 Chapter 4 of Work, A Story of Experience. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Darla Ely. Work, A Story of Experience by Louisa May Elcott. Chapter 4, Governance. During the next few weeks, Christy learned the worth of many things which she had valued very lightly until then. Health became a boon too precious to be trifled with. Life assumed a deeper significance when death's shadow fell upon its light, and she discovered that dependence might be made indurable by the sympathy of unsuspected friends. Lucy waited upon her with a remorseful devotion which touched her very much and won entire forgiveness for the past, long before it was repentently implored. All her comrades came with offers of help and affectionate regrets. Several, whom she had most disliked, now earned her gratitude by the kindly thoughtfulness which filled her sick room with fruit and flowers, supplied carriages for the convalescent, and paid her doctor's bill without her knowledge. Thus Christy learned, like many another needy member of the gay profession, that though often extravagant and jovial in their way of life, these men and women give as freely as they spend, wear warm true hearts under their motley, and make misfortune only another link in the bond of good fellowship which binds them loyally together. Slowly Christy gathered her energies after weeks of suffering and took up her life again, grateful for the gift, and anxious to be more worthy of it. Looking back upon the past, she felt that she had made a mistake and lost more than she had gained in those three years. Others might lead that life of alternate excitement and hard work unharmed, but she could not. The very ardor and insight which gave power to the actress made that mimic life unsatisfactory to the woman, for hers was an earnest nature that took fast hold of whatever task she gave herself to do, and lived in it heartily while duty made it right, or novelty lent at charms. But when she saw the error of a step, the emptiness of a belief, with a like earnestness, she tried to retrieve the one and to replace the other with a better substitute. In the silence of wakeful nights and the solitude of quiet days, she took counsel with her better self, condemned the reckless spirit which had possessed her, and came at last to the decision which conscience prompted and much thought confirmed. The stage is not the place for me, she said. I have no genius to glorify the drudgery, keep me from temptation, and repay me for any sacrifice I make. Other women can lead this life safely and happily. I cannot, and I must not go back to it because with all my past experience, and in spite of my present good resolutions, I should do no better, and I might do worse. I am not wise enough to keep steady there. I must return to the old ways, dull but safe, and plot along till I find my real place at work. Great was the surprise of Lucy and her mother when Christy told her resolution, adding in a whisper to the girl, I leave the field clear for you, dear, and will dance at your wedding with all my heart when Saint George asks you to play the honeymoon with him, as I am sure he will be for long. Many entreaties from friends as well as secret longings tried and tempted Christy sorely, but she withstood them all, carried her point, and renounced the profession she could not follow without self-injury and self-reproach. The season was nearly over when she was well enough to take her place again, but she refused to return, relinquished her salary, sold her wardrobe, and never crossed the threshold of the theatre after she had said goodbye. Then she asked, what's next, and was speedily answered. An advertisement for a governess met her eye, which seemed to combine the two things she most needed just then—employment and change of air. Mind you don't mention that you've been an actress or it will be all up with you, my dear," said Mrs. Black, as Christy prepared to investigate the matter, for since her last effort in the line she had increased her knowledge of music and learned French enough to venture teaching it to very young pupils. I'd rather tell in the beginning, for if you keep anything back it's sure to pop out when you least expect or want it. I don't believe these people will care as long as I'm respectable and teach well," returned Christy, wishing she looked stronger and rosier. You'll be sorry if you do tell, warned Mrs. Black, who knew the ways of the world. I shall be sorry if I don't," laughed Christy, and so she was in the end. L. N. Saltonstall was the name on the door, and L. N. Saltonstall's servant was so leisurely about answering Christy's meek solo on the bell that she had time to pull out her bonnet strings half a dozen times before a very black man in a very white jacket condescended to conduct her to his mistress. A frail tea-colored lady appeared, displaying such a small proportion of women to such a large proportion of purple and fine linen that she looked as if she was literally as well as figuratively, dressed to death. Christy went to the point in a business-like manner that seemed to suit Mrs. Saltonstall, because it saved so much trouble, and she replied with a languid affability. I wish some want to teach the children a little, for they are getting too old to be left entirely to nurse. I am anxious to get to the tea-shore as soon as possible, for they have been poorly all winter, and my own health has suffered. Do you feel inclined to try the place, and what compensation do you require? Christy had but a vague idea of what wages were usually paid to nursery governesses, and hesitatingly named a sum, which seemed reasonable to her, but was so much less than any other applicant had asked that Mrs. Saltonstall began to think she could not do better than secure this cheap young person who looked firm enough to manage her rebellious son and heir, and well-bred enough to begin the education of a little fine lady. Her winter had been an extravagant one, and she could economize in the governess better perhaps than elsewhere, so she decided to try Christy and get out of town at once. Your terms are quite satisfactory, Miss Devon, and if my brother approves I think we will consider the matter settled. Perhaps he would like to see the children? They are little darlings, and you will soon be fond of them, I am sure. The bell was rung, an order given, and presently appeared an