# A Princetonian/Chapter 24

CHAPTER XXIV.
PARTISANS.
"I have a message for you, Mr. Hart," said Mrs. Carter, looking in at the door of the library where he and the two boys were working at a long table. "Mrs. Trevellian wishes to know if you won't dine with her to-night; just a small, very informal dinner; you had better accept. There's going to be the prettiest girl you ever saw there. By the way, she had a brother at Princeton. Madge Hollingsworth is her name; and I suppose more men have been crazy about her than about any woman I ever knew."
Hart had arisen when Mrs. Carter entered the room.
"I've met Miss Hollingsworth," he answered, gravely, "and I know her brother very well. He has not returned from his trip around the world, I believe."
​"So I hear," Mrs. Carter replied. "Oh, by the way, Raymond Danforth, Mrs. Trevellian's cousin is going to be there also. He was at the Club House this morning."
"I saw him," put in Billy, looking up from his algebra. "He looks like a Frenchman."
"I promised Mrs. Trevellian that you would come, so don't say you won't," Mrs. Carter went on, smiling. "No need of writing; I'm going to see her in a few minutes, and I'll just tell her that you will come with pleasure."
"Thank you," said Hart, "I will."
Mrs. Carter had a way of taking everyone under her roof into her family, her servants included. Perhaps they were allowed more privileges than hired servitors generally are, but they certainly appreciated their positions. She had been criticised perhaps for allowing too much familiarity between herself and the people in her household, but it was a familiarity that had resulted in no disrespect, or impertinent assumption. She would nurse a sick servant as conscientiously as she would anyone of her kindred.
Although Hart did not suspect it, he had won a large share of her generous affection. ​She was quite as proud of him as were her two fine boys. Although she had never penetrated the reserve that characterized him, she had found out not a little about his past life and his aspirations. Plainly enough she had shown her interest and friendship. Hart had grown to think of her, in return for this, as belonging to the type of women who live for others and bring happiness into the world. This was true, for Mrs. Carter, despite a rather careless attitude, had no thought but that of doing good, and selfishness or self-interest had been left out of her composition. She was like an older sister to her boys, without losing in their eyes a whit of the dignity of motherhood.
Mrs. Trevellian's house was a very small one; in fact, she referred to it as the "Bandbox." It was built into a side-hill, and the rooms on the ground floor merged into the hallway through very large doorways. But the hangings and decorations were as dainty as possible. The treasures that good taste had accumulated, and knew well how to display, were in evidence, but made no show of lavish expenditure. There was little trace of ​masculine suggestion, and but few evidences of the sterner sex's presence. These evidences consisted of an abundance of ash-trays and cigarettes on table and mantelpiece, and a series of handsome decanters on the sideboard in the tiny dining-room to the left. The kitchen of the little house, Mrs. Trevellian had once insisted, was no larger than the fireplace of the Country Club. But the dantiest of dinners came from this diminutive kitchen nevertheless, and an invitation to Mrs. Trevellian's was valued accordingly.
As Hart helped Mrs. Carter out of the carriage and entered the hallway, he heard the chatter of voices rising from behind a tall screen in the little drawing-room on the right.
The grave-faced little buttons took his hat and coat and then turned to someone who had entered from the outside without ringing the bell. It was Raymond Danforth, and his surprise at seeing Hart was ill-concealed.
"Well, where under the sun did you come from?" he inquired quietly, extending his hand.
"From Mrs. Carter's. I'm tutor to her two boys," Hart replied.
​"Oh, that's the game now," spoke Danforth smiling superciliously. "Soft snap, eh? Quite in clover."
Hearing the sound of voices, Mrs. Travellian stepped from behind the screen.
"Come in, come in," she said. "We have had a hen party here for some time."
Mrs. Carter at this moment came down the stairs, as light-footed, despite her plump figure, as a school-girl. The two young men stepped aside for her to pass them, and Mrs. Trevellian touched her lightly on the cheek.
