure they would do all in their power to make New York pleasant to herself and her belongings. But, as to that, her brother's—Sir Henry's—name was sure to secure them a warm welcome in a country where he had been so well known, and Mordaunt's being in Parliament would be an additional reason. It would be charming, too, for Grace; it would change the current of her thoughts. She only said this to Mordaunt, but the alacrity with which his sister acceded to the proposition told him and his aunt that she felt this to be true.
Unfortunately, within a week of their sailing, just before Christmas, Mrs. Frampton was summoned by telegram to Geneva, by a sister of her late husband. The message stated that Miss Frampton was dying, and desired her sister-in-law's presence. Mrs. Frampton felt she had no choice but to obey. It was unfortunate. Had it only come a few days later! As it was, there was nothing for it but to start by the next train, and let Mordaunt and Grace sail for New York without her. She promised to follow them, if Mordaunt resolved to remain all the winter in the States. And, on the other hand, she exacted a promise from him to embark in no scheme without consulting her. With this understanding they parted, hurriedly and sorrowfully, and a fortnight from the day when they had seen her into the train at Charing Cross they landed at New York.
CHAPTER V
The day after her arrival this is the letter Miss Ballinger wrote to Mrs. Frampton:
"9th January, 1891.
"Dearest Aunt Susan,—We were delighted to have your telegram just before starting, saying that Miss Frampton had rallied. I hope that her recovery will be so rapid as to enable you to leave her before many weeks are over. We miss you terribly, and shall do so, now that we have landed, more than ever. The voyage was really delightful—I never could have believed it would have gone so quickly; and I had such an appetite, dear aunt, you would have been ashamed of me—instead of scolding, as you have done lately, because I ate so little. Mordy was very happy. He made friends with one man who was in pork, and another in oil. (I wonder which is nicest, to be in pork, or in oil?) I always knew which he had been pounding the deck with, by his coming up to me afterwards, and saying, 'Do you know, I'm thinking seriously of going into pork'—or 'oil,' as the case might be. Then he fell in love with a dear woman, nearly old enough to be his mother, a Mrs. Courtly, whom most of the other women hated and abused—particularly odious Lady Clydesdale, who was on board. The things she said to me about her!... I replied that Mrs. Courtly's only crime, as far as I could see, was that she succeeded in attracting people—'and it is a pity more women don't try,' I added. 'They might at least try. For my part, my only serious aim in life is to make as many people like me as ever I can.' You should have seen her face of ineffable scorn as she turned away. You always say I am so toast-and-watery, aunt, that I can't hate. I have at last accomplished it; congratulate me; I really do hate Lady Clydesdale. Among those on board whom I liked was an odd, clever man named Ferrars. He would puzzle and, I believe, interest you. His past is mysterious: he never speaks of it, nor, indeed, of his present, for that matter. I discovered—by that exhaustive process of pumping which Mordy declares qualifies me to become a female interviewer (Oh! I have something to tell you about that, presently), that he is a Southerner, who lives chiefly in Europe, and that he writes; but what, and where, he curtly refused to say. He is quite indifferent to fame or money, and we generally disagreed about everything: and yet I got to like him. In contrast to Mr. Ferrars, who I am sure is not just to his country's future, whatever he may be to her present, there was a young professor from Harvard, an ardent patriot, who could not bear a word to be said against America. I do not feel sure that you would like this Mr. Barham as much as Mr. Ferrars, though he is to me much more interesting. But he is shy, and proud, and not very forthcoming, and you like turbulent youth. You might call him 'a prig,' which would distress me; but when you saw his mother, who is a Philadelphian, and I am certain must be a direct descendant of William Penn—so sweet, and drab-colored, and gentle, with the youngest and yet saddest face you ever looked upon, to be the mother of this handsome young man—I say, when you looked upon her you would better understand why he is as he is: you would see that repression was born in him. Then there was a very rich young man from New York, who, like the young man in Scripture, ought to be told to go and sell all that he has, he would be so much happier. But, being very stupid, he doesn't know that he is not happy. He fancies the fatigue of doing nothing vigorously is enjoyment. Last of all, in our set—for you must know a steamer has its 'sets,' as well as a city—was the authoress of 'Phryne,' a rather risky novel which has had some success. You know how fatal it is to any but a strong head to write a moderately successful book. Mrs. Van Winkle is pretty and good-natured, but I suppose she was born foolish—the book has done the rest. We got through the Custom-House very well, though the officer seemed to think it impossible that any 'gent' could require so many 'pants' as Mordy brought with him. Virginie had frightened me so by saying I should have to pay duty on all my new gowns, that I was relieved when the inquisition was over. The first impression of New York in a fog was not favorable. Then the paving of the streets! Words cannot describe to you the condition of all the thoroughfares. Our London streets, Heaven knows, are bad enough in wet weather; and even in dry are not above reproach compared with those of Paris; but these!—the smallest town in Bulgaria would be ashamed of such atrocities. In some there are holes so deep that it is necessary to put a tub or a few stones round the gaping chasm to prevent people falling in. In some the electric wires were lying playfully about under the horses' feet, a storm, I am told, having brought them all down more than a week ago! In Broadway the tramways intersect each other like the criss-crossings on some withered old palm; but the line of life cannot be long, I imagine, for any one who resides there. We found comfortable rooms awaiting us at the hotel, but heated by a furnace such as only Shadrach & Co. could face. I flung open all the windows, to the manager's amazement. On the table was a splendid bouquet of crimson roses, with a note and a card. Whose do you think? The Hurlstones. A very pretty attention, which I am afraid we should not have thought of. To be greeted thus on arrival by strangers—for to us they are absolute strangers—is very pleasant. The note was to ask us to dine with them to-night. Presently another card was brought me, on which was written 'Miss M.T. Clutch,' with a request that I would receive the lady. I innocently thought this must be another kindly disposed person, to whom friends had written, unknown to us, on our behalf. Judge of my consternation when a small, smirking woman entered, who introduced herself thus:
"'I represent The New York Scavenger, one of our prominent dailies, Miss Ballinger. Your name is well-known—I may say it is a household word among us. I trust you feel like answering a few questions which will be of interest to our readers.'