eight-year-old boy so excessively scotch in his costume that he looked like an animated checkerboard, and a little girl who presented the appearance of a miniature opera dancer staggering under the weight of an immense sash. Go and speak prettily to Miss Devon, my pets, for she is coming to play with you, and you must mind what she says, commanded Mama. The pale, fretful-looking little pair went solemnly to Christy's knee and stood there staring at her with a dull composure that quite daunted her. It was so sadly unchildlike. What is your name, dear? she asked, laying her hand on the young lady's head. The lamina tamatina thought and thought, he mustn't touch my hair, it's just hurled, was the somewhat embarrassing reply. Mines Louis Polian thought and thought, like Papas, volunteered the other young person, and Christy privately wondered if the possession of names nearly as long as themselves was not a burden to the poor dears. Feeling that she must say something, she asked in her most persuasive tone, would you like to have me come and teach you some nice lessons out of your little books? If she had proposed corporal punishment on the spot, it could not have caused greater dismay. Willamina cast herself upon the floor passionately, declaring that she didn't tutty, and Sultanstahl, Jr., retreated precipitately to the door, and from that refuge defied the whole race of governesses and nasty lessons jointly. There, run away to Justine. They are sadly out of sorts and quite pining for sea air, said Mama with both hands at her ears, for the war cries of her darlings were piercing as they departed, proclaiming their wrongs while swarming upstairs with a skirmish on each landing. With a few more words Christy took leave and scandalized the sable retainer by smiling all through the hall and laughing audibly as the door closed. The contrast of the plaid boy and beruffled girl's irritability with their mother's languid affection and her own unfortunate efforts was too much for her. In the middle of her merriment she paused suddenly, saying to herself, I never told about my acting. I must go back and have it settled. She retraced a few steps, then turned and went on again, thinking, No, for once I'll be guided by other people's advice and let well alone. Anult arrived soon after bidding Miss Devon consider herself engaged, and desiring her to join the family at the boat on Monday next. At the appointed time Christy was on board and looked about for her party. Mrs. Saltinstall appeared in the distance with her family about her, and Christy took a survey before reporting herself. Madame looked more like a fashion plate than ever in a mass of green flounces and an impressive bonnet flushed with poppies and bristling with wheat ears. Beside her sat a gentleman, wrapped in a newspaper, of course, for to an American man life is a burden till the daily news have been absorbed. Mrs. Saltinstall's brother was the possessor of a handsome eye without softness, thin lips without benevolence, but plenty of will, a face and figure which some thirty-five years of ease and pleasure had done their best to polish and spoil, and a costume without flaw, from his aristocratic boots to the summer hat on his head. The little boy more chuckered, and the little girl more operatic than before, sat on stools eating bonbons while a French maid and the African footman hovered in the background, feeling very much like a meek gray moth among a flock of butterflies Christy modestly presented herself. Good morning, said Madame with an odd, which, slight as it was, caused a great commotion among the poppies and the wheat. I began to be anxious about you, Mrs. Devon, my brother, Mr. Fletcher. The gentleman bowed, and as Christy sat down he got up, saying as he sauntered away with a bored expression, Will you have the paper, Charlotte? There's nothing in it. As Mrs. Saltinstall seemed going to sleep and she felt delicate about addressing the irritable infants in public, Christy amused herself by watching Mr. Fletcher as he roamed listlessly about, and deciding, in her usual rash way, that she did not like him, because he looked both lazy and cross, and and we was evidently his bosom friend. Soon, however, she forgot everything but the shimmer of the sunshine on the sea, the fresh wind that brought color to her pale cheeks, and the happy thoughts that left a smile upon her lips. Then Mr. Fletcher put up his glass and stared at her, shook his head, and said as he lit a cigar. Poor little wretch, what a time she will have of it between Charlotte and the Brats! But Christy needed no pity and thought herself a fortunate young woman, when fairly established in her corner of the luxurious apartments occupied by the family. The woody seemed light compared to those she had left, her dreams were almost as bright as of old, and the new life looked pleasant to her, for she was one of those who could find little bits of happiness for herself and enjoy them heartily in spite of loneliness or neglect. One of her amusements was studying her companions, and for a time has occupied her, for Christy possessed penetration and effeminate fancy for finding out people. Mrs. Salton Stahl's mission appeared to be the illustration of each new fashion as it came, and she performed it with a devotion worthy of a better cause. If a color reigned supreme, she flushed herself with scarlet, or faded into primrose, made herself pretty in the bluest of blue gowns, or turned livid under a gooseberry-colored bonnet. Her hat-brims went up or down, were preposterously wide, or dwindled to an inch as the mode demanded. Her skirts were rampant with sixteen frills, or picturesque with landscapes down each side, and a Greek border or a plain hem. Her waists were as pointed as those of Queen Bess, or as short as Diana's, and it was the opinion of those who knew her that if the autocrat who ruled her life decreed the wearing of black cats as well as of vegetables, bugs, and birds, the blackest, glossiest puss procurable for money would have adorned her head in some way. Her time was spent in dressing, driving, dining, and dancing, in skimming novels and embroidering muslin, going to church with a velvet prayer-book and a new bonnet, and writing to her husband when she wanted money. For she had a husband somewhere abroad, who so happily combined business with pleasure that he never found time to come home. Her