Christine said nothing, but admitted to herself, with a secret wonder, that Dennis awakened in her a respect, a sort of fear, that no other man had inspired, save her father. There was something in his manner, though altogether respectful, that made her feel that he was not to be trifled with. This impression was decidedly heightened when, a few moments later, Miss Brown, pursuant of her resolution to lower Dennis’s pride, ordered him in an offensive manner to do something for her that had no connection with the entertainment. At first he acted as if he had not heard her, but his rising color showed that he had. In spite of warning glances from Christine and Miss Winthrop, she repeated her request in a loud, imperious tone.
Dennis drew himself up to his full height, and, turning his dark eyes full upon her, said, firmly, “I am ever ready to offer any service that a gentleman can to a lady, but surely I am not your footman.”
“Your pride is ridiculous, sir. You are here to help, and will be paid for it. This is my house, and I expect persons of your position, while in it, to do as they are bidden.”
“Since such are the rules and principles of your house, permit me at once to leave you in full possession;” and he was about to retire with a manner as cold as Mr. Ludolph himself could have assumed, and as haughty, when a light hand fell upon his arm. Looking down he met the deep blue eyes of Christine Ludolph lifted pleadingly to his.
“Mr. Fleet, you need not do what is asked. It is not right to require it. In fact we all owe you an apology.” Then, in a low, quick tone, she added, “Will you not stay as a favor to me?”
She felt his arm tremble under her hand, there was a moment’s hesitation, then he replied, in the same manner, “Miss Ludolph, you can command me on this occasion” (there was no promise for the future); and then he turned to his work as if resolved to see and know nothing else till the ordeal ended.
In spite of herself Christine blushed, but taking Miss Brown by the arm she led her aside and gave her a vigorous lecture.
“Are you sane?” she said. “Do you not remember that nearly a thousand dollars’ worth of tickets are sold, and that the people will be here by half-past eight, and at nine we must appear? Even after what he has done, if you should drive him away the thing would be a failure, and we should be the ridiculous town-talk for a year.”
“But I hate—”
“No matter what you hate. Treat him as you please tomorrow. We need him now;” and so the petted, wilful girl, spoiled by money and flattery, was kept under restraint.
A great deal of preparation was required for the last two pieces on the programme, and the young ladies grouped themselves not far off while Dennis worked. Christine explained from time to time as the natural leader of the party. Still an awkward silence followed the scene above described. This restraint could not long endure, and one of the colorless young ladies asked a question that led to more than she intended, and indeed, more than she understood.
“Christine, what do you do with yourself Sundays? Your pew is not occupied once in an age.”
“I usually paint most of the day, and ride out with papa in the afternoon when it is pleasant.”
“Why, you are a perfect little heathen!” they all exclaimed in chorus.
“Yes, I suppose I am worse than a pagan,” she said, “for I not only do not believe in your superstitions, but have none of my own.”
“What do you believe in, then?” asked Miss Winthrop.
“Art, music, fame, power.”
She announced her creed so coolly and decidedly that Dennis lifted a startled face to hers. She saw his grieved, astonished expression, and it amused her very much. Henceforth she spoke as much for his benefit as for theirs.
“If you would be equally honest,” she continued, “you would find that your creeds also are very different from the one in the prayerbook.”
“And what would mine be, pray,” asked one of the colorless young ladies.
“I will sum it up in one sentence, Miss Jones—‘Keep in the fashion.’ ”
“I think that you are very unjust. I’m sure I go to church regularly, and attend a great many services in Lent and on Saints’ days. I’ve been confirmed, and all that.”
“Yes, it is the thing to do in your set. Now, here is Miss Winthrop, a Presbyterian, who manifests quite another religious phase.”
“Pray what is mine?” asked that lady, laughing.
“Oh, you want hairsplitting in regard to the high doctrines—clear, brilliant arguments, cutting like sharp, merciless steel into the beliefs of other denominations. Then, after your ‘ism’ has been glorified for an hour on Sunday morning, and all other ‘isms’ pierced and lashed, you descend from your intellectual heights, eat a good dinner, take a nap, and live like the rest of us till the next Sabbath, when (if it is a fine day) you climb some other theological peak, far beyond the limits of perpetual snow, and there take another bird’s-eye view of something that might be found very different if you were nearer to it.”
“And what is my phase?” asked Miss Brown.
“Oh, you are an out-and-out sinner, and do just what you please, in spite of priest or prayerbook,” said Christine, with a laugh in which all the ladies joined.
“Well,” said Miss Brown, “I do not think that I am worse than the rest of you.”
“Not in the
