i*5 
 
 ifM^Oi ^-w> "^''^ ' '' 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 The author 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 3537.I37S94 1914 
 
 Sylvia's marriage.a novel.by Upton Sine! 
 
 3 1924 021 691 674 
 
The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021691674 
 
SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
Books of Upton Sinclair 
 
 MONEY WRITES!: 1927 
 
 MAMMONART: 1925 
 
 THE GOSLINGS: 1924 
 
 THE GOOSE-STEP: 1923 
 
 THE BRASS CHECK: 1920 
 
 THE PROFITS OF RELIGION: 1919 
 
 OIL!: 1927 
 
 THE SPOKESMAN'S SECRETARY: 1926 
 
 THE BOOK OF LIFE: 1922 
 
 THEY CALL ME CARPENTER: 1922 
 
 100%: 1920 
 
 JIMMIE HIGGINS: 1919 
 
 KING COAL: 1917 
 
 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE: 1914 
 
 DAMAGED GOODS: 1913 
 
 SYLVIA: 1913 
 
 LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE: 1911 
 
 SAMUEL THE SEEKER: 1909 
 
 THE MONEYCHANGERS: 1908 
 
 THE METROPOLIS: 1908 
 
 THE JUNGLE: 1905 
 
 MANASSAS: 1904 
 
 THE JOURNAL OF ARTHUR STIRLING: 1903 
 
 THE FASTING CURE: 1911 
 
 LETTERS TO JUDD: 1926 
 
 THE CRY FOR JUSTICE: 1915 
 
 BILL PORTER: 1925 
 
 SINGING JAILBIRDS: 192S 
 
 HELL: 1923 
 
SYLVIA'S 
 MARRIAGE 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 -BY- 
 
 UPTON SINCLAIR 
 
 Published by the Author 
 Long Beach, California 
 
Copyright, 1914, by 
 ■iHE John C. Winston Co. 
 
To My Dear Friend 
 
 Feederik van Eeden: 
 
 uk-gkossvateb 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Book I 
 Sylvia as Wife 11 
 
 Book II 
 Sylvia as Mother 131 
 
 Book III 
 Sylvia as Rebel 251 
 
SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 BOOK I 
 
 Sylvia as Wife 
 
§ 1 
 
 I AM telling the story of Sylvia Castleman. 
 I should prefer to tell it without mention of myself; 
 but it was written in the book of fate that I 
 should be a decisive factor in her life, and so her 
 story presupposes mine. I imagine the impatience 
 of a reader, who is promised a heroine out of a 
 romantic and picturesque "society" world, and 
 finds himself beginning with the autobiography 
 of a farmer's wife on a solitary homestead in Mani- 
 toba. But then I remember that Sylvia foimd me 
 interesting. Putting myself in her place, remem- 
 bering her eager questions and her exclamations, 
 I am able to see myself as a heroine of fiction. 
 
 I was to Sylvia a new and miraculous thing, a 
 self-made woman. I must have been the first 
 "common" person she had ever known intimately. 
 She had seen us afar off, and wondered vaguely 
 about us, consoling herself with the reflection that 
 we probably did not know enough to be xmhappy 
 over our sad lot in life. But here I was, actually 
 a soul like herself; and it happened that I knew 
 more than she did, and of things she desperately 
 needed to know. So all the luxury, power and 
 prestige that had been given to Sylvia Castleman 
 seemed as nothing beside Mary Abbott, with her 
 modem attitude and her common-sense. 
 
 My girlhood was spent upon a farm in Iowa. 
 
12 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 My father had eight children, and he drank. 
 Sometimes he struck me ; and so it came about that 
 at the age of seventeen I ran away with a boy of 
 twenty who worked upon a neighbor's farm. 
 I wanted a home of my own, and Tom had some 
 money saved up. We journeyed to Manitoba, 
 and took out a homestead, where I spent the next 
 twenty years of my hf e, in a hand-to-hand struggle 
 with Nature which seemed simply incredible to 
 Sylvia when I told her of it. 
 
 The man I married tiuTied out to be a petty 
 tjrant. In the first five years of owe life he suc- 
 ceeded in kiUing the love I had for him; but 
 meantime I had borne him three children, and 
 there was nothing to do but make the best 
 of my bargain. I became to outward view a 
 beaten drudge; yet it was the truth that never for 
 an hour did I give up. When I lost what would 
 have been my fourth child, and the doctor told 
 me that I could never have another, I took this 
 for my charter of freedom, and made up my mind 
 to my course; I would raise the children I had, 
 and grow up with them, and move out into life 
 when they did. 
 
 This was when I was working eighteen hours 
 a day, more than half of it by lamp-light, in the 
 darkness of our Northern winters. When the 
 accident came, I had been doing the cooking for 
 half a dozen men, who were getting in the wheat 
 upon which our future depended. I fell in my 
 tracks, and lost my child; yet I sat still and white 
 while the men ate supper, and afterwards I washed 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 13 
 
 up the dishes. Such was my life in those days; 
 and I can see before me the face of horror with 
 which Sylvia listened to the story. But these 
 things are common in the experience of women 
 who live upon pioneer farms, and toil as the slave- 
 woman has toiled since civilization began. 
 
 We won out, and my husband made money. 
 I centered my energies upon getting school-time 
 for my children; and because I had resolved that 
 they should not grow ahead of me, I sat up at 
 night and studied their books. When the oldest 
 boy was ready for high-school, we moved to a town, 
 where my husband had bought into a granary- 
 business. By that time I had become a physical 
 wreck, with a list of ailments too painful to 
 describe. But I still had my craving for knowl- 
 edge, and my illness was my salvation, in a way — 
 it got me a hired girl, and time to patronize the 
 free library. 
 
 I had never had any sort of superstition or prej- 
 udice, and when I got into the world of books, 
 I began quickly to find my way. I traveled into 
 by-paths, of course; I got Christian Science badly, 
 and New Thought in a mild attack. I still have 
 in my mind what the sober reader would doubtless 
 consider queer kinks; for instance, I still practice 
 "mental healing", in a form, and I don't always 
 tell my secret thoughts about Theosophy and 
 Spiritualism. But almost at once I worked myself 
 out of the religion I had been taught, and away 
 from my husband's politics, and the drugs of my 
 doctors. One of the first subjects I read about 
 
14 SYLVIA'S MAERIAGE 
 
 was health; I came upon a book on fasting, and 
 went away upon a visit and tried it, and came back 
 home a new woman, with a new life before me. 
 
 In all of these matters my husband fought me 
 at every step. He wished to rule, not merely 
 my body, but my mind, and it seemed as if every 
 new thing that I learned was an additional affront 
 to him. I don't think I was rendered disagreeable 
 by my culture; my only obstinacy was in main- 
 taining the right of the children to do their own 
 thinking. But during this time my husband was 
 making money, and filling his life with that. 
 He remained in his every idea the money-man, 
 an active and bitter leader of the forces of greed 
 in our community; and when my studies took 
 me to the inevitable end, and I joined the local 
 of the Socialist party iti oxu- town, it was to him 
 like a blow in the face. He never got over it, 
 and I think that if the children had not been on 
 my side, he would have claimed the Englishman's 
 privilege of beating me with a stick not thicker 
 than his thumb. As it was, he retired into a 
 sullen hypochondria, which was so pitiful that in 
 the end I came to regard hm as not responsible. 
 
 I went to a college town with my three children, 
 and when they were graduated, having meantime 
 m«ide sure that I could never do anything but 
 torment my husband, I set about getting a divorce. 
 I had helped to lay the foimdation of his fortune, 
 cementing it with my blood, I might say, and I 
 covdd fairly have laid claim to half what he had 
 brought from the farm; but my horror of the 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 15 
 
 parasitic woman had come to be such that rather 
 than even seem to be one, I gave up everything, 
 and went out into the world at the age of forty- 
 five to earn my own living. My children soon 
 married, and I would not be a burden to them; 
 so I came East for a while, and settled down qiiite 
 unexpectedly into a place as a field-worker for 
 a child-labor committee. 
 
 You may think that a woman so situated would 
 not have been apt to meet Mrs. Douglas van 
 Tuiver, nie Castleman, and to be chosen for her 
 bosom friend; but that would only be because 
 you do not know the modem world. We have 
 managed to get upon the consciences of the rich, 
 and they invite us to attend their tea-parties and 
 disturb their peace of naiad. And then, too, I 
 had a pecuhar hold upon Sylvia; when I met her 
 I possessed the key to the great mystery of her 
 life. How that had come about is a story in itself, 
 the thing I have next to tell. 
 
16 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 §2 
 
 It happened that my arrival in New York from 
 the far West coincided with Sylvia's from the far 
 South; and that both fell at a tune when there 
 were no wars or earthquakes or foot-baU games 
 to compete for the front page of the newspapers. 
 So everybody was talking about the prospective 
 wedding. The fact that the Southern belle had 
 caught the biggest prize among the city's young 
 miUionaires was enough to estabUsh precedence 
 with the city's subservient newspapers, which 
 had proceeded to robe the grave and punctilious 
 figure of the bridegroom in the garments of Eing 
 Cophetua. The fact that the bride's father was 
 the richest man in his own section did not inter- 
 fere with this — ^for how could metropoUtan editors 
 be expected to have heard of the glories of Castle- 
 man Hall, or to imagine that there existed a section 
 of America so self-absorbed that its local favorite 
 would not feel herself exalted in becoming Mrs. 
 Douglas van Tuiver? 
 
 What the editors knew about Castleman Hall 
 was that they wired for pictures, and a man was 
 sent from the nearest city to "snap" this imknown 
 beauty; whereupon her father chased the pre- 
 smnptuous photographer and smashed his camera 
 with a cane. So of course when Sylvia stepped out 
 of the train in New York, there was a whole battery 
 of cameras awaiting her, and all the city beheld 
 her image the next day. 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 17 
 
 The beginning of my interest in this "belle" 
 from the far South was when I picked up the paper 
 at my breakfast-table, and found her gazing at 
 me, with the wide-open, innocent eyes of a child: 
 a child who had come from some fairer, more 
 gracious world, and brought the memory of it 
 with her — ^trailing her clouds of glory. She had 
 stepped from the train into the confusion of the 
 roaring city, and she stood, startled and frightened 
 — yet, I thought, having no more real idea of its 
 wickedness and horror than a babe in arms. 
 I read her soul in that heavenly coimtenance, and 
 sat looking at it, enraptiu'ed, dumb. There must 
 have been thousands, even in that metropolis 
 of Mammon, who loved her from that picture, 
 and whispered a prayer for her happiness. 
 
 I can hear her laugh as I write this. For she 
 would have it that I was only one more of her 
 infatuated lovers, and that her clouds of glory 
 were purely stage illusion. She knew exactly 
 what she was doing with those wide-open, inno- 
 cent eyes! Had not old Lady Dee, most cynical 
 of worldlings, taught her how to use them when 
 she was a child in pig-tails? To be sure she had 
 been scared when she stepped off the train, and 
 strange men had shoved cameras imder her nose. 
 It was almost as bad as being assassinated! But 
 as to her heavenly soul — alas, for the blindness of 
 men, and of sentimental old women, who could 
 beUeve in a modem "society" girl! 
 
 I had supposed that I was an emancipated 
 woman when I came to New York. But one who 
 
18 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 has renounced the world, the flesh and the devil, 
 knowing them only from pictures in magazines 
 and Sunday supplements — such a one may find 
 that he has still some need of fasting and praying. 
 The particular temptation which overcame me 
 was this picture of the bride-to-be. I wanted to 
 see her, and I went and stood forhoiu-s in a crowd 
 of curious women, and saw the wedding-party 
 enter the great Fifth Avenue church, and dis- 
 covered that my Sylvia's hair was golden, and 
 her eyes a strange and wonderful red-brown. 
 And this was the moment that fate had chosen to 
 throw Claire Lepage into my arms, and give me 
 the key to the future of Sylvia's life. 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 19 
 
 §3 
 
 I AM uncertain how much I should tell about 
 Claire Lepage. It is a story which is popular 
 in a certain sort of novel, but I have no wish for 
 that easy success. Towards Claire herself I 
 had no trace of the conventional attitude, whether 
 of contempt or of curiosity. She was to me the 
 product of a social system, of the great New Nin- 
 eveh which I was investigating. And later on, 
 when I knew her, she was a weak sister whom I 
 tried to help. 
 
 It happened that I knew much more about such 
 matters than the average woman — owiag to a 
 tragedy in my life. When I was about twenty- 
 five years old, my brother-in-law had moved his 
 family to our part of the world, and one of his boys 
 had become very dear to me. This boy later on 
 had got into trouble, and rather than tell anyone 
 about it, had shot himself. So my eyes had been 
 opened to things that are usually hidden from my 
 sex; for the sake of my own sons, I had set out 
 to study the imderground ways of the male crea- 
 ture. I developed the curious custom of digging 
 out every man I met, and making him lay bare 
 his inmost life to me; so you may xmderstand 
 that it was no ordinary pair of woman's arms into 
 which Claire Lepage was thrown. 
 
 At first I attributed her vices to her environ- 
 ment, but soon I reahzed that this was a mistake; 
 
20 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 the women of her world do not as a rule go to 
 pieces. Many of them I met were free and 
 independent women, one or two of them intellec- 
 tual and worth knowing. For the most part such 
 women marry well, in the worldly sense, and live as 
 contented lives as the average lady who secures 
 her life-contract at the outset. If you had met 
 Claire at an earlier period of her career, and if 
 she had been concerned to impress you, you might 
 have thought her a charming hostess. She had 
 come of good family, and been educated in a 
 convent — much better educated than many society 
 girls in America. She spoke English as well as 
 she did French, and she had read some poetry, 
 and could use the language of ideahsm whenever 
 necessary. She had even a certain religious 
 streak, and could voice the most generous senti- 
 ments, and really believe that she beUeved them. 
 So it might have been some time before you 
 discovered the springs of her weakness. 
 
 In the beginning I blamed van Tuiyer; but 
 in the end I concluded that for most of her troubles 
 she had herself to thank — or perhaps the ancestors 
 who had begotten her. She could talk more nobly 
 and act more abjectly than any other woman I 
 have ever known. She wanted pleasant sensations, 
 and she expected life to furnish them continuously. 
 Instinctively she studied the psychology of the 
 person she was dealing with, and chose a reason 
 which would impress that person. 
 
 At this time, you imderstand, I knew nothing 
 about Sylvia Castleman or her fianci, except 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 21 
 
 what the public knew. But now I got an inside 
 view — and what a view! I had read some refer- 
 ence to Douglas van Tuiver's Harvard career: 
 how he had met the peerless Southern beauty, 
 and had given up college and pursued her to her 
 home. I had pictiu-ed the wooing, in the rosy 
 light of romance, with all the glamour of worldly 
 greatness. But now, suddenly, what a glimpse 
 into the soul of the princely lover! "He had a 
 good scare, let me tell you," said Claire. "He 
 never knew what I was going to do from one 
 minute to the next." 
 
 " Did he see you in the crowd before the church- 
 door?" I inquired. 
 
 "No," she repUed, "but he thought of me, I 
 can promise you." 
 
 "He knew you were coming?" 
 
 She answered, "I told him I had got an 
 admission-card, just to make sure he'd keep me 
 in mind!" 
 
22 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 §4 
 
 I DID not have to hear much more of Claire's 
 story before making up my mind that the wealth- 
 iest and most fashionable of New York's young 
 bachelors was a rather self-centered person. 
 He had fallen desperately in love with the peerless 
 Southern beauty, and when she had refused to 
 have anything to do with him, he had come back 
 to the other woman for consolation, and had 
 compelled her to pretend to sympathize with his 
 agonies of soul. And this when he knew that she 
 loved him with the intensity of a jealous nature. 
 
 Claire had her own view of Sylvia Castleman, a 
 view for which I naturally made due reservations. 
 Sylvia was a schemer, who had known from the 
 first what she wanted, and had played her part 
 with masterly skdlL As for Claire, she had 
 striven to match her moves, plotting in the dark- 
 ness against her, and fighting desperately with 
 such weak weapons as she possessed. It was 
 characteristic that she did not blame herself for 
 her failure; it was the baseness of van Tuiver, 
 his inability to appreciate sincere devotion, his 
 unworthiness of her love. And this, just after 
 she had been naSvely telling me of her efforts 
 to poison his mind against Sylvia, while pretend- 
 ing to admire her! But I made allowances for 
 Claire at this moment — ^realizing that the situa- 
 tion had been one to overstrain any woman's 
 altruism. 
 
SYL^^A AS WIFE 23 
 
 She had failed in her subtleties, and there had 
 followed scenes of bitter strife between the two. 
 Sylvia, the ciinning huntress, having pretended 
 to relent, van Tuiver had gone South to his wooing 
 again, while Claire had stayed at home and read 
 a book about the poisoners of the Italian renais- 
 sance. And then had come the announcement 
 of the engagement, after which the royal conqueror 
 had come back in a panic, and sent embassies of 
 his male friends to plead with Claire, alternately 
 promising her wealth and threatening her with 
 destitution, appealing to her fear, her cupidity, 
 and even to her love. To all of which I listened, 
 thinking of the wide-open, innocent eyes of the 
 picture, and shedding tears within my sovd. So 
 must the gods feel as they look down upon the 
 affairs of mortals, seeing how they destroy them- 
 selves by ignorance and folly, seeing how they walk 
 into the future as a blind man into a yawning 
 abyss. 
 
 I gave, of course, due weight to the sneers of 
 Claire. Perhaps the innocent one really had set 
 a trap — had picked van Tuiver out and married 
 him for his money. But even so, I could hope that 
 she had not known what she was doing. Surely 
 it had never occurred to her that throu^ all the 
 days of her triumph she would have to eat and 
 sleep with the shade of another woman at her side! 
 
 Claire said to me, not once, but a dozen times, 
 "He'll come back to me. She'll never be able to 
 make h\m happy." And so I pictured Sylvia 
 upon her honeymoon, followed by an invisible 
 
24 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 ghost whose voice she would never hear, whose 
 name she would never know. All that van Tuiver 
 had learned from Claire, the sensuality, the 
 ennui, the contempt for woman — it would rise 
 to torment and terrify his bride, and turn her 
 life to bitterness. And then beyond this, deeps 
 upon deeps, to which my imagination did not go — 
 and of which the Frenchwoman, with all her free- 
 dom of tongue, gave me no more than a hint 
 which I could not comprehend! 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 25 
 
 §5 
 
 Claiee Lepage at this time was desperately 
 lonely and unhappy. Having made the dis- 
 covery that my arms were sturdy, used to doing 
 a man's work, she climg to them. She begged 
 me to go home with her, to visit her — finally 
 to come and live with her. Until recently an 
 elderly companion had posed as her aimt and 
 kept her respectable while she was upon van 
 Tuiver's yacht, and at his castle in Scotland. 
 But this companion had died, and now Claire 
 had no one with whom to discuss her soul-states. 
 
 She occupied a beautiful house on the West 
 Side, not far from Riverside Drive; and in addi- 
 tion to the use of this she had an income of eight 
 thousand a year — ^which was not enough to make 
 possible a chauffeur, nor even to dress decently, 
 but only enough to keep in debt upon. Such 
 as the income was, however, she was willing to 
 share it with me. So there opened before me a 
 new profession — and a new insight into the 
 complications of parasitism. 
 
 I went to see her frequently at first, partly 
 because I was interested in her and her associates, 
 and partly because I really thought I could help 
 her. But I soon came to realize that influencing 
 Claire was like moulding water; it flowed back 
 round your hands, even while you worked. I 
 would argue with her about the physiological 
 
26 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 effects of alcohol, and when I had convinced her, 
 she would promise caution; but soon I would 
 discover that my arguments had gone over her 
 head. I was at this time feeling my way towards 
 my work in the East. I tried to interest her 
 in such things as social reform, but realized that 
 they had no meaning for her. She was living 
 the life of the pleasure-seeking idlers of the 
 great metropolis, and every time I met her it 
 seemed to me that her character and her appear- 
 ance had deteriorated. 
 
 Meantime I picked up scraps of information 
 concerning the van Tuivers. There were 
 occasional items in the papers: their yacht, the 
 "Triton", had reached the Azores; it had run 
 into a tender in the harbor of Gibraltar; Mr. 
 and Mrs. van Tuiver had received the honor 
 of presentation at the Vatican; they were spend- 
 ing the season in London, and had been presented 
 at court; they had been royal guests at the 
 German army-maneuvers. The million wage- 
 slaves of the metropolis, packed morning and 
 night into the roaring subways and whirled to 
 and from their tasks, read items such as these 
 and were thrilled by the triumphs of their fellow- 
 coimtrymen. 
 
 At Claire's house I learned to be interested in 
 "society" news. From a weekly pap>er of gossip 
 about the rich and great she would read para- 
 graphs, explaining subtle allusions and laying 
 bare veiled scandals. Some of the men she 
 knew well, referring to them for my benefit as 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 27 
 
 Bertie and Reggie and Vivie and Algie. She 
 also knew not a little about the women of that 
 super-world — ^information sometimes of an inti- 
 mate nature, which these ladies would have 
 been startled to hear was "going the rounds." 
 
 This insight I got into Claire's world I found 
 useful, needless to say, in my occasional forays 
 as a soap-box orator of Socialism. I would go 
 from the super-heated luxury of her home to 
 visit tenement-dens where little children made 
 paper-flowers twelve and fourteen hom-s a day 
 for a trifle over one cent an hoiu-. I would 
 spend the afternoon floating about in the park 
 in the automobile of one of her expensive friends, 
 and then take the subway and visit one of the 
 settlements, to hear a discussion of conditions 
 which doomed a certain number of working- 
 girls to be burned ahve every year in factory- 
 fires. 
 
 As time went on, I became savage concerning 
 such contrasts, and the speeches I was making 
 for the party began to attract attention. Dur- 
 ing the siunmer, I recollect, I had begun to feel 
 hostile even towards the lovely image of Sylvia, 
 which I had framed in my room. While she 
 was being presented at St. James's, I was study- 
 ing the glass-factories in South Jersey, where 
 I foxmd little boys of ten working in front of 
 glowing furnaces until they dropped of exhaus- 
 tion, and sometimes had their eyes burned out. 
 While she and her husband were guests of the 
 German Emperor, I was playing the part of a Polish 
 
28 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 working-woman, penetrating the carefully guarded 
 secrets of the sugar-trust's domain in Brooklyn, 
 where human lives are snuffed out almost every 
 day in noxious fumes. 
 
 And then in the early fall Sylvia came home, 
 her honeymoon over. She came in one of the 
 costly suites in the newest of the de luxe steam- 
 ers; and the next morning I saw a pictiire of 
 her, and read a few words her husband had 
 condescended to say to a fellow-traveler about 
 the courtesy of Europe to visiting Americans. 
 Then for several months I heard no more of 
 them. I was busy with my child-labor work, 
 and I doubt if a thought of Sylvia crossed my 
 mind, until that never-to-be-forgotten afternoon 
 at Mrs. Allison's when she came up to me and 
 took my hand in hersv 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 29 
 
 §6 
 
 Mks. Roland Allison was one of the com- 
 fortable in body who had begun to feel uncom- 
 fortable in mind. I had happened to meet her 
 at the settlement, and tell her what I had seen 
 in the glass-factories; whereupon she made up 
 her mind that everybody she knew must hear 
 me talk, and to that end gave a reception at her 
 Madison Avenue home. 
 
 I don't remember much of what I said, but 
 if I may take the evidence of Sylvia, who remem- 
 bered everything, I spoke effectively. I told 
 them, for one thing, the story of little Angelo 
 Patri. Little Angelo was of that indeterminate 
 ItaUan age where he helped to support a dnmken 
 father without regard to the child-labor laws of 
 the State of New Jersey. His people were ten- 
 ants upon a fruit-farm a couple of miles from 
 the glass-factory, and httle Angelo walked to 
 and from his work along the railroad-track. It 
 is a peculiarity of the glass-factory that it has 
 to eat its children both by day and by night; 
 and after working six hoiu-s before midnight and 
 six more after midnight, httle Angelo was tired. 
 He had no eye for the birds and flowers on a 
 beautiful spring morning, but as he was walking 
 home, he dropped in his tracks and fell asleep. 
 The driver of the first morning train on that 
 branch-line saw what he took to be an old coat 
 
80 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 lying on the track ahead, and did not stop to 
 investigate. 
 
 All this had been narrated to me by the child's 
 mother, who had worked as a packer of "beers", 
 and who had loved little Angelo. As I repeated 
 her broken words about the poor mangled body, 
 I saw some of my auditors wipe away a sur- 
 reptitious tear. 
 
 After I had stopped, several women came up 
 to talk with me; at the last, when most of the 
 company was departing, there came one more, 
 who had waited her turn. The first thing I saw 
 was her loveliness, the thing about her that 
 dazzled and stunned people; and then came the 
 strange sense of familiarity. Where had I met 
 this girl before? 
 
 She said what everybody always says; she 
 had been so much interested, she had never 
 dreamed that such conditions existed in the 
 world. I, applying the acid test, responded, 
 "So many people have said that to me that 
 I have begun to believe it." 
 
 "It is so in my case," she replied, quickly. 
 "You see, I have lived all my life in the South, 
 and we have no such conditions there." 
 
 "Are you sure?" I asked. 
 
 "Our negroes at least can steal enough to 
 eat," she said. 
 
 I smiled. Then — since one has but a moment 
 or two to get in one's work in these social affairs, 
 and so has to learn to thrust quickly: "You 
 have timber-workers in Louisiana, steel-workers 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 31 
 
 in Alabama. You have tobacco-factories, can- 
 ning-factories, cotton-mills — ^have you been to 
 any of them to see how the people live?" 
 
 All this I said automatically, it being the 
 routine of the agitator. But meantime in my 
 mind was an excitement, spreading like a flame. 
 The loveliness of this yoimg girl; the eagerness, 
 the intensity of feeling written upon her coim- 
 tenance; and above all, the strange sense of 
 familiarity! Siu-ely, if I had met her before, 
 I should never have forgotten her; surely it 
 could not be — ^not possibly — 
 
 My hostess came, and ended my bewilderment. 
 "You ought to get Mrs. van Tuiver on your 
 child-labor committee," she said. 
 
 A kind of panic seized me. I wanted to say, 
 "Oh, it is Sylvia Castleman!" But then, how 
 could I explain? I couldn't say, "I have your 
 picture in my room, cut out of a newspaper." 
 Still less could I say, "I know a friend of your 
 husband." 
 
 Fortimately Sylvia did not heed my excite- 
 ment. (She had learned by this time to pretend 
 not to notice.) "Please don't misimderstand me," 
 she was saying. "I really don't know about 
 these things. And I would do something to 
 help if I could." As she said this she looked 
 with the red-brown eyes straight into mine — 
 a gaze so clear and frank and honest, it was 
 as if an angel had come suddenly to earth, and 
 learned of the horrible tangle into which we 
 mortals have got our affairs. 
 
32 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "Be careful what you're saying," put in our 
 hostess, with a laugh. "You're in dangeroxis 
 hands." 
 
 But Sylvia would not be warned. "I want 
 to know more about it," she said. "You must 
 teU me what I can do." 
 
 "Take her at her word," said Mrs. Allison, to 
 me. "Strike while the iron is hot!" I detected 
 a note of triumph in her voice; if she could say 
 that she had got Mrs. van Tuiver to take up 
 child-labor — that indeed would be a feather to 
 wear! 
 
 "I will teU you aU I can," I said. "That's my 
 work in the world." 
 
 "Take Mrs. Abbott away with you," said the 
 energetic hostess, to Sylvia; and before I quite 
 understood what was happening, I had received 
 and accepted an invitation to drive in the park 
 with Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver. In her r61e of 
 dea ex machina the hostess extricated me from 
 the other guests, and soon I was established in a 
 big new motor, ghding up Madison Avenue as 
 swiftly and silently as a cloud-shadow over the 
 fields. As I write the words there lies upon my 
 table an English Socialist paper with one of Will 
 Dyson's vivid cartoons, representing two ladies of 
 the great world at a reception. Says the first, 
 "These social movements are becoming quite 
 worth while!" "Yes, indeed," says the other. 
 "One meets such good society!" 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 33 
 
 § 7 
 
 Sylvia's part in this adventure was a nobler one 
 than mine. Seated as I was in a regal motor- 
 car, and ia company with one favored of all the 
 gods of this world, I must have had an intense 
 conviction of my own saintliness not to distrust 
 my excitement. But Sylvia, for her part, had 
 nothing to get from me but pain. I talked of 
 the factory-fires and the horrors of the sugar- 
 refineries, and I saw shadow after shadow of 
 suffering cross her face. You may say it was 
 cruel of me to tear the veil from those lovely 
 eyes; but in such a matter I felt myself the 
 angel of the Lord and his vengeance. 
 
 "I didn't know about these things!" she cried 
 again. And I found it was true. It was hard 
 for me to imagine anyone so ignorant of the 
 reaUties of modem life. The men and women she 
 had met she understood quite miraculously; but 
 they were only two kinds, the "best people", 
 and their negro servants. There had been a 
 whole regiment of relatives on guard to keep her 
 from knowing anybody else, or anything else; 
 and if by chance a dangerous fact broke into the 
 family stockade, they had formulas ready with 
 which to kill it. 
 
 "But now," Sylvia went on, "I've got some 
 money, and I can help, so I dare not be ignorant 
 any longer. You must show me the way — and 
 
34 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 my husband too. I'm sure he doesn't know what 
 can be done." 
 
 I said that I would do anything in my power. 
 Her help would be invaluable, not merely because 
 of the money she might give, but because of the 
 influence of her name, the attention she could 
 draw to any cause she chose. I explained to her 
 the aims and the methods of our child-labor com- 
 mittee. We lobbied to get new legislation, we 
 watched officials to compel them to enforce the 
 laws already existing; above all, we worked for 
 publicity, to make people realize what it meant 
 that the new generation was growing up without 
 education, and stimted by premature toiL And 
 that was where she could help us most. If she 
 would go and see the conditions with her own 
 eyes, and then appear before the legislative com- 
 mittee this winter, in favor of our new bill! 
 
 She tinned her startled eyes upon me at this. 
 Her ideas of doing good in the world were the old- 
 fashioned ones of visiting and almsgivings; she 
 had no more conception of modem remedies than 
 she had of modem diseases. "Oh, I couldn't 
 possibly make a speech!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Why not?" I asked. 
 
 "I never thought of such a thing. I don't 
 know enough." 
 
 "But you can leam." 
 
 "I know; but that kind of work ought to be 
 done by men." 
 
 "We've given men a chance, and they have 
 made the evils. Whose business is it to protect 
 the children, if not the women's?" 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 35 
 
 She hesitated a moment, and said, "I suppose 
 you'll laugh at me." 
 
 "No, no," I promised; then, as I looked at her, 
 I guessed. "Are you going to tell me that 
 woman's place is the home?" 
 
 "That is what we think in Castleman County," 
 she said, smiling ia spite of herself. 
 
 "The children have got out of the home," I 
 replied. "If they are ever to get back, we women 
 must go and fetch them." 
 
 Suddenly she laughed — ^that merry laugh that 
 was the April srmshine of my Ufe for many years. 
 "Somebody made a Suffrage speech in our State 
 a couple of years ago, and I wish you could have 
 seen the horror of my people! My Aimt Nannie 
 — she's Bishop Chilton's wife — thought it was 
 the most dreadful thiag that had happened since 
 Jefferson Davis was put in irons. She talked 
 about it for days, and at last she went upstairs 
 and shut herself in the attic. The yoimger chil- 
 dren came home from school, and wanted to 
 know where Mamma was. Nobody knew. By 
 and by the cook came. 'Marse Basil, what we 
 gwine have fo' dinner? I done been up to Mis' 
 Nannie, an' she say g'way an' not pester her — 
 she busy. ' Company came, and there was dread- 
 ful confusion — ^nobody knew what to do about 
 anything — and still Aunt Nannie was locked in! 
 At last came dinner-time, and everybody else 
 came. At last up went the butler, and came 
 down with the message that they were to eat 
 whatever they had, and take care of the company 
 
36 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 somehow, and go to prayer-meeting, and let her 
 alone — she was writing a letter to the Castlenmn 
 Coimty Register on the subject of 'The Duty of 
 Woman as a Hoinemaker'!" 
 
SYLVIA AS TNTFE 37 
 
 §8 
 
 This was the b^^nning of my introduction to 
 Castleman Coimty. It was a long time before I 
 went there, but I learned to know its inhabitants 
 from Sylvia's stories of them. Funny stories, 
 tra^c stories, wild and incredible stories out of a 
 half-barbaric age! She would tell them, and we 
 woiild laugh together; but then a wistful look 
 would come into her eyes, and a silence would falL 
 So very soon I made the discovery that my 
 Sylvia was homesick. In aU the years that I 
 knew her she never ceased to speak of Castleman 
 Hall as "home". AU her standards came from 
 there; her new ideas were referred there. 
 
 We talked of Suffrage for a while, and I spoke 
 about the lives of women on lonely farms — ^how 
 they give their youth and health to their hus- 
 band's struggle, yet have no money partnership 
 which they can enforce in case of necessity. 
 "But surely," cried Sylvia, "you don't want to 
 make divorce more easy!" 
 
 "I want to make the conditions of it fair to 
 women," I said. 
 
 "But then more women wiU get it! And there 
 are so many divorced women now! Papa says 
 that divorce is a greater menace than Social- 
 ism!" 
 
 She spoke of Suffrage in England, where women 
 were just beginning to make public disturbances. 
 
38 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 Surely I did not approve of their leaving their 
 homes for such purposes as that! As tactfully as 
 I could, I suggested that conditions in England 
 were peculiar. There was, for example, the 
 quaint old law which permitted a husband to 
 beat his wife, subject to certain restrictions. 
 Would an American woman submit to such a 
 law? There was the law which made it impos- 
 sible for a woman to divorce her husband for 
 infideUty, unless accompanied by desertion or 
 cruelty. Surely not even her father would con- 
 sider that a decent arrangement! I mentioned a 
 recent decision of the highest court in the land, 
 that a man who brought his mistress to Uve in his 
 home, and compelled his wife to wait upon her, 
 was not committing cruelty within the meaning 
 of the English law. I heard Sylvia's exclamation 
 of horror, and met her stare of incredulity; and 
 then suddenly I thought of Claire, and a little 
 chill ran over me. It was a difficult horn*, in 
 more ways than one, that of my first talk with 
 Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver! 
 
 I soon made the discovery that, childish as her 
 ignorance was, there was no prejudice in it. If 
 you brought her a fact, she did not say that it 
 was too terrible to be true, or that the Bible said 
 otherwise, or that it was indecent to know about 
 it. Nor, when you met her next, did you dis- 
 cover that she had forgotten it. On the contrary, 
 you discovered that she had followed it to its 
 remote consequences, and was ready with a 
 score of questions as to these. I remember 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 39 
 
 saying to myseK, that first automobile-ride: 
 "If this girl goes on thinking, she wiU get into 
 trouble! She will have to stop, for the sake of 
 others!" 
 
 "You must meet my husband some time," 
 she said; and added, "I'll have to see my engage- 
 ment-book. I have so much to do, I never 
 know when I have a moment free." 
 
 "You must find it interesting," I ventured. 
 
 "I did, for a while; but I've begun to get 
 tired of so much going about. For the most 
 part I meet the same people, and I've found 
 out what they have to say." 
 
 I laughed. "You have caught the society 
 complaint already — ennui!" 
 
 "I had it years ago, at home. It's true I 
 never would have gone out at all if it hadn't 
 been for the sake of my family. That's why I 
 envy a woman like you — " 
 
 I could not help laughing. It was too funny, 
 Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver envyiag me! 
 
 "What's the matter?" she asked. 
 
 "Just the irony of life. Do you know, I cut 
 you out of the newspaper, and put you in a 
 little frame on my bureau. I thought, here is 
 the loveUest face I've ever seen, and here is the 
 most-to-be-envied of women." 
 
 She smiled, but quickly became serious. "I 
 learned very early in life that I was beautiful; 
 and I suppose if I were suddenly to cease being 
 beautiful, I'd miss it; yet I often think it's a 
 nuisance. It makes one dependent on externals. 
 
40 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 Most of the beautiful women I've known make 
 a sort of profession of it — ^they live to shine and 
 be looked at. 
 
 "And you don't enjoy that?" I asked. 
 
 "It restricts one's life. Men expect it of 
 you; they resent your having any other in- 
 terest." 
 
 "So," I responded, gravely, "with all your 
 beauty and wealth, you aren't perfectly 
 happy?" 
 
 "Oh, yes!" she cried — ^not having meant to 
 confess so much. "I told myself I would be 
 happy, because I would be able to do so much 
 good in the world. There must be some way 
 to do good with money! But now I'm not 
 sure; there seem to be so many things in the 
 way. Just when you have your mind made up 
 that you have a way to help, some one comes 
 and points out to you that you may be reaUy 
 doing harm." 
 
 She hesitated again, and I said, "That means 
 you have been looking into the matter of charity." 
 
 She gave me a bright glance. "How you 
 understand things!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "It is possible," I repUed, "to know modem 
 society so well that when you meet certain causes 
 you know what resiilts to look for." 
 
 "I wish you'd explain to me why charity 
 doesn't do any good." 
 
 "It would mean a lecture on the competitive 
 wage-system," I laughed — "too serious a matter 
 for a drive!" 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 41 
 
 This may have seemed shirking on my part. 
 But here I was, wrapped in luxurious furs, rolling 
 gloriously through the park at twilight on a 
 brilliant autumn evening; and the confiscation 
 of property seems so much more startling a 
 proposition when you are in immediate contact 
 with it! This principle, which explains the 
 "opportunism" of Socialist cabinet-ministers and 
 labor M.P.s, may be used to accoimt for the 
 sudden resolve which I had taken, that for this 
 afternoon at least Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver 
 should not discover that I was either a divorced 
 woman, or a soap-box orator of the revolution. 
 
42 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 §9 
 
 Sylvia, in that first conversation, told me much 
 about herself that she did not know she was 
 teUing. I became fairly certain, for instance, 
 that she had not married Mr. Douglas van 
 Tuiver for love. The young girl who has so 
 married does not suffer from ennui in the first 
 year; nor does she find her happiness depending 
 upon her ability to solve the problem of charity 
 in connection with her husband's wealth. 
 
 She would have ridden and talked longer, 
 she said, but for a dinner engagement. She 
 asked me to call on her, and I promised to come 
 some morning, as soon as she set a day. When 
 the car drew up before the door of her home, 
 I thought of my first ride about the city in the 
 "rubberneck wagon", and how I had stared 
 when the lecturer pointed out this mansion. We, 
 the passengers, had thrilled as one soul, imagin- 
 ing the wonderful life which must go on behind 
 those massive portals, the treasures outshining 
 the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, which required 
 those thick bronze bars for their protection. 
 And here was the mistress of all the splendor, 
 inviting me to come and see it from within! 
 
 She wanted to send me home in the car, but 
 I would not have that, on account of the push- 
 cart men and the babies in my street; I got 
 out and walked — ^my heart beating fast, my 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 43 
 
 blood leaping with exultation. I reached home, 
 and there on the bureau was the picture — ^but 
 behold, how changed! It was become a miracle 
 of the art of color-photography; its hair was 
 golden, its eyes a wonderful red-brown, its cheeks 
 aglow with the radiance of youth! And yet 
 more amazing, the picture spoke! It spoke 
 with the most deUcious of Southern drawls — 
 referring to the "repo't" of my child-labor com- 
 mittee, shivering at the cold and bidding me 
 pull the "fu-uzz" up rovmd me. And when 
 I told funny stories about the ItaUans and the 
 Hebrews of my tenement-neighborhood, it broke 
 into silvery laughter, and cried, "Oh, de-ah me! 
 How que-ah!" Little had I dreamed, when I 
 left that picture in the morning, what a miracle 
 was to be wrought upon it! 
 
 I knew, of course, what was the matter with 
 me; the symptoms were unmistakable. After 
 having made up my mind that I was an old 
 woman, and that there was nothing more in 
 life for me save labor — ^here the little archer 
 had come, and with the sharpest of his golden 
 arrows had shot me through. I had all the 
 thrills, the raptures and delicious agonies of first 
 love; I hved no longer in myself, but in the 
 thought of another person. Twenty times a day 
 I looked at my picture, and cried aloud, "Oh, 
 beautiful, beautiful!" 
 
 I do not know how much of her I have been 
 able to give. I have told of our first talk — but 
 words are so cold and dead! I stop and ask 
 
44 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 what there is, in all nature, that has given me 
 the same feeling; I remember how I watched 
 a dragon-fly emerging from its chrysaUs. It is 
 soft and green and tender; it clings to a branch 
 and dries its wings in the sun; and when the 
 miracle is completed, there for a brief space it 
 poises, shimmering with a thousand hues, quiver- 
 ing with its new-bom ecstasy. And just so was 
 Sylvia; a creatm-e from some other world than 
 ovirs, as yet unsoiled by the dust and heat of 
 reaUty. It came to me with a positive shock, 
 as a terrifying thing — that there should be in 
 this world of strife and wickedness any young 
 thing that took life with such intensity, that 
 was so palpitating with eagerness, with hope, 
 with sympathy. Such was the impression that 
 one got of her, even when her words most denied 
 it. She might be saying world-weary and cynical 
 things, out of the maxims of Lady Dee; but there 
 was still the eagerness, the sympathy, surging 
 beneath and lifting her words. 
 
 The crown of her loveliness was her imcon- 
 sciousness of self. Even though she might be 
 talking of herself, frankly admitting her beauty, 
 she was really thinking of other people, how 
 she could get to them to help them. This I 
 must emphasize — ^because, apart from jesting, 
 I would not have it thought that I had fallen 
 under the spell of a beautiful countenance, com- 
 bined with a motor-car and a patrician name. 
 There were things about Sylvia that were aristo- 
 cratic, that could be nothing else; but she could 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 45 
 
 be her same lovely self in a cottage — as I shall 
 prove to you before I finish with the story of 
 her life. 
 
 I was in love. At that time I was teaching 
 myself German, and I sat one day puzzling out 
 two lines of Goethe — 
 
 "Odin and Thor, these two thou knowest, 
 Freya, the heavenly, knowest thou not." 
 
 And I remember how I cried aloud, in sudden 
 delight, "/ know her!" For a long time that 
 was one of my pet names — "Freya die Himm- 
 Usche!" I only heard of one other that I pre- 
 ferred — when in course of time she told me about 
 Frank Shirley, and how she had loved him, and 
 how their hopes had been wrecked. He had 
 called her "Lady Simshine"; he had been wont 
 to call it over and over in his happiness; and 
 as Sylvia repeated it to me — "Lady Sunshine! 
 Lady Sunshine!" I could imagine that I caught 
 an echo of the very tones of Frank Shirley's 
 voice. 
 
46 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 10 
 
 FoK several days I waited upon the postman; 
 and when the summons came I dodged a commit- 
 tee-meeting, and ascended the marble stairs with 
 trepidation, and imderwent the doubting scrutiny 
 of an English lackey, sufficiently grave in deport- 
 ment and habiliments to have waited upoh a 
 bishop in his own land. I have a vague memory 
 of an entrance-hall with paneled paintings, and 
 a double-staircase with a snow-white carpet, 
 about which I had read in the newspapers that it 
 was woven in one piece and had cost some incredi- 
 ble sum. One did not have to profane it with his 
 feet, as there was an elevator provided. 
 
 I was shown to Sylvia's morning-room, which 
 had been "done" in pink and white and gold 
 by some decorator who had known her colors. 
 It was large enough to have held half a dozen 
 of my own quarters, and the sun was allowed to 
 flood it. Through a door at one side came Sylvia, 
 holding out her hands to me. 
 
 She was really glad to see me! She began to 
 apologize at once for the time she had taken to 
 write. It was because she had so much to do. 
 She had married into a world that took itself 
 seriously: the "idle rich", who worked like slaves. 
 "You know," she said, while we sat on a pink 
 satin couch, and a footman brought us coffee, 
 "you read that Mrs. So-and-so is a 'social queen'- 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 47 
 
 and you thiok it's a newspaper phrase, but it 
 isn't; she really feels that she's a queen, and other 
 people feel it, and she goes through her ceremonies 
 as solemnly as the Lord's anointed." 
 
 She went on to tell me some of her adventxires. 
 She had a keen sense of fun, and was evidently 
 suffering for an outlet for it. She saw through 
 the follies and pretences of people in a flash; 
 but they were all such august and important 
 people that out of regard for her husband she 
 dared not let them suspect her clairvoyant 
 power. 
 
 She referred to her experiences abroad. She 
 had not liked Em-ope — ^being quite frankly a 
 provincial person. To Castleman County a 
 foreigner was a strange, dark person who mixed 
 up his consonants, and was under suspicion of 
 being a fiddler or an opera-singer. The people 
 she had met xmder her husband's charge had 
 been socially indubitable; but stUl they were 
 foreigners, and Sylvia could never really be sure 
 what they meant. 
 
 There was, for instance, the yoimg son of a 
 German steel-king, a person of amazing samir 
 faire, who had made bold to write books and 
 exhibit pictm-es, and had traveled so widely 
 that he had even heard of Castleman County. 
 He had taken Sylvia to show her the sights of 
 Berlin, and had rolled her down the "Sieges 
 AI16e," making outrageous fim of his Kaiser's 
 taste in art, and coming at last to a great marble 
 column, with a female figure representing Victory 
 
48 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 upon the top. "You will observe," said the cul- 
 tured young plutocrat, "that the Grecian lady 
 stands a hundred meters in the air, and has no 
 stairway. There is a popular saying about her 
 which is charming — that she is the only chaste 
 woman in BerUn!" 
 
 I had been through the culture-seeking stage, 
 and knew my Henry James; so I could read be- 
 tween the lines of Sylvia's experiences. I figured 
 her as a person walking on volcanic ground, not 
 knowing her peril, but vaguely disquieted by a 
 smeU of sulphur in the air. And once in a while 
 a crack would open in the ground! There was the 
 Duke of Something in Rome, for example — a 
 melancholy young man, with whom she had 
 coquetted, as she did, in her merry fashion, with 
 every man she met. Being married, she had taken 
 it for granted that she might be as winsome as she 
 chose; but the young Italian had misimderstood 
 the game, and had whispered words of serious 
 import, which had so horrified Sylvia that she 
 flew to her husband and told him the story — 
 begging him incidentally not to horsewhip the 
 fellow. In reply it had to be explained to her 
 that she had laid herseK hable to the misadventm-e. 
 The ladies of the Itahan aristocracy were severe 
 and formal, and Sylvia had no right to expect 
 an ardent young duke to understand her native 
 wildiiess. 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 49 
 
 § 11 
 
 Something of that sort was always happening — 
 something in each country to bewilder her afresh, 
 and to make it necessary for her husband to 
 remind her of the proprieties. In France a 
 cousin of van Tuiver's had married a marquis, 
 and they had visited the chateau. The family 
 was CathoUc, of the very oldest and strictest, 
 and the brother-in-law, a prelate of high degree, 
 had invited the guests to be shown through his 
 cathedral. "Imagine my bewilderment!" said 
 Sylvia. "I thought I was going to meet a church 
 dignitary, grave and reverent; but here was a 
 wit, a man of the world. Such speeches you never 
 heard! I was ravished by the grandeur of the 
 building, and I said, 'If I had seen this, I would 
 have come to you to be married.' ' Madame is an 
 American,' he replied. 'Come the next time!' 
 When I objected that I was not a Catholic, he said, 
 'Your beauty is its own reUgion!' When I pro- 
 tested that he would be doing me too great an 
 honor, 'Madame,' said he, 'the honneur would 
 be all to the Church ! ' And because I was shocked 
 at all this, I was considered to be a provincial 
 person!" 
 
 Then they had come to London; a dismal, 
 damp city where "you never saw the sun, and 
 when you did see it, it looked like a poached 
 egg;" where you had to learn to eat fish with the 
 
50 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 help of a knife, and where you might speak of 
 bitches, but must never on any account speak of 
 your stomach. They went for a week-end to 
 "Hazelhurst", the home of the Dowager Duchess 
 of Danbury, whose son van Tuiver had enter- 
 tained in America, and who, in the son's absence, 
 claimed the right to repay the debt. The old 
 lady sat at table with two fat poodle-dogs in 
 infants' chairs, one on each side of her, feeding 
 out of golden trays. There was a visiting curate, 
 a frightened httle man at the other side of one 
 poodle; in an effort; to be at ease he offered the 
 wheezing creature a bit of bread. "Don't feed 
 my dogs!" snapped the old lady. "I don't 
 allow anybody to feed my dogs!" 
 
 And tlien there was the Honorable Reginald 
 Annersley, the youngest son of the family, home 
 from Eton on vacation. The Honorable Ra- 
 nald was twelve years of age, imdersized and iU- 
 nourished. (" They feed them badly," his mother 
 had explained, "an' the teachin's no good either, 
 but it's a school for gentlemen.") "Honestly," 
 said Sylvia, "he was the queerest little manikin — 
 like the tiny waiter's assistants you see in hotels 
 on the Continent. He wore his Eton suit, you 
 understand — grown-up evening clothes minus the 
 coat-tails, and a top hat. He sat at tea and 
 chatted, with the mincing graces of a cotillion 
 leader. You expected to find some of his hair 
 gone when he took off his hat! He spoke of his 
 brother, the duke, who had gone off shooting 
 seals somewhere. 'The jolly rotter has nothing 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 51 
 
 to do but spend his money; but we younger sons 
 have to work like dogs when we grow up!' I 
 asked what he'd do, and he said, 'I suppose there's 
 nothin' but the Church. It's a beastly bore, but 
 you do get a liviu' out of it.' 
 
 "That was too much for me," said Sylvia. 
 "I proceeded to tell the poor, blas6 infant about 
 my childhood: how my sister Celeste and I had 
 caught half-tamed horses and galloped about the 
 pasture on them, when we were so small that our 
 Uttle fat legs stuck out horizontally; how we had 
 given ourselves convulsions in the green apple 
 orchard, and had to be spanked every day before 
 we had our hair combed. I told how we heard a 
 war-story about a 'train of gunpowder,' and 
 proceeded to lay such a train about the attic of 
 Castleman Hall, and set fire to it. I might have 
 spent the afternoon teaching the future church- 
 man how to be a boy, if I hadn't suddenly caught 
 a glimpse of my husband's face!" 
 
52 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 12 
 
 I DID not hear these stories all at once; I have 
 put them together here because they make a 
 httle picture of her honeymoon, and also because 
 they show how, without meaning it, she was 
 giving me an account of her husband. 
 
 There had been even fewer adventures in the 
 life of young Douglas van Tuiver than in the life 
 of the Honorable Regiuald Annersley. When 
 one heard the details of the upbringing of this 
 "millionaire baby", one was able to forgive him 
 for being self-centered. He had grown into a 
 yoimg man who lived to fulfill his social duties; 
 and he had taken to wife a girl who was reckless, 
 high-spirited, with a streak of almost savage pride 
 in her. 
 