children were inconvenient blessings, but she loved them with the love of a shallow heart, and took such good care of their little bodies that there was none left for their little souls. A few days' trial satisfied her as to Christie's capabilities, and relieved of that anxiety she gave herself up to her social duties, leaving the ocean and the governess to make the summer wholesome and agreeable to the darlings. Mr. Fletcher, having tried all sorts of pleasure and found that, like his newspaper, there was nothing in it, was now paying the penalty for that unsatisfactory knowledge. Ill health soured his temper and made his life a burden to him. Having few resources within himself to fall back upon, he was very dependent upon other people, and other people were so busy amusing themselves, they seemed to find little time or inclination to amuse a man who had never troubled himself about them. He was rich, but while his money could hire a servant to supply each want, gratify each caprice, it could not buy a tender faithful friend to serve for love, and ask no wages but his comfort. He knew this, and felt the vain regret that inevitably comes to those who waste life and learn the value of good gifts by their loss. But he was not wise or brave enough to bear his punishment manfully, and lay the lesson honestly to heart. Fretful and imperious went in pain, listless and selfish went at ease. His one aim in life was now to kill time, and anything that aided him in this was most gratefully welcomed. For a long while he took no more notice of Christy than if she had been a shadow, seldom speaking beyond the necessary salutations, and merely carrying his finger to his hat-bram when he passed her on the beach with the children. Her first dislike was softened by pity when she found he wasn't invalid, but she troubled herself very little about him, and made no romances with him for all her dreams were of younger, nobler lovers. Busied with her own affairs the days, though monotonous, were not unhappy. She prospered in her work, and the children soon believed in her as devoutly as young Turks in their prophet. She devised amusements for herself as well as for them, walked, bathed, drove, and robbed with the little people till her own eyes shone like theirs. Her cheek grew rosy, and her thin figure rounded with the promise of vigorous health again. Christy was at her best that summer, physically speaking, for sickness had refined her face, given it that indescribable expression which pain often leaves upon accountants, as if in compensation for the bloom it takes away. The frank eyes had a softer shadow in their depths. The firm lips smiled less often, but when it came the smile was the sweeter for the gravity that went before, and in her voice there was a new undertone of that subtle music called sympathy, which steals into the heart and nestles there. She was unconscious of this gracious change, but others saw and felt it, and to some a face bright with health, intelligence, and modesty was more attractive than mere beauty. Thanks to this, and her quiet cordial manners, she found friends here and there to add charms to that summer by the sea. The dashing young men took no more notice of her than if she had been a little gray peep on the sands. Not so much for they shot peeps now and then, but a governess was not worth bringing down. The fashionable bells and beauties were not even aware of her existence, being too entirely absorbed in their yearly husband-hunt to think of anyone but themselves and their prey. The dowagers had more interesting topics to discuss, and found nothing in Christie's humble fortunes worthy of a thought, for they liked their gossips strong and highly flavored, like their tea. But a kind-hearted girl or two found her out, several lively old maids as full of the romance of the past as ancient novels. A bashful boy, three or four invalids, and all the children, for Christie had a motherly heart and could find charms in the plainest, crossest baby that ever squalled. Of her old friends she saw nothing, as her theatrical ones were off on their vacations. Hepsy had left her place for one in another city, and Aunt Betsy seldom wrote. But one day a letter came, telling her that the dear old lady would never write again, and Christie felt as if her nearest and dearest friend was lost. She had gone away to a quiet spot among the rocks to get over her first grief alone, but found it very hard to check her tears as memory brought back the past, tunderly recalling every kind act, every loving word, and familiar scene. She seldom wept, but when anything did unseal the fountains that lay so deep, she cried with all her heart and felt the better for it. With the letter crumpled in her hand, her head on her knees, and her hat at her feet, she was sobbing like a child. When steps startled her and looking up she saw Mr. Fletcher regarding her with an astonished countenance from under his big son umbrella. Something in the flushed wet face with its tremulous lips and great tears rolling down seemed to touch even lazy Mr. Fletcher, for he furled his umbrella with unusual rapidity, and came up saying anxiously, My dear Miss Devon, what's the matter? Are you hurt? Has Mrs. S. been scolding, or had the children been too much for you? No, oh no, it's bad news from home! And Christie's head went down again, for a kind word was more than she could bear just then. Someone ill, I fancy. I'm sorry to hear it, but you must hope for the best, you know," replied Mr. Fletcher, really quite exerting himself to remember and present this well-worn consolation. There is no hope, and Betsey's dead! Dear me, that's very sad! Mr. Fletcher tried not to smile as Christie sobbed out the old-fashioned name, but a minute afterward there were actually tears in his eyes, for, as if won by his sympathy, she poured out the only little story of Aunt Betsey's life and love unconsciously pronouncing the kind old lady's best epitaph in the unaffected grief that made her broken words so eloquent. For a minute Mr. Fletcher forgot himself, and felt as he remembered feeling long ago when a warm-hearted boy he had comforted his little sister for a lost kitten or a broken doll. It was a new sensation, therefore interesting and agreeable while it lasted, and when it vanished, which it speedily did, he sighed, then shrugged his shoulders and wished the girl would stop