HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE AN OTHER STORIE !BY ICAROUNE T1CKNOR A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE AND OTHER STORIES "'DO YOU THINK ME SO DKYOTRD TO WAGNER?'" A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE AND OTHER STORIES BY CAROLINE TICKNOR BOSTON JOSF.l'H KNIf.HT COMPANY 1896 Copyright, iSqb BY JOSEPH KNIGHT COMPANY C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, Mass., U. S. A. Electrotyped by Geo. C. Scott * Sons. TO MY SEVEREST CRITIC AND BEST FRIEND fflg Sister THIS SMALL VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 2200629 PREFATORY NOTE THE author's thanks are due to Messrs. Harper and Brothers, and to the publishers of the Cosmopolitan and New England Magazines for the use of several of the stories con- tained in this volume. CONTENTS PAGE I. A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE i II. THE FATE OF CLYDE MOORFIELD, YACHTS- MAN 35 III. THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS REVERSED . . 61 IV. A LITTLE STUDY IN COMMON SENSE . . 77 V. MR. HURD'S HOLIDAY 95 VI. THE EVOLUTION OF A BONNET . . .109 VII. MRS. HUDSON'S PICNIC 147 VIII. A BAG OF POP-CORN 161 IX. THE ROMANCE OF A SPOON . . . .181 X. THE HISTORY OF A HAPPY THOUGHT . . 207 XI. A FURNISHED COTTAGE BY THE SEA . . 219 XII. A HALLOWE'EN PARTY 233 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE "'DO YOU THINK ME SO DEVOTED TO WAGNER?'" Frontispiece " THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON HE WENT SAILING ALONE" 47 " ' No BUSINESS TO-MORROW, MY DEAR '" . . 95 " ' FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, BE YOU AMANDA?'" . . 175 VIEW OF BECK HALL, CAMBRIDGE .... 233 A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE IT was rather to my credit than otherwise, that I first became a hypocrite, since it was wholly owing to my natural amiability and unselfishness of disposition. As I look back upon the first stages of my development in that direction, I find it in every way a most commendable deterioration which sprang from a kindly desire to please and to conciliate, and not from a natural tendency to deceive or falsify. When Aunt Sophia, whose whole soul is wrapped up in music, came to visit us, somebody must needs sit by and be politely appreciative while she rendered Chopin and Mendelssohn, or interpreted Mozart and Schumann with that true enthusiasm which fails to recognize the foolish flight of time. All the other members of our family openly avowed their keen dislike for music, and quietly but speedily withdrew to distant corners of the house whenever Aunt Sophia began to play, leaving me to suffer patiently, propped in some comfortless armchair in the drawing-room, a most unwilling victim. " I presume that it would be hard to find a more 12 A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. unmusical household anywhere," Aunt Sophia would remark, sharply, turning about to find that one by one the members of the family had melted from the room, during some favorite sonata which should have held them spellbound in their respective places. " It is a sad thing for any one to have no delicate perception of what is most beautiful and elevating," she would continue, " but it is utterly lamentable for a whole family to be found wanting in the highest attributes." At this point, I would protest that father had important letters to write, and mother household duties which she must attend to, while George was obliged to study his Latin. " Don't try to excuse them," Aunt Sophia would exclaim, " they have not an atom of music in their souls, and, when I have said that, I have exhausted all that can be said in their defense." "But, Aunt Sophia," I would feebly venture, longing to follow George up to the billiard-room, whence the click of balls was wafted to me during the pianissimo passages, " I 'm afraid that I have not very much music in my soul, either." To which she would make answer : " Don't detract from your natural gifts, Elizabeth ; you are quite different from all the others. You have the genuine musical temperament. I recognized the fact when you were but a mere infant in arms ; even then you A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. 13 were appreciative, you cried loudly when I came to a deeply pathetic passage of Beethoven's, you responded instantly to the wild sob in the notes, so that your nurse was forced to bear you screaming from the room." After such a rebuke, I would sink back into my chair with desperate resignation, and try to take cat- naps while Aunt Sophia continued her interpre- tations, until callers or luncheon brought me the coveted release. Many a time have I sat rigidly against the stiff, unsympathetic sofa cushions in the drawing-room, sternly philosophizing on the selfishness of frank and truthful souls : apostles of sincerity, who would not pretend, though, by so doing, they could mollify all strife and bring joy and good -will to all mankind. I was conscious of being in perfect sympathy with every uncomplimentary utterance which father and George let fall regarding the great composers; in fact, I felt I was probably more actively antagonistic to these honorable gentlemen than they were, for I knew enough of Aunt Sophia's idols to hate them individually. Father and George merely despised them as a whole, while I cherished one form of hatred for Wagner, and another for old Johann Sebastian Bach ; my forced acquaintance with them gave me power to discriminate in my dislikes, and I found Mendelssohn's " Songs Without Words " unbearable in quite a different way from Chopin's nocturnes. 