"Late, as usual," she said laughing. Then she turned to Danforth who had stepped ahead of Hart. "I had half a mind not to ask you, Ray," she laughed. "You never call upon your relatives."
"A most cruel speech," Danforth said, taking her hand and kissing it, an act that became his appearance very well.
"Oh, Mr. Hart, I am so glad you could come," went on Mrs. Trevellian, extending her disengaged hand and shaking his warmly. "I want to present you to Miss Hollingsworth."
"Mr. Hart and I are old friends," said a voice with a musical diapason.
​Once more he felt the gray eyes look into his. His pulse beat fast. Oh, how he loved this tall girl! Her very presence seemed to lend a different atmosphere to the breathing space about her. But he controlled himself and asked the news of Kenmore quietly. Then Mrs. Trevellian spoke to him in a way that demanded his undivided attention and Raymond Danforth settled himself on the sofa beside Miss Hollingsworth.
Hart shot a glance at him. Despite Danforth's collected manner, the condition of his feelings was readable with half an eye, and, moreover, his attitude showed that he did not consider it necessary to maintain a worshipful distance. He leaned toward her, supporting his head on his hand, with his elbow on the back of the sofa, Miss Hollingsworth sat very straight and listened to what he was murmuring with an expressionless face. She did not possess any manifestations of nervousness. She did not play with her rings, or twist her gloves. Many people who did not know her had thought that her nature was a cold one. This was not true; her balance was perfect, and her self-control wonderful. But the warmest ​of hearts beat within her, and her tears were more often near the surface than even her nearest friends suspected.
Hart found that he was to sit next to Mrs. Trevellian, on her right. Just before dinner was announced by the pretty, red-cheeked maid, the sixth member of the party made his appearance.
Count Von Gillig hardly deserves description. His title was beyond dispute, and his opinions were not worth disputing; but he was not a bad person to have at a dinner. He had an appreciative appetite, and a desire to make himself entertaining. This with good manners made him bearable as a table companion. What he said often excited laughter that apparently pleased him, and Mrs. Carter declared that he was so silly that he was absolutely entertaining. The Count sat on the hostess's left, next to Miss Hollingsworth, and Raymond Danforth was at the head of the table.
Mrs. Trevellian had a great admiration for good-looking men, in spite of her experience with one who was more renowned for his good looks than for anything else, and Hart's appearance had rather impressed her the first time ​she had seen him, and, now, as she turned to speak to him, she caught such a far-away expression on his face, that she rather studied it before she spoke to interrupt his thoughts. "Scarcely handsome," she said to herself, "but powerful." What she said was rather flippant, however. "Thinking of home and mother, Mr. Hart?" she inquired.
"Well, no; not exactly, Mrs. Trevellian," he answered composedly. "I possess neither."
"Pardon me, it was only your expression that led me to speak so foolishly," she said, a bit taken aback. "Really your mind was somewhere else. Your reply might prompt another question—you suggest that you are a mystery."
Hart laughed. "If you think so, I will help you solve me."
"No, you wouldn't," replied Mrs. Trevellian. "I'm of a curious temper, and you would answer my questions so cautiously, that I would learn nothing. But I won't begin now because we might be interrupted. Somehow I think your forte is politics."
It was the year of a presidential election; the country was all agog upon a question of a vital ​national issue. Count Von Gillig had caught the word 'politics.'
"What a strange thing it is," he said, "I have never met politicians in this country. Do they live all the year round in Washington? Why do they hide themselves? I luf to talk politics but they will not let me."
"Unfortunately," put in Danforth from the head of the table, "it is not considered polite conversation, Count; and there are ladies present."
"Probably we would enjoy sensible talk more than you have any idea of, Mr. Danforth," said Mrs. Carter, "and know more about the subject than you think we do."
"All women know more than most men think they do," said the little German, who very often said rather clever things, as if by accident—really he was no fool.
"It is nonsense to suppose that women don't take interest in such matters," put in Mrs. Trevellian. "Somebody, I have forgotten who, persuaded me to sign a paper begging somebody, or some legislature, or something, to allow us women a chance to vote. I think we should. Don't you, Madge?" this to Miss Hollingsworth.