crying like a water-spout. It's hard, but we all have to bear it, you know, and sometimes I fancy if half the pity we give the dead, who don't need it, was given to the living, who do, they'd bear their troubles more comfortably. I know I should," added Mr. Fletcher, returning to his own afflictions, and vaguely wondering if anyone would cry like that when he departed this life. Christy minded little what he said, for his voice was pitiful and it comforted her. She dried her tears, put back her hair, and thanked him with a grateful smile, which gave him another pleasant sensation. For though young ladies showered smiles upon him with mid-summer radiance, they seemed cool and pale beside the sweet sincerity of this one given by a girl whose eyes were red with tender tears. That's right, cheer up, take a little run on the beach and forget all about it," he said with a heartiness that surprised himself as much as it did Christy. I will. Thank you. Please don't speak of this. I'm used to bearing my troubles alone, and time will help me to do it cheerfully. That's brave. If I can do anything, let me know, and she'll be most happy, and Mr. Fletcher evidently meant what he said. Christy gave him another grateful thank you, then picked up her hat and went away along the sands to try his prescription. While Mr. Fletcher walked the other way, so wrapped in thought that he forgot to put up his umbrella till the end of his aristocratic nose was burnt a deep red. That was the beginning of it, for when Mr. Fletcher found a new amusement he usually pursued it regardless of consequences. Christy took his pity for what it was worth and thought no more of that little interview, for her heart was very heavy, but he remembered it. And when they met on the beach next day, wondered how the governess would behave, she was reading as she walked, and with a mute acknowledgement of his nod, tranquilly turned a page and read on without a pause, a smile, or change of color. Mr. Fletcher laughed as he strolled away, but Christy was all the more amusing for her one of coquetry, and soon after he tried her again. The great hotel was all a stir one evening with bustle, light and music, for the young people had a hop, as an appropriate entertainment for a melting July night. With no taste for such folly, even if health had not forbidden it, Mr. Fletcher lounged about the piazzas, tantalizing the fair fowlers who spread their nets for him, and goading sundry desperate spinsters to despair by his erratic movements. Coming to a quiet nook, where a long window gave a fine view of the brilliant scene, he found Christy leaning in, with a bright, wistful face, while her hand kept time to the enchanting music of a waltz. Wisely watching the lunatics instead of joining in their antics, he said, sitting down with a sigh. Christy looked around and answered, with the wistful look still in her eyes. I'm very fond of that sort of insanity, but there is no place for me in bedlam at present. I dare say I can find you one, if you care to try it. I don't indulge myself, and Mr. Fletcher's eye went from the rose and Christy's brown hair to the silvery folds of her best gown put on merely for the pleasure of wearing it, because everyone else was in festival array. She shook her head. No, thank you. Governesses are very kindly treated in America, but ballrooms like that are not for them. I enjoy looking on, fortunately, so I have my share of fun after all. I shan't get any complaints out of her, plucky little soul. I rather like that," said Mr. Fletcher to himself, and finding his seat comfortable, the corner cool, and his companion pleasant to look at with the moonlight doing its best for her. He went on talking for his own satisfaction. Christy would rather have been left in peace, but fancying that he did it out of kindness to her and that she had done him injustice before. She was grateful now and exerted herself to seem so, in which endeavor she succeeded so well that Mr. Fletcher proved he could be a very agreeable companion when he chose. He talked well, and Christy was a good listener. Soon interest conquered her reserve. And she ventured to ask a question, make a criticism, or express an opinion in her own simple way. Unconsciously she peaked the curiosity of the man, for though he knew many lovely, wise, and witty women, he had never chanced to meet with one like this before. And novelty was the desire of his life. Of course he did not find moonlight, music, and agreeable chat as delightful as she did, but there was something animating in the fresh face opposite, something flattering in the eager interest she showed, and something most attractive in the glimpses unconsciously given him of a nature genuine in its womanly sincerity and strength. Something about this girl seemed to appeal to the old self, so long neglected that he thought it dead. He could not analyze the feeling, but was conscious of a desire to seem better than he was as he looked into those honest eyes, to talk well that he might bring that frank smile to the lips that grew either sad or scornful when he tried worldly gossip or bitter satire, and to prove himself a man under all the elegance and polish of the gentleman. He was discovering then what Christy learned when her turn came, that fine nature seldom fail to draw out the finer traits of those who approached them, and as the little witch hazel wand, even in the hand of a child, detects some points to hidden springs and unsuspected spots. Women often possess this gift, and when used worthily find it as powerful as beauty, for, if less alluring, it is more lasting and more helpful, since it appeals not to the senses, but the souls of men. Christy was one of these, and in proportion as her own nature was sound and sweet, so was its power as a touchstone for the genuineness of others. It was this unconscious gift that made her wonder at the unexpected kindness she found in Mr. Fletcher, and this which made him, for an hour or two at least, heartily wish he could live his life over again and do it better. After that evening Mr. Fletcher spoke to Christy when he met her, turned and joined her sometimes as she walked with the children, and fell into the way of lounging near when she sat reading aloud to an invalid friend on Piazza or Seashore. Christy much preferred to have no auditor but kind Miss Tudor, but finding the old lady enjoyed his chat she