 Sylvia's was the true aristocratic attitude 
 towards the rest of the world. It could never 
 have occiured to her to imagine that anywhere 
 upon the whole earth there were people superior 
 to the Castlemans of Castleman County. If you 
 had been ignorant enough to suggest such an 
 idea, you would have seen her eyes flash and her 
 nostrils quiver; you would have been enveloped 
 in a net of bewilderment, and transfixed with a 
 trident of mockery and scorn. That was what 
 she had done in her husband-hunt. The trouble 
 was that van Tuiver was not clever enough to 
 reaUze this, and to trust her prowess against 
 other beasts in the social jungle. 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 53 
 
 Strange to me were such inside glimpses into 
 the Ufe of these two favorites of the gods! I 
 never grew weary of speculating about them, and 
 the mystery of their alliance. How had Sylvia 
 come to make this marriage? She was not 
 happy with him; keen psychologist that she was, 
 she must have foreseen that she would not be 
 happy with him. Had she dehberately sacrificed 
 herself, because of the good she imagined she could 
 do to her family? 
 
 I was beginning to beUeve this. Irritated as 
 she was by the solemn snobberies of van Tuiver's 
 world, it was none the less true that she beUeved 
 in money; she beheved in it with a faith which 
 appalled me as I came to realize it. Everybody 
 had to have money; the social graces, the 
 aristocatic virtues, were impossible without it. 
 The rich needed it — even the poor needed it. 
 Could it be that the proud Castlemans of Castle- 
 man Coimty had needed it also? 
 
 If that guess at her inmost soul was correct, 
 then what a drama was her meeting with me! 
 A person who despised money, who had proven 
 it by grim deeds — and this a person of her own 
 money-worshipping sex! What was the mean- 
 ing of this phenomenon — this new religion that 
 was challenging the priesthood of Mammon? 
 So some Roman consul's daughter might have 
 sat in her father's palace, and questioned in won- 
 der a Christian slave-woman, destined ere long to 
 face the lions in the arena. 
 
 The exactness of this simile was not altered by 
 
54 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 the fact that in this case the slave-woman was 
 an "agnostic", while the patrician girl had been 
 brought up in the creed of Christ. Sylvia had 
 long since begun to question the formulas of a 
 chiurch whose very pews were rented, and whose 
 existence, she declared, had to be justified by 
 charity to the poor. As we sat and talked, she 
 knew this one thing quite definitely — that I had 
 a reli^on, and she had none. That was the 
 reason for the excitement which possessed her. 
 
 Nor was that fact ever out of my own mind for 
 a moment. As she sat there in her sxm-flooded 
 morning-room, clad in an exquisite embroidered 
 robe of pink Japanese silk, she was such a lovely 
 thing that I was ready to cry out for the joy of 
 her; and yet there was something within me, grim 
 and relentless, that sat on guard, warning me that 
 she was of a different faith from mine, and that 
 between those two faiths there could be no com- 
 promise. Some day she must find out what I 
 thought of her husband's wealth, and the work 
 it was doing in the world! Some day she must 
 hear my real opinion of the religion of motor-cars 
 and hand-woven carpets! 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 55 
 
 § 13 
 
 Nor was the day so very far off. She sat 
 opposite me, leaning forward in her eagerness, 
 declaring, "You must help to educate me! I 
 shall never rest until I'm of some real use in the 
 world." 
 
 "What have you thought of doing?" I inquired. 
 
 "I don't know yet. My husband has an aunt 
 who's interested in a day-nm-sery for the children 
 of working-women. I thought I might help this, 
 but my husband says it does no good whatever — 
 it only makes paupers of the poor. Do you think 
 so?" 
 
 "I think more than that," I replied. "It sets 
 women free to compete with men, and beat down 
 men's wages." 
 
 "Oh, what a puzzle!" she exclaimed; and then, 
 "Is there any way of helping the poor that 
 wouldn't be open to the same objection?" 
 
 That brought us once more to the subject I had 
 put aside at our last meeting. She had not for- 
 gotten it, and asked again for an explanation. 
 What did I mean by the competitive wage sys- 
 tem? 
 
 My pmpose in this writing is to tell the story 
 of Sylvia Castleman's Ufe, to show, not merely 
 what she was, but what she became. I have to 
 make real to you a process of growth in her soul; 
 and at this moment the important event is her 
 
56 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 discovery of the class-struggle, and her reaction 
 to it. You may say, perhaps, that you are not 
 interested in the class-struggle; but you cannot 
 alter the fact that you hve in an age when millions 
 of people are having the coiu'se of their lives 
 changed by the discovery of it. Here, for 
 instance, is a girl who has been taught to keep 
 her promises, and has promised to love, hoqor 
 and obey a man; she is to find the task more 
 difficult, because she comes to understand the 
 competitive wage-system, while he does not 
 imderstand it, and does not wish to. If that 
 seems to you strange material out of which to 
 make a domestic drama, I can only teU you that 
 you have missed some of the vital facts of your 
 own time. 
 
 I gave her a little lesson in elementary eco- 
 nomics. I showed her how, when a capitalist 
 needed labor, he bought it in the open market, 
 like any other commodity. He did not think 
 about the human side of it; he paid the market- 
 price, which came to be what the laborer had to 
 have in order to Uve. No laborer could get more, 
 because others would take less. 
 
 "If that be true," I continued, "one of the 
 things that foUows is the futiUty of charity. 
 "Whatever you do for the wage-worker on a gen- 
 eral scale comes sooner or later out of his wages. 
 If you take care of his children all day or part of 
 the day, he can work for less; if he doesn't dis- 
 cover that, some one else does, and imderbids 
 him and takes his place. If you feed his children 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 57 
 
 at school, if you bury hm free, if you insure his 
 hfe, or even give him a dinner on Christmas-day, 
 you simply enable his landlord to charge him 
 more, or his employer to pay him less." 
 
 Sylvia sat for a while in thought, and then 
 asked, "What can be done about such a fact?" 
 
 "The first thing to be done is to make sure that, 
 you understand it. Nine-tenths of the people 
 who concern themselves with social questions 
 don't, and so they waste their time in futihties^ 
 For instance, I read the other day an article by 
 a benevolent old gentleman who beUeved that 
 the social problem could be solved by teaching 
 the poor to chew their food better, so that they 
 would eat less. You may laugh at that — but it's 
 not a bit more absurd than the idea of our men of 
 affairs, that the thing to do is to increase the 
 efficiency of the workers, and so produce more 
 goods." 
 
 "You mean the working-man doesn't get more, 
 even when he produces more?" 
 
 "Take the case of the glass-factories. Men 
 used to get eight dollars a day there, but some 
 one invented a machine that did the work of a 
 dozen men, and that machine is run by a boy for 
 fifty cents a day." 
 
 A Uttle pucker of thought came between her 
 eyes. "Might there not be a law forbidding the 
 employer to reduce wages?" 
 
 "A minimum-wage law? But that would raise 
 the cost of the product, and drive the trade to 
 another state." 
 
58 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 She suggested a national law; and when I 
 pwinted out that the trade would go to other 
 countries, she fell back on the tariff. I felt like 
 an embryologist — ^watching the individual repeat- 
 ing the history of the race! 
 
 "Protection and prosperity!" I said, with a 
 smile. "Don't you see the increase in the cost of 
 living? The working-man gets more money in 
 his pay-envelope, but he can't buy more with it, 
 because prices go up. And even supposing you 
 could pass a minimum-wage law, and stop compe- 
 tition in wages, you'd only change it to competi- 
 tion in efficiency — ^you'd throw the old and the 
 feeble and the untrained into pauperism." 
 
 "You make the world seem a hard place to 
 Uve in," protested Sylvia. 
 
 "I'm simply telling you the elementary facts 
 of business. You can forbid the employer to 
 pay less than a standard wage, but you can't 
 compel him to employ people who aren't able 
 to earn that wage. The business-man doesn't 
 ■employ for fun — ^he does it for the profit there is 
 in it." 
 
 "If that is true," said Sylvia, quickly, "then 
 the way of employing people is cruel." 
 
 "But what other way could you have?" 
 
 She considered. "They could be employed 
 so that no one would make a profit. Then surely 
 they could be paid enough to live decently!" 
 
 "But whose interest would it be to employ 
 them without profit?" 
 
 "The State should do it, if no one else will." 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 59 
 
 I had been playing a game with Sylvia — as 
 no doubt you have perceived. "Surely," I 
 said, "you wouldn't approve anything like that!" 
 
 "But why not?" 
 
 "Because, it would be Socialism." 
 
 She looked at me, startled. "Is that 
 Socialism?" 
 
 "Of covirse it is. It's the essence of Socialism." 
 
 "But then — ^what's the harm in it?" 
 
 I laughed. "I thought you said that Social- 
 ism was a menace, like divorce!" 
 
 I had my moment of triumph; but then I 
 discovered how fond was the person who imagined 
 that he could play with Sylvia. "I suspect 
 you are something of a SociaKst yoiu^elf," she 
 remarked. 
 
 She told me a long time afterwards what had 
 been her emotions during these early talks. It 
 was the first time in her life that she had ever 
 Ustened to ideas that were hostile to her order, 
 and she did so with tremblings and hesitations, 
 combating at every step an impulse to flee to 
 the shelter of conventionaUty. She was more 
 shocked by my last revelation than she let me 
 suspect. It counted for little that I had suc- 
 ceeded in trapping her into proposing for her- 
 self the economic program of Sociahsm; for what 
 terrifies her class is not our economic program, it 
 is our threat of a slave-rebeUion. I had been 
 brought up in a part of the world where democ- 
 racy is a tradition, a word to conjure with; and 
 I supposed that this would be the case with 
 
60 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 any American — ^that I would only have to prove 
 that Socialism was democracy apphed to industry. 
 How could I have imag^ed the kind of "democ- 
 racy" which had been taught to Sylvia by her 
 Uncle MandeviUe, the politician of the family — 
 who beheved that America was soon to have a 
 king, to keep the "foreign riff-raff" in its place! 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 61 
 
 § 14 
 
 At this time I was living in a three-room 
 apartment in one of the new "model tenements" 
 on the East Side. I had a saying about the 
 place, that it was "built for the proletariat and 
 occupied by cranks." What an example for 
 Sylvia of the futiUty of charity — the effort on 
 the part of benevolent capitalists to civilize the 
 poor by putting bath-tubs in their homes, and 
 the discovery that the graceless creatures were 
 using them for the storage of coal! 
 
 Having heard these strange stories, Sylvia 
 was anxious to visit me, and I was of course 
 glad to invite her. I purchased a fancy brand 
 of tea, and some implements for the serving of 
 it; and she came, and went into raptures over 
 my three rooms and bath, no one of which would 
 have made more than a closet in her own apart- 
 ments. I suspected that this was her Southern 
 noblesse oblige; but I knew also that in my living- 
 room there were some rows of books, which 
 would have meant more to Sylvia van Tuiver 
 just then than the contents of several clothes- 
 closets. 
 
 I was pleased to discover that my efforts had 
 not been wasted. She had been thinking, and 
 she had even found time, in the midst of her 
 distractions, to read part of a book. In the 
 course of our talks I had mentioned Veblen; 
 
m SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 and she had been reading snatches of his work 
 on the Leisure Class. I was surprised and not 
 a little amused to observe her reaction to it. 
 
 When I talked about wages and hours of labor, 
 I was dealing with things that were remote from 
 her, and difl&cult to make real; but Veblen's 
 theme, the idle rich, and the arts and graces 
 whereby they demonstrate their power, was the 
 stuff of which her life was made. The subtleties 
 of social ostentation, the minute distinctions 
 between the newly-rich and the anciently rich, 
 the solemn certainties of the latter and the 
 quivering anxieties of the former — all these were 
 things which Sylvia knew as a bird knows the 
 way of the wind. To see the details of them 
 analyzed in learned, scientific fashion, explained 
 with great mouthfuls of words which one had 
 to look up in the dictionary — that was surely 
 a new discovery ia the book-world! "Con- 
 spicuous leisure!" "Vicarious consumption of 
 goods!" "Oh, de-ah me, how que-ah!" exclaimed 
 Sylvia. 
 
 And what a flood of anecdotes it let loose; 
 A flood that bore us straight back to Castleman 
 Hall, and to all the scenes of her young ladyhood! 
 If only Lady Dee could have revised this book 
 of Veblen's — ^how many points she could have 
 given to him! No details had been too minute 
 for the technique of Sylvia's great-aimt — the 
 difference between the swish of the right kind 
 of silk petticoats and the wrong kind; and yet 
 her technique had been broad enough to take 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 63 
 
 in a landscape. "Every girl should have a 
 background," had been one of her maxims; so 
 Sylvia had had to have a special phaeton to drive, 
 a special horse to ride, special roses which no 
 one else was allowed to wear. 
 
 "Conspicuous expenditure of time," wrote 
 Veblen. It was curious, said Sylvia, but nobody 
 was free from this kind of vanity. There was 
 dear old Uncle Basil; a more godly bishop never 
 hved — and yet he had a foible for carving! In 
 his opinion the one certain test of a gentleman 
 was the ease with which he foimd the joints 
 of all kinds of meat; and he was in arms against 
 the modern tendency to turn such accompUsh- 
 ments over to butlers. He would hold forth 
 on the subject, illustrating his theories with an 
 elegant knife; and Sylvia remembered how her 
 father and the Chilton boys had wired up the 
 joints of a duck for the bishop to work on. In 
 the struggle the bishop had preserved his dignity, 
 but lost the duck; and the bishop's wife, being 
 also high-bom, and with a long line of traditions 
 behind her, had calmly continued the conversa- 
 tion while the butler removed the smoking duck 
 from her lap! 
 
 Such was the way of things at Castleman Hall! 
 The wild, care-free people — Uke half-grown chil- 
 dren, romping their way through life! There 
 was really nothing too crazy for them to do, 
 if the whim struck them. Once a visiting cousin 
 had ventured the remark that she saw no reason 
 why people should not eat rats; a barn-rat was 
 
64 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 clean in its person, and far choicer in its food 
 than a pig. Thereupon "Miss Margaret" had 
 secretly ordered the yard-man to secure a barn- 
 rat; she had had it broiled, and served in a dish 
 of squirrels, and had sat by and watched the 
 young lady enjoy it! And this, mind you, was 
 Mrs. Castleman of Castleman Hall — ^mother of 
 five children, and as stately a dame as ever led 
 the grand march at the Governor's inaugural 
 ball! "Major Castleman," she would say to 
 her husband, "you may take me into my bed- 
 room, and when you have locked the door 
 securely, you may spit upon me, if you wish; 
 but don't you dare even to imagine anything 
 undignified about me in pubUc!" 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 65 
 
 § 15 
 
 In course of time Sylvia and I became very 
 good friends. Proud as she was, she was lonely, 
 and in need of some one to open her eager mind 
 to. Who was there safer to trust than this plain 
 Western woman, who lived so far, both in reaUty 
 and in ideas, from the great world of fashion? 
 
 Before we parted she considered it necessary 
 to mention my relationship to this world. She 
 had a most acute social conscience. She knew 
 exactly what formaUties she owed to everyone, 
 just when she ought to call, and how long she 
 ought to stay, and what she ought to ask the 
 other person to do in retiun; she assumed that 
 the other knew it all exactly as well, and would 
 suffer if she failed in the shghtest degree. 
 
 So now she had to throw herself upon my 
 mercy. "You see," she explained, "my husband 
 wouldn't understand. I may be able to change 
 hiTn gradually, but if I shock him all at once " 
 
 "My dear Mrs. van Tuiver " I smiled. 
 
 "You can't really imagine!" she persisted. 
 "You see, he takes his social position so seriously! 
 And when you are conspicuous — ^when every- 
 body's talking about what you do — ^when every- 
 thing that's the least bit unusual is magni- 
 fied " 
 
 "My dear girl!" I broke in again. "Stop a 
 moment and let me talk!" 
 
66 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "But I'd hate to have you think- 
 
 " Don't worry about my thoughts! They are 
 most happy ones. You must understand that a 
 Socialist caimot feel about such things as you 
 do; we work out our economic interpretation of 
 them, and after that they are simply so much 
 data to us. I might meet one of your great 
 friends, and she might snub me; but I would 
 never think she had snubbed me — ^it would be 
 my Western accent, and my forty-cent hat, and 
 things like that which had put me in a class in 
 her mind. My real self nobody can snub — cer- 
 tainly not imtil they've got at it." 
 
 "Ah!" said Sylvia, with shining eyes. "You 
 have your own kind of aristocracy, I see!" 
 
 "What I want," I said, "is you. I'm an old 
 hen whose chickens have grown up and left her, 
 and I want something to mother. Your wonder- 
 ful social world is just a bother to me, because it 
 keeps me from gathering you into my arms as 
 I'd like to. So what you do is to think of some 
 r61e for me to play, so that I can come to see 
 you; let me be advising you about yoiu" pro- 
 posed day-nxuBery, .or let me be a tutor of some- 
 thing, or a nice, respectable sewing-woman who 
 dams the toes of your silk stockings!" 
 
 She laughed. "If you suppose that I'm 
 allowed to wear my stockings imtil they have 
 holes in theni, you don't understand the per- 
 quisites of maids." She thought a moment, and 
 tiien added, "You might come to trim hats far 
 me." 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 67 
 
 By that I knew that we were really friends. 
 If it does not seem to you a bold thing for Sylvia 
 to have made a joke about my hat, it is only 
 because you do not yet know her. I have 
 referred to her money-consciousness and her 
 social-consciousness; I would be ideaUzing her 
 if I did not refer to another aspect of her which 
 appalled me when I came to realize it — ^her 
 clothes-consciousness. She knew every variety 
 of fabric and every shade of color and every style 
 of design that ever had been delivered of the 
 frenzied sartorial unagrnation. She had been 
 trained in all the infinite minutiae which dis- 
 tinguish the right from the almost right; she 
 would sweep a human being at one glance, and 
 stick him in a pigeon-hole of her mind forever — 
 because of his clothes. When later on she had 
 come to be conscious of this clothes-consciousness, 
 she told me that ninety-nine times out of a him- 
 dred she had found this method of appraisal 
 adequate for the purposes of society life. What a 
 curious comment upon our civilization — that all 
 that people have to ask of one another, all they 
 have to give to one another, should be expressible 
 in terms of clothes! 
 
68 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 16 
 
 I HAD set out to educate Mrs. Douglas van 
 Tuiver in the things I thought she needed to 
 know. A part of my program was to find 
 some people of modern sympathies whom she 
 might meet without offense to her old prejudices. 
 The first person I thought of was Mrs. Jessie 
 Frothingham, who was the head of a fashionable 
 girls' school just around the comer from Miss 
 Abercrombie's, where Sylvia herself had received 
 the finishing touch. Mrs. Frothingham's was as 
 exclusive and expensive a school as the most 
 proper person could demand; and great was 
 Sylvia's consternation when I told her that its 
 principal was a member of the Socialist party, 
 and made no bones about speaking in pubhc for 
 us. 
 
 How in the world did she manage it? For one 
 thing, I answered, she ran a good school — ^nobody 
 had ever been heard to deny that. For another, 
 she was an irresistibly serene and healthy person, 
 who would look one of her milUonaire "Papas" 
 in the eye and tell him what was what with so 
 much decision — it would suddenly occur to the 
 great man that if his daughter could be made 
 into so capable a woman, he would not care what 
 ticket she might vote. 
 
 Then, too, it was testimony to the headway we 
 are making; that we are ceasing to be dangerous, 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 69 
 
 and getting to be picturesque. In these days of 
 strenuous social competition, when Manunas are 
 almost at their wits' end for some new device, 
 when it costs incredible svuns to make no impres- 
 sion at all — ^here was offered a new and inex- 
 pensive way of being unique. There could be no 
 question that men were getting to like serious 
 women; the most amazing subjects were coming 
 up at dinner-parties, and you might hear the 
 best people speak disrespectfully of their own 
 money. Which means that the new Revolution 
 will have — ^not merely its "Egalit6 Orleans", but 
 also some of the ladies of his family! 
 
 I telephoned from Sylvia's house to Mrs. 
 Frothingham, who answered, "Wouldn't you like 
 Mrs. van Tuiver to hear a speech? I am to 
 speak next week at the noon-day Wall Street 
 meeting." I passed the question on, and Sylvia 
 answered with an exclamation of deUght. Would 
 a small boy like to attend a circus! 
 
 It was arranged that Sylvia was to take us in 
 her car. You may picture me with my grand 
 friends — an old speckled hen in the company of 
 two golden pheasants. I kept very quiet and let 
 them get acquainted — ^knowing that my cause was 
 safe in the hands of one so perfectly tailored as 
 Mrs. Frothingham. 
 
 Sylvia expressed her delight at the idea of hear- 
 ing a Socialist speech, and her amazement that 
 the head of Mrs. Frothingham's should be so 
 courageous; and meantime we threaded our way 
 through the tangle of trucks and surface-cars on 
 
70 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 Broadway, and came to the comer of Wall Street. 
 Here Mrs. Frothingham said she would get out 
 and walk; it was quite likely that some one might 
 recognize Mrs, Douglas van Tuiver, and she ought 
 not to be seen arriving with the speaker. Sylvia, 
 who would not willingly have committed a breach 
 of etiquette towards a bomb-throwing Anarchist, 
 protested at this; but Mrs. Frothingham laughed 
 good-naturedly, saying that it would be time 
 enough for Mrs. van Tuiver to commit herself 
 when she knew what she beUeved. 
 
 The speaking was to be from the steps of the 
 Sub-treasury. We made a ditour, and came up 
 Broad Street, stopping a little way from the cor- 
 ner. These meetings had been held all through 
 the summer and fall, so that people had learned 
 to expect them; although it lacked some minutes 
 of noon, there was already a crowd gathered. A 
 group of men stood upon the broad steps, one 
 with a red banner, and several others with arm- 
 fuls of pamphlets and books. With them was our 
 friend, who looked at us and smiled, but gave 
 no other sign of recognition. 
 
 Sylvia pushed back the collar of her sable coat, 
 and sat erect in her shining blue velvet, her eyes 
 and her golden hair shining beneath the small 
 brim of a soft velvet hat. As she gazed eagerly 
 at the busy throngs of men hurrying about 
 this busy comer, she whispered to me, "I haven't 
 been so excited since my ddbiU party!" 
 
 The crowd increased, imtil it was difficult to 
 get through WaU Street. The beU of Old Trinity 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 71 
 
 was tolling the hour of noon, and the meeting was 
 about to begin — ^when suddenly I heard an excla- 
 mation from Sylvia, and turning, saw a well-dressed 
 man pushing his way from the office of Morgan 
 & Company towards us. Sylvia clutched my hand 
 where it lay on the seat of the car, and half gasped, 
 "My husband!" 
 
72 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 17 
 
 Of course I had been anxious to see Douglas 
 van Tuiver. I had heard Claire Lepage's account 
 of him, and Sylvia's; also I had seen pictures of 
 him in the newspapers, and had studied them with 
 some care, trying to imagine what sort of person- 
 age he might be. I knew that he was twenty- 
 four; but the man who came towards us I woiild 
 have taken to be forty. His face was sombre, 
 with large features and strongly marked lines 
 about the mouth; he was tall and thin, and 
 moved with decision, betraying no emotion even 
 in this moment of surprise. "What are you doing 
 here?" were his first words. 
 
 For my part, I was badly "rattled" ; I knew by 
 the clutch of Sylvia's hand that she was too. 
 But here I got a lesson in the nature of "social 
 training". Some of the bright color had faded 
 from her face, but she spoke with the utmost 
 coolness, the words coming naturally and simply: 
 "We can't get through the crowd." And at the 
 same time she looked about her, as much as to 
 say: "You can see for yom-self." (One of the 
 maxims of Lady Dee bad set forth that a lady 
 never told a he if she could avoid it.) 
 
 Sylvia's husband looked about, saying, "Why 
 don't you call an officer?" He started to foUow 
 his own suggestion, and I thought then that 
 my friend would miss her meeting. But she had 
 more nerve than I imagined. 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 73 
 
 "No," she said. "Please don't." 
 
 "Why not?" Still there was no emotion in the 
 cold, grey eyes. 
 
 "Because — I think there's something going on." 
 
 "What of that?" 
 
 "I'm not in a hurry, and I'd like to see." 
 
 He stood for a moment, looking at the crowd. 
 Mrs. Frothingham had come forward, evidently 
 intending to speak. "What is this, Ferris?" 
 he demanded, of the chauffem-. 
 
 "I'm not sm-e, sir," said the man. "I think 
 it's a Socialist meeting." (He was, of course, not 
 missing the little comedy. I wondered what he 
 thought!) 
 
 "A SociaUst meeting?" said van Tuiver; then 
 to his wife, "You don't want to stay for that!" 
 
 Again Sylvia astonished me, "I'd like to, very 
 much," she answered, simply. 
 
 He made no reply. I saw him stare at her, 
 and then I saw his glance take me in. I sat in a 
 corner, as inconspicuous as I could make myself. 
 I wondered whether I was a sempstress or a 
 tutor, and whether either of these functionaries 
 were introduced, and whether they shook hands 
 or not. 
 
 Mrs. Frotiiingham had taken her stand at the 
 base of Washington's statue. Had she by any 
 chance identified the tall and immaculate gentle- 
 man who stood beside the automobile? Before 
 she had said three sentences I made sure that she 
 had done so; and I was appalled at her audacity. 
 
 "Fellow citizens," she began — "fellow 
 
74 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 buccaneers of Wall Street." And when the mild 
 laughter had subsided, "What I have to say is 
 going to be addressed to one individual among 
 you— the American millionaire. I assimie there 
 is one present — ^if no actual millionaire, then surely 
 several who are destined to be, and not less than a 
 thousand who aspire to be. So hear me, Mr. 
 Milhonaire." This with a smile, which gave you 
 a sense of her reserve-fund of energy and good 
 hmnor. She had the crowd with her from the 
 start — all but one. I stole a glance at the milhon- 
 aire, and saw that he was not smiling. 
 
 "Won't you get in?" asked his wife; and he 
 answered, coldly, "No. I'll wait till you've had 
 enough." 
 
 "Last summer I had a curious experience," 
 said the speaker. "I was a guest at a tennis- 
 match, played upon the grounds of a State insane 
 asylum, the players being the doctors of the insti- 
 tution. Here, on a beautiful sunshiny afternoon, 
 were ladies and gentlemen clad in festive white, 
 enjoying a hohday — ^while in the background stood 
 a frowning building with iron-barred gates and 
 windows, from which one heard now and then the 
 bowlings of maniacs. Some of the less unf ortimate 
 of these victims of fate had been let loose, and 
 while we played tennis, they chased the balls. 
 All afternoon, while I sipped tea and chatted 
 and watched the games, I said to myself, 'Here 
 is the most perfect simile of our civiUzation that 
 has ever come to me! Some people wear white 
 and play tennis aU day, while other people chase 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 75 
 
 the balls, of howl in dungeons in the background!' 
 And that is the problem I wish to put before my 
 American millionaire — the problem of what I wiU 
 call our lunatic-asylum stage of civilization. Mind 
 you, this condition is all very well, so long as we 
 can say that the limatics are incurable — that there 
 is nothing we can do but shut om* ears to their 
 howling, and go ahead with our tennis. But 
 suppose the idea were to dawn upon us that it 
 is only because we play tennis all day that the 
 limatic asylum is crowded — then might not the 
 howls grow unendurable to us, and the game lose 
 its charm?" 
 
 Stealing glances about me, I saw that several 
 people were watching the forty-or-fifty-times-over 
 milhonaire; they had evidently recognized him, 
 and were enjoying the joke. "Haven't you had 
 enough of this?" he suddenly demanded, of his 
 wife; and she answered, guilelessly, "No, let's 
 wait. I'm interested." 
 
 "Now, listen to me, Mr. American Milhonaire," 
 the speaker was contiauing. "You are the one 
 who plays tennis; and we, who chase the balls 
 for you — ^we are the lunatics. And my purpose 
 today is to prove to you that it is only because 
 you play tennis all the day that we have to chase 
 balls all the day; and to tell you that some time 
 soon we are going to cease to be lunatics, and that 
 then you will have to chase your own balls! 
 And don't, in your amusement over this illustra- 
 tion, lose sight of the serious nature of what I 
 am talking about — ^the horrible economic lunacy 
 
76 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 which is known as poverty, and which is respon- 
 sible for most of the evils we have in this world 
 today — ^for crime and prostitution, suicide, insan- 
 ity and war. My purpose is to show you — ^not 
 by any guess of mine, or any appeals to your faith, 
 but by cold business facts which can be understood 
 in Wall Street, that this economic limacy is one 
 which can be cured; that we have the remedy in 
 our hands, and lack nothing but the intelligence 
 to apply it." 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 77 
 
 § 18 
 
 I DO not want to bore you with a Socialist 
 speech. I only want to give you an idea of the 
 trap into which Mr. Douglas van Tuiver had been 
 drawn. He stood there, rigidly aloof while the 
 speaker went on to explain the basic facts of 
 wealth-production in modem society. She quoted 
 from Kropotkin — "'Fields, Factories and Work- 
 shops,' on sale at this meeting for a quarter!" 
 — showing how by modern intensive farming — 
 no matter of theory, but methods which were in 
 commercial use in himdreds of places — ^it would 
 be possible to feed the entire population of the 
 globe from the soil of the British Isles alone. 
 She showed by the bulletins of the United States 
 government how the machine process had increased 
 the productive power of the individual laborer 
 ten, twenty, a himdred fold. So vast was man's 
 power of producing wealth today — ^and yet the 
 laborer Hved in dire want just as in the days of 
 crude hand-industry! 
 
 So she came back to her millionaire, upon whom 
 this evil rested. He was the master of the machine, 
 for whose profit the laborer had to produce. He 
 could only employ the laborer to produce what 
 could be sold at a profit; and so the stream of 
 prosperity was choked at its source. "It is you, 
 Mr. Millionaire, who are to blame for poverty; 
 it is because so many miUions of dollars must 
 
78 SYLVIA'S I^IARRIAGE 
 
 be paid to you in profits that so many millions 
 of men must live in want. In other words, pre- 
 cisely as I declared at the outset, it is your playing 
 tennis which is responsible for the lunatics chas- 
 ing the balls!" 
 
 I wish that I might give some sense of the 
 speaker's mastery of this situation, and the extent 
 to which she had communicated her good-humor 
 to the crowd. You heard ripple after ripple of 
 laughter, you saw everywhere about you eager 
 faces, following every turn of the ai^innent. No 
 one could resist the contagion of interest — save 
 only the American miUionaire! He stood impas- 
 sive, never once smiling, never once betraying 
 a trace of feeling. Venturing to watch him more 
 closely, however, I could see the stem lines deepen- 
 ing about his mouth, and his long, lean face grow- 
 ing more set. 
 
 The speaker had outlined the remedy — a change 
 from the system of production for profit to one of 
 production for use. She went on to explain how 
 the change was coming; the lunatic-classes were 
 beginning to doubt the divine nature of the 
 rules of the asylimi, and they were preparing to 
 mutiny, and take possession of the place. And 
 here I saw that Sylvia's hiisband had reached his 
 Umit. He turned to her. "Haven't you had 
 enou^ of this?" 
 
 "Why, no," she began. "If you don't 
 mind " 
 
 "I do mind very much," he said, abruptly. 
 "I think you are committing a breach of taste 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 79 
 
 to stay here, and I would be greatly obliged if you 
 would leave." 
 
 And without really waiting for Sylvia's reply 
 he directed, "Back out of here, Ferris." 
 
 The chauffeur cranked up, and sounded his 
 horn — ^which naturally had the effect of disturbing 
 the meeting. People supposed we were going 
 to try to get through the crowd ahead — and there 
 was no place where anyone could move. But 
 van Tuiver went to the rear of the car, saying, in 
 a voice of quiet authority: "A httle room here, 
 please." And so, foot by foot, we backed away 
 from the meeting, and when we had got clear of 
 the throng, the master of the car stepped in, and 
 we turned and made our way down Broad Street. 
 
 And now I was to get a lesson in the aristocratic 
 ideal. Of course van Tuiver was angry; I beUeve 
 he even siispected his wife of having known of the 
 meeting. I supposed he woidd ask some ques- 
 tions; I supposed that at least he would express 
 his opinion of the speech, his disgust that a woman 
 of education should make such a spectacle of her- 
 self. Such husbands as I had been familiar with 
 had never hesitated to vent their feelings under 
 such circmnstances. But from Douglas van 
 Tuiver there came — ^not a word ! He sat, perfectly 
 straight, staring before him, like a sphinx; and 
 Sylvia, after one or two swift glances at him, began 
 to gossip cheerfully about her plans for the day- 
 nursery for working-women! 
 
 So for a few blocks, until suddenly she leaned 
 forward. "Stop here, Ferris." And then, turn- 
 
80 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 ing to me, "Here is the American Trust Com- 
 pany." 
 
 "The American Trust Company?" I echoed, 
 in my dumb stupidity. 
 
 "Yes — that is where the check is payable," 
 said Sylvia, and gave me a pinch. 
 
 And so I comprehended, and gathered up my 
 belongings and got out. She shook my hand 
 warmly, and her husband raised his hat in a very 
 formal salute, after which the car sped on up the 
 street. I stood staring after it, in somewhat the 
 state of mind of any humble rustic who may have 
 been present when Ehjah was borne into the 
 heavens by the chariot of fire! 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 81 
 
 § 19 
 
 Sylvia had been something less than polite 
 to me ; and so I had not been home more than an 
 hour before there came a messenger-boy with a 
 note. By way of reassming her, I promised to 
 come to see her the next morning; and when I 
 did, and saw her lovely face so full of concern, 
 I forgot entirely her worldly greatness, and did 
 what I had longed to do from the beginning- 
 put my arms about her and kissed her. 
 
 "My dear girl," I protested, "I don't want 
 to be a bxirden in your life — I want to help 
 you!" 
 
 "But," she exclaimed, "what must you have 
 thought " 
 
 "I thought I had made a lucky escape!" I 
 laughed. 
 
 She was proud — ^proud as an Indian ; it was hard 
 for her to make admissions about her husband. 
 But then— we were hke two errant school-girls, 
 who had been caught in an escapade! "I don't 
 know what I'm going to do about him," she said, 
 with a wry smile. "He really won't Usten — I 
 can't make any impression on him." 
 
 "Did he guess that you'd come there on pur- 
 pose?" I asked. 
 
 "I told him," she answered. 
 
 "Yon told himV 
 
 "I'd meant to keep it secret — ^I wouldn't have 
 
82 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 minded telling him a fib about a little thing. 
 But he made it so very serious!" 
 
 I could understand that it must have been 
 serious after the telling. I waited for her to add 
 what news she chose. 
 
 "It seems," she said, "that my husband has a 
 cousin, a pupil at Mrs. Frothingham's. You 
 can imagine!" 
 
 "I can imagine Mrs. Frothingham may lose 
 a pupil." 
 
 "No — ^my husband says his Uncle Archibald 
 always was a fool. But how can anyone be so 
 narrow! He seemed to take Mrs. Frothingham 
 as a personal affront." 
 
 This was the most definite bit of vexation 
 against her husband that she had ever let me see. 
 I decided to turn it into a jest. "Mrs. Frothing- 
 ham will be glad to know she was understood," 
 I said. 
 
 "But seriously — ^why can't men have open minds 
 about politics and money?" She went on, in a 
 worried voice. "I knew he was like this when I 
 met him at Harvard. He was living in his own 
 house, aloof from the poorer men — the men who 
 were most worth while, it seemed to me. And 
 when I told him of the bad effect he was having 
 on these men, and on his own character as well, 
 he said he would do whatever I asked — he even 
 gave up his house and went to live in a dormitory. 
 So I thought I had some influence on him. But 
 now, here is the same thing again — only I find 
 that one can't take a stand against one's husband. 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 83 
 
 At least, he doesn't admit the right." She 
 hesitated. "It doesn't seem loyal to talk about 
 it." 
 
 "My dear girl," I said, with an impulse of can- 
 dor, "there isn't much you can tell me about 
 that problem. My own marriage went to pieces 
 on that rock." 
 
 I saw a look of surprise upon her face. "I 
 haven't told you my story yet," I said. "Some 
 day I will — ^when you feel you know me well 
 enough for us to exchange confidences." 
 
 There was more than a hint of invitation in 
 this. After a silence, she said, "One's instinct 
 is to hide one's troubles." 
 
 "Sylvia," I answered, "let me tell you about 
 us. You must reaUze that you've been a wonder- 
 ful person to me; you belong to a world I never 
 had anything to do with, and never expected to 
 get a glimpse of. It's the wickedness of our 
 class-civiUzation that hiunan beings can't be just 
 human beings to each other — a king can hardly 
 have a friend. Even after I've overcome the 
 impulse I have to be awed by your luxury and your 
 grandness, I'm conscious of the fact that everybody 
 else is awed by them. If I so much as mention 
 that I've met you, I see people start and stare at 
 me — ^instantly I become a personage. It makes 
 me angry, because I want to know you." 
 
 She was gazing at me, not sayiag a word. I 
 went on: "I'd never have thought it possible 
 for anyone to be in your position, and be real and 
 straight and human; but I reaUze that you have 
 
84 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 managed to work that miracle. So I want to love 
 you and help you — ^in every way I know how. 
 But you must imderstand, I can't ask for your 
 confidence, as I could for any other woman's. 
 There is too much vulgar curiosity about the 
 rich and great — and I can't pretend to be unaware 
 of that hatefulness, I can't help shrinking from it. 
 So all I can say is — ^if you need me, if you ever 
 need a real friend, why, here I am; you may be 
 sure I understand, and won't teU your secrets to 
 anyone else." 
 
 With a Uttle mist of tears in her eyes, Sylvia 
 put out her hand and touched mine. And so we 
 went into a chamber alone together, and shut the 
 cold and suspicious world outside. 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 85 
 
 § 20 
 
 We knew each other well enough now to dis- 
 cuss the topic which has been the favorite 
 of women since we sat in the doorways of caves, 
 and pounded wild graia in stone naortars: the 
 question of our lords, who had gone hunting, 
 and who might be pleased to beat us on their 
 return. I learned all that Sylvia had been 
 taught on the subject of the male animal; I opened 
 that amazing unwritten volume of woman tradi- 
 tions, the maxims of Lady Dee Lysle. 
 
 Sylvia's maternal great-aimt had been a great 
 lady out of a great age — and incidentally a grim 
 and grizzled veteran of the sex-war. Her philos- 
 ophy started from a recognition of the physical 
 and economic inferiority of woman, as complete 
 as any window-smashing suffragette could have 
 formulated; but her remedy for it was a purely 
 individualist one, the leisure-class woman's skill 
 in trading upon her sex. Lady Dee did not use 
 that word, of course — she would as soon have 
 talked of her esophagus. Her formula was 
 "charm"; and she had taught Sylvia that the 
 preservation of "charm" was the end of woman's 
 existence, the thing by which she remained a 
 lady, and without which she was more contempt- 
 ible than the beasts. 
 
 She had taught this, not merely by example 
 and casual anecdote, but by precepts as solemnly 
 
86 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 expounded as Bible-texts. "Remember, my dear, 
 a woman with a husband is Hke a lion-tamer 
 with a whip!" And the old lady woxild explain 
 what a hard and dangerous Ufe was lived by 
 Uon-tamers, how their safety depended upon life- 
 long distrustfulness of the creatiu-es over whom 
 they ruled. She would teU stories of the rending 
 and maiming of luckless ones, who had forgotten 
 for a brief moment the nature of the male animal! 
 "Yes, my dear," she would say, "beUeve in love; 
 but let the man believe first." Her Tnayims 
 never sumed by verbosity. 
 
 The end of all this was not merely food and 
 shelter, a home and children; it was the suprem- 
 acy of a sex, its abiUty to shape life to its whim. 
 By means of this magic "charm" — a sort of 
 perpetual individual sex-strike — a woman turned 
 her handicaps into advantages and her chains 
 into oruaments; she made herself a rare and 
 wonderful creature, up to whom men gazed in 
 awe. It was "romantic love" — ^but preserved 
 throughout life, instead of ceasing with courtship. 
 
 All the Castleman women understood these 
 arts, and employed them. There was Aunt 
 Nannie; when she cracked her whip the dear 
 old bishop-Uon would jmnp as if he had been 
 shot! Did not the whole State know the story 
 of how once he had been called upon at a ban- 
 quet, and had risen and remarked, "Ladies and 
 gentlemen, I had intended to make a speech 
 to you this evening, but I see that my \dfe is 
 present, so I must beg you to excuse me." The 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 87 
 
 audience roared, and Aunt Nannie was furious; 
 but poor dear Bishop Chilton had spoken but 
 the literal truth, that he coiild not spread the 
 wings of his eloquence in the presence of his 
 "better half". 
 
 And with Major Castleman, though it seemed 
 different, it was really the same. Sylvia's mother 
 had let herself get stout — ^which seemed a dan- 
 gerous mark of confidence in the male animal. 
 But the Major was fifteen years older than his 
 wife, and she had a weak heart with which to 
 intimidate him. Now and then the wilfulness of 
 Castleman Lysle would become imendurable in 
 the house, and his father would seize him and 
 turn him over his knee. His screams would 
 bring "Miss Margaret" flying to the rescue: 
 "Major Castleman, how dare you spank one of 
 my children?" And she would seize the boy 
 and march off in terrible haughtiness, and lock 
 herself and her child in her room; and for hours 
 afterwards the poor Major would wander about 
 the house, suffering the loneliness of the guilty 
 soul. You would hear him, tapping gently at 
 his lady's door. "Honey! Honey! are you mad 
 with me?" "Major Castleman," the stately 
 answer would come, "will you oblige me by 
 leaving one room in this house to which I may 
 retire?" 
 
88 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 21 
 
 I WOULD give you a wrong idea of Sylvia if 
 I did not make clear that along with this sophisti- 
 cation as to the play-aspects of sex, there went 
 the most incredible ignorance as to its practical 
 reahties. In my arguments I had thought to 
 appeal to her by referring to that feature of 
 wage-slavery which more than even child-labor 
 stirs the moral sense of women; but to my utter 
 consternation I discovered that here was a woman 
 nearly a year married who did not know what 
 prostitution was. A suspicion had begun to 
 dawn upon her, and she asked me, timidly — 
 Could it be possible that that intimacy which 
 was given in marriage could become a thing of 
 barter in the market-place? When I told her 
 the truth, I foimd her horror so great that it 
 was impossible to go on talking economics. How 
 could I say that women were driven to such 
 things by poverty? Surely a woman who was 
 not bad at heart would starve, before she would 
 sell her body to a man! 
 
 Perhaps I should have been more patient 
 with her; but I am bitter on these subjects. 
 "My dear Mrs. van Tuiver," I said, "there is a 
 lot of nonsense talked about this matter. There 
 is very Uttle sex-life for women without a money- 
 price made clear in advance." 
 
 "I don't understand," she said. 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 89 
 
 "I don't know about your case," I replied; 
 "but when I married, it was because I was 
 unhappy, and wanted a home of my own. And 
 if the truth were told, that is why most women 
 marry." 
 
 "But what has that to do with it?" she cried. 
 She really did not see! 
 
 "What is the difference — except that such 
 women stand out for a maintenance, while the 
 prostitute takes cash?" I saw that I had shocked 
 her; and I said, "You must be humble about 
 these things, because you have never been poor, 
 and you cannot judge those who have been. 
 But siu-ely you must have known worldly women, 
 who married rich men for their money. And 
 surely you admit that that is prostitution!" 
 
 She fell suddenly silent, and I saw what I had 
 done; and — ^no doubt you will say I should 
 have been ashamed of myself. But when one 
 has seen as much of misery and injustice as I 
 have, one can not be so patient with the fine 
 artificial dehcacies and sentimentahties of the 
 idle rich. I went ahead to tell her some stories, 
 showing her what poverty actually meant to 
 women. 
 
 Then, as she remained silent, I asked her how 
 she had managed to remain so ignorant. Surely 
 she must have met with the word "prostitution" 
 in books; she must have heard allusions to the 
 ' ' demi-monde " — 
 
 "Of course," she said. "I used to see con- 
 spicuous-looking women at the race-track in New 
 
90 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 Orleans; I've sat near them in restaurants, I've 
 known by my mother's looks and her agitation 
 that they must be bad women. But you see, 
 I didn't know what it meant — I had nothing 
 but a vague feeling of something dreadful." 
 
 I smiled. "Then Lady Dee did not teU you 
 everything about the possibihties of her system 
 of 'charm'." 
 
 "No," said Sylvia. "Evidently she didn't!" 
 She sat staring at me, trying to get up the cowc- 
 age to go on with this plain speaking. 
 
 And at last the courage came. "I think it is 
 wrong," she exclaimed. "Girls ought not to be 
 kept so ignorant! They ought to know what 
 such things mean. Why, I didn't even know 
 what marriage meant!" 
 
 "Can that be true?" I asked. 
 
 "All my life I had thought of marriage, in a 
 way; I had been trained to think of it with 
 every eligible man I met — ^but to me it meant 
 a home, a place of my own to entertain people 
 in. I pictm-ed myself going driving with my 
 husband, giving dinner-parties to his friends. 
 I knew I'd have to let him kiss me, but beyond 
 that — ^I had a vague idea of somethiag, but I 
 didn't think. I had been deliberately trained 
 not to let myself think — ^to run away from every 
 image that came to me. And I went on dream- 
 ing of what I'd wear, and how I'd greet my hus- 
 band when he came home in the evening." 
 
 "Didn't you think about children?" 
 
 "Yes — but I thought of the children. I thought 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 91 
 
 what they'd look like, and how they'd talk, and 
 how I'd love them. I don't know if many young 
 girls shut their minds up like that." 
 
 She was speaking with agitation; and I was 
 gazing into her eyes, reading more than she 
 knew I was reading. I was nearer to solving 
 the problem that had been baffling me! And 
 I wanted to take her hands in mine, and say, 
 "You would never have married him if you'd 
 understood!" 
 
92 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 22 
 
 Stlvia thought she ought to have been taught; 
 but when she came to think of it, she was unable 
 to suggest who could have done the teaching. 
 "Your mother?" I asked; and she had to laugh, 
 in spite of the seriousness of her mood. "Poor 
 dear Mamma! When they sent me up here to 
 boarding school, she took me off and tried to 
 tell me not to listen to vulgar talk from the 
 girls. She managed to make it clear that I 
 mustn't listen to something — and I managed not 
 to listen. I'm sure that even now she would 
 rather have her tongue cut out than talk to me 
 about such things." 
 
 "I talked to my children," I assured her. 
 
 "And you didn't feel embarrassed?" 
 
 "I did in the banning — ^I had the same 
 shrinkings to overcome. But I had a tragedy 
 behind me to push me on." 
 
 I told her the story of my nephew, a shy and 
 sensitive lad, who used to come to me for con- 
 solation, and became as dear to me as my own 
 children. When he was seventeen he grew 
 moody and despondent; he ran away from home 
 for six months and more, then returned and 
 was forgiven — but that seemed to make no dif- 
 ference. One night he came to see me, and I 
 tried hard to get him to tell me what was wrong. 
 He wouldn't, but went away; and several hours 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 93 
 
 later I found a letter he had shoved under the 
 table-cloth. I read it, and rushed out and 
 hitched up a horse and drove like mad to my 
 brother-in-law's; but I got there too late — ^the 
 poor boy had taken a shot-gun to his room, and 
 put the muzzle into his mouth, and set off the 
 trigger with his foot. In the letter he told me 
 what was the matter — ^he had got into trouble 
 with a woman of the town, and had caught 
 syphilis. He had gone away and tried to get 
 cured, but had fallen into the hands of a quack, 
 who had taken all his money and left his health 
 worse than ever; so in despair and shame the 
 poor boy had shot his head off. 
 
 I paused, uncertain if Sylvia would understand 
 the story. "Do you know what syphiUs is?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "I suppose — I have heard of what we call a 
 'bad disease'," she said. 
 
 "It's a very bad disease. But if the words 
 convey to you that it's a disease that bad people 
 get, I should teU you that most men take the 
 chance of getting it; and yet they are cruel 
 enough to despise those upon whom the ill-luck 
 falls. My poor nephew had been utterly igno- 
 rant — I found that out from his father, too late. 
 An instinct had awakened in him of which he 
 knew absolutely nothing; his companions had 
 taught him what it meant, and he had followed 
 their lead. And then had come the horror and 
 the shame — and some vile, ignorant wretch to 
 trade upon it, and cast the boy off when he was 
 
94 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 penniless. So he had come home again, with 
 his gnawing secret. I pictured him wandering 
 about, trying to make up his mind to confide 
 in me, wavering between that and the horrible 
 deed he did." 
 
 I stopped, because even to this day I cannot 
 tell the story without tears. I cannot keep a 
 picture of the boy in my room, because of the 
 self-reproaches that haunt me. "You can under- 
 stand," I said to Sylvia, "I could never forget 
 such a lesson. I swore a vow over the poor 
 lad's body, that I would never let a boy or girl 
 that I could reach go out in ignorance into the 
 world. I read up on the subject, and for a while 
 I was a sort of fanatic — ^I made people talk, yoimg 
 people and old people. I broke down the taboos 
 wherever I went; and while I shocked a good 
 many, I knew that I helped a good many more." 
 
 All that was of com^e inconceivable to Sylvia. 
 How curious was the contrast of her one experi- 
 ence in the matter of venereal disease! She told 
 me how she had been instrumental in making a 
 match between her friend Harriet Atkinson and 
 a young scion of an ancient and haughty family 
 of Charleston; and how after the marriage her 
 friend's health had begun to give way — ^until now 
 she was an utter wreck, hving alone in a dilap- 
 idated ante-beUimi mansion, seeing no one but 
 negro-servants, and praying for death to reUeve 
 her of her misery. 
 
 "Of course, I don't reaUy know," said Sylvia. 
 "Perhaps it was this — ^this disease that you speak 
 
SYL\TA AS WIFE 95 
 
 of. None of my people would tell me — I doubt 
 if they reaUy know themselves. It was just 
 before my own wedding, so you can understand 
 it had a painful effect upon me. It happened 
 that I read something in a magazine, and I 
 thought that — that possibly my fianc^ — that 
 some one ought to ask him, you imderstand " 
 
 She stopped, and the blood was crimson in her 
 cheeks — ^with the memory of her old excitement, 
 and some fresh excitement added to it. There 
 are diseases of the mind, as well as of the body; 
 and one of them is called prudery. 
 
 "I can imderstand," I said. "It was certainly 
 your right to be reassured on such a point." 
 
 "WeU, I tried to talk to my Aimt Varina about 
 it; then I wrote to Uncle Basil, and asked him to 
 write to Douglas. At first he refused — ^he only 
 consented to do it when I threatened to go to 
 my father." 
 
 "What came of it in the end?" 
 
 "Why, my uncle wrote, and Douglas answered 
 very kindly that he understood, and that it was 
 aU right — I had nothing to fear. I never expected 
 to mention the incident to any one again." 
 
 "Lots of people have mentioned such things 
 to me," I responded, to reassure her. Then 
 after a pause : ' ' Tell me, how was it — ^if you didn't 
 know the meaning of marriage, how could you 
 connect the disease with it?" 
 
 She answered, gazdng with the wide-open, 
 innocent eyes: "I had no idea how people gave 
 it to each other. I thought maybe they got it 
 by MssiQg." 
 
