NEW YORK is at its very brightest and best in October. This month of the year may be safely trusted not to disappoint. The skies are blue, the air balmy, and there is generally a delightful absence of wind. The summer exiles are home again from Jersey boarding houses, and mountain camps, and seaside hotels, and thankful to the point of hilarity that this episode of the year is over, that they can once more dwell under their own roofs without breaking any of the manifest laws of the great goddess Custom or Fashion.
Judge Rawdon's house had an especially charming "at home" appearance. During the absence of the family it had been made beautiful inside and outside, and the white stone, the plate glass, and falling lace evident to the street, had an almost conscious look of luxurious propriety.
The Judge frankly admitted his pleasure in his home surroundings. He said, as they ate their first meal in the familiar room, that "a visit to foreign countries was a grand, patriotic tonic." He vowed that the "first sight of the Stars and Stripes at Sandy Hook had given him the finest emotion he had ever felt in his life," and was altogether in his proudest American mood. Ruth sympathized with him. Ethel listened smiling. She knew well that the English strain had only temporarily exhausted itself; it would have its period of revival at the proper time.
"I am going to see grandmother," she said gayly. "I shall stay with her all day.""But I have a letter from her," interrupted the Judge, "and she will not return home until next week.""I am sorry. I was anticipating so eagerly the joy of seeing her. Well, as I cannot do so, I will go and call on Dora Stanhope.""I would not if I were you, Ethel," said Ruth. "Let her come and call on you.""I had a little note from her this morning, welcoming me home, and entreating me to call."The Judge rose as Ethel was speaking, and no more was said about the visit at that time but a few hours later Ethel came down from her room ready for the street and frankly told Ruth she had made up her mind to call on Dora.
"Then I will only remind you, Ethel, that Dora is not a fortunate woman to know. As far as I can see, she is one of those who sow pain of heart and vexation of spirit about every house they enter, even their own. But Icannot gather experience for you, it will have to grow in your own garden.""All right, dear Ruth, and if I do not like its growth, I will pull it up by the roots, Iassure you."
Ruth went with her to the door and watched her walk leisurely down the broad steps to the street. The light kindled in her eyes and on her face as she did so. She already felt the magnetism of the great city, and with a laughing farewell walked rapidly toward Dora's house.
Her card brought an instant response, and she heard Dora's welcome before the door was opened. And her first greeting was an enthusiastic compliment, "How beautiful you have grown, Ethel!" she cried. "Ah, that is the European finish. You have gained it, my dear; you really are very much improved.""And you also, Dora?"
The words were really a question, but Dora accepted them as an assertion, and was satisfied.
"I suppose I am," she answered, "though I'm sure I can't tell how it should be so, unless worry of all kinds is good for good looks.
I've had enough of that for a lifetime."
"Now, Dora."
"Oh, it's the solid truth--partly your fault too.""I never interfered----"
"Of course you didn't, but you ought to have interfered. When you called on me in London you might have seen that I was not happy; and I wanted to come to Rawdon Court, and you would not invite me. I called your behavior then `very mean,' and I have not altered my opinion of it.""There were good reasons, Dora, why I could not ask you."
"Good reasons are usually selfish ones, Ethel, and Fred Mostyn told me what they were.
"He likely told you untruths, Dora, for he knew nothing about my reasons. I saw very little of him.""I know. You treated him as badly as you treated me, and all for some wild West creature--a regular cowboy, Fred said, but then a Rawdon!""Mr. Mostyn has misrepresented Mr. Tyrrel Rawdon--that is all about it. I shall not explain `how' or `why.' Did you enjoy yourself at Stanhope Castle?""Enjoy myself! Are you making fun of me? Ethel, dear, it was the most awful experience.
You never can imagine such a life, and such women. They were dressed for a walk at six o'clock; they had breakfast at half-past seven. They went to the village and inspected cottages, and gave lessons in housekeeping or dressmaking or some other drudgery till noon. They walked back to the Castle for lunch. They attended to their own improvement from half-past one until four, had lessons in drawing and chemistry, and, I believe, electricity. They had another walk, and then indulged themselves with a cup of tea. They dressed and received visitors, and read science or theology between whiles. There was always some noted preacher or scholar at the dinner table. The conversation was about acids and explosives, or the planets or bishops, or else on the never, never-ending subject of elevating the workingman and building schools for his children.
Basil, of course, enjoyed it. He thought he was giving me a magnificent object lesson. He was never done praising the ladies Mary Elinor and Adelaide Stanhope.
I'm sure I wish he had married one or all of them--and I told him so.""You could not be so cruel, Dora."