resigned herself, and when he brought them new books as well as himself she became quite cordial. Everybody sauntered and lounged, so no one minded the little group that met day after day among the rocks. Christy read aloud while the children reveled in sand, shells, and puddles. Miss Tudor spun endless webs of gay silk and wool, and Mr. Fletcher with his hat over his eyes lay sunning himself like a luxurious lizard as he watched the face that grew daily fairer in his sight, and listened to the pleasant voice that went reading on till all his ills and ennui seemed lulled to sleep as by a spell. A week or two of this new caprice set Christy to thinking. She knew that Uncle Philip was not fond of the darlings. It was evident that good Miss Tudor with her mild twaddle and internal knitting was not the attraction, so she was forced to believe that he came for her sake alone. She laughed at herself for this fancy at first, but not possessing the sweet unconsciousness of those heroines who can live through three volumes with a burning passion before their eyes and never see it till the proper moment comes and Eugene goes down upon his knees. She soon felt sure that Mr. Fletcher found her society agreeable and wished her to know it. Being a mortal woman her vanity was flattered, and she found herself showing that she liked it by those small signs and symbols which lovers' eyes are so quick to see understand, an artful bow on her hat, a flower in her belt, fresh muslin gowns, and the most becoming arrangement of her hair. Poor man, he has so few pleasures I'm sure I needn't grudge him such a small one as looking at and listening to me if he likes it. She said to herself one day as she was preparing for her daily stroll with unusual care. But how will it end? If he only wants a mild flirtation he will welcome to it, but if he really cares for me I must make up my mind about it and not deceive him. I don't believe he loves me, how can he? Such an insignificant creature as I am. Here she looked in the glass and as she looked the color deepened in her cheek her eyes shone and a smile would sit upon her lips for the reflection showed her a very winning face under the coquettish hat put on to captivate. Don't be foolish, Christy, mind what you do and be sure vanity doesn't elude you, for you are only a woman, and in tidings of this sort we are so blind and silly. I'll think of this possibility soberly, but I won't flirt. And then whichever way I decide I shall have nothing to reproach myself with. Armed with this virtuous resolution, Christy sternly replaced the pretty hat with her old brown one, fastened up a becoming curl, which of late she had worn behind her ear, and put on a pair of stout rusty boots much fitter for rocks and sand than a smart slipper she was preparing to sacrifice. Then she trudged away to Miss Tudor, bent on being very quiet and reserved, as became a meek and lowly governess. But, dear heart, how feeble are the resolutions of woman-kind! When she found herself sitting in her favorite nook, with the wide blue sea glittering below, the fresh wind making her blood dance in her veins, and all the earth and sky so full of summer life and loveliness, her heart would sing for joy, her face would shine with the mere bliss of living, and underneath all this natural content the new thought, half confessed yet very sweet, would whisper, Somebody cares for me. If she had doubted it, the expression of Mr. Fletcher's face that morning would have dispelled the doubt, for, as she read, he was saying to himself, Yes, this healthful, cheery, helpful creature is what I want to make life pleasant. Everything else is used up. Why not try this, and make the most of my last chance? She does me good, and I don't seem to get tired of her. I can't have a long life, they tell me, nor an easy one, with the devil to pay, with my vitals generally. So it would be a wise thing to provide myself with a good tempered, faithful soul to take care of me, my fortune would pay for loss of time, and my death leave her a bonny widow. I won't be rash, but I think I'll try it. With this mixture of tender, selfish, and regretful thoughts in his mind, it is no wonder Mr. Fletcher's eyes betrayed him as he lay looking at Christie. Never had she read so badly, for she could not keep her mind on her book. It would wander to that new and troublesome fancy of hers. She could not help thinking that Mr. Fletcher must have been a handsome man before he was so ill, wondering if his temper was very bad, and fancying that he might prove both generous and kind, and true to one who loved and served him well. At this point she was suddenly checked by a slip of the tongue that covered her with confusion. She was reading John Halifax, and instead of saying, Phineas Fletcher, she said Philip, and then colored to her forehead, and lost her place. Miss Tudor did not mind it, but Mr. Fletcher laughed, and Christie thanked Heaven that her face was half hidden by the old brown hat. Nothing was said, but she was much relieved to find that Mr. Fletcher had joined a yachting party next day, and he would be away for a week. During that week Christie thought over the matter, and fancied she had made up her mind. She recalled certain speeches she had heard, and which had more weight with her than she suspected. One dowager had said to another, Piaf intends to marry. I assure you, for his sister told me so with tears in her eyes. Men who have been gay in their youth make very good husbands when their wild oats are sowed. Clara could not do better, and I should be quite content to give her to him. Well, dear, I should be sorry to see my Augusta his wife, for whoever he marries will be a perfect slave to him. His fortune would be a nice thing if he did not live long. But even for that my Augusta shall not be sacrificed. Returned the other matron, whose Augusta had vainly tried to captivate Piaf, and revenged herself by calling him a wreck, my dear, a perfect wreck. At another time Christie heard some girls discussing the eligibility of several gentlemen, and Mr. Butcher was considered the best match among them. You can do anything you like with a husband a good deal older than yourself. He's happy with his business, his club, and his dinner, and leaves you to do what you please. Just keep him comfortable, and he'll pay your bills without much fuss. Said one young thing who had seen