96 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 I thought to myseK again, the horror of this 
 superstition of prudery! Can one think of any- 
 thing more destructive to life than the placing 
 of a taboo upon such matters? Here is the 
 whole of the futxire at stake — ^the health, the 
 sanity, the very existence of the race. And what 
 fiend has been able to contrive it that we feel 
 like criminals when we mention the subject? 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 97 
 
 § 23 
 
 Our intimacy progressed, and the time came 
 when Sylvia told me about her marriage. She 
 had accepted Douglas van Tuiver because she had 
 lost Frank Shirley, and her heart was broken. 
 She could never imagiae herself loving any other 
 man; and not knowing exactly what marriage 
 meant, it had been easier for her to think of her 
 family, and to follow their guidance. They had 
 told her that love would come; Douglas had im- 
 plored her to give him a chance to teach her to 
 love him. She had considered what she could 
 do with his money — ^both for her home-people 
 and for those she spoke of vaguely as "the poor". 
 But now she was making the discovery that she 
 could not do very much for these "poor". 
 
 "It isn't that my husband is mean," she said. 
 "On the contrary, the sUghtest hint will bring me 
 any worldly thing I want. I have homes La half 
 a dozen parts of America — I have carte blanche 
 to open accoimts in two hemispheres. If any of 
 my people need money I can get it; but if I want 
 it for myself, he asks me what I'm doing with it — 
 and so I run into the stone-wall of his ideas." 
 
 At first the colliding with this wall had merely 
 pained and bewildered her. But now the combina- 
 tion of Veblen and myself had helped her to realize 
 what it meant. Douglas van Tuiver spent his 
 money upon a definite system: whatever went to 
 
98 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 the maiatainiag of his social position, whatever 
 added to the glory, prestige and power of the 
 van Tuiver name — ^that money was well-spent; 
 while money spent to any other end was money 
 wasted — and this included all ideas and "causes". 
 And when the master of the house knew that his 
 money was being wasted, it troubled him, 
 
 "It wasn't until after I married him that I 
 realized how idle his life is," she remarked. "At 
 home aU the men have something to do, running 
 their plantations, or getting elected to some 
 office. But Douglas never does anything that I 
 can possibly think is iiseful." 
 
 His fortune was invested in New York City 
 real-estate, she went on to explain. There was 
 an office, with a small army of clerks and agents 
 to attend to it — a machine which had been built 
 up and handed on to him by his ancestors. It 
 sufficed if he dropped in for an hour or two once 
 a week when he was ia the city, and signed a 
 batch of documents now and then when he was 
 away. His life was spent in the company of 
 people whom the social system had similarly 
 deprived of duties; and they had, by generations 
 of experiment, built up for themselves a new set 
 of duties, a life which was wholly without relation- 
 ship to reality. Into this imreal existence Sylvia 
 had married, and it was like a current sweeping 
 her in its course. So long as she went with it, 
 aU was well; but let her try to catch hold of 
 something and stop, and it would tear her loose 
 and almost strangle her. 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 99 
 
 As time went on, she gave me strange glimpses 
 into this world. Her husband did not seem 
 really to enjoy its life. As Sylvia put it, "He 
 takes it for granted that he has to do all the 
 proper things that the proper people do. He 
 hates to be conspicuous, he says. I point out to 
 him that the proper things are nearly always 
 conspicuous, but he replies that to fail to do them 
 would be even more conspicuous." 
 
 It took me a long time to get really acquainted 
 with Sylvia, because of the extent to which this 
 world was clamoring for her. I used to drop in 
 when she phoned me she had haK an hour. I 
 woxild find her dressing for something, and she 
 would send her maid away, and we would talk 
 until she would be late for some function; and 
 that might be a serious matter, because somebody 
 would feel sUghted. She was always "on pins 
 and needles" over such questions of precedent; 
 it seemed as if everybody in her world must be 
 watching everybody else. There was a whole 
 elaborate science of how to treat the people you 
 met, so that they would not feel slighted — or so 
 that they would feel sUghted, according to circum- 
 stances. 
 
 To the enjoyment of such a life it was essential 
 that the person shoiild believe in it. Douglas 
 van Tuiver did believe in it; it was his reUgion, 
 the only one he had. (Churchman as he was, his 
 church was a part of the social routine.) He was 
 proud of Sylvia, and apparently satisfied when 
 he could take her at his side; and Sylvia went, 
 
100 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 because she was his wife, and that was what wives 
 were for. She had tried her best to be happy; 
 she had told herself that she was happy — ^yet 
 aU the time realizing that a woman who is really 
 happy does not have to tell herself. 
 
 EarUer in life she had quaffed and enjoyed the 
 wine of applause. I recollect vividly her telling 
 me of the lure her beauty had been to her — ^the 
 most terrible temptation that could come to a 
 woman. "I walk into a briUiant room, and I feel 
 the thrill of admiration that goes through the 
 crowd. I have a sudden sense of my own physical 
 perfection — a glow aU over me! I draw a deep 
 breath — I feel a surge of exaltation. I say, ' I am 
 victorious — ^I can command! I have this supreme 
 crown of womanly grace — I am aU-powerful with 
 it — ^the world is mine!' " 
 
 As she spoke, the rapture was in her voice; 
 and I looked at her — ^yes, she was beautiful! 
 The supreme crown was hers! 
 
 "I see other beautiful women," she went on — 
 and swift anger came into her voice. "I see what 
 they are doing with this power! Gratifying their 
 vanity — ^tiuuing men into slaves of their whim! 
 Squandering money upon empty pleasures — and 
 with the dreadful plague of poverty spreading in 
 the world! I used to go to my father, 'Oh, Papa, 
 why miist there be so many poor people? Why 
 should we have servants — ^why should they have 
 to wait on me, and I do nothing for them?' He 
 would try to explain to me that it was the way of 
 Nature. Mamma would tell me it was the will 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 101 
 
 of the Lord — 'The poor ye have always with you' 
 — ' Servants, obey your masters ' — and so on. But 
 in spite of the Bible texts, I felt guilty. And now 
 I come to Douglas with the same plea — and it 
 only makes him angry! He has been to college 
 and has a lot of scientific phrases — ^he tells me it's 
 'the struggle for existence,' 'the elimination of 
 the imfit' — and so on. I say to him, 'First we 
 make people imfit, and then we have to eliminate 
 them.' He cannot see why I do not accept what 
 learned people tell me — ^why I persist in question- 
 ing and suffering." 
 
 She paused, and then added, "It's as if he were 
 afraid I mi^t find out something he doesn't 
 want me to! He's made me give him a promise 
 that I won't see Mrs. Frothingham again!" And 
 she laughed. "I haven't told him about you!" 
 
 I answered, needless to say, that I hoped she 
 would keep the secret. 
 
102 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 24 
 
 All this time I was busy with my child-labor 
 work. We had an important bill before the legis- 
 lature that session, and I was doing what I could 
 to work up sentiment for it. I talked at every 
 gathering where I covAd get a hearing; I wrote 
 letters to newspapers, I sent Uterature to lists of 
 names. I racked my mind for new schemes — 
 and naturally, at such times, I could not help 
 thinking of Sylvia. How much she could do, 
 if only she would! 
 
 I spared no one, least of all myself; and so it 
 was not easy to spare her. The fact that I had 
 met her was the gossip of the office, and everybody 
 was waiting for something to happen. "How 
 about Mrs. van Tuiver?" my "chief" would ask, 
 at intervals. "If she would only go on our press- 
 committee!" my stenographer would sigh. 
 
 The time came when our bill was in committee, 
 a place of peril for bills. I went to Albany, to see 
 what could be done. I met haK a hundred legis- 
 lators, of whom perhaps half a dozen had some 
 human interest in my subject; the rest — ^well, it 
 was discouraging. Where was the force that 
 would stir them, make them forget their own 
 particular httle grafts, and serve the public welfare 
 in defiance to hostile interests? 
 
 Where was it? I came back to New York to 
 look for it, and after a blue luncheon with the 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 103 
 
 members of oiir committee, I came away with 
 my mind made up — I wo\ild sacrifice my Sylvia to 
 this desperate emergency. 
 
 I knew just what I had to do. So far she had 
 heard speeches about social wrongs, or read books 
 about them; she had never been face to face with 
 the reality of them. Now I persuaded her to 
 take a morning off, and see some of the sights of 
 the imderworld of toil. We foreswore the royal 
 car, and likemse the royal furs and velvets; she 
 garbed herself in plain appearing dark blue, and 
 we went downtown in the Subway, like common 
 mortals, visiting paper-box factories and flower- 
 factories, tenement-homes where whole families 
 sat pasting toys and gimcracks for fourteen and 
 sixteen hours a day, and still could not buy enough 
 food to make full-sized men and women of them. 
 
 She was Dante, and I was Virgil; our inferno 
 was an endless procession of tortured faces — 
 faces of women, haggard and mournful, faces of 
 httle children, starved and stunted, dulled and 
 dtmib. Several tim^s we stopped to talk with 
 these people — one, a little Jewish girl I knew whose 
 three tiny sisters had been roasted aUve in a sweat- 
 shop fire. This child had jumped from a fourth- 
 story window, and been miraculously caught by 
 a fireman. She said that some man had started 
 the fixe, and been caught, but the poUce had let 
 him get away. So I had to explain to Sylvia that 
 curious by-product of the profit-system known 
 as the "Arson Trust". Authorities estimated 
 that incendiarism was responsible for the destruc- 
 
104 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 tion of a quarter of a billion dollars worth of 
 property in America every year. So of course 
 the business of starting fires was a paying one, and 
 the "fire-bug", like the "cadet" and the "dive" 
 keeper, was a part of the "System". So it was 
 quite a possible £hing that the man who had biimed 
 up this li{tle girl's three sisters might have been 
 allowed to escape. 
 
 I happened to say this in the little girl's hearing, 
 and I saw her pitiful strained eyes fixed upon 
 Sylvia. Perhaps this lovely, soft-voiced lady was 
 a fairy god-mother, come to free her sisters from 
 an evil spell, and to pimish the wicked criminal! 
 I saw Sylvia txanx her head away, and search for 
 her handkerchief; as we groped our way down the 
 dark stairs, she caught my hand, whispering 
 "Oh, my God! my God!" 
 
 It had even more effect than I had intended; 
 not only did she say that she would do something 
 — ^anything that would be of use — ^but she told me 
 as we rode back home that her mind was made up 
 to stop the squandering of her husband's money. 
 He had been planning a costume-ball for a couple 
 of months later, an event which would keep the 
 van Tuiver name in condition — and woidd mean 
 that he and other people would spend many 
 hundreds of thousa^ads of dollars. As we rode 
 home in the roaring Subway, Sylvia sat beside 
 me, erect and tense, saying that if the ball were 
 given, it would be without the presence of the 
 hostess. 
 
 I struck while the iron was hot, and got her 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 105 
 
 permission to put her name upon our committee- 
 list. She said, moreover, that she would get some 
 free time, and be more than a mere name to us. 
 What were the duties of a member of our com- 
 mittee? 
 
 "First," I said, "to know the facts about child- 
 labor, as you have seen them today, and second, 
 to help other people to know." 
 
 "And how is that to be done?" 
 
 "Well, for instance, there is that hearing before 
 the legislative committee. You remember I 
 suggested that you appear." 
 
 "Yes," she said, in a low voice. I could almost 
 hear the words that were in her mind: "What 
 would he say?" 
 
106 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 25 
 
 Sylvia's name went upon our letter-heads and 
 other literature; and almost at once things began 
 to happen. In a day or two there came a reporter, 
 saying he had noticed her name. Was it true that 
 she had become interested in our work? Would I 
 please give him some particulars, as the pubUc 
 would naturally want to know. 
 
 I admitted that Mrs. van Tuiver had joined 
 the committee; she approved of our work and 
 desired to further it. That was all. He asked, 
 would she give an iaterview? And I answered 
 that I was siu"e she would not. Then would I 
 tell something about how she had come to be in- 
 terested in the work? It was a chance to assist 
 OUT propaganda, added the reporter, diplo- 
 matically. 
 
 I retired to another room, and got Sylvia upon 
 the phone. "The time has come for you to take 
 the plunge," I said. 
 
 "Oh, but I don't want to be in the papers!" 
 she cried. "Surely you wouldn't advise it!" 
 
 "I don't see how you can avoid having some- 
 thing appear. Your name is given out, and if 
 the man can't get anything else, he'll take our 
 Uterature, and write up your doings out of his 
 imagination." 
 
 "And they'll print my picture with it!" she 
 exclaimed. 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 107 
 
 I could not help laughing. "It's quite possible. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, what will my husband do? He'll say 'I 
 told you so!' " 
 
 It is a hard thing to have one's husband say 
 that — as I knew by bitter experience. But I did 
 not think that reason enough for giving up. 
 
 "Let me have time to think it over," said 
 Sylvia. "Get him to wait till tomorrow, and 
 meantime I can see you." 
 
 So it was arranged. I think I told Sylvia the 
 truth when I said that I had never before heard 
 of a conamittee-member who was unwilling to 
 have his purposes discussed in the newspapers. 
 To influence newspapers was one of the main 
 purposes of committees, and I did not see how she 
 could expect either editors or readers to take any 
 other view. 
 
 "Let me tell the man about your trip down- 
 town," I suggested. "Then I can go on to discuss 
 the bill, and how it bears on the evUs you saw. 
 Such a statement can't possibly do you harm." 
 
 She consented; but with the imderstanding 
 that she was not to be quoted directly. "And 
 don't let them make me picturesque!" she ex- 
 claimed. "That's what my husband seems most 
 to dread." 
 
 I wondered if he didn't think she was picturesque 
 when she sat in a splendid, shining coach, and took 
 part in a public parade through Central Park. 
 But I did not say this. I went off, and swore 
 my reporter to abstain from the "human touch"; 
 and he promised, and kept his word. There 
 
108 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 appeared next morning a dignified "write-up" 
 of Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver's interest in child- 
 labor reform. Quoting me, it described some of 
 the places she had visited, and some of the sights 
 which had shocked her; it went on to tell about 
 our committee and its work, the status of our biU 
 in the legislature, the need of activity on the part 
 of om* friends if the measure was to be forced 
 through at this session. It was a splendid "boost " 
 for our work, and everyone ia the office was id 
 raptures over it. The social revolution was at 
 hand, thought my yoimg stenographer. 
 
 But the trouble with this business of publicity 
 is that, however carefully you control your 
 interviewer, you cannot control the others who use 
 his material. The "afternoon men" came roimd 
 for more details, and they made it clear that it was 
 personal details they wanted. And when I side- 
 stepped their questions, they went off and made 
 up answers to suit themselves, and printed Sylvia's 
 pictures, together with photographs of child- 
 workers taken from our pamphlets. 
 
 I called Sylvia up while she was dressing for 
 dinner, to explain that I was not responsible for 
 any of this picturesqueness. "Oh, perhaps I am 
 to blame myself!" she exclaimed. "I think I 
 interviewed a reporter." 
 
 "How do you mean?" 
 
 "A woman sent up her card — she told the foot- 
 man she was a friend of mine. And I thought — 
 I couldn't be sure if I'd met her — so I went and 
 saw her. She said she'd met me at Mrs. Harold 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 109 
 
 Cliveden's; and she began to talk to me about 
 child-labor, and this and that plan she had, and 
 what did I think of them — and suddenly it flashed 
 over me, 'Maybe this is a reporter, playing a 
 trick on me!' " 
 
 I hiuried out before breakfast next morning 
 and got all the papers, to see what this enterprising 
 lady had done. There was nothing, so I reflected 
 that probably she had been a "Sunday" lady. 
 But then, when I reached my oflBce, the phone rang, 
 and I heard the voice of Sylvia. "Mary, some- 
 thing perfectly dreadful has happened!" 
 
 "What?" I cried. 
 
 "I can't tell you over the phone, but a certain 
 person is furiously angry. Can I see you if I come 
 down right away?" 
 
110 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 26 
 
 Such terrors as these were unguessed by me in 
 the days of my obscurity. Uneasy lies the head 
 that wears a crown — and mieasy, also, lies the 
 wife of that head, and the best friend of the wife. 
 I dismissed my stenographer, and spent ten or 
 fifteen restless minutes imtil Sylvia appeared. 
 
 Her story was quickly told. A couple of hours 
 ago the acting-manager of Mr. van Tuiver's 
 oflBce had telephoned to ask if he might call upon 
 a matter of importance. He had come. Nat- 
 urally, he had the most extreme reluctance to say 
 anything which might seem to criticize the 
 activities of Mr. van Tuiver's wife; but there was 
 something in the account ia the newspapers 
 which should be brought to her husband's atten- 
 tion. The articles gave the names and locations 
 of a mmiber of firms in whose factories it was 
 alleged that Mrs. van Tuiver had found imsatis- 
 factory conditions; and it happened that two of 
 these fij-ms were located in premises which 
 belonged to the van Tuiver Estates! 
 
 A story coming very close to melodrama, I 
 perceived. I sat, dismayed at what I had done. 
 "Of course, dear girl," I said, at last, "you 
 understand that I had no idea who owned these 
 buildings." 
 
 "Oh, don't say that!" exclaimed Sylvia. "I 
 am the one who should have known!" 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 111 
 
 Then for a long time I sat still and let her 
 suffer. "Tenement sweat-shops! Little children 
 in factories!" I heard her whisper. 
 
 At last I put my hand on hers. "I tried to 
 put it off for a while," I said. "But I knew it 
 would have to come." 
 
 "Think of me!" she exclaimed. "Going about 
 scolding other people for the way they make their 
 money! When I thought of my own, I had 
 visions of palatial hotels and office-buildings — 
 everything splendid and clean!" 
 
 "WeU, my dear, you've learned now, and you 
 win be able to do something " 
 
 She turned upon me suddenly, and for the first 
 time I saw ia her face the passions of tragedy. 
 "Do you believe I will be able to do anything? 
 No! Don't have any such idea!" 
 
 I was struck dumb. She got up and began to 
 pace the room. "Oh, don't make any mistake, 
 I've paid for my great marriage in the last hour 
 or two. To think that he cares about nothing 
 save the possibility of being found out and made 
 ridiculous! All his friends have been 'muck- 
 raked,' as he calls it, and he has sat aloft and 
 smiled over their plight; he was the landed 
 gentleman, the true aristocrat, whom the worries 
 of traders and money-changers didn't concern. 
 Now perhaps he's caught, and his name is to be 
 dragged in the mire, and it's my flightiness my 
 lack of common-sense that has done it!" 
 
 "I shouldn't let that trouble me," I said. 
 "You could not know " 
 
112 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "Oh, it's not that! It's that I hadn't a single 
 courageous word to say to him — ^not a hint that 
 he ought to refuse to wring blood-money from 
 sweat-shops! I came away without having done 
 it — ^because I couldn't face his anger — ^because it 
 would have meant a quarrel!" 
 
 "My dear," I said, gently, "it is possible to 
 smrvive a quarrel." 
 
 "No, you don't understand! We should never 
 make it up again, I know — I saw it in his words, 
 in his face. He will never change to please me 
 — ^no — ^not even a simple thing like the business- 
 methods of the van Tuiver Estates." 
 
 I could not help smiling. "My dear Sylvia! 
 A simple thing!" 
 
 She came and sat beside me. "That's what I 
 want to talk about. It is time I was growing 
 up. It is time I knew about these things. 
 Tell me about them." 
 
 "What, my dear?" 
 
 "About the methods of the van Tuiver Estates, 
 that can't be changed to please me. I made out 
 one thing — vre had recently paid a fine for some 
 infraction of the law in one of those buildings; 
 and my husband said it was because we had 
 refused to pay more money to a tenement-house 
 inspector. I asked him, 'Why should we pay 
 any money at all to a tenement-house inspector? 
 Isn't it bribery?' He answered, 'It's a custom — 
 the same as you give a tip to a hotel-waiter.' Is 
 that true?" 
 
 I could not help smiling. "Your husband 
 ought to know, my dear," I said. 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 113 
 
 I saw her compress her Ups. "What is the tip 
 for?" 
 
 "I suppose it is to keep out of trouble with 
 him." 
 
 "But why can't we keep out of trouble by 
 obeying the law?" 
 
 "My dear, sometimes the law is inconvenient, 
 and sometimes it is comphcated and obsciu-e. 
 It might be that you are violating it without 
 knowing the fact. It might be imcertain whether 
 you are violating it or not, so that to settle the 
 question would mean a lot of expense and pub- 
 Ucity. It might even be that the law is impos- 
 sible to obey — that it was not intended to be 
 obeyed." 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" 
 
 "I mean, maybe it was passed to put you at 
 the mercy of the pohticians." 
 
 "But," she protested, "that would be black- 
 mail!" 
 
 "The phrase," I replied, "is 'strike-legisla- 
 tion'. " 
 
 "But at least — that wouldn't be our fault!" 
 
 "No — ^not imless you had begun it. It gen- 
 eraMy happens that the landlord discovers it's a 
 good thing to have politicians who will work with 
 him. Maybe he wants his assessments lowered; 
 maybe he wants to know where new car-lines are 
 to go, so that he can buy intelhgently; maybe he 
 wants the city to improve his neighborhood; 
 maybe he wants influence at court when he has 
 some heavy damage-suit." 
 
114 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "So we bribe everyone!" 
 
 "Not necessarily. You may simply wait until 
 campaign-time, and then make your contribution 
 to the machine. That is the basis of the 
 'System'." 
 
 "The 'System'?" 
 
 "A semi-criminal poUce-force, and everything 
 that pays tribute to it: the saloon and the dive, 
 the gambling-hell, the white-slave market — and 
 the Arson trust." 
 
 I saw a wild look in her eyes. "Tell me, do 
 you know that all these things are true? Or are 
 you only guessing about them?" 
 
 "My dear Sylvia," I answered, "you said it 
 was time you grew up. For the present I will teU 
 you this: Several months before I met you, I 
 made a speech in which I named some of the 
 organized forces of evil in the city. One was 
 Tammany Hall, and another was the Traction 
 Trust, and another was the Trinity Church 
 Corporation, and yet another was the van Tuiver 
 Estates." 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 115 
 
 § 27 
 
 The following Sunday there appeared a 
 "magazine story" of an interview with the 
 infinitely beautiful yoimg wife of the infinitely 
 rich Mr. Douglas van Tuiver, in which the views 
 of the wife on the subject of child-labor were 
 hberaUy interlarded with descriptions of her 
 reception-room and her morning-gown. But 
 mere picturesqueness by that time had been 
 pretty well discounted in our minds. So long as 
 the article did not say anything about the owner- 
 ship of child-labor tenements! 
 
 I did not see Sylvia for several weeks after 
 that. I took it for granted that she would want 
 some time to get herself together and make up 
 her mind about the future. I did not feel 
 anxious; the seed had sprouted, and I felt siire it 
 would continue to grow. 
 
 Then one day she called me up, asking if I 
 could come to see her. I suggested that after- 
 noon, and she said she was having tea with some 
 people at the Palace Hotel, and could I come 
 there just after tea-time? I remember the place 
 and the hour, because of the curious adventure 
 into which I got myself. One hears the saying, 
 when unexpected encoxmters take place, "How 
 small the world is!" But I thought the world 
 was growing really too small when I went into a 
 hotel tea-room to wait for Sylvia, and foimd 
 myself face to face with Claire Lepage! 
 
116 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 The place appointed had been the "orange- 
 room;" I stood in the door-way, sweeping the 
 place with my eyes, and I saw Mrs. van Tuiver 
 at the same moment that she saw me. She was 
 sitting at a table with several other people, and 
 she nodded, and I took a seat to wait. From my 
 position I could watch her, in animated conversa- 
 tion; and she could send me a smile now and 
 then. So I was decidedly startled when I heard 
 a voice, "Why, how do you do?" and looked up 
 and saw Claire holding out her hand to me. 
 
 "Well, for heaven's sake!" I exclaimed. 
 
 "You don't come to see me any more," she 
 said. 
 
 "Why, no — ^no, I've been busy of late." So 
 much I managed to ejaculate, in spite of my 
 confusion. 
 
 "You seem surprised to see me," she remarked 
 — observant as usual, and sensitive to other 
 people's attitude to her. 
 
 "Why, naturally," I said. And then, recollect- 
 ing that it was not in the least natiu'al — since she 
 spent a good deal of her time in such places — ^I 
 added, "I was looking for some one else." 
 
 "May I do in the meantime?" she inquired, 
 taking a seat beside me. "What are you so 
 busy about?" 
 
 "My child-labor work," I answered. Then, 
 in an instant, I was sorry for the words, thinking 
 she must have read about Sylvia's activities. I 
 did not want her to know that I had met Sylvia, 
 for it would mean a flood of questions, which I 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 117 
 
 did not want to answer — ^nor yet to refuse to 
 answer. 
 
 But my fear was needless. "I've been out of 
 town," she said. 
 
 "Whereabouts?" I asked, making conversation. 
 
 "A little trip to Bermuda." 
 
 My mind was busy with the problem of getting 
 rid of her. It would be intolerable to have 
 Sylvia come up to us; it was intolerable to know 
 that they were in sight of each other. 
 
 Even as the thought came to me, however, I 
 saw Claire start. "Look!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "That woman there — ^in the green velvet! 
 The fourth table." 
 
 "I see her." 
 
 "Do you know who she is?" 
 
 "Who?" (I remembered Lady Dee's maxim 
 about Ijong!) 
 
 "Sylvia Castleman!" whispered Claire. (She 
 always referred to her thus — seeming to say 
 "I'm as much van Tuiver as she is!") 
 
 "Are you sure?" I asked — ^lq order to say 
 something. 
 
 "I've seen her a score of times. I seem to be 
 always running into her. That's Freddie Atkins 
 she's talking to." 
 
 "Indeed!" said I. 
 
 "I know most of the men I see her with. But 
 I have to walk by as if I'd never seen them. A 
 queer world we live in, isn't it?" 
 
 I could assent cordially to that proposition. 
 
118 SYLVIA'S MAKRIAGE 
 
 "listen," I broke in, quickly. "Have you got 
 anything to do? If not, come down to the 
 Royalty and have tea with me." 
 
 "Why not have it here?" 
 
 "I've been waiting for some one from there, and 
 I have to leave a message. Then I'U be free." 
 
 She rose, to my vast relief, and we walked out. 
 I could feel Sylvia's eyes following me; but I 
 dared not try to send her a message — ^I would 
 have to make up some explanation afterwards. 
 "Who was your weU-dressed friend?" I could 
 imagine her asking; but my mind was more 
 concerned with the vision of what would happen 
 if, in full sight of her companion, Mr. Freddie 
 Atkins, she were to rise and walk over to Claire 
 and myself! 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 119 
 
 § 28 
 
 Seated in the "palm-room" of the other hotel, 
 I sipped a cup of tea which I felt I had earned, 
 while Claire had a Uttle glass of the fancy-colored 
 Hquids which the ladies in these places affect. 
 The room was an aviary, with tropical plants and 
 splashing fomitains — and birds of many gorgeous 
 hues; I gazed from one to another of the splendid 
 creatures, wondering how many of them were 
 paying for their plumage in the same way as my 
 companion. It would have taken a more prac- 
 ticed eye than mine to say which, for if I had been 
 asked, I would have taken Claire for a diplomat's 
 wife. She had not less than a thousand dollars 
 worth of raiment upon her, and its style made 
 clear to all the world the fact that it had not 
 been saved over from a previous season of pros- 
 perity. She was a fine creature, who could 
 carry any amount of sail; with her bold, black 
 eyes she looked thoroiy^hly competent, and it 
 was hard to beheve in the fundamental softness 
 of her character. 
 
 I sat, looking about me, annoyed at having 
 missed Sylvia, and only half Ustening to Claire. 
 But suddenly she brought me to attention. 
 "Well," she said, "I've met him." 
 
 "Met whom?" 
 
 "Douglas." 
 
 I stared at her. "Douglas van Tuiver?" 
 
120 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 She nodded; and I suppressed a cry. 
 
 "I told you he'd come back," she added, with 
 a laugh. 
 
 "You mean he came to see you?" 
 
 I could not hide my concern. But there was 
 no need to, for it flattered Claire's vanity. "No 
 — ^not yet, but he will. I met him at Jack 
 Taylor's — at a supper-party." 
 
 "Did he know you were to be there?" 
 
 "No. But he didn't leave when he saw me." 
 
 There was a pause. I could not trust myself 
 to say anything. But Claire had no intention of 
 leaving me curious. "I don't think he's happy 
 with her," she remarked. 
 
 "What makes you say that?" 
 
 "Oh, several things. I know him, you know. 
 He wouldn't say he was." 
 
 "Perhaps he didn't want to discuss it with 
 you." 
 
 'Oh, no — not that. He isn't reserved with 
 
 me." 
 
 "1 
 
 'I should think it was dangerous to discuss 
 one's wife under such circumstances," I laughed. 
 
 Claire laughed also. "You should have heard 
 what Jack had to say about his wife! She's 
 down at Palm Beach." 
 
 "She'd better come home," I ventured. 
 
 "He was telling what a dance she leads him; 
 she raises Cain if a woman looks at him — and 
 she darons every woman he meets before the 
 woman has a chance to look. Jack said marriage 
 was hell — ^just hell. Reggie Channing thought it 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 121 
 
 was like a pair of old slippers that you got used 
 to. Jack laughed and answered, 'You're at the 
 stage where you think you can solve the marriage- 
 problem by deceiving your wife!" 
 
 I made no comment. Claire sat for a while, 
 busy with her thoughts; then she repeated, 
 "He wouldn't say he was happy! And he misses 
 me, too. When he was going, I held his hand, 
 and said, 'Well, Douglas, how goes it?' " 
 
 "And then?" I asked; but she would not say 
 any more. 
 
 I waited a while, and then began, "Claire, let 
 him alone. Give them a chance to be happy." 
 
 "Why should I?" she demanded, in a voice of 
 hostility. 
 
 "She never harmed you," I said. (I knew I 
 was being fooUsh, but I would do what I could.) 
 
 "She took him away from me, didn't she?" 
 And Claire's eyes were suddenly alight with the 
 hatred of her outcast class. "Why did she get 
 him? Why is she Mrs. van Tuiver, and I 
 nobody? Because her father was rich, because 
 she had power and position, while I had to scratch 
 for myself in the world. Is that true, or isn't 
 it?" 
 
 I could not deny that it might be part of the 
 truth. "But they're married now," I said, "and 
 he loves her." 
 
 "He loved me, too. And I love him still, in 
 spite of the way he's treated me. He's the only 
 man I ever really loved. Do you think I'm 
 going off and hide in a hole, while she spends his 
 
122 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 money and plays the princess up and down the 
 Avenue? Not much!" 
 
 I fell silent. Should I set out upon another 
 effort at "moulding water"? Should I give 
 Claire one more scolding — tell her, perhaps, how 
 her very features were becoming hard and ugly 
 as a result of the feelings she was harboring? 
 Should I recall the pretenses of generosity and 
 dignity she had made when we first met? I 
 might have attempted this — ^but something held 
 me back. After all, the one person who could 
 decide this issue was Douglas van Tuiver. 
 
 I rose. "Well, I have to be going. But I'll 
 drop round now and then, and see what success 
 you have." 
 
 She became suddenly important. "Maybe I 
 won't tell!" 
 
 To which I answered, indifferently, "All right, 
 it's your secret." But I went off without much 
 worry over that part of it. Claire must have 
 some one to whom to recount her troubles — or her 
 triumphs, as the case might be. 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 123 
 
 § 29 
 
 I HAD my talk with Sylvia a day or two later, 
 and made my excuse — a friend from the "West 
 who had been going out of town a few hours later. 
 
 The seed had been growing, I found. Ever 
 since we had last met, her life had consisted of 
 arguments over the costume-ball on which her 
 husband had set his heart, and at which she had 
 refused to play the hostess. 
 
 "Of course, he's right about one thing," she 
 remarked. "We can't stay ia New York imless 
 we give some big affair. Everyone expects it, 
 and there is no explanation except one he could 
 not offer." 
 
 "I've made a big breach in your life, Sylvia," 
 I said. 
 
 "It wasn't all you. This unhappiness has 
 been in me — ^it's been like a boil, and you've 
 been the poultice." (She had four younger 
 brothers and sisters, so these domestic similes 
 came naturally.) 
 
 "Boils," I remarked, "are disfiguring, when 
 they come to a head." 
 
 There was a pause. "How is your child-labor 
 bill?" she asked, abruptly. 
 
 "Why, it's all right " 
 
 "Didn't I see a letter in the paper, saying it 
 had been referred to a sub-committee — some 
 trick to suppress it for this session?" 
 
124 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 I could not answer. I had been hoping she had 
 not seen that letter. 
 
 "If I were to come forward now," she said, 
 "I could possibly block that move, couldn't I?" 
 
 Still I said nothing. 
 
 "If I were to take a bold stand — I mean if I 
 were to speak at a pubUc-meeting, and denoimce 
 the move." 
 
 "I suppose you could," I had to admit. 
 
 For a long time she sat with her head bowed. 
 "The children will have to wait," she said, at 
 last, half to herself. 
 
 "My dear," I answered (what else was there to 
 answer?) "the children have waited a long 
 time." 
 
 "I hate to turn back — ^to have you say I'm a 
 coward " 
 
 "I won't say that, Sylvia." 
 
 "You will be too kind, no doubt; but that will 
 be the truth." 
 
 I tried to reassure her. But the acids I had 
 used — ^intended for tougher skins than hers — ^had 
 burned into the very bone, and now it was not 
 possible to stop their action. "I must make you 
 understand," she said, "how serious a thing it 
 seems to me for a wife to stand out against her 
 husband. I've been brought up to feel that it was 
 the most terrible thing a woman could do." 
 
 She stopped, and when she went on again her 
 face was set, like one enduring pain. "So, this 
 is the decision to which I have come. If I do 
 anything of a public nature now, I drive my 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 125 
 
 husband from me; on the other hand, if I take a 
 Uttle time, I may be able to save the situation. 
 I need to educate myself, and I'm hoping I may 
 be able to educate him at the same time. If 
 I can get him to read something — ^if it's only a 
 few paragraphs every day — ^I may gradually 
 change his point of view, so that he will tolerate 
 what I beheve. At any rate, I ought to try; 
 I am sure that is the wise and kind and fair thing 
 to do." 
 
 "What will you do about the ball?" I asked. 
 
 "I am going to take him away, out of this rush 
 and distraction, this dressing and imdressing, 
 hurrying about meeting people and chattering 
 about nothing." 
 
 "He is willing?" 
 
 "Yes; in fact, he suggested it himself. He 
 thinks my miad is turned, with all the things 
 I've been reading, and with Mrs. Frothingham, 
 and Mrs. Allison, and the rest. He hopes that 
 if I go away, I may qmet down and come to my 
 senses. We have a good excuse. I have to think 
 of my health just now " 
 
 She stopped, and looked away from my eyes. 
 I saw the color spreading in a slow wave over her 
 cheeks; it was like those tints of early dawn that 
 are so ravishing to the souls of poets. "In four 
 
 or five months from now " And she stopped 
 
 again. 
 
 I put my big hand gently over her small one. 
 "I have three children of my own," I said. 
 
 "So," she went on, "it won't seem so unreason- 
 
126 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 able. Some people know, and the rest will guess, 
 and there won't be any talk — I mean, such as 
 there would be if it was rumored that Mrs. 
 Douglas van Tuiver had got interested in Social- 
 ism, and refused to spend her husband's money." 
 
 "I understand," I replied. "It's quite the most 
 sensible thing, and I'm glad you've found a way 
 out. I shall miss you, of course, but we can write 
 each other long letters. Where are you going?" 
 
 "I'm not absolutely sure. Douglas suggests 
 a cruise in the West Indies, but I think I should 
 rather be settled in one place. He has a lovely 
 house in the mountains of North Carolina, and 
 wants me to go there; but it's a show-place, with 
 rich homes all round, and I know I'd soon be in 
 a social whirl. I thought of the camp in the 
 Adirondacks. It would be glorious to see the real 
 woods in winter; but I lose my nerve when I 
 think of the cold — I was brought up in a warm 
 place." 
 
 "A 'camp' soimds rather primitive for one in 
 your condition," I suggested. 
 
 "That's because you haven't been there. In 
 reaUty it's a big house, with twenty-five rooms, 
 and steam-heat and electric-Ughts, and half a 
 dozen men to take care of it when it's empty — 
 as it has been for several years." 
 
 I smiled — for I coiild read her thought. "Are 
 you going to be imhappy because you can't occupy 
 all your husband's homes? " 
 
 "There's one other I prefer," she continuea, 
 unwilling to be made to smile. "They call it a 
 
SYLVIA AS WIFE 127 
 
 'fishing lodge', and it's down in the Florida Keys. 
 They're putting a railroad through there, but 
 meantime you can only get to it by a laimch. 
 From the pictiu-es, it's the most heavenly spot 
 imaginable. Fancy running about those wonderful 
 green waters in a motor-boat!" 
 
 "It sovmds quite alluring," I replied. "But 
 isn't it remote for you?" 
 
 "We're not so very far from Key West; and 
 my husband means to have a physician with us 
 in any case. The advantage of being in a small 
 place is that we couldn't entertain if we wanted 
 to. I can have my Aunt Varina come to stay with 
 me, a dear, sweet soul who loves me devotedly; 
 and then, if I find I have to have some new ideas, 
 perhaps you can come " 
 
 "I don't think your husband would favor that," 
 I said. I 
 
 She put her hand out to me in a quick gestiu"e. 
 "I don't mean to give up our friendship! I 
 want you to imderstand, I intend to go on study- 
 ing and growing. I am doing what he asked 
 me — ^it's right that I should think of his wishes, 
 and of the health of my child. But the child will 
 be growing up, and sooner or later my husband 
 must grant me the right to think, to have a life 
 of my own. You must stand by me and help me, 
 whatever happens." 
 
 I gave her my hand on that, and so we parted — 
 for some time, as it proved. I went up to Albany 
 once more, in a last futile effort to save our precious 
 bill; and while I was there I got a note from her, 
 saying that she was leaving for the Florida Keys. 
 
SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 Sylvia as Mother 
 
§ 1 
 
 For three months after this I had nothing but 
 letters from Sylvia. She proved to be an excellent 
 letter-writer, full of verve and color. I would 
 not say that she poured out her soul to me, but 
 she gave me glimpses of her states of mind, and 
 the progress of her domestic drama. 
 
 First, she described the place to which she had 
 come; a ravishing spot, where any woman ought 
 to be happy. It was a little island, fringed with 
 a border of cocoanut-pahns which rustled and 
 whispered day and night in the breeze. It was 
 covered with tropical foUage, and there was a 
 long, rambling bungalow, with screened "gal- 
 leries", and a beach of hard white sand in front. 
 The water was blue, dazzling with sunshine, and 
 dotted with distant green islands; aU of it, air, 
 water, and islands, were warm. "I don't realize 
 till I get here," she said, "I am never really happy 
 in the North. I wrap myself against the assaults 
 of a cruel enemy. But here I am at home; I 
 cast off my furs, I stretch out my arms, I bloom. 
 I believe I shall quite cease to think for a while — 
 I shall forget all storms and troubles, and bask 
 on the sand like a lizard. 
 
 "And the water! Mary, you cannot imagine 
 such water; why should it be blue on top, and 
 green when you look down into it? I have a little 
 
 (131) 
 
132 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 skiff of my own in which I drift, and I have been 
 happy for hours, studying the bottom; you see 
 every color of the rainbow, and all as clear as in 
 an aquarium. I have been fishing, too, and have 
 caught a tarpon. That is supposed to be a great 
 adventure, and it really is quite thrilling to feel 
 the monstrous creature struggling with you — 
 though of course my arms soon gave out, and I 
 had to turn him over to my husband. This is 
 one of the famous fishing-grounds of the world, 
 and I am glad of that, because it will keep the men 
 happy while I enjoy the simshine. 
 
 "I have discovered a fascinating diversion," 
 she wrote, in a second letter. "I make them take 
 me in the laimch to one of the loneliest of the 
 keys; they go off to fish, and I have the whole 
 day to myself, and am as happy as a child on a 
 picnic. I roam the beach, I take off my shoes and 
 stockings — there are no newspaper reporters snap- 
 ping pictures. I dare not go far in, for there are 
 huge black creatures with dangerous stinging 
 tails; they rush away in a cloud of sand when I 
 approach, but the thought of stepping upon one 
 by accident is terrifying. However, I let the 
 little wavelets wash roimd my toes, and I try to 
 grab little fish, and I pick up lovely shells; and 
 then I go on, and I see a huge turtle waddling to 
 the water, and I dash up, and would stop him if 
 I dared, and then I find his eggs — such an adven- 
 ture! 
 
 "I am the prey of strange appetites and crav- 
 ings. I have a delicious limcheon with me, but 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 133 
 
 suddenly the one thing in the world I want to 
 eat is turtle-eggs. I have no matches with me 
 and I do not know how to build a fire like the 
 Indians, so I have to hide the eggs back in the 
 sand imtil tomorrow. I hope the turtle does not 
 move them — and that I have not lost my craving 
 in the meantime! 
 
 "Then I go exploring inland. These islands 
 were once the haunts of pirates, so I may imagine 
 all sorts of romantic things. What I find are 
 lemon-trees. I do not know if they are wild, or 
 if the key was once cultivated; the lemons are 
 huge in size, and nearly all skin, but the flavor 
 is delicious. Turtle-eggs with wild lemon-juice! 
 And then I go on and come to a mangrove-swamp 
 — dark and forbidding, a grisly place ; you imagine 
 the trees are in torment, with limbs and roots 
 tangled like writhing serpents. I tiptoe in a 
 little way, and then get frightened, and run back 
 to the beach. 
 
 "I see on the sand a mysterious little yellow 
 creatm-e, nmning like the wind; I make a dash, 
 and get between him and his hole; and so he 
 stands, crouching on guard, staring at me, and 
 I at him. |He is some sort of crab, but he stands 
 on two legs like a caricature of a man; he has 
 two big weapons upraised for battle, and staring 
 black eyes stuck out on long tubes. He is an 
 imcanny thing to look at; but then suddenly 
 the idea comes. How do / seem to himf I realize 
 that he is ahve; a tiny mite of hunger for hfe, 
 of fear and resolution. I think, How lonely he 
 
134 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 must be! And I want to tell him that I love him, 
 and would not hurt him for the world; but I 
 have no way to make him understand me, and all 
 I can do is to go away and leave him. I go, 
 thinking what a strange place the world is, with 
 so many liviag things, each shut away apart by 
 himself, unable to understand the others or make 
 the others understand him. This is what is called 
 philosophy, is it not? Tell me some books where 
 these things are explained. . . . 
 
 "I am reading all you sent me. When I grew 
 tired of exploring the key, I lay down in the shade 
 of a palm-tree, and read — guess what? 'Number 
 Five John Street ! ' So all this loveliness vanished, 
 and I was back in the world's nightmare. An 
 extraordinary book! I decided that it would be 
 good for my husband, so I read him a few para- 
 graphs; but I found that it only irritated him. 
 He wants me to rest, he says — ^he can't see why 
 I've come away to the Florida keys to read about 
 the slums of London. 
 
 "My hope of gradually influencing his mind 
 has led to a rather appalling discovery — ^that he 
 has the same intention as regards me! He too 
 has brought a selection of books, and reads to 
 me a few pages every day, and explains what they 
 mean. He calls this resting! I am no match for 
 him, of com-se — I never realized more keenly the 
 worthlessness of my education. But I see in a 
 general way where his arguments tend — that life 
 is something that has grown, and is not in the 
 power of men to change; but even if he could 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 135 
 
 convince me of this, I should not find it a source 
 of joy. I have a feeling always that if you were 
 here, you would know something to answer. 
 
 "The truth is that I am so pained by the con- 
 flict between us that I cannot argue at all. I find 
 myseK wondering what our marriage would have 
 been like if we had discovered that we had the 
 same ideas and interests. There are days and 
 nights at a time when I tell mjrself that I ought 
 to believe what my husband beUeves, that I 
 ought never have allowed myself to think of any- 
 thing else. But that really won't do as a life- 
 program; I tried it years ago with my dear mother 
 and father. Did I ever tell you that my mother 
 is firmly convinced in her heart that I am to suffer 
 eternally in a real heU of fire because I do not 
 beheve certain things about the Bible? She still 
 has visions of it — ^though not so bad since she 
 turned me over to a husband! 
 
 "Now it is my husband who is worried about 
 my ideas. He is reading a book by Bvu:ke, a 
 weU-known old writer. The book deals with 
 English history, which I don't know much about, 
 but I see that it resents modem changes, and the 
 whole spirit of change. And Mary, why can't 
 I feel that way? I really ought to love those old 
 and stately things; I ought to be reverent to the 
 past; I was brought up that way. Sometimes 
 I tremble when I reaUze how very flippant and 
 cynical I am. I seem to see the wrong side of 
 everything, so that I couldn't believe in it if I 
 wanted to!" 
 
136 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 §2 
 
 Hbe letters were full of the wonders of Nature 
 about her. There was a snow-white egret who 
 made hife home upon her island; she watched his 
 fishing operations, and meant to find his nest, 
 so as to watch his young. The men made a trip 
 into the Everglades, and brought back wonder- 
 tales of flocks of flamingoes making scarlet clouds 
 in the sky, huge colonies of birds' nests crowded 
 like a city. They had brought home a young 
 one, which screamed all day to be stuffed with 
 fiish. 
 
 A cousin of Sylvia's, Harley Chilton, had come 
 to visit her. He had taken van Tuiver on himting- 
 trips during the latter's courtship days, and now 
 was a good fishing-companion. He was not 
 allowed to discover the state of affairs between 
 Sylvia and her husband, but he saw his cousin 
 reading serious books, and his contribution to the 
 problem was to tell her that she would get wrinkles 
 in her face, and that even her feet would grow 
 big, like those of the ladies in New England. 
 
 Also, there was the young physician who kept 
 watch over Sylvia's health; a dapper little man 
 with pink and white complexion, and a brown 
 moustache from which he could not keep his 
 fingers. He had a bungalow to himself, but 
 sometimes he went along on the laimch-trips, 
 and Sylvia thought she observed wrinkles of 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 137 
 
 amusement round his eyes whenever she differed 
 from her husband on the subject of Biurke. She 
 suspected this yoimg man of not telliag all his 
 ideas to his multi-millionaire patients, and she 
 was entertained by the prospect of probing him. 
 
 Then came Mrs. Varina Tuis; who since the 
 tragic cutting of her own domestic knot, had 
 given her life to the service of the happier mem- 
 bers of the Castleman Hne. She was now to be 
 companion and counselor to Sylvia; and on the 
 very day of her arrival she discovered the chasm 
 that was yawning in her niece's life. 
 
 "It's wonderful," wrote Sylvia, "the intuition 
 of the Castleman women. We were ra the launch, 
 passing one of the viaducts of the new railroad, 
 and Aunt Varina exclaimed, 'What a wonderful 
 piece of work!' 'Yes,' put in my husband, 'but 
 don't let Sylvia hear you say it.' 'Why not?' 
 she asked; and he replied, 'She'll tell you how 
 many hours a day the poor Dagoes have to work.' 
 That was all; but I saw Aunt Varina give a quick 
 glance at me, and I saw that she was not fooled 
 by my efforts to make conversation. It was 
 rather horrid of Douglas, for he knows that I 
 love these old people, and do not want them to 
 know about my trouble. But it is characteristic 
 of him — ^when he is annoyed he seldom tries to 
 spare others. 
 
 "As soon as we were alone, Aunt Varina began, 
 'Sylvia, my dear, what does it mean? What 
 have you done to worry your husband?' 
 
 "You would be entertained if I could remember 
 
138 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 the conversation. I tried to dodge the trouble by- 
 answering off-hand, 'Douglas has eaten too many 
 turiile-eggs for luncheon' — ^this bemg a man-like 
 thing, that any dear old lady would imderstand. 
 But she was too shrewd. I had to explain to her 
 that I was learning to think; and this sent her 
 into a perfect panic. 
 
 " 'You actually mean, my child, that you are 
 thinking about subjects to which your husband 
 objects, and you refuse to stop when he asks you 
 to? Surely you must know that he has some 
 good reason for objecting. ' 
 
 " 'I suppose so,' I said, 'but he has not made 
 that reason clear to me; and certainly I have a 
 right ' 
 
 "She would not hear any more than that. 
 'Right, Sylvia? Rightf Are you claiming the 
 right to drive your husband from you? ' 
 
 " 'But surely, I can't regulate aU my thinking 
 by the fear of driving my husband from me!' 
 
 " 'Sylvia, you take my breath away. Where 
 did you get such ideas?' 
 
 " 'But answer me, Aunt Varina — can I?' 
 
 " 'What thinking is as important to a woman 
 as thinking how to please a good, kind husband? 
 What would become of her family if she no longer 
 tried to do this?' 
 
 "So you see, we opened up a large subject. I 
 know you consider me a backward person, and 
 you may be interested to learn that there are 
 some to whom I seem a terrif3dng rebel. Picture 
 poor Aunt Varina, her old face full of concern, 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 139 
 
 repeating over and over, 'My child, my child, 
 I hope I have come in time! Don't scorn tho 
 advice of a woman who has paid bitterly for her 
 mistakes. You have a good husband, a man who 
 loves you devotedly; you are one of the most 
 fortunate of women — ^now do not throw your 
 happiness away!' 
 
 " 'Aimt Varina,' I said (I forget if I ever told 
 you that her husband gambled and drank, and 
 finally committed suicide), 'Atmt Varina, do you 
 really beheve that every man is so anxious to 
 get away from his wife that it must take her 
 whole stock of energy, her skill in diplomacy, to 
 keep him?' 
 
 " 'Sylvia,' she answered, 'you put things so 
 strangely, you use such horribly crude language, 
 I don't know how to talk to you!' (That must 
 be your fault, Mary. I never heard such a 
 charge before.) 'I can only tell you this — that 
 the wife who permits herself to think about other 
 things than her duty to her husband and her 
 children is taking a frightful risk. She is playing 
 with fire, Sylvia — she will reaUze too late what 
 it means to set aside the wisdom of her sex, the 
 experience of other women for ages and ages!' 
 
 "So there you are, Mary! I am studying 
 another unwritten book, the Maxims of Aimt 
 Varina! 
 
 "She has foimd the remedy for my troubles, 
 the cure for my disease of thought — I am to sew! 
 I tell her that I have more clothes than I can wear 
 in a dozen seasons, and she answers, in an awe- 
 
140 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 some voice, "There is the Uttle stranger!' When 
 I point out that the httle stranger will be expected 
 to have a 'layette' costing many thousands of 
 doUars, she repUes, 'They will surely permit him 
 to wear some of the things his mother's hands 
 have made.' So, behold me, seated on the gal- 
 lery learning fancy stitches — and with Kautsky 
 on the Social Revolution hidden away in the 
 bottom of my sewing-bag 1" 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 141 
 
 §3 
 
 The weeks passed. The le^lature at Albany 
 adjourned, without regard to our wishes; and so, 
 like the patient spider whose web is destroyed, 
 we set to work upon a new one. So much money 
 must be raised, so many articles must be written, 
 so many speeches delivered, so many people seized 
 upon and harried and wrought to a state of mind 
 where they were dangerous to the future career 
 of legislators. Such is the process of social 
 reform under the private property regime; a 
 process which the pure and simple reformers 
 imagine we shall tolerate forever — God save us! 
 
 Sylvia asked me for the news, and I told it to 
 her — ^how we had failed, and what we had to do 
 next. So pretty soon there came by registered 
 mail a little box, in which I found a diamond- 
 ring. "I cannot ask him for money just now," 
 she explained, "but here is something that has 
 been mine from girlhood. It cost about four 
 hundred dollars — this for yom* guidance in selling 
 it. Not a day passes that I do not see many 
 times that much wasted; so take it for the cause." 
 Queen Isabella and her jewels! 
 