14 A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. And yet I had often unblushingly assured Aunt Sophia that certain pieces were " exquisitely beauti- ful," after having surreptitiously read some carefully concealed novel through the entire performance. This was a line of conduct which, I must own, lowered me in my own estimation, though I mentally commented that I was not untruthful in my state- ment, since, undoubtedly, the pieces were "exqui- sitely beautiful " to Aunt Sophia. On the strength of my musical temperament, I greatly endeared myself to her, and was rewarded for my unselfishness by costly rings at Christmas, or pearl opera-glasses and gold vinaigrettes upon my birthdays, while the other members of the family were meted out the penalty attendant upon unsym- pathetic natures. Aunt Sophia sent them decorative cards, impossible penwipers, and gilt-edged diaries, or little painted picture-frames, which would not stand upright, and into which no pictures could be made to fit. But Aunt Sophia also favored me with a seat beside her at the symphony rehearsals, which privi- lege I could n't very well refuse, and this, in the eyes of those at home, more than offset innumerable vinaigrettes and rings. How I dreaded Friday afternoons ! And how much oftener they came round than any other after- noons ! If I could get up a headache, or go out of town, or in any way avoid the weekly ordeal, I did A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. 1 5 so with alacrity, although I never allowed Aunt Sophia to imagine that anything short of grim necessity could keep me from her side. It was, of course, hypocritical to the last degree to make her think that she was giving me so much pleasure when I was counting off each number on the program with barbaric gratitude, and murmur- ing to myself, " one more over ; " but, after all, if it gave her satisfaction to imagine that because the ninth symphony lifted her up to the seventh heaven of bliss, it was elevating me to the same altitude, why should I undeceive her ? I used to manage to get delayed, in one way or another, almost every Friday, so as to avoid the overture, appearing in good season just often enough to avert suspicion. As it was, I succeeded in con- vincing Aunt Sophia that the line of cars on which I was dependent must be in a deplorably misman- aged condition, and, in spite of my assurances that in a crowded thoroughfare blockades were unavoidable, she persisted in writing several scathing protests to the evening papers, headed : " The Grievance of a Music Lover. " Whenever I was obliged to listen to an overture, I invariably had some pressing en- gagement which would not permit me to remain after the first movement of the symphony, so that, on the whole, my sufferings were considerably abridged. Aunt Sophia was not, however, contented with having me beside her at symphony concerts only, 1 6 A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. but insisted that I should accompany her to recitals, oratorios, delightful little musicales, and many other entertainments of like objectionable character. Thus I had many rare chances which would have turned any lover of music green with envy, and of which I availed myself like a lamb prepared for the slaughter. Do not let me give the impression that these oc- casions were entirely seasons of unmitigated suffer- ing for me. No, I was able to extract enough pleasure from them, in my own peculiar way, to make my musical life tolerable, else I could never have been such a successful hypocrite. In the first place, I soon schooled myself to a high level of mental tranquillity, which made it pos- sible for me to close my ears altogether to outward sounds; in this blissful state, concertos and polo- naises floated by me, and I remained unharmed; I heard them not. I would sit absorbed in my own pleasant medita- tions regarding the proper treatment of an Easter bonnet, or the artistic draping of a party gown, for half an hour at a time, serenely unconscious of the orchestra, which might have interpreted anything from Brahms to " Yankee Doodle," without troub- ling me. Occasionally Aunt Sophia would remark that it was a pleasure, during the different move- ments, to watch the feeling of the orchestra reflected in a sensitive face like mine. At such times I could A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. I/ not help experiencing a pang of remorse, but I re- garded it as only fair to my aunt that I should be the one to suffer for the deception, so I endured the pricks of conscience, and spared her the humiliating truth. I could not really blame myself very much, on second thoughts, however, for it was not my fault if Aunt Sophia, with her great powers of discrimina- tion, could not distinguish between the reflection of a trio in B major and that of a new Easter bonnet. After a while I came to find the music a perfect inspiration to me. If I had been worried or troubled by some complex question which I found it difficult to answer, I had only to give myself up to the influ- ence of some stirring symphony, and instantly all was well, my mind would clear without delay, and the vexed questions would straighten themselves out at once. As I sat calmly by Aunt Sophia's side, one delightful train of thought would follow another, through a charmed sequence, which extended on and on until it reached the final squeak of the violins. I planned Christmas presents for my friends, laid out my summer wardrobe, checked off my calling list, or thoughtfully reviewed my latest favorite book, or again, I faithfully recalled the numerous recipes I had acquired at cooking school, and wondered if they would turn out the same at home, or else went over my part in the theatricals which our church was getting up to help the cause of Foreign Mis- sions. 