life at twenty. I take him if I had the chance, just because everybody wants him. Don't admire him a particle, but it will make a jolly stir whenever he does marry, and I wouldn't mind having a hand in it. Said the second budding bell. I take him for the diamonds alone. Mama says they are splendid, and have been in the family for ages. He won't let Mrs. S. wear them, for they always go to the eldest son's wife. Hope he'll choose a handsome woman who will show them off well. Said a third sweet girl, glancing at her own fine neck. He won't. He'll take some pokey old maid who will cuddle him when he is sick, and keep out of his way when he is well. Maybe if he don't. I saw him dawdling round with old tutor. Perhaps he means to take her. She's a capital nurse, got ill herself taking care of her father, you know. Perhaps he's after the governess. She's rather nice-looking, though she hasn't a bit of style. Gracious, no. She's a dowdy thing, always trailing round with a book and those horrid children. No danger of his marrying her. A derisive laugh seemed to settle that question beyond a doubt. Oh, indeed, said Christie as the girls went trooping out of the bath-house where this pleasing chatter had been carried on regardless of listeners. She called them mercenary, worldly, unwominly flirts, and felt herself much their superior. Yet the memory of their gossip haunted her and had its influence upon her decision, though she thought she came to it through her own good judgment and discretion. If he really cares for me, I will listen and not refuse till I know him well enough to decide I am tired of being alone and should enjoy ease and pleasure so much. He's going abroad for the winter, and that would be charming. I'll try not to be worldly-minded and merry without love, but it does look tempting to a poor soul like me. So Christie made up her mind to accept if this promotion was offered her and while she waited went through so many alternations of feeling, and was so harassed by doubts and fears that she sometimes found herself wishing it had never occurred to her. Mr. Fletcher, meantime, with the help of many meditative cigars, was making up his mind. Absence only proved to him how much he needed a better time-caller than billiards, horses, or newspapers, for the long, listless days seemed endless without the cheerful governess to tone him up, like a new and agreeable sort of bitters. A gradually increasing desire to secure this satisfaction had taken possession of him, and the thought of always having a pleasant companion with no nerves, nonsense, or affection about her was an inviting idea to a man tired of fashionable follies and tormented with the ennui of his own society. The gossip, wonder, and chagrin such a step would cause rather pleased his fancy. The excitement of trying almost the only thing as yet untried allured him, and deeper than all the desire to forget the past in a better future led him to Christy by the nobler instincts that never wholly die in any soul. He wanted her as he had wanted many other things in his life, and had little doubt that he could have her for the asking. Even if love was not abounding, surely his fortune, which hitherto had procured him all he wished, except health and happiness, could buy him a wife when his friends made better bargains every day. So, having settled the question, he came home again, and everyone said the trip had done him a world of good. Christy sat in her favorite nook one bright September morning with the inevitable children hunting hapless crabs in a pool nearby. A book lay on her knee, but she was not reading. Her eyes were looking far across the blue waste before her with an eager gaze, and her face was bright with some happy thought. The sound of approaching steps disturbed her reverie, and recognizing them she plunged into the heart of the story, reading as if utterly absorbed, till a shadow fell a-thwart the page and the voice she had expected to hear asked blandly. What book now, Miss Devon? Jane Eyre, sir. Mr. Fletcher sat down just where her hat brim was no screen, pulled off his gloves, and leisurely composed himself for a comfortable lounge. Mr. Lester, he asked presently. Not a very high one. Then you think Jane was a fool to love and try to make a saint of him, I suppose. I like Jane, but never can forgive her marrying that man as I have not much faith in the saints such sinners make. But don't you think a man who had only follies to regret might expect a good woman to lend him a hand and make him happy? If he has wasted his life make the consequences and be contact with pity and indifference instead of respect and love. Many good women do lend a hand, as you say, and it is quite Christian and amiable, I have no doubt, but I cannot think it a fair bargain. Mr. Fletcher liked to make Christy talk, for in the interest of the subject she forgot herself, and her chief charm for him was her earnestness. But just then the earnestness did not seem to suit him, rather sharply what hard-hearted creatures you women are sometimes. Now I fancied you were one of those who wouldn't leave a poor fellow to his fate if his salvation lay in your hands. I can't say what I should do in such a case, but it always seemed to me that a man should have energy enough to save himself and not expect the weaker vessel as he calls her to do it for him, answered Christy with a conscious look for Mr. Fletcher's face made her feel as if something was going to happen. Evidently anxious to know what she would do in a four-set case, Mr. Fletcher decided to put one before her as speedily as possible, so he said, in a pensive tone, and with a wistful glance, you looked very happy just now when I came up, I wish I could believe that my return had anything to do with it. Christy wished she could control her tell-tale color, but finding she could not look hard at the sea, and ignoring what the situation said was suspicious enthusiasm. I was thinking of what Mrs. Sultanstahl said this morning. She asked me if I would like to go to Paris with her for the winter. It has always been one of my dreams to go abroad, and I do hope I shall not be disappointed. Christy's blush seemed to be a truer answer than her words, and leaning a little nearer, Mr. Fletcher said, in his most persuasive tone, that she would promise, instead of charlots. Christy thought her reply was already, but when the moment came