Ainslee's, Vol. 15, No. 5, June 1905

“Emmeline is often too ambitious,” the other commented, with visible content.

“Lighter things she can do charmingly, and she should hold to them,” Miriam announced, with decision.

“I arranged the program,” said the lady, “and, for her own sake, I shall not let her attempt anything to which she is unequal. Of course, I shall not sing myself.”

“Oh, Mrs. Ogden!”

“You know I never sing anything but Wagner, and then only when there are a few – when my hearers are in full sympathy. You will be sure to come,” she added, as she turned to give another invitation. “By the way, you will be at Westbrook this autumn. I want you to ride Persiflage in the hunt as often as you like.”

“Much better,” commented Miriam’s companion, as they strayed on. “Of course, nothing would please her – as a bitter rival – more than to hear her sister-in-law’s singing abused. That touch about lighter things was masterly when she herself only sings Wagner for a few. But how do you manage with Emmeline?”

“I tell her that no one can conduct, an automobile as she does.”

“My dear!”

“It’s an amusing game,” the girl answered.

“But is it a safe one?”

“Why not?” she exclaimed, challengingly.

The two advanced toward the spreading marquee which appeared to be the center of the mild social maelstrom. A greater ebullition perceptibly marked the spot. The conflict of voices arose more audibly. Many were constantly drawn inward, while by some counter-current others were, frequently cast outward to continue in drifting circles until again brought back to the gently agitated center. On the very edge of this vortex – the heart of which was the long table beneath the tent – sat a goodly sized lady. Her appearance might have been offered by a necromancer as the proof of a successfully accomplished trick, for the small camp stool on which she rested was so thoroughly concealed from sight that she might have been considered to rest upon air. Catching sight of Miriam, she beckoned to her with a vigor that threatened disruption of her gloves.

“Where have you been?” she cried, as Miriam and her friend approached. “I have been waiting for you. So many have been asking for you. I expected you to be here.”

“My dear Mrs. Gunnison,” cooed the girl, “you must forgive me. Absolutely, I could not help myself. I was all ready on time – but I have been admiring again your wonderful house. And I have been wondering at the perfect way in which it is kept up – the faultless manner in which everything is managed. I can only think of Lord Wantham’s place. Though, of course, there is not the brilliancy there – ”

“I like to have things nice about me,” said Mrs. Gunnison, complacently. “Sit down here, my dear. I want to have you near me. And you, too, Mrs. Brough.”

“I may be a little to blame for keeping Miriam,” said the elder woman. “I have been so much interested in what she was saying.”

“Every one is,” responded Mrs. Gunnison, warmly. “Miriam is so popular – quite celebrated, for it. Indeed, there are numbers of people here who want to meet her. One young man in particular – Mr. Leeds – ”

“Did he say he wished to know me?” the girl asked, quickly.

“Well, no,” admitted Mrs. Gunnison, “But then I want you to know each other. I’m quite bent on it. Nothing could be better. I’d like to see it come out the way I’d have it. You know how rich he is. And they say he is going to be somebody. Mr. Leeds! Mr. Leeds!”

A tall young man looked and advanced. While his gait did not indicate reluctance, there was nothing that seemed to reveal eagerness. He came forward deliberately and stopped before the party.

“I don’t think, Mr. Leeds, that you know Miss Whiting,” Mrs. Gunnison announced. “A dear friend of mine – and a dear. Mrs. Brough and you are old friends. You see her so often that I feel that I can take her away. Come, I want to show you something.”

With her customary smile of unconcerned intelligence, Mrs. Brough allowed herself to be drawn off. The young man slowly settled himself in the chair which Mrs. Gunnison had left.

“Oh, you shall not escape,” declared Miriam. “Mr. Leeds, I am so glad to be able to speak to you at last. I have so much to say to you. They told me that you would be here this afternoon. I wondered if I should see you.”

Leeds had not spoken, but looked at the girl with a steadiness which for a moment caused her to cast down her animated eyes.

“I missed you everywhere last winter,” she went on, more slowly. “And, of course, heard of you always.”

Leeds continued to inspect the girl with amusement in his glance.

“Oh, how splendid accomplishing something must be – standing for something!”

“Don’t you think that you are rather overvaluing my modest achievements?”

“Of course, you speak that way, but others do not,” she hurried on. “You are known from one end of the country to the other.”

“Really – ” he began.

“To be such an inspiring influence in local politics – ”

“Because,” he laughed, “having a minor public position – because, by a fluke, having found myself in the place of a common councilman, I have got some things done and kept others from being done.”

“Public life has always been so absorbing for me. I can think of nothing nobler for a man.”

“Than being a common councilman,” he interrupted.

“You laugh,” she said. “But I grew so interested, I followed in the newspapers, from day to day, what you were doing.”

“You were very good,” he answered, gravely. “Or you are very good to say so.”

“Don’t you believe me?” she asked, suddenly arrested by his tone.

“I have heard a good deal of you, Miss Whiting.”

Miriam flushed slightly, but she looked at him steadily.

“What have you heard?”

“I have heard that you have ways of making the worse appear the better reason – that you flatter.”

The glow deepened in her face and her eyes flashed.

“And,” he went on, lightly, “why should not one try to make the world pleasanter by making it more satisfied with itself? Isn’t that the part of a public benefactor?”

“You are laughing at me,” she cried. “You – are – despising me.”

“No, indeed,” he answered, with real earnestness. “You misunderstand me. Isn’t it only fair to give back in pleasant speeches the admiration and adulation that the world gives you? There would be a certain dishonesty in taking all and giving nothing.”

“You – you – are mocking me,” she gasped, rising, as if to fly, and then sinking back.

“No,” he answered, “only I object to being mocked myself. I’d rather not be included with all the others to be given pleasant words, as you can so easily give them out of a large supply. I’d prefer to have you think better of me than to believe that I am to be treated in that way.”

“Mr. Leeds, you are abominable and rude – and I cannot listen to you.”

“I am sorry. Honestly, when you began to make such – civil speeches to me I was disappointed. It was so exactly what I had been told to expect.”

Miriam bit her lips – and her hand trembled a little on the handle of the sunshade.