 In this letter she told me of a talk she had had 
 with her husband on the "woman-problem". 
 She had thought at first that it was going to prove 
 a helpful talk — ^he had been in a fairer mood 
 than she was usually able to induce. "He 
 
142 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 evaded some of my questions," she explained, 
 "but I don't think it was deliberate; it is simply 
 the evasive attitude of mind which the whole 
 world takes. He says he does not think that 
 women are inferior to men, only that they are 
 different; the mistake is for them to try to 
 become like men. It is the old proposition of 
 'charm', you see. I put that to him, and he 
 admitted that he did like to be 'charmed'. 
 
 "I said, 'You wouldn't, if you knew as much 
 about the process as I do.' 
 
 "'Why not?' he asked. 
 
 " 'Because, it's not an honest process. It's 
 not a straight way for one sex to deal with the 
 other.' 
 
 "He asked what I meant by that; but then, 
 remembering the cautions of my great-aimt, I 
 laughed. 'If you are going to compel me to use 
 the process, you can hardly expect me to teU you 
 the secret of it.' 
 
 " 'Then there's no use trying to talk,' he said. 
 
 " 'Ah, but there is!' I exclaimed. 'You admit 
 that I have "charm" — dozens of other men ad- 
 mitted it. And so it ought to count for something 
 if I declare that I know it's not an honest thing — 
 that it depends upon trickery, and appeals to the 
 worst quaUties in a man. For instance, his 
 vanity. "Flatter him," Lady Dee used to say. 
 "He'U swallow it." And he will — I never knew a 
 man to refuse a compliment in my life. His love 
 of domination. "If you want anything, make 
 hiTTi think that he wants it!" His egotism. She 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 143 
 
 had a bitter saying — I can hear the very tones of 
 her voice: "When in doubt, talk about him." 
 That is what is called "charm"!' 
 
 " 'I don't seem to feel it,' he said. 
 
 " 'No, because now you are behind the scenes. 
 But when you were in front, you felt it, you can't 
 deny. And you would feel it again, any time I 
 chose to use it. But I want to know if there is 
 not some honest way a woman can interest a 
 man. The question really comes to this — Can 
 a man love a woman for what she really is? ' 
 
 " 'I should say,' he said, 'that it depends upon 
 the woman.' 
 
 "I admitted this was a plausible answer. 'But 
 you loved me, when I made myself a mystery to 
 you. But now that I am honest with you, you 
 have made it clear that you don't like it, that 
 you won't have it. And that is the problem that 
 women have to face. It is a fact that the women 
 of our family have always ruled the men; but 
 they've done it by indirection — ^nobody ever 
 thought seriously of "women's rights" in Castle- 
 man County. But you see, women have rights; 
 and somehow or other they will fool the men, or 
 else the men must give up the idea that they are 
 the superior sex, and have the right, or the 
 abihty, to rule women.' 
 
 "Then I saw how httle he had followed me. 
 'There has to be a head to the family,' he said. 
 
 "I answered, 'There have been cases in history 
 of a king and queen ruling together, and getting 
 along very well. Why not the same thing in a 
 family?' 
 
144 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 " 'That's all right, so far as the things of the 
 family are concerned. But such affairs as business 
 and politics are in the sphere of men; and women 
 cannot meddle in them without losing their best 
 quaUties as women.' 
 
 "And so there we were. I won't repeat his 
 arguments, for doubtless you have read enough 
 anti-suffrage hterature. The thing I noticed was 
 that if I was very tactful and patient, I could 
 apparently carry him along with me; but when 
 the matter came up again, I would discover that 
 he was back where he had been before. A woman 
 must accept the guidance of a man; she must 
 take the man's word for the things that he under- 
 stands. 'But suppose the man is wrong?' I said; 
 and there we stopped — there we shall stop always, 
 I begin to fear. I agree with him that woman 
 should obey man — so long as man is right!" 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 145 
 
 §4 
 
 Her letters did not all deal with this problem. 
 In spite of the sewiag, she found time to read a 
 number of books, and we argued about these. 
 Then, too, she had been probing her young 
 doctor, and had made interesting discoveries 
 about him. For one thing, he was fuU of awe 
 and admiration for her; and her awakening mind 
 foimd material for speculation in this. 
 
 "Here is this young man; he thinks he is a 
 scientist, he rather prides himself upon being 
 cold-blooded; yet a cunning woman could twist 
 him roimd her finger. He had an imhappy love- 
 affair when he was young, so he confided to me; 
 and now, in his need and loneliness, a beautiful 
 woman is transformed into something super- 
 natural in his imagiaation — she is like a shimmer- 
 ing soap-bubble, that he blows with his own 
 breath. I know that I could never get him to 
 see the real truth about me; I might tell him that 
 I have let myseK be tied up in a golden net — ^but 
 he would only marvel at my spirituality. Oh, 
 the women I have seen trading upon the cred- 
 uhty of men! And when I think how I did this 
 myself! If men were wise, they would give us 
 the vote, and a share in the world's work — any- 
 thing that would bring us out into the light of 
 day, and break the spell of mystery that hangs 
 round us! 
 
 10 
 
146 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "By the way," she wrote in another letter, 
 "there will be trouble if you come down here. 
 I was telling Dr. Perrin about you, and your 
 ideas about fasting, and mental healing, and the 
 rest of your fads. He got very much excited. 
 It seems that he takes his diploma seriously, and 
 he's not willing to be taught by amateur experi- 
 ments. He wanted me to take some pills, and 
 I refused, and I think now he blames you for it. 
 He has found a bond of sympathy with my hus- 
 band, who proves his respect for authority by 
 taking whatever he is told to take. Dr. Perrin 
 got his medical training here in the South, and I 
 imagine he's ten or twenty years behind the rest 
 of the medical world. Douglas picked him out 
 because he'd met him socially. It makes no 
 difference to me — ^because I don't mean to have 
 any doctoring done to me!" 
 
 Then, on top of these things, would come a cry 
 from her soul. "Mary, what will you do if some 
 day you get a letter from me confessing that I 
 am not happy? I dare not say a word to my 
 own people. I am supposed to be at the apex of 
 human triumph, and I have to play that rdle to 
 keep from hurting them. I know that if my 
 dear old father got an inkling of the truth, it 
 would kill him. My one real soUd consolation is 
 that I have helped Imn, that I have lifted a 
 money-burden from his life: I have done that, I 
 tell myself, over and over; but then I wonder, 
 have I done anything but put the reckoning off? 
 I have given all his other children a new excuse 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 147 
 
 for extravagance, an impulse towards worldliness 
 which they did not need. 
 
 "There is my sister Celeste, for example. I 
 don't think I have told you about her. She 
 made her cUbut last fall, and was coming up to 
 New York to stay with me this winter. She had 
 it aU arranged in her mind to make a rich mar- 
 riage; I was to give her the entree — and now I 
 have been selfish, and thought of my own desires, 
 and gone away. Can I say to her, 'Be warned 
 by me, I have made a great match, and it has not 
 brought me happiness?' She would not under- 
 stand, she would say I was foolish. She wovild 
 say, 'If I had your luck, / would be happy.' 
 And the worst of it is, it would be true. 
 
 "You see the position I am in with the rest of 
 the children. I cannot say, 'You are spending 
 too much of Papa's money, it is wrong for you to 
 sign checks and trust to his carelessness.' I 
 have had my share of the money, I have lined my 
 ovm nest. AU I can do is to buy dresses and hats 
 for Celeste; and know that she will use these to 
 fill her girl-friends with envy, and make scores of 
 other families live beyond their means." 
 
148 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 §5 
 
 STiiViA's pregnancy was moving to its 
 appointed end. She wrote me beautifully about 
 it, much more frankly and simply than she could 
 have brought herseU to talk. She recalled to me 
 my own raptures, and also, my own heartbreak. 
 "Mary! Mary! I felt the child today! Such 
 a sensation, I could not have credited it if anyone 
 had told me. I almost fainted. There is some- 
 thing in me that wants to turn back, that is 
 afraid to go on with such experiences. I do not 
 wish to be seized in spite of myself, and made to 
 feel things beyond my control. I wander off 
 down the beach, and hide myself, and cry and 
 cry. I think I could almost pray again." 
 
 And then again, "I am in ecstasy, because I 
 am to bear a child, a child of my own ! Oh, won- 
 derful, wonderful! But suddenly my ecstasy is 
 shot through with terror, because the father of 
 this child is a man I do not love. There is no use 
 trying to deceive myseK — ^nor you! I must have 
 one human soul with whom I can talk about it 
 as it really is. I do not love him, I never did 
 love him, I never shall love him! 
 
 "Oh, how could they have all been so mis- 
 taken? Here is Aunt Varina — one of those who 
 helped to persuade me into this marriage. She 
 told me that love woidd come; it seemed to be 
 her idea — ^my mother had it too — ^that you had 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 149 
 
 only to submit yourseK to a man, to follow and 
 obey him, and love would take possession of your 
 heart. I tried it credulously and it did not 
 happen as they promised. And now, I am to 
 bear him a child; and that wiU bind us together 
 forever! 
 
 "Oh, the despair of it — ^I do not love the 
 father of my child! I say, The child will be 
 partly his, perhaps more his than mine. It will 
 be like him — ^it wiU have this quality and that, 
 the very qualities, perhaps, that are a source of 
 distress to me in the father. So I shall have 
 these things before me day and night, all the rest 
 of my life; I shall have to see them growing and 
 hardening; it will be a perpetual crucifixion of 
 my mother-love. I seek to comfort myself by 
 saying, 'The child can be trained differently, so 
 that he will not have these quahties.' But then 
 I think. No, you cannot train him as you wish. 
 Your husband will have rights to the child, rights 
 superior to your own. Then I foresee the most 
 dreadful strife between us. 
 
 "A shrewd girl-friend once told me that I 
 ought to be better or worse; I ought not to see 
 people's faults as I do, or else I ought to love 
 people less. And I can see that I ought to have 
 been too good to make this marriage, or else not 
 too good to make the best of it. I know that I 
 might be happy as Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver, if 
 I could think of the worldly advantages, and the 
 fact that my child wiU inherit them. But instead, 
 I see them as a trap, in which not only ourselves 
 
150 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 but the child is caught, and from which I canaot 
 save us. Oh, what a mistake a woman makes 
 when she marries a man with the idea that she 
 is going to change him! He will not change, he 
 will not have the need of change suggested to 
 him. He wants peace in his home — ^which means 
 that he wants to be what he is. 
 
 "Sometimes I can study the situation quite 
 coolly, and as if it didn't concern me at all. He 
 has required me to subject my mind to his. But 
 he will not be content with a geaieral capitulation; 
 he must have a surrender from each individual 
 soldier, from every rebel hidden in the hills. He 
 tracks them out (my poor, straggling, feeble 
 ideas) and either they take the oath of allegiance, 
 or they are buried where they lie. The process is 
 like the spoiling of a child, I find; the more you 
 give him, the more he wants. And if any little 
 thing is refused, then you see him set out upon a 
 regular campaign to break you down and get it." 
 
 A month or more later she wrote : "Poor Douglas 
 is getting restless. 1 He has caught every kind of 
 fish there is to catch, and hunted every kind of 
 animal and bird, in and out of season. Harley 
 has gone home, and so have our other guests; it 
 would be embarrassing to me to have company 
 now. So Douglas has no one but the doctor and 
 myself and my poor aunt. He has spoken sev- 
 eral times of our going away; but I do not want 
 to go, and I think I ought to consider my own 
 health at this critical time. It is hot here, but 
 I simply thrive in it — I never felt in better health. 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 151 
 
 So I asked him to go up to New York, or visit 
 somewhere for a while, and let me stay here until 
 my baby is bom. Does that seem so very imrea- 
 sonable? It does not to me; but poor Aunt 
 Varkia is in agony about it — ^I am letting my 
 husband drift away from me! 
 
 "I speculate about my lot as a woman; I see 
 the bitterness and the sorrow of my sex through 
 the ages. I have become physically misshapen, 
 so that I am no longer attractive to him. I am 
 no longer active and free, I can no longer go about 
 with him; on the contrary, I am a burden, and 
 he is a man who never tolerated a burden before. 
 What this means is that I have lost the ma^c 
 hold of sex. 
 
 "As a woman it was my business to exert all 
 my energies to maintain it. And I know how I 
 could restore it now; there is young Dr. Per- 
 rin! He does not find me a burden, he would 
 tolerate any deficiencies. And I can see my 
 husband on the alert in an instant, if I become 
 too much absorbed in discussing your health- 
 theories with my handsome yoimg guardian! 
 
 "This is one of the recognized methods of 
 keeping yoiu" husband; I learned from Lady Dee 
 all there is to know about it. But I would find 
 the method impossible now, even if my happiness 
 were dependent upon retaining my husband's 
 love. I should think of the rights of my friend 
 the little doctor. That is one point to note for 
 the 'new' woman, is it not? You may mention 
 it in your next suffrage-speech! 
 
152 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "There are other methods, of coxirse. I have 
 a mind, and I might turn its powers to entertain- 
 ing him, iQstead of trying to solve the problems 
 of the universe. But to do this, I should have to 
 beUeve that it was the one thing ia the world for 
 me to do; and I have permitted a doubt of that 
 to gain entrance to my brain! My poor aunt's 
 exhortations inspire me to efforts to regain the 
 faith of my mothers, but I simply cannot — I 
 cannot 1 She sits by me with the terror of all the 
 women of all the ages in her eyes. I am losing 
 a man! 
 
 "I don't know if you have ever set out to hold 
 a man — deUberately, I mean. Probably you 
 haven't. That bitter maxim of Lady Dee's is 
 the Uteral truth of it — 'When in doubt, talk 
 about him!' If you will tactfully and shrewdly 
 keep a man talking about himself, his tastes, his 
 ideas, his work and the importance of it, there is 
 never the least possibiUty of your boring him. You 
 must not just tamely agree with him, of com-se; if 
 you hint a difference now and then, and make him 
 convince you, he will find that stimulating; 1 or 
 if you can manage not to be quite convinced, but 
 sweetly open to conviction, he will surely call 
 again. 'Keep him busy every minute,' Lady 
 Dee used to say. 'Run away with him now and 
 then — like a spirited horse!' And she would 
 add, 'But don't let him drop the reins!' 
 
 "You can have no idea how many women there 
 are in the world deliberately playing such parts. 
 Some of them admit it; others just do the thing 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 153 
 
 that is easiest, and would die of horror if they 
 were told what it is. It is the whole of the life 
 of a successful society-woman, yoimg or old. 
 Pleasing a man! Waiting upon his moods, 
 piquing Mm, flattering him, feeding his vanity — 
 'charming' him! That is what Aunt Varina 
 wants me to do now; if I am not too crude in 
 my description of the process, she has no hesita- 
 tion in admitting the truth. It is what she tried 
 to do, it is what almost every woman has done 
 who has held a family together and made a home. 
 I was reading 'Jane Eyre' the other day. There is 
 your woman's ideal of an imperious and im- 
 petuous lover! Listen to him when his mood is 
 on him: — 
 
 " 'I am disposed to be gregarious and communi- 
 cative tonight; and that is why I sent for you; the 
 fire and the chandeher were not sufficient company 
 for me; nor would Pilot have been, for none of 
 these can talk. Tonight I am resolved to be at 
 ease; to dismiss what importunes and recall what 
 pleases. It would please me now to draw you out 
 — to learn more of you — therefore speak!' " 
 
154 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 §6 
 
 It was now May, and Sylvia's time was little 
 more than a month off. She had been urging me 
 to come and visit her, but I had refused, knowing 
 that my presence must necessarily be distm-bing 
 to both her husband and her aunt. But now she 
 wrote that her husband was going back to New 
 York. "He was staying out of a sense of duty to 
 me," she said. "But his discontent was so ap- 
 parent that I had to point out to him that he was 
 doing harm to me as well as to himself. 
 
 "I doubt if you will want to come here now. 
 The last of the winter visitors have left. It is 
 really hot, so hot that you cannot get cool by 
 going into the water. Yet I am revelling in it; 
 I wear almost nothing, and that white; and even 
 the suspicious Dr. Perrin cannot but admit that 
 I am thriving; his references to pills are purely 
 formal. 
 
 "Lately I have not permitted myself to think 
 much about the situation between my husband 
 and myself. I cannot blame him, and I cannot 
 blame myself, and I am trying to keep my peace 
 of mind till my baby is bom. I have found myself 
 following haK-instinctively the procedure you told 
 me about; I talk to my own subconscious mind, 
 and to the baby — I command them to be well. 
 I whisper to them things that are not so very far 
 from praying; but I don't think my poor dear 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 155 
 
 Mamma would recognize it in its new scientific 
 dress! 
 
 "But sometimes I can't help thinking of the 
 child and its future, and then all of a sudden my 
 heart is ready to break with pity for the child's 
 father! I have the consciousness that I do not 
 love him, and that he has always known it — and 
 that makes me remorseful. But I told him the 
 truth before we married — ^he promised to be 
 patient with me till I had learned to love him! 
 Now I want to burst iuto tears and cry aloud, 
 'Oh, why did you do it? Why did I let myself 
 be persuaded into this marriage?' 
 
 "I tried to have a talk with him last night, 
 after he had decided to go away. I was full of 
 pity, and a desire to help. I said I wanted him 
 to know that no matter how much we might 
 disagree about some things, I meant to learn to 
 live happily with him. We must find some sort 
 of compromise, for the sake of the child, if not 
 for ourselves; we must not let the child suffer. 
 He answered coldly that there would be no need 
 for the child to suffer, the child would have the 
 best the world could afford. I suggested that 
 there might arise some question as to just what 
 the best was; but to that he said nothing. He 
 went on to rebuke my discontent; had he not 
 given me everything a woman could want? he 
 asked. He was too polite to mention money, 
 but he said that I had leisure and entire freedom 
 from care. I was persisting in assuming cares, 
 while he was doing all in his power to prevent it. 
 
156 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "And that was as far as we got. I gave up the 
 discussion, for we should only have gone the old 
 round over again. 
 
 " Douglas has taken up a sajdng that my coiisin 
 brought with him: 'What you don't know won't 
 hurt you!' I think tha»fc before he left, Harley 
 had begun to suspect that all was not well between 
 my husband and myself, and he felt it necessary 
 to give me a little friendly counsel. He was 
 tactful, and politely vague, but I imderstood 
 him — ^my worldly-wise yoimg cousin! I think 
 that sajong of his sums up the philosophy that 
 he would teach to aU women — 'What you don't 
 know won't hiut you!' " 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 157 
 
 § 7 
 
 A WEEK or so later Sylvia wrote me that her 
 husband was in New York. And I waited another 
 week, for good measiu-e, and then one morning 
 dropped in for a call upon Claire Lepage. Why 
 did I do it? you ask. I had no definite purpose — 
 only a general opposition to the philosophy 
 of Cousin Harley. 
 
 I was xishered into Claire's boudoir, which was 
 still littered with last evening's apparel. She sat 
 in a dressing-gown with resplendent red roses on 
 it, and brushed the hair out of her eyes, and 
 apologized for not being ready for callers. 
 
 "I've just had a talking to from Larry," she 
 explained. 
 
 "Larry?" said I, inquirii^ly; for Claire had 
 always informed me elaborately that van Tuiver 
 had been her one departure from propriety, and 
 always would be. 
 
 Apparently she had now reached a stage in her 
 career where pretenses were too much trouble. 
 "I've come to the conclusion that I don't know 
 how to manage men," she said. "I never can 
 get along with one for any time." 
 
 I remarked that I had had the same experience; 
 though of course I had only tried it once. "TeU 
 me," I said, "who's Larry?" 
 
 "There's his picture." She reached into a 
 drawer of her dresser. 
 
158 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 I saw a handsome blond gentleman, who looked 
 old enough to know better. "He doesn't seem 
 especially forbidding," I said. 
 
 "That's just the trouble — ^you can never tell 
 about men!" 
 
 I noted a date on the picture. " He seems to be 
 an old friend. You never told me about him." 
 
 "He doesn't like being told about. He has a 
 troublesome wife." 
 
 I winced inwardly, but all I said was, "I see." 
 
 "He's a stock-broker; and he got 'squeezed', 
 so he says, and it's made him cross — and careful 
 with his money, too. That's trying, in a stock- 
 broker, you must admit." She laughed. "And 
 still he's just as particular — ^wants to have his 
 own way in everything, wants to say whom I shall 
 know and where I shall go. I said, ' I have all the 
 inconveniences of matrimony, and none of the 
 advantages.' " 
 
 I made some remark upon the subject of the 
 emancipation of woman ; and Claire, who was now 
 leaning back in her chair, combing out her long 
 black tresses, smiled at me out of half-closed 
 eyelids. "Guess whom he's objecting to!" she 
 said. And when I pronounced it impossible, she 
 looked portentous. "There are bigger fish in the 
 sea than Larry Edgewater!" 
 
 "And you've hooked one?" I asked, innocently. 
 
 "Well, I don't mean to give up all my friends." 
 
 I went on casually to talk about my plans for 
 the summer; and a few minutes later, after a 
 lull — "By the way," remarked Claire, "Douglas 
 van Tuiver is in town." 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 159 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "I've seen him." 
 
 "Indeed! Where?" 
 
 "I got Jack Taylor to invite me again. You 
 see, when Douglas fell in love with his peerless 
 Southern beauty, Jack predicted he'd get over 
 it even more quickly. Now he's interested in 
 proving he was right." 
 
 I waited a moment, and then asked, carelessly, 
 "Is he having any success?" 
 
 "I said, 'Douglas, why don't you come to see 
 me?' He was in a playful mood. 'What do you 
 want? A new automobile?' I answered, 'I 
 haven't any automobile, new or old, and you know 
 it. What I want is you. I always loved you — 
 siu-ely I proved that to you.' — ' What you proved 
 to me was that you were a sort of wild-cat. I'm 
 afraid of you. And anyway, I'm tired of women, 
 I'll never trust another one.' " 
 
 "About the same conclusion as you've come to 
 regarding men," I remarked. 
 
 " 'Douglas,' I said, 'come and see me, and we'll 
 talk over old times. You may trust me, I swear 
 I'll not tell a living soul.' 'You've been consoling 
 yourself with someone else,' he said. But I knew 
 he was only guessiug. He was seeking for some- 
 thing that woiild worry me, and he said; 'You're 
 drinking too much. People that drink can't be 
 trusted.' — 'You know,' I repUed, 'I didn't 
 drink too much when I was with you. I'm not 
 drinking as much as you are, right now.' He 
 answered, 'I've been off on a desert island for God 
 
160 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 knows how many months, and I'm celebrating 
 my escape.' — 'Well,' I answered, 'let me help 
 celebrate!' " 
 
 "What did he say to that?" 
 
 Claire resumed the combing of her silken hair, 
 and smiled a slow smile at me. " 'You may trust 
 me, Douglas,' I said. ' I swear I'll not tell a Uving 
 soul!' " 
 
 "Of coxirse," I remarked, appreciatively, "that 
 means he said he'd come!" 
 
 "7 haven't told you!" was the reply. 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 161 
 
 §8 
 
 I Baraw that I had only to wait for Claire to 
 tell me the rest of the story. But her mind went 
 off on another tack. "Sylvia's going to have a 
 baby," she remarked, suddenly. 
 
 "That ought to please her husband," I said. 
 
 "You can see him beginning to swell with 
 paternal pride! — so Jack said. He sent for a 
 bottle of some famous kind of champagne that he 
 ha^, to celebrate the new 'millionaire baby.' 
 (They used to call Douglas that, once upon a time.) 
 Before they got through, they had made it triplets. 
 Jack says Douglas is the one man in New York 
 who can afford them." 
 
 "Your friend Jack seems to be what they call 
 a wag," I commented. 
 
 "It isn't everybody that Douglas will let carry 
 on with him like that. He takes himself seriously, 
 as a rule. And he expects to take the new baby 
 seriously." 
 
 "It generally binds a man tighter to his wife, 
 don't you think?" 
 
 I watched her closely, and saw her smile at my 
 nawetL "No," she said, "I don't. It leaves 
 them restless. It's a bore all roimd." 
 
 I did not dispute her authority; she ought to 
 know her husbands, I thought. 
 
 She was facing the mirror, putting up her hair; 
 and in the midst of the operation she laughed. 
 
 11 
 
162 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "All that evening, while we were having a jolly 
 time at Jack Taylor's, Larry was here waiting." 
 
 "Then no wonder you had a row!" I said. 
 
 "He hadn't told me he was coming. And was 
 I to sit here all night alone? It's always the same 
 — I never knew a man who really in his heart was 
 willing for you to have any friends, or any sort 
 of good time without him." 
 
 "Perhaps," I repUed, "he's afraid you mightn't 
 be true to him." I meant this for a jest, of the sort 
 that Claire and her friends would appreciate. 
 Little did I foresee where it was to lead us. I 
 remember how once on the farm my husband 
 had a lot of dynamite, blasting out stumps; and 
 my emotions when I discovered the children 
 innocently playing with a stick of it. Something 
 like these children I seem now to myself, looking 
 back on this visit to Claire, and our talk. 
 
 "You know," she observed, without smiling, 
 " Larry's got a bee in his hat. I've seen men who 
 were jealous, and kept watch over women, but 
 never one who was obsessed like him." 
 
 "What's it about?" 
 
 "He's been reading a book about diseases, and 
 he tells me tales about what may happen to me, 
 and what may happen to him. When you've 
 listened a while, you can see microbes crawling 
 all over the walls of the room." 
 
 "Well " I began. 
 
 "I was sick of his lecturing, so I said, 'Larry, 
 you'll have to do like me — ^have everything there 
 is, and get over it, and then you won't need to 
 worry.' " 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 163 
 
 I sat still, staring at her; I think I must have 
 stopped breathing. At the end of an eternity, 
 I said, "You've not really had any of these diseases, 
 Claire?" 
 
 "Who hasn't?" she countered. 
 
 Again there was a pause. "You know," I 
 observed, "some of them are dangerous." 
 
 "Oh, of com-se," she answered, Ughtly. 
 "There's one that makes your nose faU in and 
 yoiir hair fall out — but you haven't seen anything 
 like that happening to me!" 
 
 "But there's another," I hinted — "one that's 
 much more common." And when she did not 
 take the hint, I continued, "Also, it's more serious 
 then people generally reahze." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. "What of it? 
 Men bring you these things, and it's part of the 
 game. So what's the use of bothering?" 
 
164 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 §9 
 
 Theke was a long silence; I had to have time 
 to decide what course to take. There was so 
 much that I wanted to get from her — and so much 
 that I wanted to hide from her! 
 
 "I don't want to bore you, Claire," I began, 
 finally. ' ' But really this is a matter of importance 
 to you. You see, I've been reading up on the 
 subject, as well as Larry. The doctors have been 
 making new discoveries. They used to think 
 this was just a local infection, like a cold, but now 
 they find it's a blood disease, and has the gravest 
 consequences. For one thing, it causes most of 
 the surgical operations that have to be performed 
 on women." 
 
 "Maybe so," she said, still indifferent. "I've 
 had two operations. But it's ancient history 
 now." 
 
 "You mayn't have reached the end yet," I 
 persisted. "People suppose they are cured of 
 gonorrhea, when really it's only suppressed, and 
 is Uable to break out again at any time." 
 
 "Yes, I know. That's some of the information 
 Larry had been making love to me with." 
 
 "It may get into the joints and cause rheuma- 
 tism; it may cause neuralgia; it's been known to 
 affect the heart. Also, it causes two-thirds of all 
 the blindness in infants " 
 
 And suddenly Claire laughed. "That's Sylvia 
 Castleman's lookout, it seems to me!" 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 165 
 
 "Oh! Oh!" I whispered, losing my self-control. 
 
 "What's the matter?" she asked; and I noticed 
 that her voice had become sharp. 
 
 "You reaUy mean what you've just implied?" 
 
 "That Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver may have to 
 pay something for what she has done to me? Well, 
 what of it?" And suddenly Claire flew into a 
 passion — as she always did when our talk came to 
 her rival. "Why shouldn't she take chances, 
 the same as the rest of us? Why should I have it, 
 and she get off?" 
 
 I fought for my composiu-e. After a pause, I 
 said, "It's not a thing we want anybody to have, 
 Claire. We don't want anybody to take such a 
 chance. The girl ought to have been told." 
 
 "Told? Do you imagine she would have given 
 up her great catch?" 
 
 "She might have — ^how can you be sure? Any- 
 how, she should have had the chance." 
 
 There was a long silence. I was so shaken that 
 it was hard for me to find words. "As a matter 
 of fact," said Claire, grimly, "I thought of warning 
 her myself. There'd have been some excitement 
 at least! You remember — ^when they came out 
 of the church? You helped to stop me." 
 
 "It would have been too late then," I heard 
 myself saying. 
 
 "Well," she exclaimed, with fresh excitement, 
 "it's Miss Sylvia's turn now! We'll see if she's 
 such a grand lady that she can't get my diseases!" 
 
 I could no longer contain myself. "Claire," 
 I cried, "you are talking like a devil!" 
 
166 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 She picked up a powder-puff, and began to use 
 it diligently. "I know," she said — and I saw 
 her burning eyes in the glass — "you can't fool me. 
 You've tried to be kind, but you despise me in 
 your heart. You think I'm as bad as any woman 
 of the street. Very well, then, I speak for my 
 class. And I tell you, this is where we prove 
 our humanity. They throw us out — but you see, 
 we get back in!" 
 
 "My dear woman," I said, "you don't under- 
 stand. You'd not feel as you do, if you knew that 
 the person to pay the penalty might be an innocent 
 Uttle child." 
 
 " Their child ! Yes, it's too bad if there has to be 
 anything the matter with the Uttle prince! But 
 I might as well tell you the truth — I've had that 
 in mind all along. I didn't know just what would 
 happen, or how — I don't beUeve anybody does, 
 the doctors who pretend to are just faking you. 
 But I knew Douglas was rotten, and maybe his 
 children would be rotten, and they'd all of them 
 suffer. That was one of the things that kept me 
 from interfering and smashing him up." 
 
 I was speechless now, and Claire, watching me, 
 laughed. "You look as if you'd had no idea of 
 it. Don't you know that I told you — ^at the time?" 
 
 "You told me at the time!" 
 
 "I suppose you didn't understand. I'm apt 
 to talk French when I'm excited. We have a 
 saying, 'The wedding present which the mistress 
 leaves in the basket of the bride.' That was 
 pretty near telling, wasn't it? " 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 167 
 
 "Yes," I said, in a low voice. 
 
 And the other, after watching me for a moment 
 more, went on: "You think I'm revengeful, 
 don't you? Well, I used to reproach myself with 
 this, and I tried to fight it down; but the time 
 comes when you want people to pay for what 
 they take from you. Let me Jell you something 
 that I never told to any one, that I never expected 
 to tell. You see me drinking and going to the 
 devil; you hear me talking the care-free talk of 
 my world. But in the beginning I was really in 
 love with Douglas van Tuiver, and I wanted his 
 child. I wanted it so that it was an ache to me. 
 And yet, what chance did I have? I'd have been 
 the joke of his set forever if I'd breathed it; I'd 
 have been laughed out of town. I even tried at 
 one time to trap him — to get his child ia spite of 
 him. But I found that the surgeons had cut me 
 up, and I could never have a child. So I have 
 to make the best of it — I have to agree with my 
 friends, that it's a good thing, it saves me trouble! 
 But she comes along, and she has what I wanted, 
 and all the world thinks it's wonderful and sub- 
 lime. She's a beautiful young mother! What's 
 she ever done ia her hfe, that she has everything, 
 and I go without? You may spend your time 
 shedding tears over her, and what may happen 
 to her; but for my part, I say this — ^let her take 
 her chances! Let her take her chances with the 
 other women in the world — the women she's too 
 good and too pure to know anything about!" 
 
168 SYLVAI'S MAKRIAGE 
 
 § 10 
 
 I CAME out of Claire's house, sick with horror. 
 Not since the time when I had read my poor 
 nephew's letter had I been so shaken. "Why had 
 I not thou^t long ago of questioning Claire about 
 these matters? How could I have left Sylvia all 
 this time exp(»ed to peril? 
 
 The greatest danger was to her child at the time 
 of birth. I figured up, acc(miing to the last letter 
 I had received; there was about ten days yet, 
 and so I felt some relief. I thought first of send- 
 ing a tel^-am, but reflected that it would be 
 difficult, not merely to tell her what to do in a 
 tel^iram, but to explain to her afterwards why 
 I had chosen this extraordinary method. I 
 recollected that in her last letter she had men- 
 tioned the name of the surgeon who was coming 
 from New York to attend her during her confine- 
 ment. Obviously the thing for me to do was to 
 see this surgeon. 
 
 "Well, madam?" he said, when I was seated 
 in his inner office. He was a tall, elderly man, 
 immaculately groomed, and formal and precise 
 in his manner. 
 
 "Dr. Overton," I began, "my friend ^Mrs. 
 Douglas van Tuiver writes me that you are going 
 to Florida shortly." 
 
 "That is correct," he said. 
 
 " I have come to see you about a deUcate matter. 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 169 
 
 I presume I need hardly say that I am relying 
 upon the seal of professional secrecy." 
 
 I saw his gaze become suddenly fixed. "Cer- 
 tainly, madam," he said. 
 
 "I am taking this course because Mrs. van 
 Tuiver is a very dear friend of mine, and I am 
 concerned about her welfare. It has recently 
 come to my knowledge that she has been exposed 
 to infection by a venereal disease." 
 
 He would hardly have started more if I had 
 struck him. "Hey?" he cried, forgetting his 
 manners. 
 
 "It would not help you any," I said, "if I were 
 to go into details about this imfortimate matter. 
 Suffice it to say that my information is positive 
 and precise — ^that it coiild hardly be more so." 
 
 There was a long silence. He sat with eyes 
 riveted upon me. "What is this disease?" he 
 demanded, at last. 
 
 I named it; and then again there was a paiise. 
 "How long has this — ^this possibihty of infection 
 existed?" 
 
 "Ever since her marriage, nearly eighteen 
 months ago." 
 
 That told him a good part of the story. I felt 
 his look boring me through. Was I a mad- 
 woman? Or some new kind of blackmailer? 
 Or was I, possibly, a Claire? I was grateful 
 for my forty-cent bonnet and my forty-seven 
 years. 
 
 "Naturally," he said, at length, "this informa- 
 tion startles me." 
 
170 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "When you have thought it over," I responded, 
 "you will realize that no iMjssible motive could 
 bring me here but concern for the welfare of my 
 friend." 
 
 He took a few moments to consider. "That 
 may be true, madam; but let me add that when 
 you say you know this " 
 
 He stopped. "I mean that I know it," I said, 
 and stopped in tmn. 
 
 "Has Mrs. van Tuiver herself any idea of this 
 situation? " 
 
 "None whatever. On the contrary, she was 
 assured before her marriage that no such possi- 
 biUty existed." 
 
 Again I felt him looking through me. But I 
 left him to make what he could of my information. 
 "Doctor," I continued, "I presume there is no 
 need to point out to a man in your position the 
 seriousness of this matter, both to the mother and 
 to the child." 
 
 "Certainly there is not." 
 
 "I assume that you are famiUar with the pre- 
 cautions that have to be taken with regard to the 
 eyes of the child?" 
 
 "Certainly, madam." This with just a touch 
 of hauteur. And then, suddenly, "Are you by 
 any chance a nurse?" 
 
 "No," I replied, "but many years ago I was 
 forced by a tragedy in my own family to reaUze 
 the seriousness of the venereal peril. So when 
 I learned this fact about my friend, my first 
 thought was that you should be informed of it. 
 I trust that you will appreciate my position." 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 171 
 
 "Certainly, madam, certainly," he made haste 
 to say — "you are quite right, and you may rest 
 assured that everything will be done that our best 
 knowledge directs. I only regret that the infor- 
 mation did not come to me sooner." 
 
 "It only came to me about an hour ago," I 
 said, as I rose to leave. "The blame, therefore, 
 must rest upon another person." 
 
 I needed to say no more. He bowed me poUtely 
 out, and I walked down the street — and reahzed 
 that I was restless and wretched. I wandered 
 at random for a while, tryiug to think what else 
 I could do — ^for my own peace of mind, if not for 
 Sylvia's welfare. I found myself inventing one 
 worry after another. Dr. Overton had not said 
 just when he was going; and suppose she were 
 to need some one at once? Or suppose something 
 were to happen to him — ^if he were to be killed 
 upon the long train-journey? I was like a mother 
 who has had a terrible dream about her child — 
 she must rush and fling her arms about the child. 
 I realized that I wanted to see Sylvia! 
 
 She had begged me to come; and I was worn 
 out, and had been urged by the office to take a 
 rest. Suddenly I bolted into a store, and tele- 
 phoned the railroad station about trains to South- 
 em Florida. I hailed a taxi-cab, rode to my 
 home post-haste; flung a few of my belongings 
 into a bag, and the waiting cab sped with me to 
 the ferry. In little more than two hours after 
 Claire had told me the dreadful tidings, I was 
 speeding on my way to Sylvia. 
 
172 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 11 
 
 Feom a train-window I had once beheld a cross- 
 section of America from west to east; now I 
 beheld another from north to south. In the 
 afternoon were the farms and country-homes of 
 New Jersey; and then in the morning endless 
 wastes of wilderness, and straggling fields of yoimg 
 com and tobacco; turpentine-forests, with half- 
 stripped negroes working, and a procession of 
 "depots", with lanky men chewing tobacco, 
 and negroes basking in the blazing sun. Then 
 another night, and there was the pageant of 
 Florida: palmettos, and other trees of which one 
 had seen pictures in the geography-books; 
 stretches of vine-tangled swamps, where one 
 looked for alligators; orange-groves in blossom, 
 and gardens full of flowers beyond imaguiing. 
 Every hour, of course, it got hotter; I was not, 
 like Sylvia, used to it, and whenever the train 
 stopped I sat by the open window, mopping the 
 perspiration from my face. 
 
 We were due at Miami in the afternoon; but 
 there was a freight-train off the track ahead of us, 
 and so for three hours I sat chafing with impa- 
 tience, worrjdng the conductor with futile ques- 
 tions. I had to make connections at Miami 
 with a train which ran to the last point on the 
 mainland, where the construction-work over the 
 keys was going forward. And if I missed that 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 173 
 
 last train, I would have to wait in Miami till 
 morning. I had better wait there, anyhow, the 
 conductor argued ; but I insisted that my friends, 
 to whom I had telegraphed two days before, 
 would meet me with a launch and take me to their 
 place that night. 
 
 We got in half an hour late for the other train ; 
 but this was the South, I discovered, and they 
 had waited for us. I shifted my bag and myself 
 across the platform, and we moved on. But 
 then another problem arose; we were running 
 into a storm. It came with great suddenness; 
 one minute all was still, with a golden sunset, 
 and the next it was so dark that I could barely 
 see the palm-trees, bent over, swaying madly — 
 like people with arms stretched out, crying in 
 distress. I could hear the roaring of the wind 
 above that of the train, and I asked the con- 
 ductor in consternation if this could be a hurri- 
 cane. It was not the season for hurricanes, he 
 repUed; but it was "some storm, all right," and 
 I would not find any boat to take me to the keys 
 until it was over. 
 
 It was absurd of me to be nervous, I kept telling 
 myself; but there was something in me that cried 
 out to be there, to be there! I got out of the 
 train, facing what I refrain from calling a hurri- 
 cane out of deference to local authority. It was 
 all I could do to keep from beiag blown across the 
 station-platform, and I was drenched with the 
 spray and bewildered by the roaring of the waves 
 that beat against the pier beyond. Inside the 
 
174 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 station, I questioned the agent. The launch 
 of the van Tuivers had not been in that day; if 
 it had been on the way, it must have sought shel- 
 ter somewhere. My telegram to Mrs. van Tuiver 
 had been received two days before, and deUvered 
 by a boatman whom they employed for that 
 purpose. Presumably, therefore, I would be met. 
 I asked how long this gale was apt to last; the 
 answer was from one to three days. 
 
 Then I asked about shelter for the night. This 
 was a "jimiping-off place", said the agent, with 
 barracks and shanties for a construction-gang; 
 there were saloons, and what was called a hotel, 
 but it wouldn't do for a lady. I pleaded that I 
 was not fastidious — ^being anxious to nullify the 
 efifect which the name van Tuiver had produced. 
 But the agent would have it that the place was 
 unfit for even a Western farmer's wife; and as 
 I was not anxious to take the chance of being 
 blown overboard in the darkness, I spent the 
 night on one of the benches in the station. I 
 lay, Ustening to the incredible clamor of wind and 
 waves, feeling the building quiver, and wonder- 
 ing if each gust might not blow it away. 
 
 I was out at dawn, the force of the wind having 
 abated somewhat by that time. I saw before 
 me a waste of angry, foam-strewn water, with no 
 sign of any craft upon it. Late in the morning 
 came the big steamer which ran to Key West, 
 in connection with the railroad; it made a difficult 
 landing, and I interviewed the captain, with the 
 idea of bribing him to take me to my destination. 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 175 
 
 But he had his schedule, which neither storms nor 
 the name of van Tuiver could alter. Besides, 
 he pointed out, he could not land me at their place, 
 as his vessel drew too much water to get anjrwhere 
 near; and if he landed me elsewhere, I should be 
 no better off. "If your friends are expecting you, 
 they'll come here," he said, "and their launch can 
 travel when nothing else can." 
 
 To pass the time I went to inspect the viaduct 
 of the railway-to-be. The first stretch was 
 completed, a long series of concrete arches, run- 
 ning out, apparently into the open sea. It was 
 one of the engineering wonders of the world, but 
 I fear I did not appreciate it. Towards mid- 
 afternoon I made out a speck of a boat over the 
 water, and my friend the station-agent remarked^ 
 "There's your launch." 
 
 I expressed my amazement that they should 
 have ventured out in such weather. I had had 
 ui mind the kind of tiny open craft that one hears 
 making day and night hideous at summer-resorts; 
 but when the "Merman" drew near, I realized 
 afresh what it was to be the guest of a multi- 
 millionaire. She was about fifty feet long, a 
 vision of polished brass and shinkig, new- varnished 
 cedar. She rammed her shoiilder kito the waves 
 and flung them contemptuously to one side; her 
 cabin was tight, dry as the saloon of a liner. 
 
 Three men emerged on deck to assist in the 
 difficult process of making a landing. One of 
 them sprang to the dock, and confronting me, 
 inquired if I was Mrs. Abbott. He explained 
 
176 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 that they had set out to meet me the previous 
 afternoon, but had had to take refuge behind one 
 of the keys. 
 
 "How is Mrs. van Tuiver?" I asked, quickly. 
 
 "She is weU." 
 
 "I don't suppose — the baby " I hinted. 
 
 "No, ma'am, not yet," said the man; and after 
 that I felt interested in what he had to say about 
 the storm and its effects. We could return at 
 once, it seemed, if I did not mind being pitched 
 about. 
 
 "How long does it take?" I asked. 
 
 "Three hours, in weather like this. It's about 
 fifty miles." 
 
 "But then it wiU be dark," I objected. 
 
 "That won't matter, ma'am — we have plenty 
 of Ught of our own. We shan't have trouble, 
 unless the wind rises, and there's a chain of keys 
 all the way, where we can get shelter if it does. 
 The worst you have to fear is spending a night 
 on board." 
 
 I reflected that I could not well be more uncom- 
 fortable than I had been the previous night, so 
 I voted for a start. There was mail and some 
 supplies to be put on board; then I made a spring 
 for the deck, as it surged up towards me on a 
 rising wave, and in a moment more the cabin- 
 door had shut behind me, and I was safe and snug, 
 in the midst of leather and mahogany and electric- 
 lighted magnificence. Through the heavy double 
 windows I saw the dock swing round behind us, 
 and saw the torrents of green spray sweep over 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 177 
 
 us and past. I grasped at the seat to keep myself 
 from being thrown forward, and then grasped 
 behind, to keep from going in that direction. 
 I had a series of sensations as of an elevator 
 stopping suddenly — and then I draw the curtains 
 of the "Merman's" cabin, and invite the reader 
 to pass by. This is Sylvia's story, and not mine, 
 and it is of no interest what happened to me 
 during that trip. I will only remind the reader 
 that I had lived my life in the far West, and there 
 were some things I could not have foreseen. 
 
 IS 
 
178 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 12 
 
 "We are there, ma'am," I heard one of the 
 boatmen say; and I realized vaguely that the 
 pitchmg had ceased. He helped me to sit up, 
 and I saw the search-hght of the craft sweeping 
 the shore of an island. "It passes off 'most as 
 quick as it comes, ma'am," added my supporter; 
 and for this I murmured feeble thanks. 
 
 We came to a Uttle bay, where the power was 
 shut off, and we gUded towards the shore. There 
 was a boat-house, a sort of miniatm-e dry-dock, 
 with a gate which closed behind us. I had visions 
 of Sylvia waiting to meet me; but apparently 
 oiu" arrival had not been noted — and for this I 
 was grateful. There were seats in the boat- 
 house, and I sank into one, and asked the man to 
 wait a few minutes while I recovered myself. 
 When I got up and went to the house, what I 
 found made me quickly forget that I had such a 
 thing as a body. 
 
 There was a bright moon, I remember, and I 
 could see the long, low bungalow, with windows 
 gleaming through the palm-trees. A woman's 
 figure emerged from the house and came down 
 the white shell-path to meet me. My heart 
 leaped. My beloved! 
 
 But then I saw it was the EngUsh maid, whom. 
 I had come to know in New York; I saw too 
 that her face was alight with excitement. "Oh, 
 my lady!" she cried. "The baby's come!" 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 179 
 
 It was like a blow in the face. "Whatf" I 
 gasped. 
 
 "Came early this morning! A girl." 
 
 "But — I thought it wasn't till next week!" 
 
 "I know, but it's here. In that terrible storm, 
 when we thought the house was going to be 
 washed away! Oh, my lady, it's the loveliest 
 baby!" 
 
 I had presence of mind enough to try to hide 
 my dismay. The semi-darkness was a fortunate 
 thing for me. "How is the mother?" I asked. 
 
 "Splendid. She's asleep now." 
 
 "And the child?" 
 
 "Oh! Such a dear you never saw!" 
 
 "And it's all right?" 
 
 "It's just the living image of its mother! You 
 shall see!" 
 
 We moved towards the house, slowly, while 
 I got my thoughts together. "Dr. Perrin is 
 here?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes. He's gone to his place to sleep." 
 
 "And the nurse?" 
 
 "She's with the child. Come this way." 
 
 We went softly up the steps of the veranda. 
 All the rooms opened upon it, and we entered 
 one of them, and by the dim-shaded Ught I saw 
 a white-clad woman bending over a crib. "Miss 
 Lyman, this is Mrs. Abbott," said the maid. 
 
 The nurse straightened up. "Oh! so you got 
 here! And just at the right time!" 
 
 "God grant it may be so!" I thought to my- 
 self. "So this is the child!" I said, and bent 
 
180 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 over the crib. The nurse turned up the light 
 for me. 
 
 It is the form in which the miracle of life 
 becomes most apparent to us, and dull indeed 
 must be he who can encoimter it without being 
 stirred to the depths. To see, not merely new 
 life come into the world, but life which has been 
 made by ourselves, or by those we love — life 
 that is a mirror and copy of something dear to 
 us! To see this tiny mite of warm and living 
 flesh — and to see that it was Sylvia! To trace 
 each beloved lineament, so much alike, and yet 
 so different — ^half a portrait and half a caricature, 
 half sublime and half ludicrous! The comical 
 little imitation of her nose, with each dear little 
 curve, with even a reminder of the tiny groove 
 xmderneath the tip, and the tiny corresponding 
 dimple underneath the chin! The soft silken 
 fuzz which was some day to be Sylvia's golden 
 glory! The dehcate, sensitive lips, which were 
 some day to quiver with feeling! I gazed at 
 them, and saw them moving, I saw the breast 
 moving — and a wave of emotion swept over me, 
 and the tears half-blinded me as I knelt. 
 
 But I could not long forget the reason for my 
 coming. It meant little that the child was aUve 
 and seemingly weU; I was not dealing with a 
 disease which, like syphiUs, starves and deforms 
 in the very womb. The little one was asleep, 
 but I moved the Ught so as to examine its eye- 
 lids. Then I turned to the nurse, and asked, 
 "Miss Lyman, doesn't it seem to you the eyeUds 
 are a trifle inflamed?" 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 181 
 
 "Why, I hadn't noticed it," she answered. 
 
 "Were the eyes washed?" I inquired. 
 
 "I washed the baby, of course " 
 
 "I mean the eyes especially. The doctor 
 didn't drop anything into them?" 
 
 "I don't think he considered it necessary." 
 
 "It's an important precaution," I replied. 
 "There are always possibihties of infection." 
 
 "Possibly," said the other. "But you know, 
 we did not expect this. Dr. Overton was to be 
 here in three or four days." 
 
 "Dr. Perrin is asleep?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes. He was up all last night. 
 
 "I think I wiU have to ask you to waken him," 
 I said. 
 
 "Is it as serious as that?" she inquired, anx- 
 iously — Shaving sensed some of the emotion I was 
 trying to conceal. 
 
 "It might be very serious," I said. "I reaUy 
 ought to have a talk with the doctor." 
 
182 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 13 
 
 The nurse went out, and I drew up a chair 
 and sat by the crib, watching the infant go back 
 to sleep. I was glad to be alone, to have a chance 
 to get myself together. But suddenly I heard a 
 rustle of skirts in the doorway behind me, and 
 turned and saw a white-clad figure; an elderly 
 gentlewoman, slender and fragile, grey-haired 
 and rather pale, wearing a soft dressing-gown. 
 Aunt Varina! 
 
 I rose. "This must be Mrs. Abbott," she 
 said. Oh, these soft, caressing Southern voices, 
 that cling to each syllable as a lover to a hand 
 at parting. 
 
 She was a very prim and stately little lady, 
 and I think she did not intend to shake hands; 
 but I felt pretty certain that under her coating 
 of formality she was eager for a chance to rhap- 
 sodize. "Oh, what a lovely child!" I cried; and 
 instantly she melted. 
 
 "You have seen our babe!" she exclaimed; 
 and I could not help smiling. A few months 
 ago "the httle stranger," and now "our babe"! 
 
 She bent over the cradle, with her dear old 
 sentimental, romantic soul in her eyes. For a 
 minute or two she quite forgot me; then, look- 
 ing up, she murmured, "It is as wonderful to me 
 as if it were my own!" 
 
 "AU of us who love Sylvia feel that," I 
 responded. 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 183 
 
 She rose, and suddenly remembering hospital- 
 ity, asked me as to my present needs. Then 
 she said, "I must go and see to sending some 
 telegrams." 
 
 "Telegrams?" I inquired. 
 
 "Yes. Think what this news will mean to 
 dear Douglas! And to Major Castleman!" 
 
 "You haven't informed them?" 
 
 "We couldn't send any smaller boat on ac- 
 count of the storm. We must telegraph Dr. 
 Overton also, you understand." 
 
 "To tell him not to come?" I ventured. "But 
 don't you think, Mrs. Tuis, that he may wish 
 to come anyhow?" 
 
 "Why should he wish that?" 
 
 "I'm not sure, but — I think he might." How 
 I longed for a httle of Sylvia's skill in social 
 lying! "Every newly-born infant ought to be 
 examined by a speciaUst, you know; there may 
 be a particular regime, a diet for the mother — 
 one cannot say." 
 