​"No," was the rejoinder; "I'm very glad I don't have to." She looked across the table at Hart with a quizzical little smile. "I don't object though to hearing sensible discussion," she added. "Or being told why men vote for one thing or the other. If I were a man, I should be sure to know reasons, and be willing to give them."
"Well, there are no sensible reasons why any one should vote for the candidate from the Middle States," observed Danforth, as if that settled the matter.
"Pardon me," said Hart, "I think there are."
"Bravo," said Mrs. Carter, clapping her hands. "Tell us why."
Nothing had been farther from his thoughts than to start a political discussion by thus taking up Danforth's words, and he rather regretted having spoken so hastily.
"Yes; tell us why," Danforth repeated, taking a sip of champagne, and leaning forward in an attitude of attention.
"You have my permission," said Mrs. Trevellian.
Hart began to talk. He knew well the ​subject before him, and although he grew interested and was earnest, he did not allow himself to become excited in the least. Danforth encourged him to go on by little questions and interjections. So he talked longer than, perhaps, otherwise he should. At last, it came to his mind that he was really taking up too much time. The Count, with a visibly bored expression, was regarding him through a single eyeglass, and at last he caught a smile on Raymond Danforth's face, and stopped.
"Well, what can you say to that, Mr. Danforth?" said Mrs. Carter, to whom the references and general subject might have been Greek or Hebrew.
"Humph," observed Danforth. "After such a fine oration as that, there is nothing to be said. I saw your friend, Mrs. Ellsworth, at Newport this year," he added, smiling as if taking advantage of getting rid of the subject.
Hart looked down at his plate. It had not struck him before that a long speech on the political situation was hardly table-talk. He saw immediately that it had been Danforth's intention to make him ridiculous, if possible. He was angry at himself, and angry at the ​impertinence with which Danforth had begun and then dismissed the matter. But glancing up he saw that Miss Hollingsworth was looking at him. There was an expression on her face that drove every angry feeling from his mind. Her eyes met his, but for an instant; but there flashed from them a glance of sympathy and understanding, with something else lurking behind it, that might have indicated a suddenly awakened interest or admiration. Mrs. Trevellian, who had caught it, gave a little start.
"What you said, Mr. Hart," she laughed, "makes me wish more than ever that I could vote, but now we are going to leave you to your cigars."
After the ladies had left, Danforth apparently ignored Hart's presence altogether and began a long discussion in German with Count Gillig. Hart sat silently smoking, and his thoughts ranged wide. What was it all tending to? Where would he fetch up? Somehow he longed for the old, untroubled life that he had led when a clerk in the store at Oakland. He pictured to himself Mr. Van Clees and his wife, sitting in the little front room upstairs with the ​parlor melodeon locked and tuneless. Poor little Mabel! He had not thought of her of late, and no word had he heard for three years now. What a strange thing his short friendship with Danforth had been. Why was it that life held so many complications ? Here she was, and yet so far away from him. He had hardly spoken to her. How hard it was to keep from saying the words that kept repeating themselves over and over to his inner consciousness. He had finished his cigar, or, at least, it had gone out, and suddenly arising, he pushed back the portiere and entered the next room. With that gesture of invitation that is really a welcome, Miss Hollingsworth made room for him to sit beside her on the sofa.
"Do you know," she said, "it was very fine of you to speak the way you did to-night. I enjoyed every word of it, and what is more," she added with a smile, "I think I understood it. Do you know, I have wanted to speak to you all the evening. There is something that I have wished to say, that I could not say before everybody, because I knew you would not like it——"
Just then the curtains were pulled apart and ​with a laugh the Count and Danforth came into the room.
Unseen by Hart Miss Hollingsworth's fan had slipped to the floor. The Count hastened forward and picked it up, bowing extravagantly, and then standing before her for all the world like a terrier dog that demanded to have its head patted. There was no chance for Madge to finish what she was going to say. She glanced up at Newton hopelessly, and just then Mrs. Trevellian called him, a summons he felt compelled to obey.