she found it was not, and sat silent, feeling as if that, yes, would promise far more than she could give. Mr. Fletcher had no doubt what the answer would be, and was in no haste to get it, for that was one of the moments that are so pleasant and so short-lived they should be to see the asters on her bosom tremble with the quickened beating of her heart and taste it in anticipation the satisfaction of the moment when the pleasant voice of hers would falter out its grateful assent. Drawing yet nearer, he went on, still in the persuasive tone there would have been more lover-like, had it had been, lass assured. I think I am not mistaken in believing that you care for me a little. You must know how fond I am of you, how much I need and how glad I should be to give all I have if I might keep you always to make my hard life happy. May I, Christy? It would soon tire of me. I have no beauty, no accomplishments, no fortune, nothing but my heart and my hand to give to the man I marry. Is that enough? asked Christy, looking at him with eyes that betrayed the hunger of an empty heart longing to be fed with genuine food. And Mr. Fletcher did not understand its meaning. He saw the humility in her face, thought she was overcome by the weight of the honor he did her, and tried to reassure her with the gracious air of one who wishes to lighten the favor he confers. It might not be for some, then, but it is for me, because I want you very much. Let people say what they will. If you say yes, I am satisfied. You shall not regret it, Christy. I'll do my best to make you happy. You shall travel wherever I can go with you, have what you like, if possible, and when we come back by and by, you shall take your place in the world as my wife. You will find it well, I fancy, and I shall be a happy man. I've had my own way all my life, and I mean to have it now, so smile and say, yes, Philip, like a sweet soul, as you are. But Christy did not smile and say, yes, Philip, for that last speech of his jarred on her ear, the tone of unconscious condescension in it wounded the woman's sensitive pride. Self was too apparent, and the most generous words seemed to her like bribes. This was not the lover she had dreamed of, the brave, true man who gave her all, and felt it could not half repay the treasure of her innocent first love. This was not the happiness she had hoped for, the perfect faith, the glad surrender, the sweet content that made all things possible and changed this work-a-day world into a heaven while the joy lasted. She had decided to say yes, but her heart said no decidedly, and with instinctive loyalty she obeyed it, even while she seemed to yield to the temptation which appeals to three of the strongest foibles in most women's nature, the passion and the love of pleasure. You are very kind, but you may repent it. You know so little of me, she began, trying to soften her refusal, but sadly hindered by a feeling of contempt. I know more about you than you think, but it makes no difference, interrupted Mr. Fletcher with a smile that irritated Christy even before she understood its significance. I thought it would at first, but I found I couldn't get on without you, so I made up in mind, forgive and forget, that my wife had ever been an actress. Christy had forgotten it, and it would have been well for him if he had held his tongue. Now she understood the tone that had chilled her, the smile that angered her, and Mr. Fletcher's fate was settled in the drawing of a breath. Who told you that? She asked quickly, while every nerve tingled with the mortification of being found out then and there in the one secret of her life. I saw her dancing on the beach with the children one day, and it reminded me of an actress I had once seen. I should not have remembered it, but for the accident which impressed it on my mind. Powder, paint, and costume made Miss Douglas a very different woman from Miss Devon, but a few cautious inquiries settled the matter. And I then understood where you got that slight soup as he spoke Mr. Fletcher smiled again and kissed his hand to her with the dramatic little gesture that exasperated Christy beyond measure. She would not make light of it, as he did, and submit to be forgiven for a past she was not ashamed of. Hardly wishing she had been frank at first she resolved to have it out now and accept nothing Mr. Fletcher offered her, not even silence. Yes, she said, as steadily as she could. I was an actress for three years, and though it was a hard life it was an honest one, and I am not ashamed of it. I ought to have told Mrs. Sultanstahl, but I was warned that if I did it would be difficult to find a place people are so prejudiced. I sincerely regret it now and shall tell her at once so you may save yourself the trouble. My dear girl, I never dreamed of telling anyone, cried Mr. Fletcher in an injured tone. I beg you won't speak, but trust me, and let it be a little secret between us, too. I assure you it makes no difference to me, for I should marry an opera dancer if I chose. So forget it, as I do, and set my mind at rest upon the other point. I'm still waiting for my answer, you know. It is ready. A kind one, I am sure. What is it, Christy? No, I thank you. But you are not an earnest. Perfectly so. Mr. Fletcher got up suddenly and set his back against the rock, saying in a tone of such unaffected surprise and disappointment that her heart reproached her. Am I to understand that as your final answer, Miss Devon? Distinctly and decidedly my final answer, Mr. Fletcher. Christy tried to speak kindly, but she was angry with herself and him, and unconsciously showed it both in face and voice, as a stage, and wanted to be very true just then as a late atonement for that earlier want of candor. A quick change passed over Mr. Fletcher's face. His cold eyes kindled with an angry spark. His lips were pale with anger, and his voice was very bitter, as he slowly said. I've made my blunders in my life, and this is one of the greatest, for I believed in a woman. It was fool enough to care for her love I ever knew, and fancy that she would be grateful for the sacrifice I made. He got no further, for Christy rose straight up and answered him with all the indignation she felt burning in her face, and stirring the voice she tried in vain to keep as steady as his own. The sacrifice would not have been all yours, for it is what we are, not