 "Dr. Perrin didn't consider it necessary." 
 
 "I am going to have a talk with Dr. Perrin 
 at once," I said. 
 
 I saw a troubled look in her eyes. "You don't 
 mean you think there's anything the matter?" 
 
 "No — ^no," I lied. "But I'm siire you ought 
 to wait before you have the laimch go. Please 
 do." 
 
 "If you insist," she said. I read bewilder- 
 ment in her manner, and just a touch of resent- 
 ment. Was it not presumptuous of me, a stranger. 
 
184 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 and one — well, possibly not altogether a lady? 
 She groped for words; and the ones that came 
 were: "Dear Douglas must not be kept waiting." 
 I was too polite to offer the suggestion that 
 "dear Douglas" might be finding ways to amuse 
 himself. The next moment I heard steps ap- 
 proaching on the veranda, and turned to meet the 
 nurse with the doctor. 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 185 
 
 § 14 
 
 "How do you do, Mrs. Abbott?" said Dr. 
 Perrin. He was in his dressing-gown, and had 
 a newly-awakened look. I started to apologize, 
 but he replied, "It's pleasant to see a new face 
 in om- soUtude. Two new faces!" 
 
 That was behaving well, I thought, for a man 
 who had been routed out of sleep. I tried to 
 meet his mood. "Dr. Perria, Mrs. van Tuiver 
 tells me that you object to amateur physicians. 
 But perhaps you won't mind regarding me as 
 a midwife. I have three children of my own, 
 and I've had to help bring others into the world." 
 
 "All right," he smiled. "We'll consider you 
 qualified. What is the matter?" 
 
 "I wanted to ask you about the chUd's eyes. 
 It is a wise precaution to drop some nitrate of 
 silver into them, to provide against possible 
 infection." 
 
 I waited for my answer. "There have been 
 no signs of any sort of infection in this case," 
 he said, at last. 
 
 "Perhaps not. But it is not necessary to 
 wait, in such a matter. You have not taken 
 the precaution?" 
 
 "No, madam." 
 
 "You have some of the drug, of course?" 
 
 Again there was a pause. "No, madam, I 
 fear that I have not." 
 
186 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 I winced, involuntarily. I could not hide my 
 distress. "Dr. Penin," I exclaimed, "you came 
 to attend a confinement-case, and you omitted 
 to provide something so essential!" 
 
 There was nothing left of the little man's 
 affability now. "In the first place," he said, 
 "I must remind you that I did not come to 
 attend a confinement-case. I came to look after 
 Mrs. van Tuiver's condition up to the time of 
 confinement." 
 
 "But you knew there would always be the 
 possibility of an accident!" 
 
 "Yes, to be sure." 
 
 "And you didn't have any nitrate of silver!" 
 
 "Madam," he said, stiffly, "there is no use for 
 this drug except in one contingency." 
 
 "I know," I cried, "but it is an important 
 precaution. It is the practice to use it in all 
 maternity-hospitals." 
 
 "Madam, I have visited hospitals, and I think 
 I know something of what the practice is." 
 
 So there we were, at a deadlock. There was 
 silence for a space. 
 
 "Would you mind sending for the drug?" I 
 asked, at last. 
 
 "I presume," he said, with hamteur, "it will do 
 no harm to have it on hand." 
 
 I was aware of an elderly lady watching us, 
 with consternation written upon every senti- 
 mental feature. "Dr. Perrin," I said, "if Mrs. 
 Tuis will pardon me, I think I ought to speak 
 with you alone." The nurse hastily withdrew; 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 187 
 
 and I saw the elderly lady draw herself up with 
 terrible dignity — and then suddenly quail, and 
 turn and follow the nurse. 
 
 I told the little man what I knew. After he 
 had had time to get over his consternation, he 
 said that fortimately there did not seem to be 
 any sign of trouble. 
 
 "There does seem so to me," I rephed. "It 
 may be only my imagination, but I think the 
 eyehds are inflamed." 
 
 I held the baby for him, while he made an 
 examination. He admitted that there seemed to 
 be ground for imeasiness. His professional dig- 
 nity was now gone, and he was only too glad to 
 be human. 
 
 "Dr. Perrin," I said, "there is only one thing 
 we can do — to get some nitrate of silver at the 
 earliest possible moment. Fortimately the laimch 
 is here." 
 
 "I will have it start at once," he said. "It 
 wiU have to go to Key West." 
 
 "And how long will that take?" 
 
 "It depends upon the sea. In good weather 
 it takes us eight hours to go and return." I 
 could not repress a shudder. The child might 
 be blind in eight hours! 
 
 But there was no time to be wasted in fore- 
 boding. "About Dr. Overton," I said. "Don't 
 you think he had better come?" I ventured to 
 add the hint that Mr. van Tuiver would hardly 
 wish expense to be considered in such an emer- 
 gency; and in the end, I persuaded the doctor 
 
188 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 not merely to telegraph for the great surgeon, 
 but to ask a hospital in Atlanta to send the near- 
 est eye-specialist by the first train. 
 
 We called back Mrs. Tuis, and I apologized 
 abjectly for my presumption, and Dr. Perrin 
 announced that he thought he ought to see Dr. 
 Overton, and another doctor as well. I saw 
 fear leap into Aunt Varina's eyes. "Oh, what is 
 it?" she cried. "What is the matter with oiu- 
 babe?" 
 
 I heli)ed the doctor to answer poUte nothings 
 to all her questions. Oh, the poor, dear lady! 
 I thought to myself. The poor, dear lady! 
 What a tearing away of veils and sentimental 
 bandages was written in her book of fate for 
 that night! 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 189 
 
 § 15 
 
 I FIND myself lingering over these prelimi- 
 naries, dreading the plunge into the rest of my 
 story. We spent our time hovering over the 
 child's crib; and in two or three hours the little 
 eyeUds had become so inflamed that there could 
 no longer be any doubt what was happening. 
 We apphed alternate hot and cold cloths, we 
 washed the eyes in a solution of boric acid, and 
 later, in our desperation, with bluestone. But 
 we were dealing with the virulent gonococcus, and 
 we neither expected nor obtained much result 
 from these measures. In a couple of hours more 
 the eyes were beginning to exude pus, and the 
 poor infant was wailing in torment. 
 
 "Oh, what can it be? Tell me what is the 
 matter?" cried Mrs. Tuis. She sought to catch 
 the child in her arms, and when I quickly pre- 
 vented her, she turned upon me in anger. "What 
 do you mean?" 
 
 "The child must be quiet," I said. 
 
 "But I wish to comfort it!" And when I 
 .still insisted, she burst out, wildly, "What right 
 have you?" 
 
 "Mrs. Tuis," I said, gently, "it is possible the 
 infant may have a very serious infection. If 
 so, you would be apt to catch it." 
 
 She answered with a hysterical cry: "My 
 precious innocent! Do you think I would be 
 afraid of anything it could have?" 
 
190 SYLVIA'S MAKRIAGE 
 
 "You may not be afraid, but we are. We 
 should have to take care of you, and one case 
 is more than enough." 
 
 Suddenly she clutched me by the arm. "TeU 
 me what this awful thing is! I demand to 
 know!" 
 
 "Mrs. Tuis," said the doctor, interfering, "we 
 are not yet sure what the trouble is, we only 
 wish to take precautions. It is really imperative 
 that you should not handle the child, or even 
 go near it. There is nothing you can possibly 
 do." 
 
 She was willing to take orders from him: he 
 spoke the same dialect as herself, and with the 
 same quaint statehness. A charming Uttle South- 
 em gentleman — ^I could realize how Douglas van 
 Tuiver had picked him out for his social qual- 
 ities. In the old-fashioned Southern medical 
 college where he had got his training, I suppose 
 they had taught him the old-fashioned idea of 
 gonorrhea. Now he was acquiring our extrava^ 
 gant modem notions in the grim school of ex- 
 perience. 
 
 It was necessary to put the nurse on her guard 
 as to the risks we were running. We should 
 have had concave glasses to protect our eyes; 
 and we spent part of our time washing our hands 
 in bichloride solution. 
 
 "Mrs. Abbott, what is it?" whispered the 
 woman. 
 
 "It has a long name," I rephed — "ophthalmia 
 neonatorum." 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 191 
 
 "And what has caused it?" 
 
 "The original cause," I responded, "is a man." 
 I was not sure if that was according to the ethics 
 of the situation; but the words came. 
 
 Before long the infected eye-sockets were two 
 red and yeUow masses of inflammation, and the 
 infant was screaming like one of the damned. 
 We had to bind up its eyes; I was tempted to 
 ask the doctor to give it an opiate, for fear lest 
 it should scream itself into convulsions. Then, 
 as poor Mrs. Tuis was pacing the floor, wringing 
 her hands and sobbing hysterically. Dr. Perrin 
 took me to one side and said, "I think she will 
 have to be told." 
 
 The poor, poor lady! 
 
 "She might as well understand now as later," 
 he continued. "She will have to help keep the 
 situation from the mother." 
 
 "Yes," I said; and then, "Who shall tell her?" 
 
 "I think," he repUed "that she might prefer 
 to be told by a woman." 
 
 So I shut my Ups together, and took the dis- 
 tracted lady gently by the arm, and led her to 
 the door. We stole like two criminals down the 
 veranda, and along the path to the beach; and 
 near the boat-house we stopped, and I began. 
 
 "Mrs. Tuis, you may remember a circumstance 
 which yoiu* niece mentioned to me — that just 
 before her marriage she urged you to have cer- 
 tain inquiries made as to Mr. van Tuiver's health, 
 his fitness for marri^e?" 
 
 Never shall I forget her face at that moment. 
 "Sylvia told you that!" 
 
192 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "The inquiries were made," I went on, "but not 
 carefully enough, it seems. Now you behold the 
 consequence of this negligence." 
 
 I saw her blank stare. I added, "The one to 
 pay for it is the child." 
 
 "You — ^you mean — " she stammered, her voice 
 hardly a whisper. "Oh — it is impossible!" 
 Then, with a flare of indignation, "Do you reaUze 
 what you are implying — that Mr. van Tuiver " 
 
 "There is no question of implying," I said, 
 quietly. " It is the facts we have to face now, and 
 you will have to help us to face them." 
 
 She cowered and swayed before me, hiding her 
 face in her hands. I heard her sobbing, and 
 murmuring incoherent cries to her god. I took 
 the poor lady's hand, and bore with her as long 
 as I could; until, being at the end of my patience 
 with prudery and purity and chivalry, and aU 
 the rest of the highfalutin romanticism of the 
 South, I said: "Mrs. Tuis, it is necessary that you 
 should get yourself together. You have a serious 
 duty before you — that you owe both to Sylvia and 
 her child." 
 
 "What is it?" she whispered. The word "duty " 
 had motive-power for her. 
 
 " At all hazards, Sylvia must be kept in ignorance 
 of the calamity for the present. If she were to 
 learn of it, it would quite possibly throw her into 
 a fever, and cost her life or the child's. You must 
 not make any sound that she can hear, and you 
 must not go near her, imtil you have completely 
 mastered your emotions." 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 193 
 
 "Very well," she murmiired. She was really 
 a brave little body; but I, not knowing her, and 
 thinking only of the peril, was cruel in hammering 
 things into her consciousness. Finally I left her, 
 seated upon the steps of the deseri«d boat-house, 
 rocking back and fori;h and sobbing softly to her- 
 self — one of the most pitiful figures it has ever 
 been my fori;une to encounter in my prilgrimage 
 through a worid of sentimentaUty and incompe- 
 tence. 
 
 13 
 
194 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 16 
 
 I WENT back to the house, and because we feared 
 the soimds of the infant's crying might carry, we 
 hung blankets before the doors and windows of the 
 room, and sat in the hot enclosure, shuddering, 
 silent, grey with fear. After an hour or two, 
 Mrs. Tuis rejoined us, stealing in and seating 
 herself at one side of the room, staring from one to 
 another of us with wide eyes of fright. 
 
 By the time the first signs of dawn appeared, 
 the infant had cried itself into a state of exhaustion. 
 The faint Ught that got into the room revealed 
 the three of us, listening to the pitiful whimpering. 
 I was faint with weakness, but I had to make an 
 effort and face the worst ordeal of all. There 
 came a tapping at the door — the maid, to say that 
 Sylvia was awake, and had heard of my arrival, 
 and wished to see me. I might have put off our 
 meeting for a while, on the plea of exhaustion; 
 but I preferred to have it over with, and braced 
 myself and went slowly to her room. 
 
 In the doorway I paused for an instant, to 
 gaze at her. She was exquisite, lying there 
 with the flush of sleep still upon her, and the 
 ecstasy of her great achievement in her face. 
 I fled to her, and we caught each other in our arms. 
 
 "Oh, Mary, Mary! I'm so glad you've come!" 
 And then, "Oh, Mary, isn't it the loveliest baby !" 
 
 "Perfectly glorious!" I exclaimed. 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 195 
 
 "Oh, I'm so happy — so happy as I never 
 dreamed! I've no words to tell you about it." 
 
 "You don't need any words — I've been through 
 it," I said. 
 
 "Oh, but she's so beautiful! TeU me — ^honestly 
 — isn't that really so?" 
 
 "My dear," I said, "she is like you." 
 
 "Mary," she went on, half whispering, "I 
 think it solves all my problems — all that I wrote 
 you about. I don't beUeve I shall ever be unhappy 
 again. I can't believe that such a thing has really 
 happened — that I've been given such a treasure. 
 And she's my own! I can watch her Uttle body 
 grow, and help to make it strong and beautiful! 
 I can help mould her Uttle mind — see it opening 
 up, one chamber of wonder after another! I can 
 teach her all the things I have had to grope so to 
 get!" 
 
 "Yes," I said, trying to speak with conviction. 
 I added, hastily, "I'm glad you don't find mother- 
 hood disappointing." 
 
 "Oh, it's a miracle!" she exclaimed. "A woman 
 who could be dissatisfied with anything afterwards 
 would be an ingrate!" She paused, then added, 
 "Mary, now she's here in the flesh, I feel she'll 
 be a bond between Douglas and me. He must 
 see her rights, her claim upon life, as he couldn't 
 see mine." 
 
 I assented gravely. So that was the thing she 
 was thinking most about — a bond between her 
 husband and herself! A moment later the 
 niu^e appeared in the door-way, and Sylvia set 
 
196 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 up a cry, "My baby I Where's my baby? I want 
 to see my baby I" 
 
 "Sylvia, dear," I said, "there's something about 
 the baby that has to be explained." 
 
 Instantly she was alert. "What is the matter?" 
 
 I laughed. "Nothing, dear, that amounts to 
 anything. But the little one's eyes are inflamed — 
 that is to say, the lids. It's something that 
 happens to newly-bom infants." 
 
 "Well, then?" she said. 
 
 "Nothing, only the doctor's had to put some 
 salve on them, and they don't look very pretty." 
 
 "I don't mind that, if it's all right." 
 
 "But we've had to put a bandage over them, 
 and it looks forbidding. Also, the child is apt to 
 cry." 
 
 "I must see her at once!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Just now she's asleep, so don't make us disturb 
 her." 
 
 "But how long wiU this last?" 
 
 "Not very long. Meantime you must be sen- 
 sible and not mind It's something I made the 
 doctor do, and you mustn't blame me, or I'll be 
 sorry I came to you." 
 
 "You dear thing," she said, and put her hand 
 in mine. And then, suddenly, 'Why did you take 
 it into your head to come, all of a sudden?" 
 
 "Don't ask me," I smiled. "I have no excuse. 
 I just got homesick, and had to see you." 
 
 "It's perfectly wonderful that you should be 
 here now," she declared. "But you look badly. 
 Are you tired?" 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 197 
 
 "Yes, dear," I said. (Such a difficult person 
 to deceive!) "To tell the truth, I'm pretty 
 nearly done up. You see I was caught in the 
 storm, and I was desperately sea-sick." 
 
 "Why, you poor dear! Why didn't you go to 
 sleep?" 
 
 "I didn't want to sleep. I was too much 
 excited by everything. I came to see one Sylvia, 
 and I found two!" 
 
 "Isn't it absurd," she cried, "how she looks 
 like me? Oh, I want to see her again. How long 
 will it be before I can have her?" 
 
 "My dear," I said, "you mustn't worry " 
 
 "Oh, don't mind me, I'm just playing. I'm 
 so happy, I want to squeeze her in my arms all 
 the time. Just think, Mary, they won't let me 
 nurse her yet — a whole day now! Can that be 
 right?" 
 
 "Nature will take care of that," I said. 
 
 "Yes, but how can you be sure what Nature 
 means? Maybe it's what the child is crying 
 about; and it's the crying that makes its eyes 
 red." 
 
 I felt a sudden spasm grip my heart. "No, 
 dear, no," I said, hastily. "You must let Dr. 
 Perrin attend to these things, for I've just had to 
 interfere with his arrangements, and he'U be get- 
 ting cross pretty soon." 
 
 "Oh," she cried, with laughter in her eyes. 
 "You've had a scene with him? I knew you 
 would! He's so quaint and old-fashioned!" 
 
 "Yes," I said, "and he talks exactly like yoiu* 
 aunt." 
 
198 SYL^^A'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "Oh! You've met her too! I'm missing all 
 the fim!" 
 
 I had a sudden inspiration — one that I was 
 proud of. "My dear girl," I said, "maybe you 
 call it fun!" And I looked really agitated. 
 
 "Why, what's the matter?" she cried. 
 
 "What could you expect?" I asked. "I fear, 
 my dear Sylvia, I've shocked your aunt beyond 
 all hope." 
 
 "What have you done?" 
 
 "I've talked about things I'd no business to — 
 I've bossed the learned doctor — and I'm sure 
 Aunt Varina has guessed I'm not a lady." 
 
 "Oh, teU me about it!" cried Sylvia, full of 
 deUght. 
 
 But I could not keep up the game any longer. 
 "Not now, dear," I said. "It's a long story, and 
 I really am exhaiisted. I must go and get some 
 rest." 
 
 I rose; and she caught my hand, whispering, 
 " I shall be happy, Mary! I shall be really happy 
 now!" And then I turned and fled, and when I 
 was out of sight of the doorway, I literally ran. 
 At the other end of the veranda I sank down upon 
 the steps, and wept softly to myself. 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 199 
 
 § 17 
 
 Thde launch arrived, bringing the nitrate of 
 silver. A solution was dropped into the baby's 
 eyes, and then we could do nothing but wait. 
 I might have lain down and really tried to rest; 
 but the maid came again, with the announcement 
 that Sylvia was asking for her aunt. Excuses 
 woxild have tended to excite her suspicions; so 
 poor Mrs. Tuis had to take her turn at facing the 
 ordeal, and I had to drill and coach her for it. 
 I had a vision of the poor lady going in to her 
 niece, and suddenly collapsing. Then there would 
 begin a cross-examination, and Sylvia would worm 
 out the truth, and we might have a case of puer- 
 peral fever on our hands. 
 
 This I explained afresh to Mrs. Tuis, having 
 taken her into her own room and closed the door 
 for that purpose. She clutched me with her shak- 
 ing hands and whispered, "Oh, Mrs. Abbott, you 
 will never let Sylvia find out what caused this 
 trouble?" 
 
 I drew on my reserve-supply of patience and 
 answered, "What I shall let her find out in the 
 end, I don't know. We shall be guided by circum- 
 stances, and this is no time to discuss the matter. 
 The point is now to make sm-e that you can go in 
 and stay with her, and not let her get an idea 
 there's anything wrong." 
 
 "Oh, but you know how Sylvia reads people!" 
 she cried, in sudden dismay. 
 
200 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "I've fixed it for you," I said. "I've provided 
 something you can be agitated about." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "It's me." Then, seeing her look of bewilder- 
 ment, "You must tell her that I've affronted you, 
 Mrs. Tuis; I've outraged your sense of propriety. 
 You're indignant with me and you don't see how 
 you can remain in the house with me " 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Abbott!" she exclaimed, in horror. 
 
 "You know it's true to some extent," I said. 
 
 The good lady drew herself up. "Mrs. Abbott, 
 don't tell me that I have been so rude " 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Tuis," I laughed, "don't stop to 
 apologize just now. You have not been lacking 
 in courtesy, but I know how I must seem to you. 
 I am a SociaUst. I have a raw, Western accent, 
 and my hands are big — I've lived on a farm all 
 my life, and done my own work, and even plowed 
 sometimes. I have no idea of the charms and 
 graces of life that are everything to you. What is 
 more than that, I am forward, and thrust my 
 opinions upon other people " 
 
 She simply could not hear me. She was 
 a-tremble with a new excitement. Worse even 
 than ophthalmia neonatorum was plain speaking 
 to a guest! "Mrs. Abbott, you humiliate me!" 
 
 Then I spoke harshly, seeing that I would 
 actually have to shock her. "I assure you, Mrs. 
 Tuis, that if you don't feel that way about me, 
 it's simply because you don't know the truth. 
 It is not possible that you would consider me a 
 proper person to visit Sylvia. I don't beUeve 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 201 
 
 in your religion; I don't believe in anything that 
 you woiild call religion, and I argue about it at 
 the least provocation. I deUver violent harangues 
 on street corners, and have been arrested during a 
 strike. I beUeve in woman's suffrage, I even 
 argue in approval of window-smashing. I believe 
 that women ought to earn their own Uvings, and 
 be independent and free from any man's control. 
 I am a divorced woman — I left my husband 
 because I wasn't happy with him; what's more, 
 I believe that any woman has a right to do the 
 same — I'm hable to teach such ideas to Sylvia, 
 and to urge her to follow them." 
 
 The poor lady's eyes were wide and large. "So 
 you see," I went on, "you really couldn't 
 approve of me. Tell her all this; she knows it 
 already, but she will be horrified because I have 
 let you and the doctor find it out!" 
 
 Whereupon Mrs. Tuis started to ascend the 
 pedestal of her dignity. "Mrs. Abbott, this may 
 be your idea of a jest " 
 
 "Now come," I cried, "let me help you fix your 
 hair, and put on just a wee bit of powder — ^not 
 enough to be noticed, you understand " 
 
 I took her to the wash-stand, and poured out 
 some cold water for her, and saw her bathe her 
 eyes and face, and dry them, and braid her thin 
 grey hair. While with a powder puff I was trying 
 deftly to conceal the ravages of the night's crying, 
 the dear lady turned to me, and whispered in a 
 trembling voice, "Mrs. Abbott, you reaUy don't 
 mean that dreadful thing you said just now?" 
 
202 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "Which dreadful thing, Mrs. Tuis?" 
 "That you would tell Sylvia it could possibly 
 be right for her to leave her husband?" 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 203 
 
 § 18 
 
 In the course of the day we received word that 
 Dr. Gibson, the specialist for whom we had tele- 
 graphed, was on his way. The boat which brought 
 his message took back a letter from Dr. Perrin 
 to Douglas van Tuiver, acquainting him with 
 the calamity which had befallen. We had talked 
 it over and agreed that there was nothing to be 
 gained by telegraphing the information. We did 
 not wish any hint of the child's illness to leak into 
 the newspapers. 
 
 I did not envy the great man the hour when he 
 read that letter; although I knew that the doctor 
 had not faUed to assiu"e him that the victim of his 
 misdeeds should be kept in ignorance. Already 
 the Uttle man had begun to drop hints to me on 
 this subject. Unfortunate accidents happened, 
 which were not always to be blamed upon the 
 husband; nor was it a thing to contemplate 
 lightly, the breaking up of a family. I gave a 
 non-committal answer, and changed the subject 
 by asking the doctor not to mention my presence 
 in the household. If by any chance van Tuiver 
 were to carry his sorrows to Claire, I did not want 
 my name brought up. 
 
 We managed to prevent Sylvia's seeing the child 
 that day and night; and the next morning came 
 the specialist. He held out no hope of saving 
 any remnant of the sight; but the child might be 
 
204 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 so fortunate as to escape disfigurement — it did 
 not appear that the eyeballs were destroyed, as 
 happens generally in these cases. This bit of 
 consolation I still have; that Uttle Elaine, who 
 sits by me as I write, has left in her pupils a faint 
 trace of the soft red-brown — just enough to remind 
 us of what we have lost, and keep fresh in our minds 
 the memory of these sorrows. If I wish to see 
 what her eyes might have been, I look above my 
 head to the portrait of Sylvia's noble ancestress, 
 a copy made by a "tramp-artist" in Castleman 
 County, and left with me by Sylvia. 
 
 There was the question of the care of the 
 mother — the efforts to stay the ravages of the 
 germ in the tissues broken and weakened by the 
 strain of child-birth. We had to invent excuses 
 for the presence of the new doctor — and yet others 
 for the presence of Dr. Overton, who came a 
 day later. And then the problem of the nourishing 
 of the child. It would be a calamity to have to 
 put it upon the bottle; but on the other hand, 
 there were many precautions necessary to keep 
 the infection from spreading. 
 
 I remember vividly the first time that the 
 infant was fed: all of us gathered roimd, with 
 matter-of-course professional air, as if these 
 elaborate hygienic ceremonies were the universal 
 custom when newly-born infants first taste their 
 mothers' milk. Standing in the background, 
 I saw Sylvia start with dismay as she noted how 
 pale and thin the poor little one had become. 
 It was hunger that caused the whimpering, so 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 205 
 
 the nurse declared, busying herself in the mean- 
 time to keep the tiny hands from the mother's 
 face. The latter sank back and closed her eyes — 
 nothing, it seemed, could prevail over the ecstasy 
 of that first marvelous sensation; but afterwards 
 she asked that I might stay with her — and as 
 soon as the others were gone, she unmasked the 
 batteries of her suspicion upon me. "Mary — 
 what in the world has happened to my baby?" 
 
 So began a new stage in the campaign of lying. 
 "It's nothing, nothing. Just some infection. It 
 happens frequently." 
 
 "But what is the cause of it?" 
 
 "We can't tell. It may be a dozen things. 
 There are so many possible sources of infection 
 about a birth. It's not a very sanitary thing, you 
 know." 
 
 "Mary! Look me in the face!" 
 
 "Yes, dear?" 
 
 "You're not deceiving me?" 
 
 "How do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean — ^it's not really something serious? 
 AH these doctors — ^this mystery — this vagueness !" 
 
 "It was your husband, my dear Sylvia, who sent 
 the doctors — it was his stupid man's way of being 
 attentive." (This at Axmt Varina's suggestion — 
 the very subtle lady!) 
 
 "Mary, I'm worried. My baby looks so badly. 
 And I feel something is wrong." 
 
 "My dear Sylvia," I chided, "if you worry 
 about it, you will simply be harming the child. 
 Your milk may go wrong." 
 
206 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "Oh, that's just it! That's why you would not 
 tell me the truth!" 
 
 We persuade ourselves that there are certain 
 circumstances under which lying is necessary; 
 but always when we come to the hes, we find them 
 an insult to the soul. Each day I perceived that 
 I was getting in deeper — and each day I watched 
 Aunt Varina and the doctor busied to push me 
 deeper yet. 
 
 There had come a telegram from Douglas van 
 Tuiver to Dr. Perrin, revealing the matter which 
 stood first in that gentleman's mind. "I expect 
 no failure in yoiu" supply of the necessary tact." 
 By this vagueness we perceived that he too was 
 trusting no secrets to telegraph-operators. Yet 
 for us it was explicit and illuminative. It recalled 
 the tone of quiet authority I had noted in his 
 dealings with his chauffeur; and it sent me off 
 by myself for a while, to shake my fist at all 
 husbands. 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 207 
 
 § 19 
 
 Mrs. Ttjis, of course, had no need of any warn- 
 ing from the head of the house. The voice of her 
 ancestors guided her in all such emergencies. The 
 dear lady had got to know me quite well, at the 
 more or less continuous dramatic rehearsals we 
 conducted; and now and then her trembling 
 hands would seek to fasten me in the chains of 
 decency. "Mrs. Abbott, think what a scandal 
 there would be if Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver were 
 to break with her husband!" 
 
 "Yes, my dear Mrs. Tuis — ^but on the other 
 hand, think what might happen if she were kept 
 in ignorance in this matter. She might bear 
 another child." 
 
 I got a new realization of the chasms that lay 
 between us. "Who are we," she whispered, "to 
 interfere in these sacred matters? It is of souls, 
 Mrs. Abbott, and not bodies, that the Kingdom 
 of Heaven is made." 
 
 I took a minute or so to get my breath, and 
 then I said, "What generally happens in these 
 cases is that God afflicts the woman with perma- 
 nent barrenness." 
 
 The old lady bowed her head, and I saw the 
 tears falling into her lap. "My poor Sylvia!" 
 she moai^ed, only half aloud. 
 
 There was a silence; I too almost wept. And 
 finally. Aunt Varina looked up at me, her faded 
 
208 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 eyes full of pleading. "It is hard for me to 
 understand such ideas as yours. You must tell 
 me — can you really believe that it would help 
 Sylvia to know this — this dreadful secret?" 
 
 "It would help her in many ways," I said. 
 "She will be more careful of her health — she will 
 follow the doctor's orders " 
 
 How quickly came the reply! "I wiU stay 
 with her, and see that she does that! I will be 
 with her day and night." 
 
 "But are you going to keep the secret from 
 those who attend her? Her maid — the child's 
 nurses — everyone who might by any chance use 
 the same towel, or a wash-basin, or a drinking- 
 glass?" 
 
 "Surely you exaggerate the danger! If that 
 were true, more people would meet with these 
 accidents !" 
 
 "The doctors," I said, "estimate that about 
 ten per cent of cases of this disease are innocently 
 acquired." 
 
 "Oh, these modem doctors!" she cried. "I 
 never heard of such ideas!" 
 
 I could not help smiling. "My dear Mrs. 
 Tuis, what do you imagine you know about the 
 prevalence of gonorrhea? Consider just one fact 
 — that I heard a coUege professor state pubhcly 
 that in his opinion eighty-five per cent of the men 
 students at his university were infected with 
 some venereal disease. And that is the pick of 
 our young manhood — the sons of our aristocracy." 
 
 "Oh, that can't be!" she exclaimed. "People 
 would know of it!" 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 209 
 
 "Who are 'people'? The boys in your family 
 know of it — ^if you could get them to tell you. My 
 two sons studied at a State university, and they 
 would bring me home what they heard — ^the 
 gossip, the slang, the horrible obscenity. Four- 
 teen fellows in one dormitory using the same 
 bath-room — and on the wall you saw a row of 
 fourteen syringes! And they told that on them- 
 selves. It was the joke of the campus. They 
 call the disease a ' dose' ; and a man's not supposed 
 to be worthy the respect of his fellows imtil he's 
 had his 'dose' — the sensible thing is to get several, 
 tiU he can't get any more. They think it's 'no 
 worse than a bad cold ; that's the idea they get 
 from the 'clap-doctors', and the women of the 
 street who educate our sons in sex-matters." 
 
 "Oh, spare me, spare me!" cried Mrs. Tuis. 
 "I beg you not to force these horrible details 
 upon me!" 
 
 "That is what is going on among our boys," 
 I said. "The Castleman boys, the Chilton boys! 
 It's going on in every fraternity-house, every 
 'prep school' dormitory in America. And the 
 parents refuse to know, just as you do!" 
 
 "But what could I possibly do, Mrs. Abbott?" 
 
 "I don't know, Mrs. Tuis. What / am going 
 to do is to teach the yoimg girls." 
 
 She whispered, aghast, "You would rob the 
 young girls of their innocence? Why, with their 
 souls full of these ideas their faces would soon be 
 as hard — oh, you horrify me!" 
 
 "My daughter's face is not hard," I said. 
 
 14 
 
210 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "And I taught her. Stop and think, Mrs. Tuis 
 — ten thousand blind children every year! A 
 hundred thousand women under the surgeon's 
 knife! Millions of women goiag to pieces with 
 slowly creeping diseases of which they never hear 
 the names ! I say, let us cry this from the house- 
 tops, imtil every woman knows — and until every 
 man knows that she knows, and that unless he 
 can prove that he is clean he will lose her! That 
 is the remedy, Mrs. Tuis!" 
 
 Poor dear lady! I got up and went away, 
 leaving her there, with clenched hands and 
 trembling hps. I suppose I seemed to her like 
 the mad women who were just then rising up to 
 horrify the respectability of England — a, phenom- 
 enon of Nature too portentous to be compre- 
 hended, or even to be contemplated, by a gentle- 
 woman of the South! 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 211 
 
 § 20 
 
 Theee came in due course a couple of letters 
 from Douglas van Tuiver. The one to Aunt 
 Varina, which was shown to me, was vague and 
 cautious — as if the writer were uncertain how 
 much this worthy lady knew. He merely men- 
 tioned that Sylvia was to be spared every particle 
 of "painful knowledge". He would wait in great 
 anxiety, but he would not come, because any 
 change in his plans might set her to questioning. 
 
 The letter to Dr. Perrin was not shown to me; 
 but I judged that it must have contained more 
 strenuous injunctions. Or had Aunt Varina by 
 any chance got up the courage to warn the young 
 doctor against me? His hints, at any rate, 
 became more pointed. He desired me to realize 
 how awkard it would be for him if Sylvia were to 
 learn the truth; it would be impossible to con- 
 vince Mr. van Tuiver that this knowledge had 
 not come from the physician in charge. 
 
 "But, Dr. Perrin," I objected, "it was I who 
 brought the information to you! And Mr. van 
 Tuiver knows that I am a radical woman; he 
 woidd not expect me to be ignorant of such 
 matters." 
 
 "Mrs. Abbott," was the response, "it is a 
 grave matter to destroy the possibility of hap- 
 piness of a young married couple." 
 
 However I might dispute his theories, in prac- 
 
212 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 tice I was doing what he asked. But each day I 
 was finding the task more difi&cult; each day it 
 became more apparent that Sylvia was ceasing 
 to believe me. I reaUzed at last, with a sicken- 
 ing kind of fright, that she knew I was hiding 
 something from her. Because she knew me, and 
 knew that I would not do such a thing lightly, 
 she was terrified. She would he there, gazing at 
 me with a dumb fear in her eyes — and I would 
 go on asseverating blindly, like an unsucessful 
 actor before a jeering audience. 
 
 A dozen times she made an effort to break 
 through the barricade of falsehood; and a dozen 
 times I drove her back, all but crying to her, 
 "No, no! Don't ask me!" Until at last, late 
 one night, she caught my hand and clung to it 
 in a grip I could not break. "Mary! Mary! 
 You must tell me the truth!" 
 
 "Dear girl " I began. 
 
 "Listen!" she cried. "I know you are deceiv- 
 ing me! I know why — ^because I'll make myself 
 iU. But it won't do any longer; it's prejdng on 
 me, Mary — I've taken to imagining things. So 
 you must tell me the truth!" 
 
 I sat, avoiding her eyes, beaten; and in the 
 pause I could feel her hands shaking. "Mary, 
 what is it? Is my baby going to die?" 
 
 "No, dear, indeed no!" I cried. 
 
 "Then what?" 
 
 "Sylvia," I began, as quietly as I could, "the 
 truth is not as bad as you imagine " 
 
 "Tell me what it is!" 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 213 
 
 "But it is bad, Sylvia. And you must be 
 brave. You must be, for your baby's sake." 
 
 "Make haste!" she cried. 
 
 "The baby," I said, "may be blind." 
 
 "Blind!" There we sat, gazing into each 
 other's eyes, like two statues of women. But the 
 grasp of her hand tightened, until even my big 
 fist was hurt. "Blind!" she whispered again. 
 
 "Sylvia," I rushed on, "it isn't so bad as it 
 might be! Think — ^if you had lost her al- 
 together!" 
 
 "Blind!" 
 
 "You will have her always; and you can do 
 things for her — ^take care of her. They do 
 wonders for the blind nowadays — and you have 
 the means to do everything. Really, you know, 
 blind children are not unhappy — some of them 
 are happier than other children, I think. They 
 haven't so much to miss. Think " 
 
 "Wait, wait," she whispered; and again there 
 was silence, and I clung to her cold hands. 
 
 "Sylvia," I said, at last, "you have a newly- 
 born infant to nurse, and its very hfe depends 
 upon your health now. You cannot let yourself 
 grieve." 
 
 "No," she responded, "No. But, Mary, 
 what caused this?" 
 
 So there was the end of my spell of truth- 
 telling. "I don't know, dear. Nobody knows. 
 There might be a thousand things " 
 
 "Was it bom blind?" 
 
 "No." 
 
214 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "Then was it the doctor's fault?" 
 
 "No, it was nobody's fault. Think of the 
 thousands and tens of thousands of babies that 
 become blind! It's a dreadful accident that 
 happens." So I went on — ^possessed with a dread 
 that had been with me for days, that had kept 
 me awake for hours in the night. Had I, in any 
 of my talks with Sylvia about venereal disease, 
 mentioned blindness in infants as one of the 
 consequences? I could not remember; but now 
 was the time I would find out! 
 
 She lay there, immovable, like a woman who 
 had died in grief; imtil at last I flung my arms 
 about her and whispered, ' ' Sylvia ! Sylvia ! Please 
 cry!" 
 
 "I can't cry!" she whispered, and her voice 
 sounded hard. 
 
 So, after a space, I said, "Then, dear, I think 
 I will have to make you laugh." 
 
 "Laugh, Mary?" 
 
 "Yes — I will tell you about the quarrel between 
 Aunt Varina and myself. You know what times 
 we've been having — ^how I shocked the poor 
 lady?" 
 
 She was looking at me, but her eyes were not 
 seeing me. "Yes, Mary," she said, in the same 
 dead tone. 
 
 "Well, that was a game we made up for you. 
 It was very funny!" 
 
 "Funny?" 
 
 "Yes! Because I really did shock her — though 
 we started out just to give you something else 
 to think about!" 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 215 
 
 And then suddenly I saw the healing tears 
 begin to come. She could not weep for her own 
 grief — but she could weep because of what she 
 knew we two had had to suffer for her! 
 
216 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 21 
 
 I WENT out and told the others what I had 
 done; and Mrs. Tuis rushed in to her niece, and 
 they wept in each other's arms, and Mrs. Tuis 
 explained aU the mysteries of life by her formula, 
 "the will of the Lord." 
 
 Later on came Dr. Perrin. And it was touch- 
 ing to see how Sylvia treated him. She had, it 
 appeared, conceived the idea that the calamity 
 must be due to some blunder on his part; and 
 then she had reflected that he was young, and 
 that chance had thrown upon him a responsibihty 
 for which he had not bargained. He must be 
 reproaching himself bitterly; so she had to 
 persuade him that it was really not so bad as we 
 were making it — ^that a blind child was a great 
 joy to a mother's soul — ^in some ways even a 
 greater joy than a perfectly sound child, because 
 it appealed so to her protective instinct! I had 
 called Sylvia a shameless payer of compliments; 
 and now I went away by myself and wept. 
 
 Yet it was true, in a way. When the infant 
 was brought in to be nursed again — ^how she 
 clung to it, a very pictiu-e of the sheltering and 
 protecting instinct of motherhood! She knew 
 the worst now — ^her mind was free, and she could 
 partake of what happiness was allowed her. The 
 child was hers, to love and care for; and she 
 would find ways to atone to it for the harshness 
 of fate. 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 217 
 
 So little by little we got our existence upon a 
 working-basis. We lived a peaceful, routine life, 
 to the music of cocoanut-palms rustling in the 
 warm breezes which blew incessantly off the Mexi- 
 can Gulf. Aimt Varina had for the time her un- 
 disputed way with the family; her niece reclined 
 upon the veranda, ia true Southern-lady fashion, 
 and was read aloud to from books of indisputable 
 respectability. I remember Aimt Varina selected 
 the "Idyls of the King", and they two were in a 
 mood to shed tears over these solemn-sorrowful 
 tales. So it came that the Uttle one got her 
 name, after a pale and unhappy heroine. 
 
 I remember the long discussions of this point, 
 the family-lore which Aunt Varina brought forth. 
 It did not seem to her quite the thing to call a 
 blind child after a member of one's family. 
 Something strange, romantic, wistful — ^yes, Elaine 
 was the name! Mrs. Tuis, it transpired, had 
 already baptized the infant, in the midst of the 
 agonies and alarms of its illness. She had caUed 
 it "Sylvia"; and now she was tremulously uncer- 
 tain whether this coimted — ^whether perhaps the 
 higher powers might object to having to alter 
 their records. But in the end a clergyman came 
 out from Key West and heard Aunt Varina's 
 confession, and gravely concluded that the error 
 might be corrected by a formal ceremony. How 
 strange it all seemed to me — being carried back 
 two or three hundred years in the world's history! 
 But I gave no sign of what was going on in my 
 rebellious mind. 
 
218 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 22 
 
 Dr. Overton on his return to New York sent 
 a special nurse to take charge of Sylvia's case. 
 There was also an infant's nurse, and both had 
 been taken into the doctors' confidence. So now 
 there was an elaborate conspiracy — ^no less than 
 five women and two men, all occupied in keeping 
 a secret from Sylvia. It was a thing so contrary 
 to my convictions that I was never free from the 
 burden of it for a moment. Was it my duty to 
 tell her? 
 
 Dr. Perrin no longer referred to the subject. I 
 realized that both he and Dr. Gibson considered 
 the matter settled. Was it conceivable that any 
 one of soimd miad could set out, dehberately and 
 in cold blood, to betray such a secret? But I 
 had maintained all my Ufe the right of women to 
 know the truth; and was I to back down now, at 
 the first test of my convictions? 
 
 When the news reached Douglas van Tuiver 
 that his wife had been informed of the infant's 
 blindness, there came a telegram saying that he 
 was coming. There was much excitement, of 
 com"se; and Aunt Varina came to me, in an 
 attempt to secure a definite pledge of silence. 
 When I refused it. Dr. Perrin came agaia, and we 
 fought the matter over for the better part of a 
 day and night. 
 
 He was a poUte little gentleman, and he did not 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 219 
 
 tell me that my views were those of a fanatic; 
 but he said that no woman could see these things 
 in their true proportion, because of her necessary 
 ignorance concerning the nature of men, and the 
 temptations to which they were exposed. I 
 repUed that I beUeved I imderstood these matters 
 thoroughly; and I went on, quite simply and 
 honestly, to make clear to him that it was so. 
 In the end my pathetically chivalrous Uttle South- 
 em gentleman admitted everything I asked. 
 Yes, it was true that these evils were ghastly, and 
 that they were increasing, and that women were 
 the worst sufferers from them. There might even 
 be something in my idea that the older women of 
 the community should devote themselves to this 
 service, making themselves race-mothers, and 
 helping, not merely in their homes, but in the 
 schools and churches, to protect and save the 
 future generations. But all that was in the 
 future, he argued; while here was a case which 
 had gone so far that "letting in the Hght" could 
 only blast the life of two people, making it impos- 
 sible for a young mother ever again to tolerate 
 the father of her child. I argued that Sylvia was 
 not of the hysterical type; but I could not make 
 him agree that it was possible to predict what the 
 attitude of any woman would be. His ideas were 
 based on one pecuhar experience he had had — a 
 woman patient who had said to him, "Doctor, 
 I know what is the matter with me, but for God's 
 sake don't let my husband find out that I know, 
 because then I should feel that my self-respect 
 required me to leave him!" 
 
220 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 §23 
 
 The Master-of-the-House was coming! You 
 could feel the quiver of excitement in the air of 
 the place. The boatmen were polishing the 
 brasses of the laimch; the yard-man was raking 
 up the dead strips of palm from beneath the 
 cocoanut trees; Aunt Varina was ordering new 
 supphes, and entering into conspiracies with the 
 cook. The nurses asked me timidly, what was 
 He like; and even Dr. Gibson, a testy old gentle- 
 man who had clashed violently with me on the 
 subject of woman's suffrage, and had avoided me 
 ever since as a suspicious character, now came 
 and confided his troubles. He had sent home 
 for a trunk, and the graceless express companies 
 had sent it astray. Now he was wondering if it 
 was necessary for him to journey to Key West 
 and have a suit of dinner-clothes made over night. 
 I told him that I had not sent for any party- 
 dresses, and that I expected to meet Mr. Douglas 
 van Tuiver at his dimier-table in plain white 
 linen. His surprise was so great that I suspected 
 the old gentleman of having wondered whether 
 I meant to retire to a "second-table" when the 
 Master-of-the-House arrived. 
 
 I went away by myself, seething with wrath. 
 Who was this great one, whom we honored? 
 Was he an inspired poet, a maker of laws, a dis- 
 coverer of truth? He was the owner of an inde- 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 221 
 
 finite number of millions of dollars — that was all; 
 and yet I was expected, because of my awe of 
 him, to abandon the cherished convictions of my 
 life-time. The situation was one that challenged 
 my fighting-blood. This was the hour to prove 
 whether I really meant the things I talked. 
 
 On the morning of the day that van Tuiver 
 was expected, I went early to Aimt Varina's 
 room. She was going in the latmch, and was in 
 a state of flustration, occupied in putting on her 
 best false-hair, "Mrs. Tuis," I said, "I want 
 you to let me go to meet Mr. van Tuiver instead 
 of you." 
 
 I will not stop to report the good lady's out- 
 cries. I did not care, I said, whether it was 
 proper; nor did I care whether, as she finally 
 hinted, it might not be agreeable to Mr. van 
 Tuiver. I was sorry to have to thrust myself 
 upon him, but I was determined to go, and would 
 let nothing prevent me. And aU at once she 
 yielded, rather surprising me by the suddenness 
 of it; I suppose she concluded that van Tuiver 
 was the man to handle me, and the quicker he 
 got at it the better. 
 
 It is a trying thing to deal with the rich and 
 great. If you treat them as the rest of the world 
 does, you are a tuft-hunter; if you treat them as 
 the rest of the world pretends to, you are a 
 hypocrite; whereas, if you deal with them truly, 
 it is hard not to seem, even to yourself, a biunp- 
 tious person. I remember trying to tell myself 
 on the launch-trip that I was not in the least 
 
222 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 excited; and then, standing on the platfonn of 
 the raiboad station, saying, "How can you ex- 
 pect not to be excited, when even the railroad is 
 excited?" 
 
 "Will Mr. van Tuiver's train be on time?" 
 I asked of the agent. 
 
 " 'Specials' are not often delayed," he repHed; 
 "at least not Mr, van Tuiver's." 
 
 The engine and its two cars drew up, and the 
 traveler stepped out upon the platform, followed 
 by his secretary and his valet. I went forward 
 to meet him. "Good morning, Mr. van Tuiver." 
 
 I saw at once that he did not remember me. 
 "Mrs. Abbott," I prompted. "I came to meet 
 you." 
 
 "Ah," he said. He had never got clear whether 
 I was a sewing-woman, or a tutor, or what; and 
 whenever he erred in such matters, it was on the 
 side of caution. 
 
 "Your wife is doing well," I said; "and the 
 child as weU as could be expected." 
 
 "Thank you," he replied. "Did no one else 
 come?" 
 
 "Mrs. Tuis was not able," I said, diplomatically, 
 and we moved- toward the launch. 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 223 
 
 § 24 
 
 He did not offer to help me into the vessel, 
 but I, crude Western woman, did not miss the 
 attention. We seated ourselves in the upholstered 
 leather seats in the stem, and when the "luggage" 
 had been stowed aboard, the Uttle vessel swimg 
 away from the pier. Then I said, "If you wiU 
 pardon me, 'Mi. van Tuiver, I should like to talk 
 with you privately." 
 
 He looked at me for a moment, and then 
 answered, abruptly: "Yes, madam." The secre- 
 tary rose and went forward. 
 
 The whir of the machinery and the strong 
 breeze made by the boat's motion made it certain 
 that no one could hear us; and so I began my 
 attack. "!Mr. van Tuiver, I am a friend of yom* 
 wife's. I came here to help her in this crisis; 
 and I came today to meet you, because it was 
 necessary for some one to talk to you frankly 
 about the situation. You will understand, I 
 presume, that ]Mrs. Tuis is not — ^not very well 
 informed about the matters in question." 
 
 His gaze was fixed intently upon me; but he 
 said not a word. After waiting, I continued: 
 "Perhaps you will wonder why your wife's 
 physicians could not have handled the matter. 
 The reason is, there is a woman's side to such 
 questions, and often it is difficult for men to 
 understand it. If Syh-ia knew the truth, she 
 
224 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 could speak for herself; so long as she does not 
 know it, I shall have to take the liberty of speaking 
 for her." 
 
 Again there was a pause. He did nothing more 
 than watch me, yet I could feel his affronted 
 maleness rising up for battle. I waited, on pur- 
 pose to compel him to speak. 
 
 "May I ask," he inquired, at last, "what you 
 mean by the 'truth' that you refer to?" 
 
 "I mean," I said, "the cause of the infant's 
 aflEliction." 
 
 His composure was a thing to wonder at. He 
 did not show by the flicker of an eye-lash any 
 sign of uneasiness. 
 
 "Let me explain one thing," I continued. 
 "I owe it to Dr. Perrin to make clear that he had 
 nothing whatever to do with my coming into 
 possession of the secret. In fact, as he wiU no 
 doubt tell you, I knew it before he did; it is 
 possible that you owe it to me that the infant is 
 not disfigured, as well as blind." 
 
 I paused again. "If that be true," he said, 
 with vmshaken formaUty, "I am obliged to you." 
 What a man! 
 
 I continued: "My one desire and purpose is 
 to protect my friend. So far, the secret has 
 been kept from her. I consented to this, because 
 her very life was at stake, it seemed to us all. 
 But now she is well enough to know; and the 
 question is, shall she know. I need hardly teU 
 you that Dr. Perrin thinks she should not, and 
 that he has been using his influence to persuade 
 me to agree with him. So also has Mrs. Tuis " 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 225 
 
 Then I saw the first trace of uncertainty in 
 his eyes. "There was a critical time," I explained, 
 "when Mrs. Tuis had to be told. You may 
 be sure, however, that no hint of the truth will 
 be given by her. I am the only person who is 
 troubled with the problem of Sylvia's rights." 
 
 I waited. "May I suggest, Mrs. — ^Mrs. Abbott 
 — that the protection of Mrs. van Tuiver's rights 
 can be safely left to her physicians and her 
 husband?" 
 
 "One would wish so, Mr. van Tuiver; but the 
 medical books are full of evidence that women's 
 rights frequently need other protection." 
 
 I perceived that he was nearing the end of his 
 patience now. "You make it difficult for me to 
 talk to you," he said. "I am not accustomed 
 to having my affairs taken out of my hands by 
 strangers." 
 
 "Mr. van Tuiver," I replied, "in this most 
 critical matter it is necessary to speak without 
 evasion. Before her marriage Sylvia made an 
 attempt to safeguard herseK in this very matter, 
 and she was not dealt with fairly." 
 
 At last I had made a hole in the mask! His 
 face was crimson as he replied, "Madam, your 
 knowledge of my private affairs is most astonish- 
 ing. May I inquire how you learned these 
 things?" 
 
 I did not reply at once, and he repeated the 
 question. I perceived that this was to him the 
 most important matter — ^his wife's lack of reserve! 
 
 "The problem that concerns us here," I said, 
 
 16 
 
226 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "is whether you are wilhng to repau- the error 
 you then made. Will you go frankly to your 
 wife and admit your responsibility " 
 
 He broke in, angrily, "Madam, the assumption 
 you are making is one I see no reason for per- 
 mitting." 
 
 "Mr. van Tuiver," said I, "I had hoped that 
 you would not take that line of argmnent. I 
 perceive that I have been naive." 
 