But before she left, however, Madge found chance to say to him, "Do come and see us; we are stopping at the Inn at Rockcoast."
As Mrs. Carter and Hart drove home that night the kind lady delivered herself of the following little speech:
"You were perfectly right to say what you did, dear boy," giving him a friendly touch on the back of the hand, "and that nasty little snip made me so mad I could have scratched him." Hart did not reply as there was nothing he could think of to say at the moment. What it was that Miss Hollingsworth had intended to speak to him about, he could not imagine, but ​the next morning after the lessons with the boys were over, he started across country for Rockcoast,—a little collection of houses on the stony shore of the wide bay. The Inn was a picturesque little building, that, although it was very new had the appearance of having stood where it was for years.
"Miss Hollingsworth was here with her mother but a few moments ago," said the clerk, replying to Hart's inquiry. "I think you will find them down at the observatory."
The observatory was a small summer-house built out upon the rocks, but a few hundred yards across the road from the Inn. A little stretch of sandy beach was at one side and a few commodious-looking bath-houses stood in from sight at the bottom of the little cliff.
Newton caught a glimpse of some people seated against the railing, but before he had crossed the road, a tall girl arose and hastened down the steps; he met her on the walk.
"I recognized you as you came from the Inn, Mr. Hart," said Madge Hollingsworth. "To-day is no day for sitting still; let's take a little stroll and I can tell you what I didn't get a chance to tell you last night."
​"I've been wondering what it was," was Newton's answer, as he looked down at her.
She lowered her eyes for a minute, and then nodding her head, she said, "Let's walk up in this direction, along the rocks, and I can begin."
He did not reply. The delight of being with her kept him silent, and he waited for her to speak again.
"Mr. Hart," she said at last, turning to him, as they left the road and took a worn pathway to the left, "Kenmore told us something when we saw him in England, so long ago, and I wish to thank you for what you did. He told us that you saved his life. Mamma of course wants to thank you too. She has just gone out driving, but you must wait until you see her. You know it's hard to put one's feelings in words, but I love Kenmore, and I have worried about him very much. You have been—"
"It wasn't anything to do," Newton blurted out, "so please don't try to say anything more about it. I just happened to see him first, that's all."
"I understand."
​There was a little quiver in the corner of her mouth and a curious shake in her voice. For a minute they strolled on in silence.
"You know, I think that Kenmore has much improved; I can't tell exactly how, but we had a long talk when I met him; something we haven't had for years. Although he is older than I by a year and more, I sometimes feel as if he were much the younger."
"I misjudged him very much at first," Hart returned, "but really I soon found out what a fine fellow he was."
"Tell me," she asked suddenly, "what do you think of Mr. Danforth?"
"I think he is a very uncommonplace man," Newton answered quietly, "with a remarkable mind and a chance in life, if he should choose to use it. Such a thing as failure, he would not understand."
"I take you to mean that with a strong incentive he could accomplish a great deal," said the girl, pausing for a minute and looking out over the water, "and that his real capacities have not been awakened."
"Yes," Hart answered, "that would be a good way to put it."
​"Just one other question—it may be unfair, but I trust not—do you like him?"
"No," returned Hart honestly, "I don't."
Miss Hollingsworth started walking forward again, and now she changed the direction of conversation without leaving the subject.
"Do you really think that he understood exactly what you said last night, and just did not wish to try to answer you?"
"Yes," said Hart, "I think that's it. His answer would have been worth listening to. He is not a random talker by any means."
"Well, let's drop him for a moment," said Madge, with a nervous laugh, "and talk about yourself. This is your senior year now, isn't it? What are you going to do when you leave? Don't think me impertinent, asking you so many questions! pray don't!"
"Think you impertinent!" ejaculated Hart, "if you only knew—" He checked himself. "Your interest is very kind; thank you for it," he went on. "But to answer you I—have not exactly decided what I shall do. I might do as a friend of mine has done, and try teaching school; but I don't think that it would suit me altogether. I would like something else better."