1 8 A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. From time to time, my chain of thought was broken in upon by long bursts of applause, in which I always tried to join, until I found that many choice spirits regarded clapping as something quite apart from a high order of appreciation ; this knowl- edge was a great relief to me, and, ever after, I sim- ply sighed and looked off dreamily into space. This method gave Aunt Sophia as much satisfaction as if I had rapped crudely on the floor with my um- brella, and was a great saving on my gloves. I derived a good deal of satisfaction from the regulation house musicales to which we went (apart from the refreshments), as I could almost always slip away from my aunt's side and find a seat, either in a far distant corner of the hall, or on the stairs, where I invariably encountered several kindred spirits, also bent upon enjoying themselves. Often we succeeded in withdrawing far enough up-stairs to talk straight through, without disturbing any one. At home, alas, I was considered thoroughly musi- cal; this being the only construction which could be put upon my regular attendance at symphony rehearsals ; and for this reason I was mercilessly thrust into the breach whenever any musical people came to the house. " Elizabeth is the musical member of this family," mother would remark, with satisfaction, as she with- drew, leaving me to enjoy a new collection of Ital- A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. 19 ian songs, which Cousin Louisa had thoughtfully brought forth from the depths of her Saratoga trunk. Then father, aways anxious to give pleasure to his children, actually invited to the house rising composers and long-haired students of harmony with whom, forsooth, I needs must struggle through woe- fully tedious conversations regarding their pet theme, while strains of merry laughter harassed me from the frivolous groups about the room. Even George, who should have understood me better than the rest, brought home with him from college prominent members of the glee club, and friends who played the mandolin by the hour, to whose performances the family listened resignedly on my account, when I should have so much pre- ferred to welcome the most insignificant member of the football team. Under these circumstances, one would reasonably imagine that I must have gradually grown veritably musical, but I did not. On the contrary, I cared less and less for a violin each time I heard one played, disliked a piano more and more daily, felt my aversion to a 'cello constantly strengthening, while my contempt for even a cabinet organ steadily increased, and so on through the whole list of these instruments of torture, not to mention the vocalist, toward whom my attitude was still less friendly. 20 A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. But now the retribution, which for the sake of po- etic justice (not the other kind) should overtake all hypocrites, descended upon me. When I realized what had happened, I was for a time perfectly aghast; then I rallied, and made up my mind to face the inevitable and make the best of it. Oh, ruthless fate ! I had fallen in love with a man after Aunt Sophia's own heart : a man whose whole soul was bound up in music. Could anything more unfortunate have happened to me, or anything more grievously grotesque ? For a long time I struggled against my natural in- clination, and did my best to root up such a mis- placed fancy from my heart. I knew full well that I could never be happy with an intensely musical helpmate. Why, then, should I doom myself to life- long wretchedness? I would not. I would shun his society; I would not see him when he came to call. I gave strict injunctions to the maid to this effect, telling her that when he came she was to say that I was not at home. But it was no use, my admirable resolutions van- ished into thinnest air the very first time I saw him coming up the street, and, fearing lest my heartless instructions should be implicitly carried out, I ran down and let him in before he had a chance to ring the bell, and then pretended (alas, how easily I can pretend!) that I was just passing through the hall, wholly by accident. A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. 21 I felt convinced that I could never be happy with him, and yet I seemed to feel that I should be equally miserable without him ; therefore, since I was destined to be unhappy in either case, I con- cluded I might as well be wretched in his society. Then I told the maid to understand that, when he came to call, I was not at home "to anybody else." But I am getting along much too rapidly with my narrative. I have n't mentioned where it was I first met Winthrop ; his name is Winthrop, Winthrop Van der Water ; such a nice name ; a happy combi- nation of the best in Boston and New York. But to think that I should have seen him first at a symphony rehearsal, leaning against a radiator near the wall, not far from where Aunt Sophia and I were seated. I had been trying to make up my mind, during some Russian music, whether to have a girls' lunch- eon for Cousin Louisa, or a card-party in the even- ing, when suddenly I became conscious that some one was watching me, and I glanced up hurriedly to meet a clear and penetrating gaze which seemed to read my very soul and fathom all my frivolous thoughts of card-parties and luncheons. Tall, handsome, interesting, he stood with his head thrown