 "Really, madam!" he repUed, with cruel 
 intent. "You have not impressed me so!" 
 
 I continued, unshaken: "In this conversation 
 it will be necessary to assume that you are respon- 
 sible for the presence of the disease." 
 
 "In that case," he repUed, haughtily, "I can 
 have no further part in the conversation, Mid 
 I will ask you to drop it at once." 
 
 I might have taken him at his word and waited, 
 confident that in the end he would have to come 
 and ask for terms. But that would have seemed 
 childish to me, with the grave matters we had to 
 settle. After a minute or two, I said, quietly, 
 "Mr. van Tuiver, you wish me to believe that 
 previous to yoiu* marriage you had always lived 
 a chaste life?" 
 
 He was equal to the effort it cost to control 
 himself. He sat examining me with his cold 
 grey eyes. I suppose I must have been as new 
 and monstrous a phenomenon to him as he was 
 to me. 
 
 At last, seeing that he would not reply, I said, 
 coldly, "It will help us to get forward, if you will 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 227 
 
 give up the idea that it is possible for you to put 
 me off, or to escape this situation." 
 
 "Madam," he cried, suddenly, "come to the 
 point! What is it that you want? Money?" 
 
 I had thought I was prepared for everything; 
 but this was an aspect of his world which I could 
 hardly have been expected to allow for. I stared 
 at him, and then turned from the sight of him. 
 "And to think that Sylvia is married to such a 
 man!" I whispered, half to myself. 
 
 "Mrs. Abbott," he exclaimed, "how can anyone 
 understand what you are driving at?" 
 
 But I forebore to answer him, and for a long 
 time sat gazing over the water. What was the 
 use of pleading with such a man? What was the 
 use of pouring out one's soul to him? I would 
 tell Sylvia the truth at once, and leave him to her! 
 
228 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 25 
 
 I HEASD him again, at last; he was talking to 
 my back, his tone a trifle less aloof. "Mrs. 
 Abbott, do you realize that I know nothing what- 
 ever about you — ^your character, your purpose, 
 the nature of your hold upon my wife? So what 
 means have I of judgmg? You threaten me with 
 something that seems to me entirely insane — 
 and what can I make of it? If you wish me to 
 imderstand you, tell me ia plain words what you 
 want." 
 
 I reflected that I was in the world, and must 
 take it as I foimd it. "I have told you what I 
 want," I said, "but I will teU you again, if it 
 is necessary. I hoped to persuade you that it 
 was your duty to go to your wife and tell her the 
 truth." 
 
 He took a few moments to make sure of his self- 
 possession. "And would you explain what good 
 you imagine that could do?" 
 
 "Your wife," I said, "must be put in position 
 to protect herself in future. There is no way 
 of making sure in such a matter, except to tell 
 her the truth. You love her — and you are a man 
 who has never been accustomed to do without 
 what he wants." 
 
 "Great God, woman!" he cried. "Don't you 
 suppose one blind child is enough?" 
 
 It was the first htmian word that he had spoken. 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 229 
 
 and I was gratef xil for it. "I have already covered 
 that point," I said, in a low voice. "The medical 
 books are full of painful evidence that several 
 blind children are sometimes not enough. There 
 can be no escaping the necessity — Sylvia must 
 know. The only question is, who shall tell her? 
 You must realize that in urging you to be the 
 person, I am thinking of your good as well as hers. 
 I will, of course, not mention that I have had 
 anything to do with persuading you, and so it 
 will seem to her that you have some realization 
 of the wrong you have done her, some desire 
 to atone for it, and to be honorable and fair in 
 your futvu"e dealings with her. When she has 
 once been made to realize that you are no more 
 guilty than other men of your class — that you have 
 done no worse than all of them " 
 
 "You imagine she could be made to beUeve 
 that?" he broke in, impatiently. 
 
 "I will undertake to see that she believes it," 
 I replied. 
 
 "You seem to have great confidence in yom- 
 abUity to manage my wife!" 
 
 "If you continue to resent my existence," 
 I answered, gravely, "you will make it impossible 
 for me to help you." 
 
 "Pardon me," he said — ^but he did not say it 
 cordially, 
 
 I went on: "There is much that can be said in 
 your behalf. I reaUze it is quite possible that you 
 were not wholly to blame when you wrote to Bishop 
 Chilton that you were fit to marry; I know that 
 
230 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 you may have believed it — ^that you might even 
 have found physicians to tell you so. There is 
 wide-spread ignorance on the subject of this 
 disease. Men have the idea that the chronic 
 forms of it cannot be conomunicated to women, 
 and it is difficult to make them realize what 
 modem investigations have proven. You can 
 explain that to Sylvia, and I will back you up 
 in it. You were in love with her, you wanted her. 
 Go to her now, and admit to her honestly that you 
 have wronged her. Beg her to forgive you, and 
 to let you help make the best of the cruel situation 
 that has arisen." 
 
 So I went on, pom-mg out my soul. And when 
 I had finished, he said, "Mrs. Abbott, I have 
 Ustened patiently to your most remarkable prop- 
 osition. My answer is that I must ask you to 
 withdraw from this intimate matter, which con- 
 cerns only my wife and myself." 
 
 He was back where we started! Trying to 
 sweep aside these grim and terrible reahties with 
 the wave of a conventional hand! Was this the 
 way he met Sylvia's arguments? I felt moved 
 to teU him what I thought of him. 
 
 "You are a proud man, Mr. van Tuiver — an 
 obstinate man, I fear. It is hard for you to humble 
 yourself to your wife — ^to admit a crime and beg 
 forgiveness. TeU me — ^is that why you hesitate? 
 Is it because you fear you will have to take second 
 place in your family from now on — that you will 
 no longer be able to dominate Sylvia? Are you 
 afraid of putting into her hands a weapon of self- 
 defence?" 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 231 
 
 He made no response. 
 
 "Very well," I said, at last. "Let me tell you, 
 then — ^I will not help any man to hold such a 
 position in a woman's life. Women have to bear 
 half the burdens of marriage, they pay half, 
 or more than haK, the penalties; and so it is 
 necessary that they have a voice ia its affairs. 
 Until they know the truth, they can never have 
 a voice." 
 
 Of course my Uttle lecture on Feminism might 
 as well have been deUvered to a sphinx. "How 
 stupid you are!" I cried. "Don't you know that 
 some day Sylvia must find out the truth for 
 herself?" 
 
 This was before the days when newspapers and 
 magazines began to discuss such matters frankly; 
 but still there were hints to be picked up. I 
 had a newspaper-item in my bag — the board of 
 health in a certain city had issued a circular 
 giving instructions for the prevention of blind- 
 ness in newly-born infants, and discussing the 
 causes thereof; and the United States Post-oflEice 
 authorities had barred the circular from the 
 mails. I said, " Suppose that item had come imder 
 Sylvia's eyes; might it not have put her on the 
 track? It was in her newspaper the day before 
 yesterday; and it was only by accident that I 
 got hold of it first. Do you suppose that can go 
 on forever?" 
 
 "Now that I am here," he replied, "I will be 
 glad to relieve you of such responsibilities." 
 
 Which naturally made me cross. I drew from 
 
232 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 my quiver an arrow that I thought would pene- 
 trate his skin, "Mr. van Tuiver," I said, "a 
 man in your position must always be an object of 
 gossip and scandal. Supp>ose some enemy were 
 to send your wife an anonymous letter? Or 
 suppose there were some woman who thought 
 that you had wronged her?" 
 
 I stopped. He gave me one keen look — and 
 then again the imjjenetrable mask! "My wife 
 will have to do as other women in her position 
 do — ^pay no attention to scandal-mongers of any 
 sort." 
 
 I paused, and then went on: "I believe in mar- 
 riage. I consider it a sacred thing; I would do 
 anything in my power to protect and preserve a 
 marriage. But I hold that it m\ist be an equal 
 partnership. I would fight to make it that; and 
 wherever I found that it could not be that, I 
 would say it was not marriage, but slavery, and 
 I would fight just as hard to break it. Can you 
 not understand that attitude upon a woman's 
 part?" 
 
 He gave no sign that he could understand. 
 But still I would not give up my battle. "Mr. 
 van Tuiver," I pleaded, "I am a much older 
 person than you. I have seen a great deal of 
 life — ^I have seen suffering even worse than yours. 
 And I am trying most earnestly to help you. 
 Can you not bring yourself to talk to me frankly? 
 Perhaps you have never talked with a woman 
 about sudi matters — I mean, with a good woijaan. 
 But I assure you that other men have found it 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 233 
 
 possible, and never regretted the confidence they 
 placed in me." 
 
 I went on to tell him about my own sons, and 
 what I had done for them; I told him of a score of 
 other boys in their class who had come to me, 
 making me a sort of mother-confessor. I do not 
 think that I was entirely deceived by my own 
 eloquence — ^there was, I am sure, a minute or 
 two when he actually wavered. But then the 
 habits of a precocious life-time reasserted them- 
 selves, and he set his hps and told himself that he 
 was Douglas van Tuiver. Such things might 
 happen in raw Western colleges, but they were not 
 according to the Harvard manner, nor the tradi- 
 tion of life in Fifth-Avenue clubs. 
 
 He could not be a boy! He had never had any 
 boyhood, any childhood — he had been a state 
 personage ever since he had known that he was 
 anything. I found myself thinking suddenly of 
 the thin-Hpped old family lawyer, who had had 
 much to do with shaping his character, and whom 
 Sylvia described to me, sitting at her dinner- 
 table and bewailing the foUy of people who 
 "admitted things". That was what made trouble 
 for family lawyers — ^not what people did, but 
 what they admitted. How easy it was to ignore 
 impertinent questions! And how few people had 
 the wit to do it! — It seemed as if the shade of 
 the thin-hpped old family lawyer were standing 
 by Douglas van Tuiver's side. 
 
 In a last desperate effort, I cried, "Even sup- 
 pose that I grant your request, even suppose I 
 
234 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 agree not to tell Sylvia the truth — still the day- 
 will come when you will hear from her the point- 
 blank question: 'Is my child blind because of 
 this disease?' And what will you answer?" 
 
 He said, in his cold, measured tones, "I will 
 answer that there are a thousand ways in which 
 the disease can be innocently acquired." 
 
 For a long time there was silence between us. 
 At last he spoke again, and his voice was as emo- 
 tionless as if we had just met: "Do I understand 
 you, madam, that if I reject your advice and 
 refuse to tell my wife what you call the truth, 
 it is your intention to tell her yourself?" 
 
 "You understand me correctly," I replied. 
 
 "And may I ask when you intend to carry out 
 this threat?" 
 
 "I win wait," I said, "I wiU give you every 
 chance to think it over — to consult with the 
 doctors, in case you wish to. I will not take the 
 step without giving you fair notice." 
 
 "For that I am obUged to you," he said, with 
 a touch of irony; and that was our last word. 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 235 
 
 § 26 
 
 Our island was visible in the distance, and I 
 was impatient for the time when I should be 
 free from this man's presence. But as we drew 
 nearer, I noticed a boat coming out; it proved 
 to be one of the smaller launches, heading directly 
 for us. Neither van Tuiver nor I spoke, but 
 both of us watched it, and he must have been 
 wondering, as I was, what its purpose could be. 
 When it was near enough, I made out that its 
 passengers were Dr. Perrin and Dr. Gibson. 
 
 We slowed up, and the other boat did the 
 same, and they lay within a few feet of each 
 other. Dr. Perrin greeted van Tuiver, and after 
 introducing the other man, he said, "We came 
 out to have a talk with you. Would you be so 
 good as to step into this boat?" 
 
 "Certainly," was the reply. The two launches 
 were drawn side by side, and the transfer made; 
 the man who was nmniag the smaller laimch 
 stepped into ours — evidently having been in- 
 structed in advance. 
 
 "You will excuse us, please?" said the little 
 doctor to me. The man who had stepped into 
 our launch spoke to the captain of it, and the 
 power was then put on, and we moved away a 
 sufficient distance to be out of hearing. I thought 
 this a strange procedure; but I conjectured that 
 the doctors had become nervous as to what I 
 
236 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 might have told van Tuiver. So I dismissed 
 the matter from my mind, and spent my time 
 reviewing the exciting adventure I had just 
 passed through. 
 
 How much impression had I made? It was 
 hard for me to judge such a man. He would 
 pretend to be less concerned than he actually 
 was. But surely he must see that he was in 
 my power, and would have to give way in the 
 end! 
 
 There came a hail from the little vessel, and 
 we moved alongside again. "Would you kindly 
 step in here with us, Mrs. Abbott?" said Dr. 
 Perrin; and when I had done so, he ordered the 
 boatman to move away once more. Van Tuiver 
 said not a word; but I noted a strained look 
 upon his face, and I thought the others seemed 
 agitated also. 
 
 As soon as the other vessel was out of hear- 
 ing, Dr. Perrin tiuTied to me, and said, "Mrs. 
 Abbott, we came out to see Mr. van Tuiver, 
 to warn him of a distressing accident which has 
 just happened. Mrs. van Tuiver was asleep in 
 her room, and Miss Lyman and another of the 
 nurses were in the next room. They indiscreetly 
 made some remarks on the subject which we 
 have all been discussing — ^how much a wife should 
 be told about these matters; and suddenly they 
 discovered Mrs. van Tuiver standing in the door- 
 way of the room." 
 
 My gaze had turned to Douglas van Tuiver. 
 "So she knows?" I cried. 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 237 
 
 "We don't think that she knows; but she 
 has a suspicion, and is trying to find out. She 
 asked to see you." 
 
 "Ah, yes!" I said. 
 
 "She declared that she wished to see you as 
 soon as you returned — ^that she would not see 
 anyone else, not even Mr. van Tuiver. You 
 will understand that this portends trouble for 
 all of us. We judged it necessary to have a con- 
 sultation about the matter." 
 
 I bowed in assent. 
 
 "Now, Mrs. Abbott," began the little doctor, 
 solemnly, "there is no longer a question of 
 abstract ideas, but of an immediate emergency. 
 We feel that we, as the physicians in charge of 
 the case, have the right to take control of the 
 matter. We do not see " 
 
 "Dr. Perrin," I said, "let us come to the 
 point. You want me to spin a new web of 
 deception?" 
 
 "We are of the opinion, Mrs. Abbott, that in 
 such matters the physicians in chaise " 
 
 "Excuse me," I said, quickly. "We have 
 been over all this before, and we know that we 
 disagree. Has Mr. van Tuiver told you of the 
 proposition I have just made?" 
 
 "You mean for him to go to his wife " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "He has told us of this, and has offered to 
 do it. We are of the opinion that it would be 
 a grave mistake." 
 
 "It has been three weeks since the birth of 
 
238 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 the baby," I said. "Surely all danger of fever is 
 past. I will grant you that if it were a ques- 
 tion of telling her deliberately, it might be better 
 to put it off for a while. I would have been 
 willing to wait for months, but for the fact that 
 I dreaded something like the present situation. 
 Now that it has happened, surely it is best to 
 use our opportunity — ^while all of us are here, 
 and can persuade her to take the kindest atti- 
 tude toward her husband." 
 
 "Madam!" broke in Dr. Gibson. (He was 
 having difficulty in controlling his excitement.) 
 "You are asking us to overstep the bovmds of 
 OUT professional duty. It is not for the phy- 
 sician to decide upon the attitude a wife should 
 take toward her husband." 
 
 "Dr. Gibson," I replied, "that is what you 
 propose to do, only you wish to conceal the fact. 
 You would force Mrs. van Tuiver to accept your 
 opinion of what a wife's duty is." 
 
 Dr. Perrin took command once more. "Our 
 patient has asked for you, and she looks to you 
 for guidance. You must put aside your own 
 convictions and think of her health. You are 
 the only person who can cahn her; and surely 
 it is your duty to do so !" 
 
 "I know that I might go in and lie again to 
 my friend; but she knows too much to be de- 
 ceived for very long. You know what a mind 
 she has — a lawyer's mind! How can I persuade 
 her that the nurses — ^why, I do not even know 
 what she heard the nurses say!" 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 239 
 
 "We have that all written down for you," 
 put in Dr. Perrin, quickly. 
 
 "You have their recollection of it, no doubt — 
 but suppose they have forgotten some of it? 
 Sylvia has not forgotten, you may be sure — 
 every word is burned with fire into her brain. She 
 has put with this everything she ever heard on 
 the subject — the experience of her friend Harriet 
 Atkinson — ^all that I've told her in the past about 
 such things " 
 
 "Ah!" growled Dr. Gibson. "That's it! n 
 you had not meddled in the beginning " 
 
 "Now, now!" said the other, soothingly. "You 
 asked me to relieve you of the embarrassment of 
 this matter. I quite agree with Mrs. Abbott 
 that there is too much ignorance about these 
 things. But she must recognize, I am sure, 
 that this is not the proper moment for enUghten- 
 ing Mrs. van Tuiver." 
 
 "I do not recognize it at all," I said. "If her 
 husband will go to her and tell her humbly and 
 truthfully " 
 
 "You are talking madness!" cried the old man, 
 breaking loose again. "She would be hysterical 
 — she would regard him as something loathsome 
 — some kind of criminal " 
 
 "Of course she would be shocked," I said; 
 "but she has the coolest head of anyone I know. 
 I do not think of any man I would trust so 
 fully to take a rational attitude in the end. We 
 can explain to her what extenuating circum- 
 stances there are, and she will have to recognize 
 
240 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 them. She will see that we are considering her 
 rights " 
 
 "Her rights?" The old man fairly snorted the 
 words. 
 
 "Now, now, Dr. Gibson!" interposed the other. 
 "You asked me " 
 
 "I know! I know! But as the older of the 
 physicians in charge of this case " 
 
 Dr. Perrin managed to frown him down, and 
 went on trying to placate me. But through the 
 argument I would hear the old man muttering 
 in his collar, a kind of double bass pizzicato: 
 "Suffragettes! Fanatics! Hysteria! Woman's 
 Rights!" 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 241 
 
 § 27 
 
 The breeze was feeble, and the sun was blaz- 
 ing hot, but nevertheless I made myself listen 
 patiently for a while. They had said it all to 
 me, over and over again; but it seemed that Dr. 
 Perrin could not be satisfied until it had been 
 said in Douglas van Tuiver's presence. 
 
 "Dr. Perrin," I exclaimed, "even supposing 
 we make the attempt to deceive her, we have 
 not one plausible statement to make " 
 
 "You are mistaken, Mrs. Abbott," said he. 
 "We have the perfectly well-known fact that 
 this disease is often contracted in ways which 
 involve no moral blame. And in this case I 
 believe I am in position to state how the accident 
 happened." 
 
 "What do you mean?'' 
 
 "I don't know whether you heard that just 
 before Mrs. van Tuiver's confinement, I was 
 called away to one of the other keys to attend 
 a negro-woman. And since this calamity has 
 befallen us, I have reahzed that I was possibly 
 not as careful in sterilizing my instruments as 
 I might have been. It is of course a dreadful 
 thing for any physician to have to believe " 
 
 He stopped, and there was a long silence. I 
 gazed from one to another of the men. Two of 
 them met my gaze; one did not. "He is going 
 to let you say that?" I whispered, at last. 
 
 16 
 
242 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "Honor and fairness compel me to say it, 
 Mrs. Abbott. I believe " 
 
 But I interrupted him. "Listen to me, Dr. 
 Perrin. You are a chivalrous gentleman, and you 
 think you are helping a man in desperate need. 
 But I say that anyone who would permit you 
 to tell such a tale is a contemptible coward!" 
 
 "Madam," cried Dr. Gibson, furiously, "there 
 is a limit even to a woman's rights!" 
 
 A silence followed. At last I resumed, in a 
 low voice: "You gentlemen have your code: you 
 protect the husband — ^you protect him at all 
 hazards. I could understand this, if he were 
 innocent of the offence in question; I could 
 imderstand it, if there were any possibiUty of his 
 being innocent. But how can you protect him, 
 when you know that he is guilty?" 
 
 "There can be no question of such knowledge!" 
 cried the old doctor. 
 
 "I have no idea," I said, "how much he has 
 admitted to you; but let me remind you of one 
 circumstance, which is known to Dr. Perrin — 
 that I came to this place with the definite in- 
 formation that symptoms of the disease were to 
 be anticipated. Dr. Perrin knows that I told 
 that to Dr. Overton in New York. Has he ia- 
 formed you of it?" 
 
 There was an awkward interval. I glanced at 
 van Tuiver, and I saw that he was leaning for- 
 ward, staring at me. I thought he was about 
 to speak, when Dr. Gibson broke in, excitedly, 
 "All this is beside the mark! We have a serious- 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 243 
 
 emergency to face, and we are not getting any- 
 where. As the older of the physicians in charge 
 
 of this case " 
 
 And he went on to give me a lecture on the 
 subject of authority. He talked for five min- 
 utes, ten minutes — ^I lost all track of the time. 
 I had suddenly begun to picture how I would 
 act and what I would say when I went into 
 Sylvia's room. What a state must Sylvia be in, 
 while we sat out here in the blazing midday sun, 
 discussing her right to freedom and knowledge! 
 
244 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "1 
 
 § 28 
 'I HAVE always been positive," Dr. Gibson 
 was saying, "but the present discussion has 
 made me more positive than ever. As the older 
 of the physicians in charge of this case, I say 
 most emphatically that the patient shall not be 
 told!" 
 
 I could not stand him any longer. "I am 
 going to tell the patient," I said. 
 "You shaU not tell her!" 
 "But how win you prevent me?" 
 "You shall not see her!" 
 "But she is determined to see me!" 
 "She will be told that you are not there." 
 "And how long do you imagine that that will 
 satisfy her?" 
 
 There was a pause. They looked at van 
 Tuiver, expecting him to speak. And then I heard 
 once more his cold, deUberate voice. "We have 
 done aU we can. There can no longer be any 
 question as to the course to be taken. Mrs. 
 Abbott will not return to my home." 
 
 "What?" I cried. I stared at him, aghast. 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean what I say — ^that you will not be 
 taken back to the island." 
 "But where will I be taken?" 
 "You will be taken to the mainland." 
 I stared at the others. No one gave a sign. 
 At last I exclaimed, "You would dare?" 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 245 
 
 "You leave us no other alternative," replied 
 the master. 
 
 "You — ^you will practically kidnap me!" My 
 voice must have been rather wild at that moment. 
 
 "You left my home of your own free will. 
 I think I need hardly poiat out to you that I 
 am not compelled to invite you back to it." 
 
 "And what will Sylvia — " I stopped, dismayed 
 at the vista the words opened up. 
 
 "My wife," said van Tuiver, "will ultimately 
 choose between her husband and her most re- 
 markable acquaintance." 
 
 "And you, gentlemen?" I turned to the others. 
 "You would give yom- sanction to this outrageous 
 action?" 
 
 "As the older of the physicians in charge of 
 this case — " began Dr. Gibson. 
 
 I timaed to van Tuiver again. "When your 
 wife finds out what you have done to me — what 
 will you answer?" 
 
 "We will deal with that situation when we 
 come to it." 
 
 "Of course," I said, "you understand that 
 sooner or later I shall get word to her!" 
 
 He answered, "We shall assume from now on 
 that you are a mad woman, and shall take our 
 precautions accordingly." 
 
 Again there was a silence. 
 
 "The launch will return to the mainland," 
 said van Tuiver, at last. "It will remain there 
 until Mrs. Abbott sees fit to go ashore. May 
 I ask if she has sufficient money in her purse 
 to take her to New York?" 
 
246 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 I coiild not help laughing. The thing was so 
 wild — and yet I could see that from their point 
 of view it was the only thing to do. "Mrs. 
 Abbott is not certain that she is going back to 
 New York," I replied. "If she does go, it wiU 
 not be with Mr. van Tuiver's money." 
 
 "One thing more," said Dr. Perrin. It was 
 the first time he had spoken since van Tuiver's in- 
 credible announcement. "I trust, Mrs. Abbott, 
 that this imfortimate situation may at all costs 
 be concealed from servants, and from the world 
 in general." 
 
 From which I reahzed how badly I had them 
 frightened. They actually saw me making phys- 
 ical resistance! 
 
 "Dr. Perrin," I replied, "I am acting in this 
 matter for my friend. I will add this: that I 
 beheve that you are letting yourself be over- 
 borne, and that you will regret it some day." 
 
 He made no answer. Douglas van Tuiver put 
 an end to the discussion by rising and signaling 
 the other launch. When it had come alongside, 
 he said to the captain, "Mrs. Abbott is going 
 back to the railroad. You will take her at 
 once." 
 
 Then he waited; I was maUcious enough to 
 give him an anxious moment before I rose. Dr. 
 Perrin offered me his hand; and Dr. Gibson, 
 said, with a smile, "Good-bye, Mrs. Abbott. 
 I'm sorry you can't stay with us any longer." 
 
 I think it was something to my credit that I 
 was able to play out the game before the boat- 
 
SYLVIA AS MOTHER 247 
 
 men. "I am sorry, too," I countered. "I am 
 hoping I shall be able to return." 
 
 And then came the real ordeal. "Good-bye, 
 Mrs. Abbott," said Douglas van Tuiver, with 
 his stateliest bow; and I managed to answer 
 him! 
 
 As I took my seat, he beckoned his secretary. 
 There was a whispered consultation for a minute 
 or two, and then the master retm-ned to the 
 smaller lamich with the doctors. He gave the 
 word, and the two vessels set out — one to the 
 key, and the other to the railroad. The secre- 
 tary went in the one with me! 
 
248 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 29 
 
 And here ends a certain stage of my story. 
 I have described Sylvia as I met her and judged 
 her; and if there be any reader who has been 
 irked by this method, who thinks of me as a 
 crude and pushing person, disposed to meddle 
 in the affairs of others, here is where that reader 
 will have his satisfaction and revenge. For if 
 ever a troublesome puppet was jerked suddenly 
 off the stage — ^if ever a long-winded orator was 
 effectively snuffed out — ^I was that puppet and 
 that orator. I stop and think — shall I describe 
 how I paced up and down the pier, respectfully 
 but emphatically watched by the secretary? 
 And all the melodramatic plots I conceived, the 
 muffled oars and the midnight visits to my 
 Sylvia? My sense of humor forbids it. For 
 a while now I shall take the hint and stay in the 
 backgroimd of this story. I shall tell the expe- 
 riences of Sylvia as Sylvia herself told them to 
 me long afterwards; saying no more about my 
 own fate — save that I swallowed my humiliation 
 and took the next train to New York, a far 
 sadder and wiser social reformer! 
 
SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 BOOK III 
 
 Sylvia as Rebel 
 
§ 1 
 
 Long afterwards Sylvia told me about what 
 happened between her husband and herself; how 
 desperately she tried to avoid discussing the issue 
 with him — out of her very sense of fairness to 
 him. But he came to her room, in spite of her 
 protest, and by his implacable persistence he 
 made her hear what he had to say. When he had 
 made up his mind to a certain course of action, 
 he was no more to be resisted than a glacier. 
 
 "Sylvia," he said, "I know that you are upset 
 by what has happened. I make every allowance 
 for your condition; but there are some statements 
 that I must be permitted to make, and there are 
 simply no two ways about it — ^you must get your- 
 self together and hear me." 
 
 "Let me see Mary Abbott!" she insisted, again 
 and again. "It may not be what you want — ^but 
 I demand to see her." 
 
 So at last he said, "You cannot see Mrs. 
 Abbott. She has gone back to New York." 
 And then, at her look of consternation: "That is 
 one of the things I have to talk to you about." 
 
 "Why has she gone back?" cried Sylvia. 
 
 "Because I was unwilling to have her here." 
 
 "You mean you sent her away?" 
 
 "I mean that she imderstood she was no longer 
 welcome." 
 
 (251) 
 
252 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 Sylvia drew a quick breath and turned away to 
 the window. 
 
 He took advantage of the opportunity to come 
 near, and draw up a chair for her. "Will you 
 not pleased to be seated," he said. And at last 
 she turned, rigidly, and seated herself. 
 
 "The time has come," he declared, "when we 
 have to settle this question of Mrs. Abbott, and 
 her influence upon your life. I have argued with 
 you about such matters, but now what has hap- 
 pened makes further discussion impossible. You 
 were brought up among people of refinement, and 
 it has been incredible to me that you should be 
 willing to admit to your home such a woman as 
 this — ^not merely of the commonest birth, but 
 without a trace of the refinement to which you 
 have been accustomed. Now you see the conse- 
 quences of yoiu" having brought such a person 
 into our life!" 
 
 He paused. She made no sound, and her gaze 
 was riveted upon the window-curtain. 
 
 "She happens to be here," he went on, "at a 
 time when a dreadful calamity befalls us — ^when 
 we are in need of the utmost sympathy and con- 
 sideration. Here is an obscure and terrible 
 afl3iction, which has baffled the best physicians in 
 the country; but this ignorant farmer's wife con- 
 siders that she knows all about it. She proceeds 
 to discuss it with every one — sending your poor 
 aimt almost into hysterics, setting the nurses to 
 gossiping — God knows what else she has done, or 
 what she will do, before she gets through. I 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 253 
 
 don't pretend to know her ultimate purpose — 
 blackmail, possibly " 
 
 "Oh, how can you!" she broke out, invol- 
 untarily. "How can you say such a thing about 
 a friend of mine?" 
 
 "I might answer with another question — ^how 
 can you have such a friend? A woman who has 
 cast off every restraint, every consideration of 
 decency, — and yet is able to persuade a daughter 
 of the Castlemans to make her an intimate! 
 Possibly she is an honest fanatic. Dr. Perrin tells 
 me she was the wife of a brutal farmer, who 
 mistreated her. No doubt that has embittered 
 her against men, and accounts for her mania. 
 You see that her mind leaped at once to the most 
 obscene and hideous explanation of this misfor- 
 tune of ours — an explanation which pleased her 
 because it blackened the honor of a man." 
 
 He stopped again. Sylvia's eyes had moved 
 back to the window-curtain. 
 
 "I am not going to insult your ears," he said, 
 "with discussions of her ideas. The proper per- 
 son to settle such matters is a physician, and if 
 you wish Dr. Perrin to do so, he will tell you 
 what he knows about the case. But I wish you 
 to reaUze somehow what this thing has meant to 
 me. I have managed to control myself — " He 
 saw her shut her hps more tightly. "The doctors 
 tell me that I must not excite you. But picture 
 -the situation. I come to my home, bowed 
 down with grief for you and for my child. And 
 this mad woman thrusts herself forward, shoves 
 
254 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 aside your aunt and yoitr physicians, and comes 
 in the launch to meet me at the station. And 
 then she accuses me of being criminally guilty of 
 the blindness of my child — of having wiKully 
 deceived my wife! Think of it — ^that is my wel- 
 come to my home!" 
 
 "Douglas," she cried, wildly, "Mary Abbott 
 would not have done such a thing without 
 reason " 
 
 "I do not purpose to defend myself," he said, 
 coldly. "If you are bent upon filling yom* mind 
 with such matters, go to Dr. Perrin. He will tell 
 you that he, as a physician, knows that the 
 charge against me is preposterous. He will tell 
 you that even granting that the cause of the 
 blindness is what Mrs. Abbott guesses, there are 
 a thousand ways in which such an infection can 
 be contracted, which are perfectly innocent, 
 involving no guilt on the part of anyone. Every 
 doctor knows that drinking-cups, wash-basins, 
 towels, even food can be contaminated. He 
 knows that any person can bring the affliction 
 into a home — servants, nurses, even the doctors 
 themselves. Has your mad woman friend told 
 you any of that?" 
 
 "She has told me nothing. You know that I 
 have had no opportimity to talk with her. I only 
 know what the nurses believe " 
 
 "They believe what Mrs. Abbott told them. 
 That is absolutely all the reason they have for 
 believing anything!" 
 
 She did not take that quite as he expected. 
 "So Mary Abbott did tell them!" she cried. 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 255 
 
 He hurried on: "The poisonous idea of a 
 vulgar Socialist woman — this is the thing upon 
 which you base your suspicious of your husband!" 
 
 "Oh!" she whispered, half to herself. "Mary 
 Abbott did say it! 
 
 "What if she did?" 
 
 "Oh Douglas, Mary would never have said such 
 a thing to a nurse unless she had been certain 
 of it!" 
 
 "Certain?" he broke out. "What certainty 
 could she imagine she had? She is a bitter, 
 frantic woman — a divorced woman — ^who jumped 
 to the conclusion that pleased her, because it 
 involved the humiUation of a rich man." 
 
 He went on, his voice trembling with suppressed 
 passion: "When you know the real truth, the 
 thing becomes a nightmare. You, a deUcate 
 woman, lying here helpless — the victim of a cruel 
 misfortune, and with the life of an afflicted infant 
 depending upon your peace of mind. Yom" 
 physicians planning day and night to keep you 
 quiet, to keep the dreadful, unbearable truth 
 from you " 
 
 "Oh, what truth? That's the terrifying thing 
 — to know that people are keeping things from me! 
 What was it they were keeping?" 
 
 "First of all, the fact that the baby was blind; 
 and then the cause of it " 
 
 "Then they do know the cause?" 
 
 "They don't know positively — ^no one can 
 know positively. But poor Dr. Perrin had a 
 dreadful idea, that he had to hide from you, 
 
256 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 because otherwise he could not bear to continue 
 in your house " 
 
 "Why, Douglas! What do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean that a few days before your conjfine- 
 ment, he was called away to the case of a negro- 
 woman — ^you knew that, did you not?" 
 
 "Go on." 
 
 "He has the torturing suspicion that possibly 
 he was not careful enough in sterilizing his instru- 
 ments, and that he, your friend and protector, 
 may be the one who is to blame." 
 
 "Oh! Oh!" Her voice was a whisper of 
 horror. 
 
 "That is one of the secrets your doctors have 
 been trying to hide." 
 
 There was silence, while her eyes searched his 
 face. Suddenly she stretched out her hands to 
 him, crying desperately: "Oh, is this true?" 
 
 He did not take the outstretched hands. 
 "Since I am upon the witness-stand, I have to 
 be careful of my repUes. It is what Dr. Perrin 
 tells me. Whether the explanation he gives is 
 the true one — ^whether he himself, or the nurse 
 he recommended, may have brought the infec- 
 tion " 
 
 "It couldn't have been the nurse," she said, 
 quickly. "She was so careful—" 
 
 He did not allow her to finish. "You seem 
 determined," he said, coldly, "to spare everyone 
 but your husband." 
 
 "No!" she protested, "I have tried hard to be 
 fair — to be fair to both you and my friend. Of 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 257 
 
 course, if Mary Abbott was mistaken, I have 
 
 done you a great injustice " 
 
 He saw that she was softening, and that it was 
 safe for him to be a man. "It has been with 
 some difficulty that I have controlled myseK 
 throughout this experience," he said, rising to 
 his feet. "If you do not mind, I think I will not 
 cany the discussion any further. I don't feel 
 that I can trust myseK to listen to a defense of 
 that woman from your lips. I will only tell you 
 my decision in the matter. I have never before 
 used my authority as a husband. I hoped I 
 should never have to use it. But the time has 
 come when you will have to choose between Mary 
 Abbott and your husband. I will positively not 
 tolerate your corresponding with her, or having 
 anything further to do with her. I take my 
 stand upon that, and nothing will move me. I 
 will not even permit of any discussion of the 
 subject. And now I hope you will excuse me. 
 Dr. Perrin wishes me to tell you that either he 
 or Dr. Gibson are ready at any time to advise 
 you about these matters, which have been forced 
 upon your mind against their judgment and 
 protests." 
 
 17 
 
258 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 §2 
 
 You can see that it was no easy matter for 
 Sylvia to get at the truth. The nurses, already 
 terrified because of their indiscretion, had been 
 first professionally thrashed, and then carefully 
 drilled as to the answers they were to make. But 
 as a matter of fact they did not have to make 
 any answers at all, because Sylvia was unwilling 
 to reveal to anyone her distrust of her husband. 
 
 One of two things was certain: either she had 
 been horribly wronged by her husband, or now 
 she was horribly wronging him. Which was the 
 truth? Was it conceivable that I, Mary Abbott, 
 would leap to a false conclusion about such a 
 matter? She knew that I felt intensely, almost 
 fanatically, on the subject; and also that I had 
 been imder great emotional stress. Was it 
 possible that I would have voiced mere suspicions 
 to the nurses? Sylvia could not be sure, for my 
 standards were as strange to her as my Western 
 accent. She knew that I talked freely to every- 
 one about such matters — and would be as apt to 
 select the nurses as the ladies of the house. On 
 the other hand, how was it conceivable that I 
 could know positively? To recognize a disease 
 might be easy; but to specify from what source 
 it had come — ^that was surely not in human power! 
 
 They did not leave her alone for long. Mrs. 
 Tuis came in, with her feminine terrors. " Sylvia, 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 259 
 
 you must know that you are treating your hus- 
 band dreadfully! He has gone away down the 
 beach by him self, and has not even seen his baby!" 
 
 "Aunt Varina — " she began, "wont you please 
 go away?" 
 
 But the other rushed on: "Your husband 
 comes here, broken with grief because of this 
 affiction; and you overwhelm him with the most 
 cruel and wicked reproaches — ^with charges you 
 have no way in the world of proving — " The 
 old lady caught her niece by the hand. "My 
 child! Come, do your duty!" 
 
 "My duty?" 
 
 "Make yourself fit, and take your husband to 
 see his baby." 
 
 "Oh, I can't!" cried Sylvia. "I don't want to 
 be there when he sees her! If I loved him — " 
 Then, seeing her aunt's face of horror, she was 
 seized with a sudden impulse of pity, and caught 
 the poor old lady in her arms. "Aunt Varina," 
 she said, "I am making you suffer, I know — I am 
 making everyone suffer! But if you only knew 
 how I am suffering myself! How can I know 
 what to do." 
 
 Mrs. Tuis was weeping; but quickly she got 
 herself together, and answered in a firm voice, 
 "Your old Auntie can tell you what to do. You 
 must come to your senses, my child — ^you must 
 let your reason prevail. Get your face washed, 
 make yourself presentable, and come and take 
 your husband to see your baby. Women have 
 to suffer, dear; we must not shirk our share of 
 life's burdens." 
 
260 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "There is no danger of my shirking," said 
 Sylvia, bitterly. 
 
 "Come, dear, come," pleaded Mrs. Tuis. She 
 was trying to lead the girl to the mirror. If only 
 she could be made to see how distraught and 
 disorderly she looked! "Let me help you to 
 dress, dear — ^you know how much better it always 
 makes you feel." 
 
 Sylvia laughed, a trifle wildly — ^but Mrs. Tuis 
 had dealt with hysteria before. "What would 
 you like to wear?" she demanded. And then, 
 without waiting for an answer, "Let me choose 
 something. One of your pretty frocks." 
 
 "A pretty frock, and a seething volcano under- 
 neath! That is your idea of a woman's life!" 
 
 The other responded, very gravely, "A pretty 
 frock, my dear, and a smile — ^instead of a vulgar 
 scene, and ruin and desolation afterwards." 
 
 Sylvia made no reply. Yes, that was the life 
 of woman — ^her old aunt knew! And her old 
 aunt knew also the psychology of her sex. She 
 did not go on talking about pretty frocks in the 
 abstract; she turned at once to the clothes- 
 closet, and b^an laying pretty frocks upon the 
 bed! 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 261 
 
 §3 
 
 Sylvia emerged upon the "gallery", clad in 
 dainty pink muslin, her beautiful shiny hair 
 arranged under a semi-invalid's cap of pink 
 maline. Her face was pale, and the big red- 
 brown eyes were hollow; but she was quiet, and 
 mistress of herself again. She even humored 
 Aunt Varina by leaning slightly upon her feeble 
 arm, while the maid hastened to place her chair 
 in a shaded spot. 
 
 Her husband came, and the doctors; the 
 tea-things were brought, and Aunt Varina poured 
 tea, a-flutter with excitement. They talked 
 about the comparative temperatures of New 
 York and the Florida keys, and about hedges of 
 jasmine to shade the gallery from the evening 
 sun. And after a while. Aunt Varina arose, 
 explaining that she would prepare Elaine for her 
 father's visit. In the doorway she stood for a 
 moment, smiling upon the pretty picture. It was 
 all settled now — the outward forms had been 
 observed, and the matter would end, as such 
 matters should end between husband and wife — ^a 
 few tears, a few reproaches, and then a few kisses. 
 
 The baby was made ready, with a new dress, 
 and a fresh silk bandage to cover the pitiful, life- 
 less eyes. Aunt Varina had found pleasure in 
 making these bandages; she made them soft and 
 pretty — ^less hygienic, perhaps, but avoiding the 
 suggestion of the hospital. 
 
262 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 When Sylvia and her husband came into the 
 room, the faces of both of them were white. 
 Sylvia stopped near the door-way; and poor 
 Aimt Varina fluttered about, in agony of soul. 
 When van Tuiver went to the cradle, she hurried 
 to his side, and sought to awaken the little one 
 with gentle nudges. Quite unexpectedly to her, 
 van Tuiver sought to pick up the infant; she 
 helped him, and he stood, holding it awkwardly, 
 as if afraid it might go to pieces in his arms. 
 
 So any man might appear, with his first infant; 
 but to Sylvia it seemed the most tragic sight she 
 had ever seen in her life. She gave a low cry, 
 "Douglas!" and he turned, and she saw his face 
 was working with the feeling he was ashamed for 
 anyone to see. "Oh, Douglas," she whispered, 
 "I'm so sorry for you!" At which Axmt Varina 
 decided that it was time for her to make her 
 escape. 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 263 
 
 §4 
 
 But the troubles between these two were not 
 such as could be settled by any burst of emotion. 
 The next day they were agam in a dispute, for 
 he had come to ask her word of honor that she 
 would never see me again, and would give him 
 my letters to be returned unopened. This last 
 was what she had let her father do in the case of 
 Frank Shirley; and she had become certain in 
 her own mind that she had done wrong. 
 
 But he was insistent in his demand; declaring 
 that it should be obvious to her there could be 
 no peace of mind for him so long as my influence 
 continued in her life. 
 
 "But smrely," protested Sylvia "to hear Mary 
 Abbott's explanation " 
 
 "There can be no explanation that is not an 
 insult to yoiu" husband, and to those who are 
 caring for you. I am speaking in this matter not 
 merely for myself, but for yoiu' physicians, who 
 know this woman, and heard her menaces and her 
 vulgarity. It is their judgment that you should 
 be protected at all hazards from further contact 
 with her." 
 
 "Douglas," she argued, "you must reahze that 
 I am in distress of mind about this matter " 
 
 "I certainly realize that." 
 
 "And if you are thinking of my welfare, you 
 should choose a course that would set my mind at 
 
264 SYLVIA'S MAKRIAGE 
 
 rest. But when you come to me and ask me that 
 I should not even read a letter from my friend — 
 don't you realize what you suggest to me, that 
 there is something you are afraid for me to 
 know?" 
 
 "I do not attempt to deny my fear of this 
 woman. I have seen how she has been able to 
 poison your mind with suspicions " 
 
 "Yes, Douglas — ^but now that has been done, 
 what else is there to fear from her?" 
 
 "I have no idea what. She is a bitter, jealous 
 woman, with a mind full of hatred; and you are 
 an innocent girl, who cannot judge about these 
 matters. What idea have you of the world 
 in which you live, of the slanders to which a man 
 in your husband's position is exposed?" 
 
 "I am not quite such a child as that " 
 
 " You have simply no idea, I tell you. I remem- 
 ber your consternation when we first met, and 
 I told you about the woman who had written me 
 a begging letter, and got an interview with me, 
 and then started screaming, and refused to leave 
 the house till I had paid her a lot of money. 
 You had never heard such stories, had you? 
 Yet it is the kind of thing that is happening to 
 rich men continually; it was one of the first rules 
 I was taught, never to let myself be alone with a 
 strange woman, no matter of what age, or under 
 what circumstances." 
 
 "But I assure you I would not Usten to such 
 people " 
 
 "You are asking right now to listen! And 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 
 
 you would be influenced by her — ^you could not 
 help it, any more than you can help being dis- 
 tressed about what she has already said. She 
 intimated to Dr. Perrin that she believed that I 
 had been a man of depraved life, and that my wife 
 and child were now paying the penalty. How 
 can I tell what vile stories concerning me she may 
 not have heard? How could I have any peace of 
 mind while I knew that she was free to pour them 
 into your ear?" 
 
 Sylvia sat dumb, with questions she would not 
 utter hovering on the tip of her tongue. 
 
 He took her silence for acquiescence, and went 
 on, quickly, "Let me give you an illustration. 
 A friend of mine whom you know well — I might 
 as weU tell you his name, it was Freddie Atkins 
 — ^was at supper with some theatrical women; and 
 one of them, not having any idea that Freddie 
 knew me, proceeded to talk about me, and how 
 she had met me, and where we had been together 
 — about my yacht, and my castle in Scotland, and 
 I don't know what all else. It seems that this 
 woman had been my mistress for several years; 
 she told quite gUbly about me and my habits. 
 Freddie got the woman's picture, on some pretext 
 or other, and brought it to me; I had never laid 
 eyes on her in my life. He could hardly beheve 
 it, and to prove it to him I offered to meet the 
 woman, under another name. We sat in a res- 
 taurant, and she told the tale to Freddie and 
 myself together — ^until finally he burst out laugh- 
 ing, and told her who I was." 
 
266 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 He paused, to let this sink in. "Now, suppose 
 your friend Mary Abbott had met that woman! 
 I don't imagine she is particularly careful whom 
 she^ associates with; and suppose she had come 
 and told you that she knew such a woman — 
 what would you have said? Can you deny that 
 the tale would have made an impression on you? 
 Yet I've not the least doubt there are scores of 
 women who made such tales about me a part of 
 their stock ia trade; there are thousands of 
 women whose fortunes would be made for life if 
 they could cause such a tale to be believed. 
 And imagiae how well-informed they would be, 
 if anyone were to ask them concerning my habits, 
 and the reason why our baby is blind! I tell 
 you, when the rumor concerning our child has 
 begun to spread, there wiU be ten thousand people 
 in New York City who will know of first-hand, 
 personal knowledge exactly how it happened, and 
 how you took it, and everything that I said to 
 you about it. There wiU be sneers in the society- 
 papers, from New York to San Francisco; and 
 smooth-tongued gentlemen calling, to give us 
 hints that we can stop these sneers by purchasing 
 a de-luxe edition of a history of om* ancestors for 
 six thousand dollars. There will be well-meaning 
 and beautiful-souled people who will try to get you 
 to confide in them, and then use their knowledge 
 of your domestic unhappiness to blackmail you; 
 there will be threats of law-suits from people who 
 will claim that they have contracted a disease 
 from you or yoiu" child — ^your laundress, perhaps, 
 or your maid, or one of these nurses " 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 267 
 
 "Oh, stop! stop!" she cried. 
 
 " I am quite aware," he said, quietly, " that these 
 things are not calculated to preserve the peace of 
 mind of a young mother. You are horrified when 
 I teU you of them — ^yet you clamor for the right 
 to have Mrs. Abbott tell you of them ! I warn you, 
 Sylvia — ^you have married a rich man, who is 
 exposed to the attacks of cimning and unscru- 
 pulous enemies. You, as his wife, are exactly 
 as much exposed — ^possibly even more so. There- 
 fore when I see you entering into what I know to 
 be a dangerous intimacy, I must have the right 
 to say to you. This shall stop. And I tell you, 
 there can never be any safety or peace of mind 
 for either of us, so long as you attempt to deny 
 me that right." 
 
268 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 §5 
 
 Dr. Gibson took his departirre three or four 
 days later; and before he went, he came to give 
 her his final blessing; talking to her, as he phrased 
 it, "like a Dutch tmcle". "You must under- 
 stand," he said, "I am almost old enough to be 
 your grandfather. I have four sons, any one of 
 whom might have married you, if they had had 
 the good fortune to be in Castleman County at 
 the critical time. So you must let me be frank 
 with you." 
 
 Sylvia indicated that she was willing. 
 
 "We don't generally talk to women about these 
 matters; because they've no standard by which 
 to judge, and they almost always fly off and have 
 hysterics. Their case seems to them exceptional 
 and horrible, their husbands the blackest crinodnals 
 in the whole tribe." 
 
 He paused for a moment. "Now, Mrs. van 
 Tuiver, the disease which has made yorn* baby 
 blind is probably what we call gonorrhea. When 
 it gets into the eyes, it has very terrible results. 
 But it doesn't often get into the eyes, and for the 
 most part it's a trifling affair, that we don't worry 
 about. I know there are a lot of new-fangled 
 notions, but I'm an old man, with experience of 
 my own, and I have to have things proven to 
 me. I know that with as much of this disease as 
 we doctors see, if it was a deadly disease, there'd 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 269 
 
 be nobody left alive in the world. As I say, I 
 don't like to discuss it with women; but it was not 
 I who forced the matter upon your attention " 
 
 "Pray go on, Dr. Gibson," she said. "I reaUy 
 wish to know aU that you will tell me." 
 
 "The question has come up, how was this dis- 
 ease brought to your child? Dr. Perrin suggested 
 that possibly he — ^you imderstand his fear; and 
 possibly he is correct. But it seems to me an 
 illustration of the imwisdom of a physician's 
 departing from his proper duty, which is to cure 
 people. If you wish to find out who brought a 
 disease, what you need is a detective. I know, 
 of course, that there are people who can combine 
 the duties of physician and detective — and that 
 without any previous preparation or study of 
 either profession." 
 
 He waited for this irony to sink in; and Sylvia 
 also waited, patiently. 
 
 At last he resumed, "The idea has been planted 
 in your mind that your husband brought the 
 trouble; and that idea is sure to stay there and 
 fester. So it becomes necessary for some one to 
 talk to you straight. Let me tell you that eight 
 men out of ten have had this disease at some time 
 in their lives; also that very few of them were 
 cured of it when they thou^t they were. You 
 have a cold; and then next month, you say the 
 cold is gone. So it is, for practical purposes. 
 But if I take a microscope, I find the germs of 
 the cold still in yoxir membranes, and I know 
 that you can give a cold, and a bad cold, to some 
 
270 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 one else who is sensitive. It is true that you may 
 go through all the rest of your life without ever 
 being entirely rid of that cold. You understand 
 me?" 
 
 "Yes," said Sylvia, in a low voice. 
 
 "I say eight out of ten. Estimates woiild 
 differ. Some doctors would say seven out of ten — 
 and some actual investigations have shown nine 
 out of ten. And imderstand me, I don't mean 
 bar-room loafers and roustabouts. I mean your 
 brothers, if you have any; yoirr cousins, your 
 best friends, the men who came to make love 
 to you, and whom you thought of marrying. 
 If you had found it out about any one of them, 
 of course you'd have cut the acquaintance; yet 
 you'd have been doing an injustice — ^for if you had 
 done that to aU who'd ever had the disease, you 
 might as well have retired to a nunnery at once." 
 
 The old gentleman paused again; then frowning 
 at her imder his bushy eye-brows, he exclaimed, 
 "I tell you, Mrs. van Tuiver, you're doing your 
 husband a wrong. Your husband loves you, 
 and he's a good man — I've had some talks with 
 him, and I know he's not got nearly so much on 
 his conscience as the average husband. I'm a 
 Southern man, and I know these gay yoxmg 
 bloods you've danced and flirted with all your 
 young life. Do you think if you went probing 
 into their secret affairs, you'd have had much 
 pleasure in their company afterwards? I tell 
 you again, you're doing your husband a wrong! 
 You're doing something that very few men 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 271 
 
 would stand as patiently as he has stood it so 
 far." 
 