what we have, that makes one human being superior to another. I am as well-born as you, despite of my poverty. My life, I think, has been a better one than yours. My heart, I know, is fresher, and my memory has fewer faults and follies to reproach me with. What can you give me but money and position and return for the youth and freedom I should sacrifice in marrying you? Not love, for you count the cost of your bargain, as no true lover could, but a seat when in your heart you know you only care for me because I can amuse and serve you. I, too, deceived myself. I, too, see my mistake, and I decline the honor you would do me since it is so great in your eyes that you must remind me of it as you offer it. In the excitement of the moment Christy unconsciously spoke with something of her old dramatic fervor and voice and gesture. Mr. Fletcher saw it, and said to her so much could not resist avenging himself for the words that angered him. The more deeply for their truth wounded vanity and baffled will can make an ungenerous man as spiteful as a woman. And Mr. Fletcher proved it, then, for he saw where Christy's pride was sourced and touched the wound with the skill of a resentful nature. As she paused, he softly clapped his hands, and her eyes flashed, very well done, infinitely superior to your Wofington, Miss Devon. I am disappointed in the woman, but I make my compliment to the actress and leave the stage free for another and a more successful Romeo. Still smiling, he bowed and went away apparently quite calm and much amused, but a more wrathful, disappointed man never crossed those sands than the one who kicked his dog when no one saw him. For a minute Christy stood and watched him, then feeling that she must either laugh or cry, wisely chose the former event for her emotions, and sat down feeling inclined to look at the whole scene from a ludicrous point of view. My second love affair is a worse failure than my first, for I did pity poor Joe, but this man is detestable, and I never will forgive him that last insult. I daresay I was absurdly tragical. I'm apt to be one very angry, but what a temper he has got, the white cold kind that smolders and stabs instead of blazing up and being over in a minute. Thank Heaven I am not his wife. Well, I've made an enemy and lost my place, for of course Mrs. Saltenstall won't keep me after this awful discovery. I'll tell her at once, for I will have no little secrets with him. No Paris, either. And that's the worst of it all. Never mind, I haven't sold my liberty for the fluttered diamonds, and that's a comfort. Now a short scene with my lady, and then exit governess. But though she laughed, Christie felt troubled at the part she had played in this affair. Repented of her worldly aspirations, confessed her vanity, accepted her mortification and disappointment as a just testament for her sins, and yet at the bottom of her heart she did enjoy it mightily. She tried to spare Mr. Fletcher in her interview with his sister and only betrayed her own iniquities. But to her surprise, Mrs. Saltenstall, though much disturbed at the discovery, valued Christie as a governess and respected her as a woman, so she was willing to bury the past, she said, and still hoped Ms. Devon would remain. She was forced to tell her why it was impossible for her to do so, and her secret soul, she took a naughty satisfaction demurely mentioning that she had refused my lord. Mrs. Saltenstall's consternation was comical, for she had been so absorbed in her own affair she had suspected nothing, and horror fell upon her when she learned how near dear Philip had been to the fate from which she jealously guarded him that his property might one day benefit the darlings. In a moment everything was changed, and it was evident to Christie that the sooner she left the better it would suit Madame. The proprieties were preserved to the end, and Mrs. Saltenstall treated her with unusual respect, for she had come to honour and also conducted herself in a most praiseworthy manner. How she could refuse a Fletcher visibly amazed the lady, but she forgave the slight and gently insinuated that my brother was perhaps only amusing himself. Christie was but too glad to be off, and when Mrs. Saltenstall asked when she would prefer to leave promptly reply to Murrell, received her salary which was forthcoming with unusual punctuality, and packed her trunks with delightful rapidity. As the family was to leave in a week, her sudden departure caused no surprise to the few who knew her, and signed farewells to such of her summer friends as still remained. She went to bed that night, all ready for an early start. She saw nothing more of Mr. Fletcher that day, but the sound of excited voices in the drawing room assured her that Madame was having it out with her brother, and with truly feminine inconsistency, Christie hoped that she would not be too hard upon the poor man, for, after all, it was kind of him to overlook the actress and ask the governess to share his good things with him. She did not repent, but she got herself to sleep, imagining a bridal trip to Paris and dreamed so delightfully of lost splendors that the awakening was rather blank, the future rather cold and hard. She was early a stir, meaning to take the first boat and so escape all disagreeable ron con tra, and having kissed the children in their little beds with tender promises not to forget them, she took a hasty breakfast and stepped into the carriage waiting at the door. The sleepy waiters stared, a friendly housemaid nodded, and Miss Walker, the hearty English lady who did her ten miles a day, cried out as she tramped by, blooming and bedraggled, Bless me, are you off? Yes, thank heaven, answered Christie, but as she spoke Mr. Fletcher came down the steps looking as wan and heavy-eyed as if a sleepless night had been added to his day's defeat. In the window he asked abruptly, but with a look she never could forget. Will nothing change your answer, Christie? Nothing. His eyes said, forgive me, but his lips only said, goodbye, and the carriage rolled away. Then, being a woman, two great tears fell on the hand still rubbed with the lingering grass he had given it, and Christie said, as pitifully as if she loved him, he has got a heart, after all. Perhaps I might have been glad to fill it if he had only shown it to me sooner. Now it is too late. End of Chapter 4, The Governess