back, drinking in every note of that wild, crashy Russian music, as though his life de- pended upon the verdict of the orchestra. I knew 22 A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. him instantly for one of those genuine enthusiasts who prefer the concerts when there are no soloists, and who pay a quarter of a dollar and, with a dreamy indifference to having people trample on their toes, enjoy their music standing up. I glanced at him once or twice during the sym- phony, just to see if my theory regarding his being a true devotee was correct, and sure enough it was, for he stayed to the very end of the final movement. I had intended to leave before the second move- ment myself, but I decided to stay just to test my own powers of perception in regard to musical types. , He interested me as a clearly defined specimen, whom I could satisfactorily analyze. He had a pon- derous looking book under his arm, which he opened from time to time, this was a score of the music, of course ; then he wrote something down with a pencil occasionally, these were comments upon the rendering of certain passages, no doubt. I came to the conclusion that he was studying har- mony, and therefore came regularly to the rehears- als, while he probably played some instrument with intelligence and feeling. The following Friday brought proof of the cor- rectness of my surmises, for my musical friend was there again, in precisely the same spot; and after that I used to see him there regularly, apparently wrapped up in the music, with his eyes fixed upon A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. 2$ the score -book. Quite often, I thought I caught him staring at Aunt Sophia, and I wondered if he recognized a kindred spirit in her. I could not help wondering if I could possibly learn to enjoy music in that way, and I began to endeavor conscientiously to enter into the spirit of every piece, but it was no use. Perhaps if I had begun sooner I might have succeeded, but now it was too late. The more I tried to be appre- ciative and sympathetic, the less I became so, until I really made myself feel quite depressed and wretched. One afternoon, I went with Aunt Sophia to a "music at four," " camp-stool" affair which we reached somewhat later than my aunt intended we should, and earlier than I hoped we might, owing to a friendly motor on the electric car which refused to make the wheels go round for nearly half an hour. Aunt Sophia was very much annoyed, as she con- siders it an insult to one's hostess to go late to camp-stool entertainments ; moreover, she likes to have her choice of seats. I don't think myself that it makes a particle of difference when one arrives at a camp-stool recep- tion, for, go as early as you may, they have always begun. Some one is singing, no matter at what time the drawing-room is reached, and all the other people, who have apparently been there for hours, look up with annoyance as you enter and make an 24 A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. unpardonable racket trying to sink noiselessly into a vacant chair, toward which your hostess nods with a pained smile. If, by chance, you manage to slip in during an in- termission, and are about to shake hands, and let fall some cordial utterance, my lady puts her finger impressively to her lips, as she points to some in- strumental celebrity who is about to inflict himself upon the assembled company, and with an apolo- getic blush you subside uncomfortably into the nearest seat. On the afternoon in question, somebody motioned Aunt Sophia to a front seat that was unoccupied, and I at once slipped into the hall, determined to steal up-stairs and wait in the dressing-room, I felt so cross and unmusical. My escape was cut off, however, by our hostess, who touched my arm : "There will be some more chairs here in a mo- ment," she whispered, much to my discomfiture, and then who should appear but my symphony man, laden with camp-stools. " I want you to know my nephew, Winthrop Van der Water," she whispered, and a moment later he had opened a chair for me, and sat down in another at my side. I was about to venture some remark to the effect that I was sorry to have lost so much of the music, when some one began a concerto and robbed the world of one falsehood, which, however, would not A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. 2$ have materially increased the sum total for which I am responsible already. We both listened to the music with breathless at- tention, and said how beautiful and delightful each selection was. I would have rather talked all the time, but I pretended I was enjoying it as much as he was, and, indeed, I applauded one aria so warmly that he insisted upon clapping until he brought about an encore which served me just right. He asked if I was fond of music, and I said, "oh, yes," and he remarked that he already knew it, he had seen me at so many concerts. Moreover, he said that he could tell by watching people's faces how much they were enjoying themselves. I tried to be as truthful as I could, and replied that I nearly always enjoyed myself. To which he responded, most impertinently, that I must have per- fect taste. At this point I was rather glad to have a man get up and start a recitative. While he was singing it, I determined that I would not admit to Mr. Van der Water that I had ever noticed him at the rehearsals, so, at the end of the recitative, I ventured that I was surprised to know he had ever seen me before, and inquired if he had attended the last three or four concerts. Then what do you think he said (after I had seen him there every time