 All this time Sylvia had given no sign. So the 
 old gentleman began to feel a trifle uneasy. 
 "Mind you," he said, "I'm not sajdng that men 
 ought to be like that. They deserve a good hid- 
 ing, most of them — they're very few of them fit 
 to associate with a good woman. I've always 
 said that no man is really good enough for a good 
 woman. But my point is that when you select 
 one to punish, you select not the guiltiest one, 
 but simply the one who's had the misfortune to 
 fall under suspicion. And he knows that's not 
 fair; he'd have to be more than human if deep 
 in his soul he did not bitterly resent it. You 
 understand me?" 
 
 "I understand," she replied, in the same 
 repressed voice. 
 
 And the doctor rose and laid his hand on her 
 shoulder. "I'm going home," he said — "very 
 probably we'll never meet each other again. 
 I see you making a great mistake, lajnng up imhap- 
 piness for yourself in the future; and I wish 
 to prevent it if I can. I wish to persuade you to 
 face the facts of the world in which we live. So 
 I am going to tell you something that I never 
 expected I should tell to a lady." 
 
 He was looking her straight in the eye. "You 
 see me — ^I'm an old man, and I seem fairly respect- 
 able to you. You've laughed at me some, but 
 even so, you've found it possible to get along with 
 me without too great repugnance. Well, I've 
 
272 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 had this disease; I've had it, and nevertheless 
 I've raised six fine, sturdy children. More than 
 that — I'm not free to name anybody else, but I 
 happen to know positively that among the 
 men your husband employs on this island there 
 are two who have the disease right now. And the 
 next charming and well-bred gentleman you are 
 ratroduced to, just reflect that there are at least 
 eight chances in ten that he has had the disease, 
 and perhaps three or four in ten that he has it at 
 the minute he's shaking hands with you. And 
 now you think that over, and stop tormenting 
 your poor husband!" 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 273 
 
 §6 
 
 One of the first things I did when I reached 
 New York was to send a httle love-letter to 
 Sylvia. I said nothing that would distress her; 
 I merely assured her that she was in my thoughts, 
 and that I should look to see her in New York, 
 when we could have a good talk. I put this in a 
 plain envelope, with a typewritten address, and 
 registered it in the name of my stenographer. 
 The receipt came back, signed by an imknown 
 hand, probably the secretary's. I foimd out 
 later that the letter never got to Sylvia. 
 
 No doubt it was the occasion of renewed efforts 
 upon her husband's part to obtain from her the 
 promise he desired. He would not be put off 
 with excuses; and at last he got her answer, 
 in the shape of a letter which she told him she 
 intended to mail to me. In this letter she 
 announced her decision that she owed it to her 
 baby to avoid aU excitement and nervous strain 
 during the time that she was nxirsing it. Her 
 husband had sent for the yacht, and they were 
 going to Scotland, and in the winter to the Medi- 
 terranean and the Nile. Meantime she would 
 not correspond with me; but she wished me to 
 know that there was to be no break in our friend- 
 ship, and that she would see me upon her return 
 to New York. 
 
 "There is much that has happened that I do 
 
 18 
 
274 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 not understand," she added. "For the present, 
 however, I shall try to dismiss it from my mind. 
 I am sure you will agree that it is right for me to 
 give a year to being a mother. As I wish you to 
 feel perfectly at peace in the meantime, I mention 
 that it is my intention to be a mother only, and 
 not a wife. I am showing this letter to my 
 husband before I mail it, so that he may know 
 exactly what I am doing, and what I have decided 
 to do in the future." 
 
 "Of course," he said, after reading this, "you 
 may send the letter, if you insist — ^but you must 
 realize that you are only putting off the issue." 
 
 She made no reply; and at last he asked, 
 "You mean you intend to defy me in this matter?" 
 
 "I mean," she replied, quietly, "that for the 
 sake of my baby I intend to put off all discussion 
 for a year." 
 
SYLVIA AS EEBEL 275 
 
 §7 
 
 I FiGUKED that I should hear from Claire 
 Lepage about two days after I reached New York; 
 and sure enough, she called me on the 'phone. 
 "I want to see you at once," she declared; and 
 her voice showed the excitement under which 
 she was laboring. 
 
 "Very well," I said, "come down." 
 
 She entered my Uttle living-room. It was the 
 first time she had ever visited me, but she did not 
 stop for a glance about her; she did not even 
 stop to sit down. "Why didn't you tell me that 
 you knew Sylvia Castleman?" she cried. 
 
 "My dear woman," I replied, "I was not imder 
 the least obUgation to tell you." 
 
 "You have betrayed me!" she exclaimed, 
 wildly. 
 
 "Come, Claire," I said, after I had looked her 
 in the eye a bit to cahn her. "You know quite 
 well that I was imder no bond of secrecy. And, 
 besides, I haven't done you any harm." 
 
 "Why did you do it?" I regret to add that she 
 swore. 
 
 "I never once mentioned your name, Claire." 
 
 "How much good do you imagine that does 
 me? They have managed to find out everything. 
 They caught me in a trap." 
 
 I reminded myself that it would not do to show 
 any pity for her. "Sit down, Claire," I said. 
 "Tell me about it." 
 
276 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 She cried, in a last burst of anger, "I don't 
 want to talk to you!" 
 
 "All right," I answered. "But then, why did 
 you come?" 
 
 There was no reply to that. She sat down. 
 "They were too much for me!" she lamented. 
 "If I'd had the least hint, I might have held my 
 own. As it was — I let them make a fool of me." 
 
 "You are talking hieroglyphics to me. Who 
 are 'they'?" 
 
 "Douglas, and that old fox, Rossiter Torrence." 
 
 "Rossiter Torrence?" I repeated the name, 
 and then suddenly remembered. The thin-lipped 
 old family lawyer! 
 
 "He sent up his card, and said he'd been sent 
 to see me by Mary Abbott. Of course, I had no 
 suspicion — I fell right into the trap. We talked 
 about you for a while — ^he even got me to tell 
 him where you lived; and then at last he told me 
 that he hadn't come from you at all, but had 
 merely wanted to find out if I knew you, and how 
 intimate we were. He had been sent by Douglas; 
 and he wanted to know right away how much I 
 had told you about Douglas, and why I had done 
 it. Of coiu-se, I denied that I had told anything. 
 Heavens, what a time he gave me!" 
 
 Claire paused. "Mary, how could you have 
 played such a trick upon me?" 
 
 "I had no thought of doing you any harm," 
 I replied. "I was simply trying to help Sylvia." 
 
 "To help her at my expense!" 
 
 "Tell me, what will come of it? Are you afraid 
 they'll cut off your allowance?" 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL' 277 
 
 "That's the threat." 
 
 "But will they carry it out?" 
 
 She sat, gazing at me resentfizlly. "I don't 
 know whether I ought to trust you any more," 
 she said. 
 
 "Do what you please about that," I replied. 
 "I don't want to urge you." 
 
 She hesitated a bit longer, then decided to 
 throw herself upon my mercy. They would not 
 dare to carry out their threat, so long as Sylvia 
 had not found out the whole truth. So now 
 she had come to beg me to tell no more than I 
 had already told. She was utterly abject about 
 it. I had pretended to be her friend, I had won 
 her confidence and Ustened to her confessions; 
 now did I wish to ruin her utterly, to have her 
 cast out on the street? 
 
 Poor Claire ! I said in the early part of my story 
 that she imderstood the language of ideaUsm; 
 but I wonder what I have told about her that 
 justifies this. The truth is, she was going down so 
 fast that already she seemed a different person; 
 and she had been frightened by the thin-Upped old 
 family lawyer, so that she was incapable of even 
 a decent pretense. 
 
 "Claire," I said, "there is no need for you to 
 go on like this. I have not the slightest intention 
 of telling Sylvia about you. I cannot imagine 
 the circumstances that would make me want to 
 tell her. Even if I should do it, I would tell her 
 in confidence, so that her husband would never 
 have any idea " 
 
278 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 She went almost wild at this. To imagine that 
 a woman would keep such a confidence! As if 
 she would not throw it at her hiisband's head the 
 first time they quarreled! Besides, if Sylvia knew 
 this truth, she might leave him; and if she left 
 him, Claire's hold on his money would be gone. 
 
 Over this money we had a long and lachrymose 
 interview. And at the end of it, there she sat 
 gazing into space, baffled and bewildered. What 
 kind of a woman was I? How had I got to be 
 the friend of Sylvia van Tuiver? What had she 
 seen ia me, and what did I expect to get out of her? 
 I answered briefly; and suddenly Claire was 
 overwhelmed by a rush of curiosity — ^plain human 
 curiosity. What was Sylvia Uke? Was she as 
 clever as they said? What was the baby like, and 
 how was Sylvia taking the misfortune? Coxild it 
 really be true that I had been visiting the van 
 Tuivers in Florida, as old Rossiter Torrence had 
 impHed? 
 
 Needless to say, I did not answer these questions 
 freely. And I really think my visitor was more 
 pained by my uncommunicativeness than she was 
 by my betrayal of her. It was interesting also 
 to notice a subtle diEference in her treatment of 
 me. Gone was the shght touch of condescension, 
 gone was most of the familiarity! I had become 
 a personage, a treasurer of high state secrets, an 
 intimate of the great ones ! There must be some- 
 thing more to me than Claire had reahzed before! 
 
 Poor Claire! She passes here from this story. 
 For years thereafter I used to catch a glimpse of 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 279 
 
 her now and then, in the haunts of the birda of 
 gorgeous plumage; but I never got a chance to 
 speak to her, nor did she ever call on me again. 
 So I do not know if Douglas van Tuiver still 
 continues her eight thousand a year. All I can 
 say is that when I saw her, her plumage was as 
 gorgeous as ever, and its style duly certified to 
 the world that it had not been held over from a 
 previous season of prosperity. Twice I thought 
 she had been drinking too much; but then — so 
 had many of the other ladies with the little glasses 
 of bright-colored liquids before them. 
 
280 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 §8 
 
 Fob the rest of that year I knew nothing about 
 Sylvia except what I read in the "society" column 
 of my newspaper — ^that she was spending the late 
 Slimmer in her husband's castle in Scotland. I 
 myself was suffering from the strain of what I had 
 been through, and had to take a vacation. I went 
 West; and when I came back in the fall, to plimge 
 again into my work, I read that the van Tuivers, 
 in their yacht, the "Triton", were in the Mediter- 
 ranean, and were planning to spend the winter 
 in Japan. 
 
 And then one day in January, like a bolt from 
 the blue, came a cabl^ram from Sylvia, dated 
 Cairo: " Sailing for New York Steamship Atlantic 
 are you there answer." 
 
 Of coiuse I answered. And I consulted the 
 sailing-lists, and waited, wild with impatience. 
 She sent me a wireless, two days out, and so I was 
 at the pier when the great vessel docked. Yes, 
 there she was, waving her handkerchief to me; 
 and there by her side stood her husband. 
 
 It was a long, cold ordeal, while the ship was 
 warped in. We could only gaze at each other 
 across the distance, and stamp our feet and beat 
 our hands. There were other friends waiting for 
 the van Tuivers, I saw, and so I held myself in 
 the backgroimd, full of a thousand wild specula- 
 tions. How incredible that Sylvia, arriving with 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 281 
 
 her husband, shoiild have summoned me to meet 
 her! 
 
 At last the gangway was let down, and the 
 stream of passengers began to flow. In time 
 came the van Tuivers, and their friends gathered 
 to welcome them. I waited; and at last Sylvia 
 came to me — outwardly cahn — but with her 
 emotion in the pressure of her two hands. " Oh, 
 Mary, Mary!'' she murmured. "I'm so glad to 
 see you! I'm so glad to see you!" 
 
 "What has happened?" I asked. 
 
 Her voice went to a whisper. "I am leaving 
 my husband." 
 
 "Leaving your husband!" I stood, dumb- 
 fotmded. 
 
 "Leaving him forever, Mary." 
 
 "But — ^but — " I could not finish the sentence. 
 My eyes moved to where he stood, calmly chatting 
 with his friends. 
 
 "He insisted on coming back with me, to pre- 
 serve appearances. He is terrified of the gossip. 
 He is going all the way home, and then leave me." 
 
 "Sylvia! What does it mean?" I whispered. 
 
 "I can't tell you here. I want to come and see 
 you. Are you living at the same place?" 
 
 I answered in the affirmative. 
 
 "It's a long story," she added. "I must 
 apologize for asking you to come here, where we 
 can't talk. But I did it for an important reason. 
 I can't make my husband really beUeve that I 
 mean what I say; and you are my Declaration of 
 Independence!" She laughed — but a trifle wildly, 
 
282 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 and looking at her suddenly, I realized that she 
 was keyed almost to the breaking point. 
 
 "You poor dear!" I mirrmured. 
 
 "I wanted to show him that I meant what I 
 said. I wanted him to see us meet. You see, he's 
 going home, thinking that with the help of my 
 people he can make me change my mind." 
 
 "But why do you go home? Why not stay 
 here with me? There's an apartment vacant 
 next to mine." 
 
 "And with a baby?" 
 
 "There are lots of babies in our tenement," 
 I said. But to tell the truth, I had almost for- 
 gotten the baby in the excitement of the moment. 
 "How is she?" I asked. 
 
 "Come and see," said Sylvia; and when I 
 glanced enquiringly at the tall gentleman who was 
 chatting with his friends, she added, "She's my 
 baby, and I have a right to show her." 
 
 The niu"se, a rosy-cheeked Enghsh girl in a blue 
 dress and a bonnet with long streamers, stood 
 apart, holding an armful of white silk and lace. 
 Sylvia turned back the coverings; and again I 
 beheld the vision which had so thrilled me — the 
 comical little miniature of herself — ^her nose, her 
 lips, her golden hair. But oh, the pitiful Uttle 
 eyes that did not move! I looked at my friend, 
 uncertain what I should say; I was startled to see 
 her whole being aglow with mother-pride. "Isn't 
 she a dear?" she whispered. "And, Mary, she's 
 learning so fast, and growing — ^you couldn't 
 believe it!" Oh, the marvel of mother-love, I 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 283 
 
 thought — that is blinder than any child it ever 
 bore! 
 
 We turned away; and Sylvia said, "I'll come 
 to you as soon as I've got the baby settled. Our 
 train starts for the South tonight, so I shan't 
 waste any time." 
 
 "God bless you, dear," I whispered; and she 
 gave my hand a squeeze, and turned away. I 
 stood for a few moments watchiiig, and saw her 
 approach her husband, and exchange a few 
 smiling words with him in the presence of their 
 friends. I, knowing the agony that was in the 
 hearts of that desperate young couple, marveled 
 anew at the discipline of caste. 
 
284 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 §9 
 
 She sat in my big arm-chair; and how proud 
 I was of her, and how thrilled by her courage. 
 Above all, however, I was devoured by ciiriosity. 
 "TeU me!" I exclaimed. 
 
 "There's so much," she said. 
 
 "TeU me why you are leaving him." 
 
 "Mary, because I don't love him. That's the 
 one reason. I have thought it out — I have thought 
 of little else for the last year. I have come to see 
 that it is wrong for a woman to live with a man she 
 does not love. It is the supreme crime a woman 
 can commit." 
 
 "Ah, yes!" I said. "H you have got that far!" 
 
 "I have got that far. Other things have con- 
 tributed, but they are not the real things — they 
 might have been forgiven. The fact that he had 
 this disease, and made my child blind " 
 
 " Oh ! You found out that?" 
 
 "Yes, I found it out." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "It came to me Uttle by little. In the end he 
 grew tired of pretending, I think." She paused 
 for a moment, then went on, "The trouble was 
 over the question of my obligations as a wife. 
 You see, I haxi told him at the outset that I was 
 going to live for my baby, and for her alone. That 
 was the ground upon which he had persuaded me 
 not to see you or read any of your letters. I was 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 285 
 
 to ask no questions, and be nice and bovine — and 
 I agreed. But then, a few months ago, my 
 husband came to me with the story of his needs. 
 He said that the doctors had given their sanction 
 to our reunion. Of course, I was stimned. I 
 knew that he had understood me before we left 
 Florida." 
 
 She stopped. "Yes, dear," I said, gently. 
 
 " Well,he said now the doctors were agreed there 
 was no danger to either of us. We could take 
 precautions and not have children. I could only 
 plead that the whole subject was distressing to 
 me. He had asked me to put off my problems 
 tUl my baby was weaned; now I asked hm to put 
 off his. But that would not do, it seemed. He 
 took to arguing with me. It was an unnatural 
 way to Uve, and he could not endure it. I was a 
 woman, and I couldn't understand this. It 
 seemed utterly impossible to make him realize 
 what I felt. I suppose he has always had what 
 he wanted, and he simply does not know what it is 
 to be denied. It wasn't only a physical thing, I 
 think; it was an affront to his pride, a denial of 
 his authority." She stopped, and I saw her 
 shudder. 
 
 "I have been through it all," I said. 
 
 "He wanted to know how long I expected to 
 withhold myself. I said, ' Until I have got this 
 disease out of my mind, as well as out of my body; 
 xmtil I know that there is no possibility of either of 
 us having it, to give to the other.' But then, 
 after I had taken a little more time to think it over, 
 
286 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 I said, 'Douglas, I must be honest with you. I 
 shall never be able to live with you again. It 
 is no longer a question of your wishes or mine — 
 it is a question of right or wrong. I do not love 
 you. I know now that it can never under any 
 circumstances be right for a woman to give her- 
 self in the intimacy of the sex-relation without 
 love. When she does it, she is violating the 
 deepest instinct of her natm-e, the very voice of 
 God in her soul.' 
 
 "His reply was, 'Why didn't you know that 
 before you married?' 
 
 "I answered, 'I did not know what marriage 
 meant; and I let myself be persuaded by others.' 
 
 " 'By your own mother!' he declared. 
 
 "I said, 'A mother who permits her daughter 
 to commit such an offense is either a slave-dealer, 
 or else a slave.' — Of course, he thought I was out 
 of my mind at that. He argued about the duties 
 of marriage, the preserving of the home, wives 
 submitting themselves to their husbands, and so 
 on. He would not give me any peace " 
 
 And suddenly she started up. I saw in her eyes 
 the Ught of old battles. "Oh, it was a horror!" 
 she cried, beginning to pace the floor. "It seemed 
 to me that I was living the agony of all the loveless 
 marriages of the world. I felt myself pursued, 
 not merely by the importimate desires of one 
 man — ^I suffered with all the millions of women who 
 give themselves night after night without love! 
 He came to seem like some monster to me; I 
 coxild not meet him unexpectedly without starting. 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 287 
 
 I forebade him to mention the subject to me again, 
 and for a long time he obeyed. But several weeks 
 ago, he brought it up afresh, and I lost my self- 
 control completely. 'Douglas,' I said, 'I can 
 stand it no longer! It is not only the tragedy of 
 my blind child — it's that you have driven me to 
 hate you. You have crushed all the Ufe and joy 
 and youth out of me! You've been to me like a 
 terrible black cloud, constantly pressing down on 
 me, smothering me. You stalk around me like 
 a grim, sepulchral figure, closing me up in the 
 circle of your narrow ideas. But now I can en- 
 dure it no longer. I was a proud, high-spirited 
 girl, you've made of me a colorless social autom- 
 aton, a slave of your stupid worldly traditions. 
 I'm turning into a feeble, complaining, discon- 
 tented wife! And I refuse to be it. I'm going 
 home — ^where at least there's some human spon- 
 taneity left in people; I'm going back to my 
 father!' — And I went and looked up the next 
 steamer!" 
 
 She stopped. She stood before me, with the 
 fire of her wild Southern blood shining in her 
 cheeks and in her eyes. 
 
 I sat waiting, and finally she went on, "I won't 
 repeat all his protests. When he found that I 
 was really going, he offered to take me ia the 
 yacht, but I wouldn't go in the yacht. I had got 
 to be reaUy afraid of him — sometimes, you know, 
 his obstinacy seems to be abnormal, almost in- 
 sane. So then he decided he would have to 
 go in the steamer with me, to preserve appear- 
 
288 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 ances. I had a letter saying that Papa was not 
 well, and he said that would serve for an excuse. 
 He is going to Castleman County, and after he 
 has stayed a week or so, he is going off on a 
 hunting-trip, and not return." 
 
 "And will he do it?" 
 
 "I don't think he expects to do it at present. 
 I feel siire he has the idea of starting Mamma to 
 quoting the Bible to me, and breaking me down 
 with her tears. But I have done all I can to make 
 clear to him that it will make no difference. I 
 told him I would not say a word about my inten- 
 tions at home until he had gone away; and that I 
 expected the same silence from hun. But of 
 
 course " She stopped abruptly; and after 
 
 a moment she asked, "What do you think of it, 
 Mary?" 
 
 I leaned forward and took her two hands in mine. 
 "Only," I said, "that I'm glad you fought it out 
 alone! I knew it had to come — and I didn't 
 want to have to help you decide!" 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 289 
 
 § 10 
 
 She sat for a while absorbed in her own thoughts. 
 Knowing her as I did, I understood what intense 
 emotions were seething within her, what a terrific 
 struggle her decision must have represented. 
 
 "Dear friend," she said, suddenly, "don't think 
 I haven't seen his side of the case. I try to tell 
 myself that I dealt with him frankly from the 
 beginning; but then I ask, was there ever a man 
 I dealt with frankly? There was coquetry in the 
 very clothes I wore. And now that we are so 
 entangled, now that he loves me, what is my duty? 
 I find I can't respect his love for me. A part of 
 it is because my beauty fascinates him; but more 
 of it seems to me just woimded vanity. I was the 
 only woman who ever flouted him, and he had a 
 kind of snobbery that made him think I must be 
 something remarkable because of it. I talked 
 that all out with him — ^yes, I've dragged him 
 through all that humihation. I wanted to make 
 him see that he didn't really love me, that he 
 only wanted to conquer me, to force me to admire 
 him and submit to him. I want to be myself, 
 and he wants to be himself — that has always been 
 the issue between us." 
 
 " That is the issue in many unhappy marriages," 
 I said. 
 
 "I've done a lot of thinking in the last year," 
 she resumed — "about things generally, I mean. 
 
 19 
 
290 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 We American women think we are so free. That 
 is because our husbands indulge us, give us money, 
 and let us run about. But when it comes to real 
 freedom — ^freedom of intellect and of character, 
 English women are simply another kind of being 
 from us. I met a cabinet-minister's wife — ^he's a 
 conservative in everything, and she's an ardent 
 suffragist; she not merely gives money, she 
 makes speeches and has a pubUc name. Yet they 
 are friends, and have a happy home-life. Do you 
 suppose my husband would consider such an 
 arrangement?" 
 
 "I thought he admired English ways," I said. 
 
 "There was the Honorable Betty Annersley — 
 the sister of a chum of his. She was friendly 
 with the miUtants, and I wanted to talk to her, 
 to understand what such women thought. Yet 
 my husband tried to stop me from going to see 
 her. And it's the same way with everything I try 
 to do, that threatens to take me out of his power. 
 He wanted me to accept the authority of the 
 doctors as to any possible danger from venereal 
 disease. When I got the books, and showed 
 him what the doctors admitted about the question 
 — the narrow margin of safety they allowed, the 
 terrible chances they took — ^he was angry again." 
 
 She stopped, seeing a question in my eyes. 
 "I've been reading up on the subject," she 
 explained. "I know it all now — the things I 
 should have known before I married." 
 
 " How did you manage that?" 
 
 "I tried to get two of the doctors to give me 
 
SYLVIA AS EEBEL 291 
 
 something to read; but they wouldn't hear of it. 
 I'd set myself crazy imagining things; it was no 
 sort of stuff for a woman's mind. So ia the end 
 I took the bit in my teeth. I foimd a medical 
 book-store, and went in and said, 'I am an 
 American physician, and I want to see the latest 
 works on venereal disease.' So the clerk took me 
 to the shelves, and I picked out a couple of vol- 
 umes." 
 
 "You poor child!" I exclaimed. 
 
 "When Douglas found that I was reading these 
 books, he threatened to burn them. I told him, 
 "There are more copies in the store; and I am 
 determined to be educated on this subject.' " 
 
 She paused. How much like my own experi- 
 ence! I thought. 
 
 "There were chapters on the subject of wives, 
 how much they were not told, and why this was. 
 So very quickly I began to see around my own 
 experience. Douglas must have figured out that 
 this would be so; for the end of the matter was 
 an admission." 
 
 "You don't mean he confessed to you!" 
 
 She smiled bitterly. "No," she said. "He 
 brought Dr. Perria to London to do it for him. 
 Dr. Perrin said he had concluded I had best 
 know that my husband had had some sjrmptoms 
 of the disease. He, the doctor, wished to teU me 
 who was to blame for the attempt to deceive me. 
 Douglas had been willing to admit the truth, but 
 all the doctors had forbidden it. I must reaUze 
 the fearful problem they had, and not blame 
 
292 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 them; above all I must not blame my husband, 
 who had been in their hands in the matter." 
 
 "How stupid men are! As if that would ex- 
 cuse him!" 
 
 "I'm afraid I showed the little man how poor 
 an impression he had made — ^both for himself and 
 for his patron. But I had suffered all there was 
 to suffer, and I was tired of pretending. I told 
 him it would have been far better for them if they 
 had told me the truth at the beginning." 
 
 "Ah, yes!" I said. "That is what I tried to 
 make them see; but all I got for it was a sentence 
 of deportation!" 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 293 
 
 § 11 
 
 When Sylvia's train arrived at the station of 
 her home-town, the whole family was waiting 
 upon the platform for her, and a good part of 
 the town besides. The news that she had arrived 
 in New York, and was coming home on account 
 of her father's illness, had of course been repro- 
 duced in aU the local papers; with the result 
 that the worthy Major had been deluged with 
 telegrams and letters concerning his health. 
 Notwithstanding, he had insisted upon coming 
 to the train to meet his daughter. He was not 
 going to be shut up in a sick-room to please all 
 the gossips of two hemispheres! In his best 
 black broad-cloth, his broad, black hat newly 
 brushed, and his old-fashioned, square-toed shoes 
 newly shined, he paced up and down the station 
 platform for half an hour, and it was to his arms 
 that Sylvia flew when she ahghted from the train. 
 
 There was "Miss Margaret", who had squeezed 
 her large person and fluttering draperies out of 
 the family automobile, and was waiting to shed 
 tears over her favorite daughter; there was 
 Celeste, radiant with a wonderful piece of news 
 which she alone was to impart to her sister; 
 there were Peggy and Maria, shot up suddenly 
 into two amazingly gawky girls; there was 
 Master Castleman Lysle, the only son of the 
 house, with his black-eyed and bad-tempered 
 
294 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 French governess. And finally there was Aunt 
 Varina, palpitating with various agitations, not 
 daring to whisper to anyone else the fears which 
 this sudden home-coming inspired in her. Bishop 
 Chilton and his wife were away, but a delegation 
 of cousins had come; also Uncle Mandeville 
 Castleman had sent a huge bunch of roses, which 
 were in the family automobile, and Uncle Barry 
 Chilton had sent a pair of wild turkeys, which 
 were soon to be in the family. 
 
 Behind Sylvia stalked her cold and haughty 
 husband, and behind him tripped the wonderfiil 
 niu-se-maid, with her wonderful blue streamers, 
 and her wonderful bimdle of ruffles and lace. 
 All the huge family had to fall upon Sylvia and 
 kiss and embrace her rapturously, and shake the 
 hand of the cold and haughty husband, and peer 
 into the wonderful bimdle, and go into ecstasies 
 over its contents. Rarely indeed did the great 
 ones of this earth condescend to spread so much 
 of their emotional life before the pubUc gaze; 
 and was it any wonder that the town crowded 
 about, and the proprieties were temporarily 
 repealed? 
 
 It had never been published, but it was gen- 
 erally known throughout the State that Sylvia's 
 child was blind; and it was whispered that this 
 portended something strange and awful. So 
 there hung about the yoimg mother and the 
 precious bundle an atmosphere of mystery and 
 melancholy. How had she taken her misfortune? 
 How had she taken all the great events that had 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 295 
 
 befallen her — her progress through the courts and 
 camps of Europe? Would she still condescend 
 to know her fellow-townsmen? Many were the 
 hearts that beat high as she bestowed her largess 
 of smiles and friendly words. There were even 
 humble old negroes who went off enraptured to 
 tell the town that "Mi' Sylvia" had actually 
 shaken hands with them. There was almost a 
 cheer from the crowd as the string of automo- 
 biles set out for Castleman Hall. 
 
296 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 12 
 
 There was a grand banquet that evening, at 
 which the tiu-keys entered the family. Not in 
 years had there been so many people crowded into 
 the big dining-room, nor so many servants tread- 
 ing upon each other's toes in the kitchen. Such 
 a din of chatter and laughter! Sylvia was her 
 old radiant self, and her husband was quite evi- 
 dently charmed by the patriarchal scene. He was 
 affable, really genial, and won the hearts of every- 
 body; he told the good Major, amid a hush which 
 almost turned his words into a speech, that he 
 was able to understand how they of the South 
 loved their own section so passionately; there 
 was about the life an intangible something — a 
 spell, an elevation of spirit, which set it quite 
 apart by itself. And since this was the thing 
 which they of the South most deU^ted to believe 
 concerning themselves, they listened enraptured, 
 and set the speaker apart as a rare and discern- 
 ing spirit. 
 
 Afterwards came the voice of Sylvia: "You 
 must beware of Douglas, Papa; he is an inveter- 
 ate flatterer." She laughed as she said it; and 
 of those present it was Aunt Varina alone who 
 caught the ominous note, and saw the bitter 
 curl of her lips as she spoke. Aunt Varina and 
 her niece were the only persons there who knew 
 Douglas van Tuiver well enough to appreciate 
 the irony of the term "inveterate flatterer". 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 297 
 
 Sylvia realized at once that her husband was 
 setting out upon a campaign to win her family 
 to his side. He rode about the Major's planta- 
 tions, absorbing information about the boll- 
 weevil. He rode back to the house, and ex- 
 changed cigars, and hstened to stories of the 
 Major's boyhood, dmdng the War. He went to 
 call upon Bishop Chilton, and sat in his study, 
 with its walls of faded black volumes on theology. 
 Van Tuiver himself had had a Church of Eng- 
 land tutor, and was a punctiUous high church- 
 man; but he listened respectfully to arguments 
 for a simpler form of church organization, and 
 took away a volimainous exposi of the fallacies 
 of "ApostoUc Succession". And then came 
 Aunt Nannie, ambitious and alert as when she 
 had helped the yotmg miUionaire to find a wife; 
 and the young milUonaire made the suggestion 
 that Aunt Nannie's third daughter should not 
 fail to visit Sylvia at Newport. 
 
 There was no limit, apparently, to what he 
 would do. He took Master Castleman Lysle 
 upon his knee, and let him drop a valuable watch 
 upon the floor. He got up early in the morn- 
 ing and went horse-back riding with Peggy and 
 Maria. He took Celeste automobiling, and 
 helped by his attentions to impress the cocksxire 
 yoimg man with whom Celeste was in love. He 
 won "Miss Margaret" by these attentions to all 
 her children, and the patience with which he 
 listened to accounts of the ailments which had 
 afflicted the precious ones at various periods of 
 
298 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 their lives. To Sylvia, watching all these pro- 
 ceedings, it was as if he were binding himself 
 to her with so many knots. 
 
 She had come home with a longing to be quiet, 
 to avoid seeing anyone. But this could not be, 
 she discovered. There was gossip about the 
 child's blindness and the significance thereof; 
 and to have gone into hiding would have meant 
 an admission of the worst. The ladies of the 
 family had prepared a grand reception, at which 
 all Castleman County was to come and gaze upon 
 the happy mother. And then there was the 
 monthly dance at the Country Club, where every- 
 body would come, in the hope of seeing the royal 
 pair. To Sylvia it was as if her mother and 
 aimts were behind her every minute of the day, 
 pushing her out into the world. "Go on, go on! 
 Show yourself! Do not let people begin to 
 talk!" 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 299 
 
 § 13 
 
 She bore it for a couple of weeks; then she 
 went to her cousin, Harley Chilton. "Harley," 
 she said, "my husband is anxious to go on a 
 hunting-trip. Will you go with him?" 
 
 "When?" asked the boy. 
 
 "Right away; tomorrow or the next day." 
 
 "I'm game," said Harley. 
 
 After which she went to her husband. 
 "Douglas, it is time for you to go." 
 
 He sat studying her face. "You stiU have 
 that idea?" he said, at last. 
 
 "I StiU have it." 
 
 "I was hoping that here, among yoiu* home- 
 people, your sanity would partially return." 
 
 "I know what you have been hoping, Douglas. 
 And I am sorry — ^but I am quite imchanged." 
 
 "Have we not been getting along happily 
 here?" he demanded. 
 
 "No, I have not — I have been wretched. And 
 I cannot have any peace imtil you no longer 
 haunt me. I am sorry for you, but I must be 
 alone — and so long as you are here the entertain- 
 ments will continue." 
 
 "We could make it clear that we did not care 
 for entertainments. We could find some quiet 
 place near your people, where we could live in 
 peace." 
 
 "Douglas," she said, "I have spoken to Cousin 
 
300 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 Harley. He is ready to go hunting with you. 
 Please call him up and make arrangements to 
 start tomorrow. If you are still here the follow- 
 ing day, I shall leave for one of Uncle Mande- 
 vUle's plantations." 
 
 There was a long silence. "Sylvia," he said, 
 at last, "how long do you imagine this behavior 
 of yoiu^ can continue?" 
 
 "It will continue forever. My mind is made 
 up. It is necessary that you make up yours." 
 
 Again he waited, while he made sure of his 
 self-control. "You propose to keep the baby 
 with you?" he asked, at last. 
 
 "For the present, yes. The baby cannot get 
 along without me." 
 
 "And for the future?" 
 
 "We will make a fair arrangement as to that. 
 Give me a little time to get myself together, 
 and then I will come and live somewhere near 
 you in New York, and I will arrange it so that 
 you can see the child as often as you please. 
 I have no desire to take her from you — I only 
 want to take myself from you." 
 
 "Sylvia," he said, "have you realized all the 
 imhappiness this com^e of yours is going to 
 bring to your people?" 
 
 "Oh, don't begin that now!" she pleaded. 
 
 "I know," he said, "how determined you are 
 to punish me. But I should think you would 
 try to find some way to spare them." 
 
 "Douglas," she repUed, "I know exactly what 
 you have been doing. I have watched your 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 301 
 
 change of character since you came here. You 
 may be able to make my people so unhappy 
 that I must be xmhappy also. You see how 
 deeply I love them, how I jdeld everything for 
 love of them. But let me make it clear, I will 
 not jdeld this. It was for their sake I went into 
 this marriage, but I have come to see that it was 
 wrong, and no power on earth can induce me to 
 stay in it. My mind is made up — I wiU not 
 hve with a man I do not love. I will not even 
 pretend to do it. Now do you understand me, 
 Douglas?" 
 
 There was a silence, while she waited for some 
 word from him. When none came, she asked, 
 "You will arrange to go tomorrow?" 
 
 He answered calmly, "I see no reason why I, 
 your husband, should permit you to pursue this 
 insane course. You propose to leave me; and 
 the reason you give is one that would, if it were 
 valid, break up two-thirds of the homes in the 
 country. Your own family will stand by me in 
 my effort to prevent your ruin." 
 
 "What do you expect to do?" she asked, in a 
 suppressed voice. 
 
 "I have to assume that my wife is insane; and 
 I shall look after her till she comes to her senses." 
 
 She sat watching him for a few moments, won- 
 dering at him. Then she said, "You are willing to 
 stay on here, day after day, pursuing me in the 
 only refuge I have. Well then, I shall not con- 
 sider your feelings. I have a work to do here — 
 and I think that when I begin it, you will want 
 to be far away." 
 
302 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "What do you mean?" he asked — and he 
 looked at her as if she were really a maniac. 
 
 "You see my sister Celeste is about to marry. 
 That was the wonderful news she had to tell 
 me at the depot. It happens that I have known 
 Roger Peyton all my life, and know he has the 
 reputation of being one of the 'fastest' boys in 
 town." 
 
 "WeU?" he asked. 
 
 "Just this, Douglas — ^I do not intend to leave 
 my sister unprotected as I was. I am going to 
 tell her about Elaine. I am going to tell her all 
 that she needs to know. It is boimd to mean 
 arguments with the old people, and in the end 
 the whole family will be discussing the subject. 
 I feel sure you will not care to be here imder 
 such circumstances." 
 
 "And may I ask when this begins?" he inquired, 
 with intense bitterness in his tone. 
 
 "Right away," she said. "I have merely 
 been waiting until you should go. 
 
 He said not a word, but she knew by the ex- 
 pression on his face that she had carried her 
 point at last. He turned and left the room; 
 and that was the last word she had with him, 
 save for their formal parting in the presence of 
 the family. 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL SOS 
 
 § 14 
 
 Roger Peyton was the son and heir of one 
 of the oldest famiUes in Castleman County. 
 I had heard of this family before — ^in a wonderful 
 story that Sylvia told of the burning of "Rose 
 Briar", their stately mansion, some years pre- 
 viously: how the neighbors had turned out to 
 extinguish the flames, and failing, had danced 
 a last whirl in the ball-room, while the fire roared 
 in the stories overhead. The house had since 
 been rebuilt, more splendid than ever, and the 
 prestige of the family stood undiminished. One 
 of the sons was an old "flame" of Sylvia's, and 
 another was married to one of the Chilton girls. 
 As for Celeste, she had been angling for Roger 
 the past year or two, and she stood now at the 
 apex of happiness. 
 
 Sylvia went to her father, to talk with him about 
 the difiicult subject of venereal disease. The 
 poor Major had never expected to hve to hear 
 such a discourse from a daughter of his ; however, 
 with the bund child under his roof, he could not 
 find words to stop her. "But Sylvia," he pro- 
 tested, "what reason have you to suspect such a 
 thing of Roger Peyton?" 
 
 "I have the reason of his life. You know that 
 he has the reputation of being 'fast'; you know 
 that he drinks, you know that I once refused to 
 speak to him because he danced with me when 
 he was drunk." 
 
304 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "My child, all the men you know have sowed 
 their wild oats." 
 
 "Papa, you must not take advantage of me in 
 such a discussion. I don't claim to know what 
 sins may be included in the phrase 'wild oats'. 
 Let us speak frankly — can you say that you think 
 it unlikely that Roger Peyton has been unchaste?" 
 
 The Major hesitated and coughed; finally he 
 said: "The boy drinks, Sylvia; further than that 
 I have no knowledge." 
 
 "The medical books tell us that the use of 
 alcohol tends to break down self-control, and to 
 make continence impossible. »And if that be 
 true, you must admit that we have a right to ask 
 assurances. What do you suppose that Roger 
 and his crowd are doing when they go roistering 
 about the streets at night? What do they do 
 when they go off to Mardi Gras? Or at college — 
 you know that Cousin Clive had to get him out 
 of trouble several times. Go and ask Clive if 
 Roger has ever been exposed to the possibility 
 of these diseases." 
 
 "My child," said the Major, "Clive would not 
 feel he had the right to tell me such things about 
 his friend." 
 
 "Not even when the friend wants to marry his 
 cousin?" 
 
 "But such questions are not asked, my 
 daughter." 
 
 "Papa, I have thought this matter out carefuUy, 
 and I have something definite to propose to you. 
 I have no idea of stopping with what Clive 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 305 
 
 Chilton may or may not see fit to tell about his 
 chum. I want you to go to Roger." 
 
 Major Castleman's face wore a blank stare. 
 
 "If he's going to marry yom- daughter, you have 
 the right to ask about his past. What I want 
 you to tell him is that you will get the name of a 
 reputable specialist in these diseases, and that 
 before he can have your daughter he must present 
 you with a letter from this man, to the effect that 
 he is fit to marry." 
 
 The poor Major was all but speechless. "My 
 child, who ever heard of such a proposition?" 
 
 "I don't know that any one ever did, Papa. 
 But it seems to me time they should begin to hear 
 of it; and I don't see who can have a better right 
 to take the first step than you and I, who have 
 paid such a dreadful price for our neglect." 
 
 Sylvia had been prepared for opposition — the 
 instinctive opposition which men manifest to 
 having this embarrassing subject dragged out 
 into the light of day. Even men who have been 
 chaste themselves — good fathers of families like 
 the Major — cannot be unaware of the compUca- 
 tions incidental to frightening their women-folk, 
 and setting up an impossibly high standard in 
 sons-in-law. But Sylvia stood by her guns; 
 at last she brought her father to his knees by the 
 threat that if he could not bring himself to talk 
 with Roger Peyton, she, Sylvia Castleman, would 
 do it. 
 
 ao 
 
306 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 15 
 
 The young suitor came by appointment the 
 next day, and had a session with the Major in his 
 office. After he had gone, Sylvia went to her 
 father, and foimd him pacing the floor, with an 
 extinct cigar between his hps, and several other 
 ruined cigars lying on the hearth. 
 
 "You asked him. Papa?" 
 
 "I did, Sylvia." 
 
 "And what did he say?" 
 
 "Why, daughter " The Major flimg his 
 
 cigar from him with desperate energy. "It was 
 most embarrassing!" he exclaimed — "most pain- 
 ful!" His pale old face was crimson with blushes. 
 
 "Go on. Papa," said Sylvia, gentle but firm. 
 
 "The poor boy — ^naturally, Sylvia, he could not 
 but feel hurt that I should think it necessary to 
 ask such questions. Such things are not done, 
 my chUd. It seemed to him that I must look 
 upon him as — ^well, as much worse than other 
 yoimg fellows " 
 
 The old man stopped, and began to walk 
 restlessly up and down. "Yes, Papa," said 
 Sylvia. "What else?" 
 
 "Well, he said it seemed to him that such a 
 matter might have been left to the honor of a 
 man whom I was willing to think of as a son-in- 
 law. And you see, my child, what an embarrass- 
 ing position I was in; I could not give him any 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 307 
 
 hint as to my reason for being anxious about these 
 matters — anything, you understand, that might 
 be to the discredit of your husband." 
 
 "Goon, Papa." 
 
 "Well, I gave him a fatherly talking to about 
 his way of life." 
 
 "Did you ask him the definite question as to 
 his health?" 
 
 "No, Sylvia." 
 
 "Did he tell you anjrthing definite?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then you didn't do what you had set out to 
 do!" 
 
 "Yes, I did. I told him that he must see a 
 doctor." 
 
 "You made quite clear to bim what you 
 wanted?" 
 
 "Yes, I did— really, I did." 
 
 "And what did he say?" She went to him and 
 took his arm and led him to a couch. "Come, 
 Papa, let us get to the facts. You must tell me." 
 They sat down, and the Major sighed, lit a fresh 
 cigar, rolled it about in his fingers until it was 
 ruined, and then flung it away. 
 
 "Boys don't talk freely to older men," he 
 said. "They really never do. You may doubt 
 this " , 
 
 "What did he say, Papa?" 
 
 "Why, he didn't know what to say. He 
 didn't really say anything." And here the Major 
 came to a complete halt. 
 
 His daughter, after studying his face for a 
 
308 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 minute, remarked, "In plain words, Papa, you 
 think he has something to hide, and he may not 
 be able to give you the evidence you asked?" 
 
 The other was silent. 
 
 "You fear that is the situation, but you are 
 trjdng not to believe it." As he stiU said nothing, 
 Sylvia whispered, "Poor Celeste!" 
 
 Suddenly she put her hands upon his shoulders, 
 and looked into his eyes. "Papa, can't you see 
 what that means — that Celeste ought to have been 
 told these things long ago?" 
 
 "What good would that have done?" he asked, 
 in bewilderment. 
 
 "She could have known what kind of man she 
 was choosing; and she might have been spared the 
 dreadful unhappiness that is before her now." 
 
 "Sylvia! Sylvia!" protested the other. 
 "Surely such things cannot be discussed with 
 innocent yoimg girls!" 
 
 "So long as we refuse to do it, we are simply 
 entering into a conspiracy with the man of loose 
 life, so that he may escape the worst penalty of 
 his evil-doing. Take the boys in ova own set — 
 why is it they feel safe in running off to the big 
 cities and 'sowing their wild oats' — even sowing 
 them in the obscure parts of their own town? 
 Is it not because they know that their sisters and 
 girl friends are ignorant and helpless; so that 
 when they are ready to pick a wife, they will be 
 at no disadvantage? Here is Celeste; she knows 
 that Roger has been 'wild', but no one has hinted 
 to her what that means; she thinks of things 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 309 
 
 that are picturesque — that he's high spirited, and 
 brave, and free with his money." 
 
 "But my daughter," protested the Major, 
 "such knowledge would have a terrible effect 
 upon yoimg girls!" He rose and began to pace 
 the floor again. "Daughter, you are letting your- 
 self run wild! The sweetness, the virginal 
 innocence of young and pure women — ^if you take 
 that from them, there'd be nothing left to keep 
 men from falling to the level of brutes!" 
 
 "Papa," said Sylvia, "all that sounds well, 
 but it has no meaning. I have been robbed of 
 my 'innocence', and I know that it has not 
 debased me. It has only fitted me to deal with 
 the reaUties of life. And it will do the same for 
 any girl who is taught by earnest and reverent 
 people. Now as it is, we have to tell Celeste, but 
 we tell her too late." 
 
 "But we won't have to tell her!" cried the 
 Major. 
 
 "Dear Papa, please explain how we can avoid 
 telling her." 
 
 "I will inform her that she must give the 
 young man up. She is a good and dutiful 
 daughter " 
 
 "Yes," replied Sylvia, "but suppose on this one 
 occasion she were to fail to be good and dutiful? 
 Suppose the next day you were to learn that she 
 had run away and married Roger — what would 
 you do about it then?" 
 
310 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 16 
 
 That evening Roger was to take his fiancee to 
 one of the young people's dances. And there was 
 Celeste, in a flaming red dress, with a great bunch 
 of flaming roses; she could wear these colors, 
 with her briUiant black hair and gorgeous com- 
 plexion. Roger was fair, with a frank, bojdsh 
 face, and they made a pretty couple; but that 
 evening Roger did not come. Sylvia helped to 
 dress her sister, and then watched her wandering 
 restlessly about the hall, while the hour came and 
 went. Later in the evening Major Castleman 
 called up the Peyton home. The boy was not 
 there, and no one seemed to know where he was. 
 
 Nor the next day did there come any explana- 
 tion. At the Peytons it was still declared that no 
 one had heard from Roger; and for another day 
 the mystery continued, to Celeste's distress and 
 mortification. At last, from CUve Chilton Sylvia 
 managed to extract the truth. Roger was drunk 
 — crazy drunk, and had been taken off by some of 
 the boys to be straightened out. 
 
 Of course this rumor soon got to the rest of the 
 family. And they had to teU Celeste, because she 
 was frantic with anxiety. There were grave con- 
 sultations among the Castleman ladies. It was 
 a wanton affront to his fiaTwSe that the boy had 
 committed, and something must be done about 
 it quickly. Then came the news that Roger had 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 311 
 
 escaped from his warders, and got drunker than 
 ever; he had been out at night, smashing the 
 street-lamps, and it had required extreme self- 
 control on the part of the town police-force to 
 avoid compUcations. 
 
 "Miss Margaret" went to her yoimg daughter, 
 and in a tear-flooded scene informed her of the 
 opinion of the family, that her self-respect 
 required the breaking of the engagement. Celeste 
 went into hysterics. She would not have her 
 happiness ruined for life! Roger was 'wild', but 
 so were all the other boys — and he would atone 
 for his recklessness. She had the idea that if 
 only she could get hold of him, she could recall 
 him to his senses; the more her mother was 
 scandalized by this proposal, the more frantically 
 Celeste wept. She shut herself up in her room, 
 refusing to appear at meals, and spending her 
 time pacing the floor and wringiug her hands. 
 
 The family had been through all this with then- 
 eldest daughter several years before; but they 
 had not learned to handle it any better. The 
 whole household was in a state of distraction; 
 and the condition grew worse day by day, as 
 bulletins came in concerning the yoimg man. 
 He seemed to have gone actually insane. He was 
 not to be restrained even by his own father, and 
 if the imfortunate policemen could be believed, 
 he had violently attacked them. Apparently 
 he was deliberately trjdng to break down the un- 
 written law that the sons of the "best families" 
 are not arrested. 
 
312 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 Poor Celeste, with pale, tear-drenched face, sent 
 for her elder sister, to make one last appeal. 
 Could Sylvia not somehow get hold of Roger and 
 bring him to his senses? Could she not interview 
 some of the other boys, and find out what he 
 meant by his conduct? 
 
 So Sylvia went to her cousin CUve, and had a 
 talk with him — assuredly the most remarkable 
 talk that that young man had ever had in his 
 life. She told him that she wanted to know 
 the truth about Roger Peyton; and after a cross- 
 examination that would have made the reputation 
 of a criminal lawyer, she got what she wanted. 
 All the young men in town, it seemed, knew the 
 true state of affairs, and were in a panic concern- 
 ing it; that Major Castleman had sent for Roger 
 and informed him that he could not marry his 
 daughter until he produced a certain kind of 
 medical certificate. No, he couldn't produce it! 
 Was there a fellow in town who could produce it? 
 What was there for him to do but to get drunk, 
 and stay drunk until Celeste had cast him off? 
 
 It was Chve's turn then to do some plain 
 speaking. " Look here, Sylvia," he said. "Since 
 you have made me talk about this " 
 
 "Yes, CUve?" 
 
 "Do you know what people are sajnng — I 
 mean the reason the Major made this proposition 
 to Roger?" 
 
 She answered, in a quiet voice, "I suppose, 
 CUve, it has something to do with Elaine." 
 
 "Yes, exactly!" exclaimed CUve. "They 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 313 
 
 say — " But then he stopped. He could not repeat 
 it. "Surely you don't want that kind of talk, 
 Sylvia." 
 
 "Naturally, CUve, I'd prefer to escape that 
 kind of talk, but my fear of it will not make me 
 neglect the protection of my sister." 
 
 "But Sylvia," cried the boy, "you don't under- 
 stand about this! A woman can't understand 
 about these things " 
 
 "You are mistaken, my dear cousin," said 
 Sylvia — and her voice was firm and decisive. "I 
 do understand." 
 
 "All right!" cried Clive, with sudden exaspera- 
 tion. "But let me tell you this — Celeste is going 
 to have a hard time getting any other man to 
 propose to her!" 
 
 "You mean, Clive, because so many of them 
 are -" She stopped. 
 
 "Yes, if you must put it that way," he said. 
 
 There was a pause; then Sylvia went on, "Let 
 us discuss the practical problem, CUve. Don't 
 you think it would have been better if Roger, 
 instead of going off and getting drunk, had set 
 about getting himself cured?" 
 
 The other looked at her, with evident surprise. 
 "You mean in that case Celeste might marry 
 him?" 
 
 "You say the boys are all alike, CUve; and we 
 can't turn our girls into nuns. Why didn't some 
 of you fellows point that out to Roger?" 
 
 "The truth is," said Clive, "we tried to." 
 There was a little more cordiaUty in his manner, 
 
314 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 since Sylvia had shown such an unexpected 
 amount of intelligence. 
 
 "Well?" she asked. " What then?" 
 
 "Why, he wouldn't listen to anything." 
 
 "You mean — because he was drunk?" 
 
