The Man BetweenPART FIRST
O LOVE WILL VENTURE IN!
CHAPTER I
THE thing that I know least about is my beginning. For it is possible to
introduce Ethel Rawdon in so many picturesque ways that the choice is
embarrassing, and forces me to the conclusion that the actual
circumstances, though commonplace, may be the most suitable. Certainly
the events that shape our lives are seldom ushered in with pomp or
ceremony; they steal upon us unannounced, and begin their work without
giving any premonition of their importance.
Consequently Ethel had no idea when she returned home one night
from a rather stupid entertainment that she was about to open a new and
important chapter of her life. Hitherto that life had been one of the
sweetest and simplest character--the lessons and sports of childhood and
girlhood had claimed her nineteen years; and Ethel was just at that
wonderful age when, the brook and the river having met, she was feeling
the first swell of those irresistible tides which would carry her day by day
to the haven of all days.
It was Saturday night in the January of 1900, verging toward twelve
o'clock. When she entered her room, she saw that one of the windows was
open, and she stood a moment or two at it, looking across the straight
miles of white lights, in whose illumined shadows thousands of sleepers
were holding their lives in pause.
It is not New York at all, she whispered, it is some magical city that
I have seen, but have never trod. It will vanish about six o'clock in the
morning, and there will be only common streets, full of common people.
Of course, and here she closed the window and leisurely removed her
opera cloak, of course, this is only dreaming, but to dream waking, or to
The Man Betweendream sleeping, is very pleasant. In dreams we can have men as we like
them, and women as we want them, and make all the world happy and
beautiful.
She was in no hurry of feeling or movement. She had been in a crowd
for some hours, and was glad to be quite alone and talk to herself a little. It
was also so restful to gradually relinquish all the restraining gauds of
fashionable attire, and as she leisurely performed these duties, she entered
into conversation with her own heart--talked over with it the events of the
past week, and decided that its fretless days, full of good things, had been,
from the beginning to the end, sweet as a cup of new milk. For a woman's
heart is very talkative, and requires little to make it eloquent in its own
way.
In the midst of this intimate companionship she turned her head, and
saw two letters lying upon a table. She rose and lifted them. One was an
invitation to a studio reception, and she let it flutter indeterminately from
her hand; the other was both familiar and appealing; none of her
correspondents but Dora Denning used that peculiar shade of blue paper,
and she instantly began to wonder why Dora had written to her.
I saw her yesterday afternoon, she reflected, and she told me
everything she had to tell--and what does she-mean by such a tantalizing
message as this `Dearest Ethel: I have the most extraordinary news.
Come to me immediately. Dora.' How exactly like Dora! she commented.
Come to me im- mediately--whether you are in bed or asleep --whether
you are sick or well--whether it is midnight or high noon--come to me
immediately. Well, Dora, I am going to sleep now, and to-morrow is
Sunday, and I never know what view father is going to take of Sunday. He
may ask me to go to church with him, and he may not. He may want me to
drive in the afternoon, and again he may not; but Sunday is father's home
day, and Ruth and I make a point of obliging him in regard to it. That is
one of our family principles; and a girl ought to have a few principles of
conduct involving self-denial. Aunt Ruth says, `Life cannot stand erect
without self-denial,' and aunt is usually right--but I do wonder what Dora
wants! I cannot imagine what extraordinary news has come. I must try and
see her to-morrow--it may be difficult--but I must make the effort--and
The Man Betweenwith this satisfying resolution she easily fell asleep.
When she awoke the church bells were ringing and she knew that her
father and aunt would have breakfasted. The feet did not trouble her. It
was an accidental sleep-over; she had not planned it, and circumstances
would take care of themselves. In any case, she had no fear of rebuke. No
one was ever cross with Ethel. It was a matter of pretty general belief that
whatever Ethel did was just right. So she dressed herself becomingly in a
cloth suit, and, with her plumed hat on her head, went down to see what
the day had to offer her.
The first thing is coffee, and then, all being agreeable, Dora. I shall
not look further ahead, she thought.
As she entered the room she called Good morning! and her voice
was like the voice of the birds when they call Spring!; and her face was
radiant with smiles, and the touch of her lips and the clasp of her hand
warm with love and life; and her father and aunt forgot that she was late,
and that her breakfast was yet to order.
She took up the reproach herself. I am so sorry, Aunt Ruth. I only
want a cup of coffee and a roll.
My dear, you cannot go without a proper breakfast. Never mind the
hour. What would you like best
You are so good, Ruth. I should like a nice breakfast--a breast of
chicken and mushrooms, and some hot muffins and marmalade would do.
How comfortable you look here! Father, you are buried in newspapers. Is
anyone going to church
Ruth ordered the desired breakfast and Mr. Rawdon took out his
watch--I am afraid you have delayed us too long this morning, Ethel.
Am I to be the scapegoat Now, I do not believe anyone wanted to go
to church. Ruth had her book, you, the newspapers. It is warm and
pleasant here, it is cold and windy outside. I know what confession would
be made, if honesty were the fashion.
Well, my little girl, honesty is the fashion in this house. I believe in
going to church. Religion is the Mother of Duty, and we should all make a
sad mess of life without duty. Is not that so, Ruth
Truth itself, Edward; but religion is not going to church and listening
The Man Betweento sermons. Those who built the old cathedrals of Europe had no idea that
sitting in comfortable pews and listening to some man talking was
worshiping God. Those great naves were intended for men and women to
stand or kneel in before God. And there were no high or low standing or
kneeling places; all were on a level before Him. It is our modern
Protestantism which has brought in lazy lolling in cushioned pews; and the
gallery, which makes a church as like a playhouse as possible!
What are you aiming at, Ruth
I only meant to say, I would like going to church much better if we
went solely to praise God, and entreat His mercy. I do not care to hear
sermons.
My dear Ruth, sermons are a large fact in our social economy. When
a million or two are preached every year, they have a strong claim on our
attention. To use a trade phrase, sermons are firm, and I believe a
moderate tax on them would yield an astonishing income.
See how you talk of them, Edward; as if they were a commercial
commodity. If you respected them----
I do. I grant them a steady pneumatic pressure in the region of morals,
and even faith. Picture to yourself, Ruth, New York without sermons. The
dear old city would be like a ship without ballast, heeling over with every
wind, and letting in the waters of immorality and scepticism. Remove this
pulpit balance just for one week from New York City, and where should
we be
Well then, said Ethel, the clergy ought to give