with that big book)? That he regretted he had been obliged to miss the last three or four 1 26 A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. " Then you must have a double," I exclaimed, foolishly, before I realized that he was only trying to trap me into acknowledging that I had seen him at the concerts, after all. At first I was inclined to be provoked with him for such deception, but, on second thoughts, I made up my mind to laugh it off. Laughing things off is even better policy than " honesty " itself, I find, for, if a thing is deeply im- portant, it 's the surest method of concealment, and if it 's not, why it 's the best fun. Later, when the refreshments were served, I in- troduced Mr. Van der Water to Aunt Sophia, and we all talked violin recitals, and sopranos, and quartets, until it was time to go home, and he seemed per- fectly absorbed in every musical topic that Aunt Sophia dragged into the conversation. After that afternoon, we ran across him at almost every musicale or concert that we attended, and he invariably came out of the hall the same moment we did, and found our carriage for us. He was so polite and so musical that Aunt Sophia was per- fectly charmed with him, and went so far as to ask him to come to a poky little song recital that she was to give in my honor, as I was visiting her for a few weeks at that time. He came, and found it most delightful (so he as- sured Aunt Sophia), though I think that everybody else must have had a frightfully stupid time. Cer- tainly they all looked bored to death. A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. 2? Mr. Van der Water, however, must really have en- joyed the song recital, for he came to call immedi- ately afterwards to tell us how much pleasure we had given him, and from that time he dropped in upon us very often, and we had most delightful times, ex- cept that he always brought the conversation round to music (and when he did not introduce it I felt obliged to, knowing how fond he was of holding forth upon the subject), while Aunt Sophia, as a matter of course, never spoke of anything else. And so the long and the short of it was that we talked music, music, music, and very little else beside. Each time that he came to see us, I was dragged in more deeply, until I felt that it would be impossible ever to extricate myself from such a false position. For, had I not pretended to share his deep and true enthusiasm, and assumed that I agreed with all his lovely theories regarding the superiority of the musical soul ? At last my position grew simply intolerable. I could not go on forever making believe, I was not hypocrite enough for that, so I determined to make a clean breast of everything the next time that we met. And then I postponed my confession until the next time but one, and so on. Finally, somebody sent Aunt Sophia three tickets for a Wagner concert ; she was, of course, quite charmed at the thought of hearing nothing but this esteemed favorite's compositions for a whole even- 28 A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. ing, and in a moment of enthusiasm she suggested asking Mr. Van der Water to act as our escort, in order that he might share the treat in store for us. He accepted, as I knew he would when he learned what a heavy concert it was to be, and, when eight o'clock arrived, we were all sitting stiffly erect in those luxurious seats which the first balcony of our beloved Music Hall affords, with our knees uncom- fortably jammed against the seats in front, ready to surrender ourselves to several hours of unalloyed enjoyment. There we sat, filled with different emotions : Aunt Sophia brimful of expectant delight, Mr. Van der Water apparently the same, while I remained silent and glum ; the time had come for me to pretend no more. After three long pieces, through which I looked as bored as I knew how, Aunt Sophia asked me if I was not feeling well. To which I replied, wearily, that I felt tired and very hot. Then our escort sug- gested that, after the next number, we might step out into the hall, where there was a greater supply of oxygen. At the end of the next piece, I said that I should like a breath of air, and asked Aunt Sophia if she would not come, too, but she declined, saying that we might walk about, but for her part she did n't care to risk losing the beginning of the next selec- tion. A HYPOCRITICAL ROMANCE. 29 As I stepped out into the hallway, I drew a deep sigh of relief, for I knew that I was about to free myself of a great weight, which had been slowly crushing me into a musical mockery. We sauntered to an open door at the end of the hall and paused, inhaling the cool breeze. " That is the fire-escape out there," my companion remarked, casually. " Is it ? " I responded, absently, peering through the doorway. " Come and explore it," he urged, stepping out and offering me his hand. " It 's a good plan for you to know where to go in case of fire." I followed, and we stood looking down into the darkness. " There is no luxury like pure air," I ventured, inhaling a long breath and wondering if he consid- ered it dangerous to let go of my hand, now that we were standing in a comparatively safe spot. " Yes," he replied, apparently unconscious of the fact that he was crushing one of my rings into my little finger, "one does not like to be suffocated, even to the strains of Wagner." I knew that the fatal moment had arrived. " Do you think me so devoted to Wagner ? " I questioned, faintly. " Oh, I 'm quite sure of it," he replied. " Then, know that it is not safe to be sure of any- thing in this world," I exclaimed, drawing away my 3