 "No, we had him nearly sober. But you 
 see — " And Clive paused for a moment, pain- 
 fully embarrassed. "The truth is, Roger had 
 been to a doctor, and been told it might take him 
 a year or two to get cured." 
 
 "Clive!" she cried. "Chve! And you mean 
 that ia the face of that, he proposed to go on and 
 marry?" 
 
 "Well, Sylvia, you see — " And the young man 
 hesitated still longer. He was crimson with 
 embarrassment; suddenly he blurted out, "The 
 truth is, the doctor told him to marry. That 
 was the only way he'd ever get cured." 
 
 Sylvia was almost speechless. "Oh! Oh!" she 
 cried. "I can't beheve you!" 
 
 "That's what the doctors tell you, Sylvia. 
 You don't imderstand — ^it's just as I told you, a 
 woman can't understand. It's a question of a 
 man's nature " 
 
 "But Chve — ^what about the wife and her 
 health? Has the wife no rights whatever?" 
 
 "The truth is, Sylvia, people don't take this 
 disease with such desperate seriousness. You 
 understand, it isn't the one that everybody knows 
 is dangerous. It doesn't do any real harm " 
 
 "Look at Elaiue! Don't you call that real 
 harm?" 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 315 
 
 "Yes, but that doesn't happen often; and they 
 say there are ways it can be prevented. Any- 
 way, fellows just can't help it ! God knows, we'd 
 help it if we could." 
 
 Sylvia thought for a moment, and then came 
 back to the immediate question. "It's evident 
 what Roger could do in this case. He is young, 
 and Celeste is still younger. They might wait 
 a couple of years, and Roger might take care of 
 himself, and in time it might be properly 
 arranged." 
 
 But Chve did not seem to warm to the proposi- 
 tion; and Sylvia, who knew Roger Peyton, was 
 not long in making out the reason. "You mean 
 you don't think he has character enough to keep 
 straight for a year or two?" 
 
 "To teU you the honest truth, we talked it 
 out with him, and he wouldn't make any 
 promises." 
 
 To which Sylvia answered, "Very well, Clive — 
 that settles it. You can help me find some man 
 for Celeste who loves her a Uttle more than that!" 
 
316 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 17 
 
 That afternoon came Aunt Nannie, the Bish- 
 op's wife, ia shining chestnut-colored silk to 
 match a pair of shining chestnut-colored horses. 
 Other people, it appeared, had been making 
 inquiries into Roger Peyton's story, and other 
 people besides CUve Chilton had been telling the 
 truth. 
 
 Aunt Nannie gathered the ladies of the family 
 in a hurried conference, and Sylvia was sum- 
 moned to appear before it — quite as in the 
 days of her a£fair with Frank Shirley. 
 
 "Miss Margaret" and Aimt Varina were 
 solemn and frightened, as of old; and as of old, 
 Aunt Nannie did the talking. "Sylvia, do you 
 know what people are saying about you?" 
 
 "Yes, Aunt Nannie," said Sylvia. 
 
 "Oh, you do know?" 
 
 "Yes, of course. And I knew in advance that 
 they would say it." 
 
 Something about the seraphic face of Sylvia, 
 chastened by terrible suflfering, must have sug- 
 gested to Mrs. Chilton the idea of caution. 
 "Have you thought of the humihation this must 
 inflict upon yoxir relatives?" 
 
 "I have foimd. Aunt Nannie," said Sylvia, 
 "that there are worse afflictions than being talked 
 about." 
 
 "I am not sure," declared the other, "that 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 317 
 
 anything could be worse than to be the object of 
 the kind of gossip that is now seething around 
 our family. It has been the tradition of our 
 people to bear their afflictions in silence." 
 
 "In this case, Aunt Nannie, it is obvious that 
 silence would have meant more afflictions, many 
 more. I have thought of my sister — and of all the 
 other girls in our family who might be led to sac- 
 rifice by the ambitions of their relatives." Sylvia 
 paused a moment, so that her words might have 
 effect. 
 
 Said the Bishop's wife: "Sylvia, we caimot 
 undertake to save the world from the results of 
 its sins. God has his own ways of punishing 
 men." 
 
 "Perhaps so; but surely God does not wish 
 the ptmishment to fall upon innocent yoimg 
 girls. For instance, Aunt Nannie, think of your 
 own daughters " 
 
 "My daughters!" broke out Mrs. Chilton. 
 And then, mastering her excitement, "At least 
 you will permit me to look after my own 
 children." 
 
 "I noticed, my dear aunt, that Lucy May 
 turned color when Tom Aldrich came into the 
 room last night. Have you noticed anything?" 
 
 "Yes— what of it?" 
 
 "It means that Lucy May is falling in love 
 with Tom?" 
 
 "Why should she not? I certainly consider 
 him an eligible man." 
 
 "And yet you know, Aunt Nannie, that he is 
 
318 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 one of Roger Peyton's set. You know that he 
 goes about town getting drunk with the gayest 
 of them. And you let Lucy May go on to fall in 
 love with him! You have taken no steps to 
 find out about him — ^you have not warned your 
 daughter " 
 
 Mrs. Chilton was crimson with agitation. 
 "Warned my daughter! Who ever heard of such 
 a thing?" 
 
 Said Sylvia, quietly: "I can beheve that you 
 never heard of it — ^but you will hear soon. The 
 other day I had a talk with Lucy May " 
 
 "Sylvia Castleman!" And then, it was as if 
 Mrs. Chilton reminded herself that she was deal- 
 ing with a dangerous lunatic. "Sylvia," she said, 
 in a suppressed voice, "you mean to tell me that 
 you have been poisoning my yoimg daughter's 
 mind " 
 
 "You have brought her up well," said Sylvia, 
 as her aunt stopped for lack of words. "She did 
 not want to listen to me. She said that young 
 girls ought not to know about such matters. 
 But I pointed out Elaine, and then she changed 
 her mind — ^just as you will have to change yours 
 in the end. Aunt Nannie." 
 
 Mrs. Chilton sat glaring at her niece, her bosom 
 heaving. Suddenly she txirned her indignant 
 eyes upon Mrs. Castleman. "Margaret, cannot 
 you stop this shocking business? I demand that 
 the tongues of gossip shaU no longer clatter around 
 the family of which I am a member! My hus- 
 band is the Bishop of this diocese — and if our 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 319 
 
 ancient and untarnished name is of no importance 
 to Sylvia van Tuiver, then perhaps the dignity 
 and authority of the Church may have some 
 weight " 
 
 "Aunt Nannie," interrupted Sylvia, "it will do 
 no good to drag Uncle Basil into this matter. I 
 fear you wiU have to face the fact that from this 
 time on your authority in our family is to be 
 diminished. You had more to do than any other 
 person with driving me into the marriage that 
 has wrecked my life; and now you want to go 
 on and do the same thing for my sister, and for 
 your own daughters — to marry them with no 
 thought of anything save the social position of 
 the man. And in the same way, you are saving 
 up your sons to find rich girls. You know that 
 you kept Chve from marrying a poor girl in this 
 town a couple of years ago — and meantime it 
 seems to be nothing to you that he's going with 
 men like Roger Peyton and Tom Aldrich, learn- 
 ing all the vices the women in the brothels have 
 to teach him " 
 
 Poor "Miss Margaret" had several times made 
 futile efforts to check her di9'Ughter's outbiu-st. 
 Now she and Aunt Varina started up at the same 
 time. "Sylvia! Sylvia! You must not talk 
 like that to yom- aunt!" 
 
 And Sylvia turned and gazed at them with her 
 sad eyes. "From now on," she said, "that is 
 the way I am going to talk. You are a lot of 
 ignorant children. I was one too, but now I 
 know. And I say to you. Look at Elaine! Look 
 
320 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 at my little one, and see what the worship of 
 Mammon has done to one of the daughters of 
 your family!" 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 321 
 
 § 18 
 
 After this, Sylvia had her people reduced to a 
 state of terror. She was an avenging angel, sent 
 by the Lord to pxmish them for their sins; and 
 how could one rebuke the imconventionality of an 
 avenging angel? On the other hand, of course, 
 one could not help being in agony, and letting 
 the angel see it in one's face. 
 
 Outside, there were the tongues of gossip, clat- 
 tering, as Aunt Nannie had said; quite literally, 
 everyone ia Castleman County was talking about 
 the blindness of Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver's baby, 
 and how, because of it, the mother was setting 
 out on a campaign to destroy the modesty of the 
 State. The excitement, the curiosity, the obscene 
 delight of the world came rolling back into 
 Castleman Hall in great waves, that picked up the 
 unfortunate inmates and buffeted them about. 
 
 Family consultations were restricted, because 
 it was impossible for the ladies of the family to 
 talk to the gentlemen about these horrible things; 
 but the ladies talked to the ladies, and the gentle- 
 men talked to the gentlemen, and each came 
 separately to Sylvia with their distress. Poor, 
 helpless "Miss Margaret" would come wringing 
 her hands, and looking as if she had buried all 
 her children. "Sylvia! Sylvia! Do you realize 
 that you are being discussed?" That was the 
 worst calamity that could befall a woman in 
 
 21 
 
322 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 Castleman County — it summed up all possible 
 calamities that could befall her — to be "dis- 
 cussed." "They were discussing you once when 
 you wanted to marry Frank Shirley! And now — 
 oh, now they will never stop discussing you!" 
 
 Then would come the dear Major. He loved 
 his eldest daughter as he loved nothing else in the 
 world, and he was a just man at heart. He could 
 not meet her arguments — ^yes, she was right, she 
 was right. But then he would go away, and the 
 waves of scandal and shame would come roUing. 
 
 "My child," he pleaded, "have you thought 
 what this thing is doing to your husband? Do 
 you reahze that while you talk about protecting 
 other people, you are putting upon Douglas a 
 brand that will follow him through life?" 
 
 Uncle Mandeville came up from New Orleans 
 to see his favorite niece; and the wave smote him 
 as he ahghted from the train, and he became so 
 much excited that he went to the club and got 
 drunk, and then could not see his niece, but had 
 to be carried off upstairs and given forcible 
 hypodermics. Cousin CUve told Sylvia about it 
 afterwards — ^how Uncle Mandeville refused to 
 believe the truth, and swore that he would shoot 
 some of these fellows if they didn't stop talking 
 about his niece. Said Chve, with a grim laugh, 
 "I told him, 'If Sylvia had her way, you'd shoot 
 a good part of the men in town.' " He answered, 
 "Well, by God, I'll do it— it would serve the 
 scoundrels right!" And he tried to get out of bed 
 and get his pants and his pistols — so that in the 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 323 
 
 end it was necessary to telephone for the Major, 
 and then for Barry Chilton and two of his gigantic 
 sons from their plantation. 
 
 Sylvia had her way, and talked things out with 
 the agonized Celeste. And next day came Aimt 
 Varina, hardly able to contain herself. "Oh, 
 Sylvia, such a horrible thing! To hear such words 
 coming from your Uttle sister's Ups — like the 
 toads and snakes in the fairy-story! To think 
 of these ideas festering in a young girl's brain!" 
 And then again, "Sylvia, your sister declares 
 she will never go to a party again ! You are teach- 
 ing her to hate men ! You will make her a strong- 
 minded woman!" — That was another phrase 
 they had, summing up a whole imiverse of horrors. 
 Sylvia could not recall a time when she had not 
 heard that warning. "Be careful, dear, when 
 you express an opinion, always end it with a 
 question, 'Don't you think so?' or something like 
 that. Otherwise, men may get the idea that you 
 are strong-minded!" 
 
 Sylvia, in her girlhood, had heard vague hints 
 and nunors, which now she was able to interpret 
 in the light of her experience. In her courtship 
 days she had met a man who always wore gloves, 
 even in the hottest weather, and she had heard 
 that this was because of some affliction of the skin. 
 Now, talking with the yovmg matrons of her own 
 set, she learned that this man had married, and 
 had since had to take to a wheel-chair, while his 
 wife had borne a child with a monstrous, deformed 
 head, and had died of the ordeal and the shock. 
 
324 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 Oh, the stories that one vmcovered — ^right in 
 one's own town, among one's own set — ^hke foul 
 sewers Tindemeath the pavements! The succes- 
 sion of diseased generations, of imbeciles, epileptics, 
 paralytics! The innocent children, bom to a 
 life-time of torment; the women, hiding their 
 secret agonies from the world! Sometimes 
 women went all through life without knowing 
 the truth about themselves; there was poor Mrs. 
 Valens, for example — who reclined all day upon 
 the gallery of one of the most beautiful homes in 
 the coimty, and showed her friends the palms of 
 her hands, all covered with callouses and scales, 
 exclaiming, "What in the world do you suppose 
 can be the matter with me?" She had been a 
 beautiful woman, a "belle" of Miss Margaret's 
 day; she had married a man who was rich and 
 handsome and witty — and a rake. Now he was 
 drimk all the time, and two of his children had 
 died in a hospital, and another had arms that 
 came out of joint, and had to be put in plaster-of- 
 Paris for months at a time. His wife, the one- 
 time darling of society, would lie on her couch and 
 read the Book of Job imtil she knew it by heart. 
 
 And could you believe it, when Sylvia came 
 home, ablaze with excitement over the story, 
 she foimd that the only thing her relatives were 
 able to see in it was the Book of Job! Under 
 the burden of her afflictions the woman had 
 become devout; and how could any one fail to 
 see in this the deep purposes of Providence re- 
 vealed? "Verily," said Miss Margaret, "'Whom 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 325 
 
 the Lord loveth, he chasteneth.' We are told in 
 the Lord's Word that 'the sins of the fathers 
 shall be visited upon the children, even unto the 
 third and fourth generations' ; and do you suppose 
 the Lord would have told us that, if He had not 
 known there would be such children?" 
 
326 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 19 
 
 I CANNOT pass over this part of my story without 
 bringing forward Mrs. Armistead, the town cynic, 
 who constituted herself one of Sylvia's sources 
 of information in this crisis. Mrs. Sallie Ann 
 Armistead was the mother of two boys with whom 
 Sylvia as a child had insisted upon playing, in 
 spite of the protests of the family. "Wha' fo' 
 you go wi' dem Armistead chillun, Mi' Sylvia?" 
 would cry Aunt Mandy, the cook. "Doan' you 
 know dey grand-daddy done pick cotton in de 
 fiel' 'longside o' me?" — But while her father 
 was picking cotton, Sallie Ann had looked after 
 her complexion and her figure, and had married a 
 rising young merchant. Now he was the wealthy 
 proprietor of a chain of "nigger stores", and his 
 wife was the possessor of the most dreaded tongue 
 in Castleman County. 
 
 She was a person who, if she had been bom a 
 duchess, would have made a reputation in history: 
 the one woman in the county who had a mind, 
 and was not afraid to have it known. She used 
 all the tricks of a duchess — ^lorgnettes, for example, 
 with which she stared people into a state of fright. 
 She did not dare try anything like that on the 
 Castlemans, of course — ^but woe to the little 
 people who crossed her path! She had an eye 
 that sought out every human weakness, and such 
 a wit that even her victims were fascinated. One 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 327 
 
 of the legends about her told how her dearest foe, 
 a dashing young matron, had died, and all the 
 friends had gathered with their floral tributes. 
 Sallie Ann went in to view the remains, and when 
 she came out, a sentimental voice inquired, 
 "And how does our poor Ruth look?" 
 
 "Oh," was the answer, "as old and grey as 
 ever!" 
 
 Now Mrs. Armistead stopped Sylvia on the 
 street. "My dear, how goes the eugenics cam- 
 paign?" 
 
 And while Sylvia gazed, dumbfounded, the other 
 went on as if she were chatting about the weather : 
 "You can't realize what a stir you are making in 
 our httle frog-pond. Come see me, and let me 
 tell you the gossip. Do you know you've enriched 
 our vocabulary?" 
 
 "I have made some one look up the meaning 
 of eugenics, at least," answered Sylvia — shaving 
 got herself together in haste. 
 
 "Oh, not only that, my dear. You have made 
 a new medical term — 'the van Tuiver disease'. 
 Isn't that interesting?" 
 
 For a moment Sylvia shriveled before this 
 flame from hell. But then, being the only person 
 who had ever been able to chain this devil, she 
 said, "Indeed? I hope that with so fashionable 
 a name the disease does not become an epidemic. " 
 
 Mrs. Armistead gazed at her; and then, in a 
 burst of enthusiasm, she exclaimed, "Sylvia 
 Castleman, I have always insisted that one of the 
 most interesting women in the world was spoiled 
 by the taint of goodness in you." 
 
328 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 She took Sylvia to her bosom, as it were. 
 "Let us sit on the fence and enjoy this spectacle! 
 My dear, you can have no idea what an uproar 
 you are making! The young married women 
 gather io their boudoirs and whisper ghastly 
 secrets to each other; some of them are sxu-e they 
 have it, and some of them say they can trust 
 their husbands — as if any man could be trusted 
 as far as you can throw a bull by the horns! Did 
 you hear about poor Mrs. Pattie Peyton? She 
 has the measles, but she sent for a specialist, and 
 vowed she had something else — she had read about 
 it, and knew all the symptoms, and insisted on 
 having elaborate blood-tests! And little Mrs. 
 Stanley Pendleton has left her husband, and every- 
 body says that's the reason. The men are simply 
 shivering in their boots — ^they steal into the 
 doctors' offices by the back-doors, and a whole 
 car-load of the boys have been shipped off to Hot 
 
 Springs to be boiled " And so on, while Mrs. 
 
 Armistead reveled in the sensation of strolling 
 down Main Street with Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver. 
 
 Then Sylvia would go home, and get the newest 
 reactions of the family to these horrors. Aunt 
 Nannie, it seemed, made the discovery that 
 Basil, Jr., her fifth son, was carrying on an intrigue 
 with a mulatto-girl in the town, and she forbade 
 hitn to go to Castleman Hall, for fear lest Sylvia 
 should worm the secret out of him; also she 
 shipped Lucy May off to visit a friend, and came 
 and tried to persuade Mrs. Chilton to do the same 
 with Peggy and Maria, lest Sylvia should some- 
 how corrupt these children. 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 
 
 The Bishop came, having been ordered to preach 
 religion to his wayward niece. Poor dear Uncle 
 Basil — ^he had tried preaching rehgion to Sylvia 
 many years ago, and never could do it, because he 
 loved her so that with aU his seventeenth-century 
 theology he could not deny her chance of salvation. 
 Now the first sight that met his eyes when he came 
 to see her was his httle blind grand-niece. And 
 also he had in his secret heart the knowledge that 
 he, a rich and gay yoimg planter before he became 
 converted to Methodism, had played with the 
 fire of vice, and been badly burned. So Sylvia 
 did not find him at all the Voice of Authority, 
 but just a poor, hen-pecked, xmhappy husband of 
 a tyrannous Castleman woman. 
 
 The next thing was that "Miss Margaret" 
 took up the notion that a time such as this was not 
 one for Sylvia's husband to be away from her. 
 What if people were to say that they had sepa- 
 rated? There were family consultations; but in 
 the midst of them there came word that van 
 Tuiver was called North upon business. When the 
 family delegations came to Sylvia, to insist that 
 she go with him, the answer they got was that if 
 they could not let her stay quietly at home with- 
 out asking her any questions, she would return 
 to New York and live with a divorced woman 
 Socialist! 
 
 "Of course, they gave up," she wrote me. 
 "But half an hour ago poor dear Mamma came to 
 my room and said, 'Sylvia, dear, we will let you 
 do what you want, but won't you please do one 
 
330 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 small favor for me?' I got ready for trouble, 
 and asked what she wanted. The answer was, 
 'Won't you go with Celeste to the Young Matrons' 
 Cotillion tomorrow night, so that people won't 
 think there's anything the matter?' " 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 331 
 
 § 20 
 
 RoGEB Peyton had gone off to Hot Springs, 
 and Douglas van Tuiver was in New York; so 
 little by little the storms about Castleman Hall 
 began to abate in violence. Sylvia was absorbed 
 in her baby, and beginniag to fit her life into that 
 of her people. She found many ways in which she 
 could serve them — entertaining Uncle Mande- 
 ville to keep him sober, checking the extravagance 
 of Celeste, nursing Castleman Lysle through 
 green-apple convulsions. That was to be her 
 life for the future, she told herself; and she was 
 making herself really happy in it — when suddenly, 
 like a bolt from the blue, came an event that swept 
 her poor Uttle plans into chaos. 
 
 It was an afternoon in March; the sun was 
 shining brightly, and the Southern spring time 
 was in full tide; Sylvia had the old family car- 
 riage made ready, with two of the oldest and 
 gentlest family horses, and took the girls upon 
 a shopping expedition to town. In the front 
 seat sat Celeste, driving, with two of her friends; 
 and in the rear seat was Sylvia, with Peggy and 
 Maria. When an assemblage of allxu-ements 
 such as this stopped on the streets of the town, 
 the young men would come out of the banks and 
 the offices and gather round to chat. There 
 would be a halt before an ice-cream parlor, and 
 a big tray of ices would be brought out, and the 
 
332 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 ^Is would sit in the carriage and eat, and the 
 boys would stand on the curb and eat — ^undis- 
 mayed by the fact that they had welcomed half 
 a dozen such parties dining the afternoon. The 
 statistics proved that this was a thriving town, 
 with rapidly increasing business; but there was 
 never so much business as to interfere with gal- 
 lantries like these. 
 
 Sylvia enjoyed the scene; it took her back to 
 happy days, before black care had taken his seat 
 behind her. She sat in a kind of dream, only 
 half hearing the merriment of the yoimg people, 
 and only half tasting her ice. How she loved this 
 old town, with its streets deep in black spring 
 mud, its mud-plastered "buck-boards" and saddle- 
 horses hitched at every telegraph-pole! Its banks 
 and stores and law-offices seemed shabbier after 
 one had made the "grand torn:", but they were 
 none the less dear to her for that. She would 
 spend the rest of her days in Castleman County, 
 and the sunshine and peace would gradually 
 enfold her. 
 
 Such were her thoughts when the unforeseen 
 event befell. A man on horse-back rode down a 
 side-street, crossing Main Street a little way in 
 front of her; a man dressed in khaki, with a 
 khaki riding-hat pulled low over his face. He 
 rode rapidly — appearing and vanishing, so that 
 Sylvia scarcely saw him — ^really did not see him 
 with her conscious mind at all. Her thoughts 
 were still busy with dreams, and the chatter 
 of boys and girls; but deep within her had begun 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 333 
 
 a tumult — a trembling, a pounding of the heart, 
 a clamoring under the floors of her consciousness. 
 
 And slowly this excitement moimted. "What 
 was the matter, what had happened? A man 
 had ridden by; but why should a man—? Surely 
 it could not have been — ^no, there were hundreds 
 of men in Castleman County who wore khaki, 
 and rode horse-back, and had sturdy, thick-set 
 figures! But then, how could she make a mistake 
 — ^how could her instinct have betrayed her so? 
 It was that same view of him, as he sat on a horse, 
 that had first thrilled her during the hunting- 
 party years ago ! 
 
 He had gone West, and had said that he would 
 never return. He had not been heard from in 
 years. What an amazing thing, that a mere 
 glimpse of a man who looked and dressed and 
 rode like him should be able to set her whole 
 being into such a panic! How futile became her 
 dresims of peace! 
 
 She heard the sound of a vehicle, close beside 
 her carriage, and tmned and found herself looking 
 into the sharp eyes of Mrs. Armistead. It 
 happened that Sylvia was on the side away from 
 the curb, and there was no one talking to her; 
 so Mrs. Armistead ran her electric alongside, and 
 had the stirring occasion to herself. Sylvia looked 
 into her face, so full of malice, and knew two things 
 in a flash: first, it really had been Frank Shirley 
 riding by; and second, Mrs. Armistead had seen 
 him. 
 
 "Another candidate for yoxu- eugenics class!" 
 said the lady. 
 
334 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 Sylvia glanced at the young people and made 
 sure they were paying no attention. She might 
 have made some remark that would have brought 
 them into the conversation, and delivered her 
 from the torments of this devil. But no, she had 
 never quailed from Mrs. Armistead in her life, 
 and she would not now give her the satisfaction 
 of driving off to tell the town that Sylvia van 
 Tuiver had seen Frank Shirley, and had been 
 overcome by it, and had taken refuge behind the 
 skirts of her little sisters! 
 
 "You can see I have my carriage full of pupils," 
 she said, smilingly. 
 
 "How happy it must make you, Sylvia — comiag 
 home and meeting all your old friends! It must 
 set you trembling with ecstasy — angels singing 
 in the sky above you, httle golden bells ringing 
 all over you!" 
 
 Sylvia recognized these phrases. They were 
 part of an effort she had made to describe the 
 raptures of yoimg love to her bosom-friend, 
 Harriet Atkinson. And so Harriet had passed 
 them on to the town! And they had been 
 cherished all these years. 
 
 She could not afford to recognize these iUegitx 
 imate children of romance. "Mrs. Armistead," 
 she said, "I had no idea you had so much poetry 
 in you." 
 
 "I am simply improvising, my dear — ^upon the 
 color in your cheeks at present!" 
 
 There was no way save to be bold. "You 
 couldn't expect me not to be excited, Mrs. Armi- 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 335 
 
 stead. You see, I had no idea he had come back 
 from the West." 
 
 "They say he left a wife there," remarked the 
 lady, innocently. 
 
 "Ah?" said Sylvia. "Then he will not be stay- 
 ing long, presumably." 
 
 There was a pause; all at once Mrs. Armi- 
 stead's voice became gentle and sympathetic. 
 "Sylvia," she said, "don't imagine that I fail to 
 appreciate what is going on in your heart. I 
 know a true romance when I see one. If only 
 you could have known in those days what you 
 know now, there might have been one beautiful 
 love-story that did not end as a tragedy." 
 
 You would have thought the lady's better self 
 had suddenly been touched. But Sylvia knew 
 her; too many times had she seen this himtress 
 trying to lure a victim out of his refuge. 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Armistead," she said, gently. 
 "But I have the consolation at least of being a 
 martyr to science." 
 
 "In what way?" 
 
 "Have you forgotten the new medical term 
 that I have given to the world?" 
 
 And Mrs. Armistead looked at her for a 
 moment, aghast. "My God, Sylvia!" she whis- 
 pered; and then — an honest tribute: "You 
 certainly can take care of yourself!" 
 
 "Yes?" said Sylvia. "Tell that to my other 
 friends in town." And so, at last, Mrs. Armi- 
 stead started her machine, and this battle of hell- 
 cats came to an end. 
 
336 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 § 21 
 
 Sylvia rode home in a daze, answering without 
 hearing the prattle of the children. She was 
 appalled at the emotions that possessed her — ^that 
 the sight of Frank Shirley riding down the street 
 could have affected her so! She forgot Mrs. 
 Armistead, she forgot the whole world, in her 
 dismay over her own state of mind. Having 
 dismissed Frank from her life and her thoughts 
 forever, it seemed to her preposterous that she 
 should be at the mercy of such an excitement. 
 
 She foimd herself wondering about her family. 
 Did they know that Frank Shirley had returned? 
 Would they have failed to mention it to her? 
 For a moment she told herself it would not have 
 occiu-red to them she could have any interest in 
 the subject. But no, they were not so naive — 
 the Castleman women — as their sense of pro- 
 priety made them pretend to be! But how 
 stupid of them not to give her warning! Suppose 
 she had happened to meet Frank face to face, and 
 in the presence of others! She must certainly 
 have betrayed her excitement; and just at this 
 time, when the world had the Castleman family 
 under the microscope! 
 
 She told herself that she would avoid such 
 difficulty in future; she would stay at home until 
 Frank had gone away. If he had a wife in the 
 West, presimiably he had merely come for a visit 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 337 
 
 to his mother and sisters. And then Sylvia found 
 herseK in an argument with herself. What 
 possible diJBference could it make that Frank 
 Shirley had a wife? So long as she, Sylvia, had 
 a husband, what else mattered? Yet she could 
 not deny it — it brought her a separate and addi- 
 tional pang that Frank Shirley should have 
 married. What sort of wife could he have foimd 
 — ^he, a stranger in the far West? And why had 
 he not brought his wife home to his people? 
 
 When she stepped out of the carriage, it was 
 with her mind made up that she woidd stay at 
 home imtil all danger was past. But the next 
 afternoon a neighbor called up to ask Sylvia and 
 Celeste to come and play cards in the evening. 
 It was not a party, Mrs. Witherspoon explained 
 to "Miss Margaret", who answered the 'phone; 
 just a few friends and a good time, and she did so 
 hope that Sylvia was not going to refuse. The 
 mere hint of the fear that Sylvia might refuse 
 was enough to excite Mrs. Castleman. Why 
 should Sylvia refuse? So she accepted the invita- 
 tion, and then came to plead with her daughter — 
 for Celeste's sake, and for the sake of all her 
 family, so that the world might see that she was 
 not crushed by misfortune! 
 
 There were reasons why the inAdtation was a 
 difficult one to decline. Mrs. Virginia Wither- 
 spoon was the daughter of a Confederate general 
 whose name you read in every history-book; and 
 she had a famous old home in the country which 
 was falling about her ears — ^her husband being 
 
 22 
 
338 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 seldom sober enough to know what was happen- 
 ing. She had also three blossoming daughters, 
 whom she must manage to get out of the home 
 before the plastering of the drawing-room fell 
 upon the heads of their suitors; so that the ardor 
 of her husband-hunting was one of the jokes of 
 the State. Naturally, under such circumstances, 
 the Witherspoons had to be treated with con- 
 sideration by the Castlemans. One might snub 
 rich Yankees, and chasten the suddenly-pros- 
 perous; but a family with an ancient house in 
 ruins, and with faded imiforms and battle-scarred 
 sabres in the cedar-chests in its attic — such a 
 family can with difficulty overdraw its social 
 bank accoimt. 
 
 Dolly Witherspoon, the oldest daughter, had 
 been Sylvia's rival for the palm as the most 
 beautiful girl in Castleman Coimty. And Sylvia 
 had trimnphed, and Dolly had failed. So, in her 
 secret heart she hated Sylvia, and the mother 
 hated her; and yet — such was the social game — 
 they had to invite Sylvia and her sister to their 
 card-parties, and Sylvia and her sister had to go. 
 They had to go and be the most striking figures 
 there : Celeste, slim and pale from sorrow, virginal 
 in clinging white chiffon; and Sylvia, regal and 
 splendid, shimmering like a mermaid in a gown 
 of emerald green. 
 
 The mermaid imagined that she noticed a slight 
 agitation underneath the cordiality of her hostess. 
 The next person to greet her was Mrs. Armistead; 
 and Sylvia was sure that she did not imagine the 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 339 
 
 suppressed excitement in that lady's manner. 
 But even while she was speculating and suspect- 
 ing, she was led toward the drawing-room. It 
 was late, her hostess explained; the other guests 
 were waiting, so if they did not miad, the play 
 would start at once. Celeste was to sit at that 
 table over there, with Mr. Witherspoon's crippled 
 brother, and old Mr. Perkins, who was deaf; 
 and Sylvia was to come this way — the table in 
 the comer. Sylvia moved toward it, and Dolly 
 Witherspoon and her sister, Emma, greeted her 
 cordially, and then stepped out of the way to let 
 her to her seat; and Sylvia gave one glance — 
 and found herself face to face with Frank 
 Shirley! 
 
340 SYLVIA'S MAKRIAGE 
 
 § 22 
 
 Frank's face was scarlet; and Sylvia had a 
 moment of blind terror, when she wanted to turn 
 and fly. But there about her was the circle of 
 her enemies; a whole roomful of people, breath- 
 less with ciuiosity, drinking in with eyes and ears 
 every hint of distress that she might give. And 
 the next morning the whole town would, in imagi- 
 nation, attend the scene! 
 
 "Good evening, Julia," said Sylvia, to Mrs. 
 Witherspoon's youngest daughter, the other lady 
 at the table. "Good evening, Malcohn" — ^to 
 Malcolm McCallum, an old "beau" of hers. 
 And then, taking the seat which Malcolm sprang 
 to move out for her, "How do you do, Frank?" 
 
 Frank's eyes had fallen to his lap. "How do 
 you do?" he murmured. The soimd of his voice, 
 low and trembling, fiill of pain, was like the 
 sound of some old funeral bell to Sylvia; it 
 sent the blood leaping in torrents to her forehead. 
 Oh, horrible, horrible! 
 
 For a moment her eyes fell like his, and she 
 shuddered, and was beaten. But there was the 
 roomful of people, watehing; there was Mrs. 
 Armistead, there were the Witherspoon women 
 gloating. She forced a tortured smile to her Ups, 
 and asked, "What are we plajing?" 
 
 "Oh, didn't you know that?" said Julia. "Pro- 
 gressive whist." 
 
SYLYL\ AS REBEL ^1 
 
 "Thank you," said Sylvia. "When do we 
 b^ji?' And she looked about — anywhere but 
 at Frank Shirley, witb his face grown so old in 
 four years. 
 
 Xo one said anjrthing, no one made a move. 
 Was everybody in the room conspiring to break 
 her down? "I thou^t we were late," she said, 
 desperately; and then, with anotiier eSort — 
 "Shall I cut?"' she asked, of Julia. 
 
 "If you please," said die girl; but she did not 
 make a motion to pass Hie cards. Her manner 
 seemed to say, You may cut aU night, but it 
 won't help you to rob me of thi« satisfaction. 
 
 Sylvia made a still more determined ^ort. 
 If the game was to be pos^)oned indefinitdy, 
 so iixsA people mi^t watch her and Frank — ^well, 
 die would have to find something to talk about. 
 
 "It is a surprise to see you again, Frank Shir- 
 ley I ' she exclaimed- 
 
 "Tes," he said. Tfia voice was a mumble, and 
 he did not lift his eyes. 
 
 'You have been in Hie West, I understand?' 
 
 "Yes," again; but still he did not lift his eyes. 
 Sylvia managed to lift hers as far as his cravat; 
 and she saw in it an old piece of imitation jewelry 
 which she had picked up once on the street and 
 had handed to him in jest. He had worn it all 
 these years! He had not thrown it away — not 
 even when she had thrown him away! 
 
 Again came a surge of emotion; and out of the 
 mist she looked about her and saw the faces of 
 tormenting demons, leering. "Well,'' she de- 
 manded, 'are we going to play?'" 
 
342 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "We were waiting for you to cut," said Julia, 
 graciously; and Sylvia's fury helped to restore her 
 self-possession. She cut the cards; and fate was 
 kind, sparing both her and Frank the task of 
 dealing. 
 
 But then a new difficulty arose. Julia dealt, 
 and thirteen cards lay in front of Frank Shirley; 
 but he did not seem to know that he ought to 
 pick them up. And when the opposing lady 
 called him to time, in what seemed an imneces- 
 sarily penetrating voice, he foimd that he was 
 physically unable to get the cards from the 
 table. And when with his fumbling efforts he 
 got them into a bunch, he could not straighten 
 them out — to say nothing of the labor of sorting 
 them according to suit, which all whist-players 
 know to be an indispensable preliminary to the 
 game. When the opposing lady prodded him 
 again, Frank's face changed from vivid scarlet 
 to a dark and alarming purple. 
 
 Miss Julia led the tray of clubs; and Frank, 
 whose tvan came next, spilled three cards upon the 
 table, and finally selected from them the king 
 of hearts to play — ^hearts being trumps. "But 
 you have a club there, Mr. Shirley," said his 
 opponent; something that was pardonable, inas- 
 much as the nine of clubs lay face up where he had 
 shoved it aside. 
 
 "Oh — I beg pardon," he stammered, and took 
 back his king, and reached into his hand and 
 pulled out the six of clubs, and a diamond with it. 
 
 It was evident that this could not go on. Sylvia 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 343 
 
 might be equal to the emergency, but Frank was 
 not. He was too much of a human being and too 
 little of a social automaton. Something must 
 be done. 
 
 "Don't they play whist out West, Mr. Shirley?" 
 asked Juha, still smiling benevolently. 
 
 And Sylvia lowered her cards. "Surely, my 
 dear, you must imderstand," she said, gently. 
 "Mr. Shirley is too much embarrassed to think 
 about cards." 
 
 "Oh!" said the other, taken aback. (L'atidace, 
 toujours I'audace! runs the formula.) 
 
 "You see," continued Sylvia, "this is the first 
 time that Frank has seen me in more than three 
 years. And when two people have been as much 
 in love as he and I were, they are naturally dis- 
 turbed when they meet, and cannot put their 
 minds upon a game of cards." 
 
 Julia was speechless. And Sylvia let her glance 
 wander casually about the room. She saw her 
 hostess and her daughters standing watching; and 
 near the wall at the other side of the room stood 
 the head-devil, who had planned this torment. 
 
 "Mrs. Armistead," Sylvia called, "aren't you 
 going to play tonight?" Of course everybody 
 in the room heard this; and after it, anyone 
 could have heard a pin drop. 
 
 "I'm to keep score," said Mrs. Armistead. 
 
 "But it doesn't need four to keep score," 
 objected Sylvia — and looked at the three Wither- 
 spoon ladies. 
 
 "DoUy and Emma are staying out," said Mrs. 
 Witherspoon. "Two of our guests did not come." 
 
344 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 "Well," Sylvia exclaimed, "that just makes it 
 right! Please let them take the places of Mr. 
 Shirley and myself. You see, we haven't seen 
 each other for three or foxu* years, and it's hard 
 for us to get interested in a game of cards." 
 
 The whole room caught its breath at once; 
 and here and there one heard a little squeak of 
 hysteria, cut short by some one who was not mie 
 whether it was a joke or a scandal. "Why, 
 Sylvia!" stammered Mrs. Witherspoon, com- 
 pletely staggered. 
 
 Then Sylvia perceived that she was mistress of 
 the scene. There came the old rapture of con- 
 quest, that made her social genius. "We have 
 so much that we want to talk about," she said, 
 in her most winning voice. "Let Dolly and 
 Emma take our places, and we will sit on the 
 sofa in the other room and chat. You and Mrs. 
 Armistead come and chaperon us. Won't you 
 do that, please?" 
 
 "Why — ^why — " gasped the bewildered lady. 
 
 "I'm sure that you will both be interested to 
 hear what we have to say to each other; and you 
 can tell everybody about it afterwards — and that 
 will be so much better than having the card- 
 game delayed any more." 
 
 And with this side-swipe Sylvia arose, and 
 stood and waited, to make sure that her ex-fianc4 
 was not too paralyzed to follow. She led him out 
 through the tangle of card-tables; and in the door- 
 way she stopped and waited for Mrs. Armistead 
 and Mrs. Witherspoon, and literally forced these 
 two ladies to come with her out of the room. 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 345 
 
 § 23 
 
 Do you care to hear the details of the punish- 
 ment which Sylvia administered to the two 
 conspirators? She took them to the sofa, and 
 made Frank draw up chairs for them, and when she 
 had got comfortably seated, she proceeded to 
 talk to Frank, just as gently and sincerely and 
 touchingly as she would have talked if there had 
 been nobody present. She asked about all that 
 had befallen him; and when she discovered that 
 he was still not able to chat, she told him about 
 herself; about her baby, who was beautiful and 
 dear, even if she was blind, and about all the 
 interesting things she had seen in Europe. When 
 presently the old ladies showed signs of growing 
 restless, she put hand-cuflfs on them and chained 
 them to their chairs. 
 
 "You see," she said, "it would never do for 
 Mr. Shirley and myself to talk without a chap- 
 eron. You got me into this situation, you know; 
 and Papa and Mamma would never forgive you." 
 
 "You are mistaken, Sylvia!" cried Mrs. Wither- 
 spoon. "Mr. Shirley so seldom goes out, and he 
 had said he didn't think he coiild come!" 
 
 "I am willing to accept that explanation," 
 said Sylvia, pohtely, "but you must help me out, 
 now that the embarrassing accident has hap- 
 pened." 
 
 Nor did it avail Mrs. Witherspoon to plead her 
 
346 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 guests and their score. "You may be sure they 
 don't care about the score," said Sylvia. "They'd 
 much prefer you stayed here, so that you can 
 tell them how Frank and I behaved." 
 
 And then, while Mrs. Witherspoon was getting 
 herself together, Sylvia turned upon the other 
 conspirator. "We will now hold one of my 
 eugenics classes," she said; and added, to Frank, 
 "Mrs. Armistead told me that you wanted to join 
 my class." 
 
 "I don't xmderstand," repUed Frank, at a loss. 
 
 "I will explain," said Sylvia. "It is a not 
 very refined joke they have in town. Mrs. 
 Armistead meant to say that she credits a dis- 
 graceful story that was circulated about you 
 when we were engaged, and which my people 
 made use of to make me break our engagement. 
 I am glad to have a chance to tell you that I have 
 investigated, and satisfied myself that the story 
 was not true. I want to apologize to you for 
 ever having beUeved it; and I am sure that 
 Mrs. Armistead may be glad of this opportimity 
 to apologize for having said that she beUeved it." 
 
 "I never said that I believed it!" cried SaUie 
 Ann, quickly. 
 
 "No, you didn't, Mrs. Armistead — ^you would 
 not be so crude as to say it directly. You merely 
 dropped a hint, which would lead everybody 
 to understand that you believed it." 
 
 Sylvia paused; just long enough to let the 
 wicked lady suffer, but not long enough to let 
 her find a reply. "When you tell your friends 
 
SYLVIA AS REBEL 347 
 
 about this scene," she continued, "please make 
 clear that I did not drop hints about anything, 
 but said exactly what I meant — ^that the story is 
 false, so far as it implies any evil done by Mr. 
 Shirley, and that I am deeply ashamed of myself 
 for having ever believed it. It is all in the past 
 now, of course — ^we are both of us married, and 
 we shall probably never meet again. But it 
 will be a help to us in future to have had this 
 httle talk— will it not, Frank?" 
 
 There was a pause, while Sallie Ann Armistead 
 recovered from her dismay, and got back a Uttle 
 of her fighting power. Suddenly she rose. "Vir- 
 ginia," she said, firmly, "you are neglecting your 
 guests." 
 
 "I don't think you ought to go until Frank has 
 got himseK together," said Sylvia. "Frank, can 
 you sort your cards now?" 
 
 "Virginia!" commanded Sallie Ann, imperiously. 
 "Come!" 
 
 Mrs. Witherspoon rose; and so did Sylvia. 
 "We can't stay here alone," said she. "Frank, 
 wiU you take Mrs. Witherspoon in?" And she 
 gently but firmly took Mrs. Armistead's arm, and 
 so they marched back into the drawing-room. 
 
 Dolly and Emma had progressed to separate 
 tables, it developed; so that the ordeal of Frank 
 and Sylvia was over. Through the remainder of 
 the evening Sylvia chatted and played, and later 
 partook of refreshments with Malcolm McCaUum, 
 and mildly teased that inconsolable bachelor, 
 quite as in the old days. Now and then she stole 
 
348 SYLVIA'S MARRIAGE 
 
 a glance at Frank Shirley, and saw that he was 
 holding up his end; but he kept away from her, 
 and she never even caught his eye. 
 
 At last the company broke up, and Sylvia 
 thanked her hostess for a most enjoyable evening. 
 She stepped into the motor with Celeste, and sat 
 with compressed Ups, answering in monosyllables 
 her "little sister's" flood of excited questions — 
 "Oh, Sylvia, didn't you feel perfectly ternblef 
 Oh, sister, I felt tkriXLs running up and down my 
 back! Sister, what did you say to him? Sister, 
 do you know, old Mr. Perkins kept leaning over 
 to me and asldng what was happening; and how 
 could I shout into his deaf ear that everybody was 
 stopping to hear what you were saying to Frank 
 Shirley?" 
 
 At the end of the ride, there was Aunt Varina 
 waitiog up, as usual — ^to renew her own youth in 
 the story of the evening, what this person had 
 worn and what that person had said. But Sylvia 
 left her sister to tell the story, and fled to her 
 room and locked the door, and flimg herself upon 
 the bed and gave way to a torrent of weeping. 
 
 Half an hoiu* later Celeste went up, and finding 
 that the door between her own room and Syl^^'s 
 was unlocked, opened it softly, and stood listen- 
 ing. Then she stole to her sister's side and put 
 her arm about her. "Never mind, sister dear," 
 she whispered, solemnly. "I know how it is! 
 We women all have to suffer!" 
 
THE JUNGLE 
 
 By UPTON SINCLAIR 
 
 This novel, first published in 1906, caused an international 
 sensation. It was the best selling book in the United States 
 for a year; also in Great Britain and its colonies. It was 
 translated into seventeen languages, and caused an investiga- 
 tion by President Eoosevelt, and action by Congress. The 
 book has been out of print for ten years, and is now reprinted 
 by the author, at a lower price than when first published, 
 although the cost of manufacture has since more than doubled. 
 
 I never expected to read a serial. I am reading "The Jungle," 
 and I should be afraid to trust myself to tell how it affects me. 
 It is a great work. I have a feeling that you yourself will be 
 dazed some day by the excitement about it. It is impossible 
 that such a power should not be felt. It is so simple, so true, 
 so tragic and so human. It is so eloquent, and yet so exact. I 
 must restrain myself or you may misunderstand. — David Graham 
 Phillips. 
 
 In this fearful story the horrors of industrial slavery are as 
 vividly drawn as if by lightning. It marks an epoch in revolu- 
 tionary literature. — Eugene V. Debs. 
 
 "Not since Byron awoke one morning to find himself famous 
 has there been such an example of world-wide celebrity won in a 
 day by a book as has come to Upton Sinclair." — New York Evening 
 World. 
 
 "It is a book that does for modern industrial slavery what 
 tJncle Tom's Cabin did for blaek slavery. But the work is done 
 far better and more accurately in The Jungle than in Uncle 
 Tom's Cabin." — Arthur Brisbane, in the New Yorh Evening 
 Journal. 
 
 Single copy, cloth, $1.50; paper, $1.00 postpaid. 
 
 UPTON SINCLAIR 
 
 Long Beach, California 
 
A book which has been absolutely boycotted by the literary 
 reviews of America. 
 
 THE PROFITS 
 OF RELIGION 
 
 By Upton Sinclair 
 
 A STUDY of Supernaturalism as a Source of Income and a 
 Shield to Privilege; the first examination in any language 
 of institutionalized religion from the economic point of 
 view. "Has the labour as well as the merit of breaking virgin 
 soil," writes Joseph McCabe. The book has had practically no 
 advertising and only two or three reviews in radical publications ; 
 yet forty thousand copies have been sold in the first year. 
 
 From the Rev. John Haynes Holmes: "I must confess that it has fairly 
 made me writhe to read these pages, not because they are untrue or un- 
 fair, but on the contrary, because I know them to be the real facts. I 
 love the church as I love ray home, and therefore it is no pleasant expe- 
 rience to be made to face such a story as this which jrou have told. It 
 had to be done, however, and I am glad you have done it, for my interest 
 in the church, after all, is more or less incidental, whereas my interest in 
 religion is a fundamental thing. . . . Let me repeat again that I feel 
 that you have done us all a service in the writing of this book. Our 
 thurches today, like those ot ancient Palestine, are the abode of ^Pharisees 
 and scribes. It is as spiritual and helpful a thing now as it was in 
 Jesus' day for that fact to be revealed." 
 
 From Luther Burbank: "No one has ever told *the truth, the whole 
 truth, and nothing but the truth' more faithfully than Upton Sinclair in 
 'The Profits of Religion.' " 
 
 From Louis Untermeyer : "Let me add my quavering alto to the chorus 
 of applause of 'The Profits ef Religion.* It is something more than a 
 book — it is a Work!" 
 
 Single copy, paper, $1.00 postpaid. 
 Single copy, cloth, $1.50 postpaid. 
 
 UPTON SINCLAIR . Long Beach, California 
 
A New Novel by Upton Sinclair 
 
 100% 
 
 THE STORY OF A PATRIOT 
 
 'XTT'OULD you like to go behind the scenes and see the 
 » ^ "invisible government" of your country saving you from 
 the Bolsheviks and the Reds? Would you like to meet the 
 secret agents and provocateurs of "Big Business," to know 
 what they look like, how they talk and what they are doing 
 to make the world safe for democracy? Several of these 
 gentlemen have been haunting the home of Upton Sinclair 
 during the past three years and he has had the idea of turn- 
 ing the tables and investigating the investigators. He has put 
 one of them, Peter Gudge by name, into a book, together with 
 Peter's ladyloves, and his wife, and his boss and a whole 
 group of his fellow-agents and their employers. 
 
 The hero of this book is a red-blooded, 100% American, 
 a "he-man" and no mollycoddle. He begins with the Mooney 
 case, and goes through half a dozen big cases of which you 
 have heard. His story is a fact-story of America from 1916 
 to 1920, and will make a bigger sensation than "The Jungle." 
 Albert Rhys Williams, author of "Lenin" and "In the Claws 
 of the German Eagle," read the MS. and wrote: 
 
 "This is the first novel of yours that I have read through 
 with real interest. It is your most timely work, and is bound to 
 make a sensation. I venture that you will have even more trouble 
 than you had with 'The Brass Cheek' — in getting the books 
 printed fast enough." 
 
 Single copy, paper, $1.00 postpaid. 
 Single copy, cloth, $1.50 postpaid. 
 
 UPTON SINCLAIR - Long Beach, California 
 
They Call Me Carpenter 
 
 By UPTON SINCLAIR 
 
 WOULD you like to meet Jesus? Would you 
 care to walk down Broadway with him in 
 the year 1922? What would he order for din- 
 ner in a lobster palace? What would he do in 
 a beauty parlor? What would he make of a 
 permanent wave? What would he say to Mary 
 Magna, million dollar queen of the movies ? And 
 how would he greet the pillars of St. Bartholo- 
 mew's Church? How would he behave at strike 
 headquarters? What would he say at a mass 
 meeting of the "reds"? And what would the 
 American Legion do to him? 
 
 From the "Survey": 
 
 "Upton Sinclair has a reputation for rushing in where 
 angels fear to tread. He has done it again and, artist that 
 he is, has mastered the most difficult theme with ease and 
 sureness. That the figure of Jesus is woven Into a novel 
 which is glorious fun, in itself will shock many people. But 
 the graphic arts have long been given the liberty of treat- 
 ing His life in a contemporary setting — why not the novelist? 
 
 "Heywood Broun and other critics notwithstanding, it 
 must be stated that Sinclair has treated the figure of Christ 
 with a reverence far more sincere than that of writings in 
 which His presence is shrouded in pseudo-mystic inanity. 
 By an artistry borrowed from the technique of modem ex- 
 pressionist fiction, he has combined downright realism with 
 an extravagant imaginativeness in which the appearance of 
 Christ is no more improper than It is In the actual dreams 
 of hundreds of thousands of devout Christians. 
 
 "Like all of Sinclair's writings, this book is, of course, 
 a Socialist tract ; but here — ^in a spirit which entirely de- 
 stroys Mr. Broun's charge that he has made Christ the 
 spokesman of one class — he is unmerciful in his exposure 
 of the sins of the poor as well as of the "rich, and directs 
 at the comrades in radical movements a sermon which every 
 churchman will gladly endorse. 
 
 "It Is not necessary to recommend a book that will find 
 Its way into thousands of homes. Incidentally one wonders 
 how a story so colloquially American — Mr. Broun considers 
 this bad taste — can possibly be translated into the Hunga- 
 rian, the Chinese and the dozen or so other languages In 
 which Sinclair's books are devoured by the common people 
 of the world." 
 
 Frlce, cloth $1.50; paper $1.00 postpaid. 
 UPTOTf SINCLAIR • • Long Beacb, California 
 

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