them they would not be devoured alive. But now--what a change! Why, already Caroline accepts you as--well, almost like an old friend, like myself. In the last few days this change in her attitude is quite marked. What _have_ you done? Are you a wizard? Do tell me!"
This appeal, delivered with eloquence and most engaging play of brow and eye, should have been irresistible. Unfortunately the captain did not appear to have heard it. Leaning forward, his hands clasped between his knees, he was gazing into the fire. And when he spoke, it was as if he were thinking aloud.
"I s'pose 'tis a sort of disease, this duty business," he mused. "And most diseases ain't cheerful visitations. Still a feller ought not to growl about it in public. I always did hate for a man to be goin' about forever complainin' of his sufferin's--whether they was from duty or rheumatiz."
Mrs. Dunn's lips snapped shut. She pressed them together impatiently. Evidently her questions, and their diplomatic prelude, had been unheard and wasted. However, she did not intend to be sidetracked or discouraged.
"One should not prate of one's duty, of course," she agreed. "Not that you do--far from it. But, as I was saying, our dear Caroline has--"
"Thank you, ma'am. I hope I don't groan too loud. Do you know, I believe climate has a bearin' on duty, same as it has on rheumatics. I s'pose you city folks"--and there was almost contempt in the words--"are sort of Christian Science, and figger it's an 'error'--hey? Somethin' to be forgot."
The lady resented the interruption, and the contempt nettled her.
"Not at all!" she retorted. "We city dwellers have our duties, also."
"Is that a fact? I want to know!"
"Certainly it is a fact," tartly. "I have my duties and many of them."
"Um! So? Well, I s'pose you do feel you must dress just so, and live just so, and do just such and such things. If you call those duties, why--"
"I do. What else are they, pray?"
Mrs. Dunn was finding it difficult to keep her temper. To be catechised in this contemptuously lofty manner by one to whom she considered herself so immensely superior, was too much. She forgot the careful plan of campaign which she had intended to follow in this interview, and now interrupted in her turn. And Captain Elisha, who also was something of a strategist, smiled at the fire.
"We do have our social duties, our duties to society," snapped the widow, hotly. "They are necessary ones. Having been born--or risen to--a certain circle, we recognize the responsibilities attached to it. We _are_ careful with whom we associate; we have to be. As for dress, we dress as others of our friends do."
"And maybe a little better, if you can, hey?"
"If we can--yes. I presume--" with crushing irony--"dress in South Denboro counts but little."
"You wouldn't say that if you ever went to sewin' circle," with a chuckle. "Still, compared to the folks at your meetin'-house this morning, our congregation would look like a flock of blackbirds alongside of a cage full of Birds of Paradise. But most of us--the women folks especial--dress as well as we can."
"As well as you can!" triumphantly. "There! you see? And you live as well as you can, don't you?"
"If you mean style, why, we don't set as much store by it as you do."
"Nonsense! We are obliged to be," with a slight shudder at the vulgarism, "_stylish_. If we should lapse, if we should become shabby and behind the fashion or live in that way, people would wonder and believe it was because we could not afford to do otherwise."
"Well, s'pose they did, you'd know better yourselves. Can't you be independent?"
"No. Not unless you are very, very rich; then it might be considered an eccentricity. Independence is a costly luxury, and few can afford it."
"But suppose you can't afford the other thing?"
"Then we must pretend we can. Oh, you _don't_ understand! So _much_ depends upon a proper appearance. Everything depends upon it--one's future, one's children's future--everything."
"Humph!" with the same irritating smile, "I should think that might mean some plannin'. And plans, the best of 'em, are likely to go wrong. You talk about the children in your--in what you call your 'circle.' How can you plan what they'll do? You might when they was little, perhaps; but when they grow up it's different."
"It is not. It _can't_ be! And, if they have been properly reared and understand their responsibilities, they plan with you."
"Land sakes! You mean--why, s'pose they take a notion to get married? I'm an old bach, of course, but the average young girl or feller is subject to that sort of ailment, 'cordin' to the records. S'pose one of your circle's daughters gets to keepin' company with a chap who's outside the ring? A promisin', nice boy enough, but poor, and a rank outsider? Mean to say she sha'n't marry him if she wants to."
"Certainly! That sort of marriage is never a happy one, unless, of course, the girl is wealthy enough not to care. And even then it is not advisable. All their customs and habits of thought are different. No! Emphatically, no! And the girl, if she is sensible and well reared, as I have said, will understand it is impossible."
"My soul and body! Then you mean to tell me that she _must_ look out for some chap in her crowd? If she ain't got but just enough to keep inside the circle--this grand whirlamagig you're tellin' me about--if she's pretendin' up to the limit of her income or over, then it's her duty, and her ma and pa's duty, to set her cap for a man who's nigher the center pole in the tent and go right after him? Do you tell me that? That's a note, I must say!"
Mrs. Dunn's foot beat a lively tattoo on the rug. "I don't know what you mean by a 'note,'" she commented, with majestic indignation. "I have not lived in South Denboro, and perhaps my understanding of English is defective. But marriages among cultivated people, _society_ people, intelligent, ambitious people are, or should be, the result of thought and planning. Others are impossible!"
"How about this thing we read so much about in novels?--Love, I believe they call it."
"Love! Love is well enough, but it does not, of itself, pay for proper clothes, or a proper establishment, or seats at the opera, or any of the practical, necessary things of modern life. You can't keep up a presentable appearance on _love_! If I had a daughter who lacked the brains to understand what I had taught her, that is, her duty as a member of good society, and talked of making a love match, I would.... But there! You can't understand, I suppose."
She rose and shook the wrinkles from her gown. Captain Elisha straightened in his chair. "Why, yes, ma'am," he drawled, quietly; "yes, ma'am, I guess I understand fust-rate."
And suddenly Mrs. Dunn also understood. Her face, which had grown almost too red for one attached to a member of polite society, grew redder still. She turned away and walked to the window.
"What nonsense we've been talking!" she said, after a moment's silence. "I don't see what led us into this silly discussion. Malcolm and your niece must be having a delightful ride. I almost wish I had gone with them."
She did wish it, devoutly. Captain Elisha still remained by the fire.
"Automobiles are great things for hustlin' around in," he observed. "Pity they're such dangerous playthings. Yet I s'pose they're one of the necessities of up-to-date folks, same as you said, Mrs. Dunn."
"Surely," she asked coldly, "you don't condemn automobiles, Captain Warren? What would you--return to stage coaches?"
"Not a mite! But I was thinkin' of that poor Moriarty man."
"His death was due to an accident. And accidents," she turned and looked directly at him, "when they involve financial damages, may be paid for."
The captain nodded. "Yes," he said.