​"Something broader, you mean," said Madge. "Something bigger than explaining text-books. I should think that you might make a good lawyer."
"That was my ambition when I first came to college."
"Have you another now? You don't appear to me to be a man who would give up easily."
"Thank you."
They sat down upon the edge of a rock, and Miss Hollingsworth asked him something about a statement that he had made in his little speech at the dinner.
What a grand pleasure it was thus to talk to her. All feeling of constraint left him, and to talk to a woman who is really interested and appreciates, is one of the greatest delights that a man can have on earth, especially if it gives him an excuse to look into her eyes, and to hear her voice replying to his. Neither of them noticed how quickly the time passed, until suddenly Madge raised her head.
"Here comes Mamma now," she said. "And Mary Bliss. It must be nearly luncheon time at the Inn."
Hart turned around and saw a tall woman ​approaching. Mary scarcely reached to her shoulder as she waved her hand. "How d' ye do?" she called. The elder woman regarded him through her lorgnette as he stepped forward.
"Mr. Hart, Mamma," said Miss Hollingsworth, "Kenmore's friend at Princeton."
Mrs. Hollingsworth spoke in a deep chest-voice without evidence of much feeling.
"I am glad to be able to thank you, Mr. Hart, and I suppose my daughter already has done so; Kenmore told us of your brave deed and the risk you ran."
"I think it was perfectly splendid," put in Miss Bliss. "Ned wrote us all about it at the time."
"Mr. Hart will take luncheon with us, of course," said Mrs. Hollingsworth, "and really we are quite late now. We had better go back at once, Madge."
She started down the path, the three young people following behind her.
As they came into the dining-room of the Inn, Raymond Danforth rose from a corner. He greeted Hart quite cordially, but his presence lent rather a constraint throughout the ​luncheon, to Hart's mind, at least, although Danforth was affability itself.
Newton returned to Mrs. Carter's as soon as luncheon was over. He swung along at a rapid pace in high spirits. He was going to see her again, for Miss Hollingsworth told him that they expected to be in the neighborhood of Coverley for some time. Despite the handsome place they owned at Hilltop, they generally spent a fortnight here during the last weeks of summer.
There is but one more episode to dwell upon before Hart's return to college work. A day or so after the talk on the rocks there was a dance at the Coverley Country Club. Newton went on Mrs. Carter's invitation. As he entered the big room he passed close to Mrs. Trevellian and Danforth, who were talking together in a corner.
"Well, I wish you every success, my dear boy," Mrs. Trevellian was saying, "for many reasons, and anything I can do to help, you know I'll do it."
"Well, I don't intend to give up, you can rest assured of that," said Danforth, closing his jaws.
​Despite the smallness of his features, his face had a certain strength and determination.
Suddenly his cousin touched him on the arm.
"Look," she said; "watch your tall college friend. He's looking for her, too."
Hart's eyes were searching the room. All at once he caught sight of Madge sitting opposite; Miss Bliss was beside her. They both nodded to him, and he crossed over to them.
"I am not afraid of that sort," said Danforth with a sneer.
In answer, Mrs. Trevellian merely raised her eyebrows.
"Then you are not so clever as I thought you were," she said. "I think she likes him. Does he dance?"
"Not that I know of," Danforth replied.
"Well, then, go over at once and take her out. I know Mrs. Hollingsworth very well; I may be able to do you a good turn."
"Oh, I'm friends enough with the old lady," said Danforth, rising. "I think she'd like it well enough."
With that he walked across the room. Miss Bliss frowned a little as she saw him approaching, but in another instant he had placed his ​hand familiarly on Hart's shoulder with a "Beg pardon, old man," and just as the music began to play a two-step he requested the pleasure of dancing with Miss Hollingsworth. Hart stepped to one side. He did not succeed in getting a chance to speak to Madge again that night, although his eyes followed her everywhere.
The next afternoon he looked for her on the piazza of the Country Club (she had said that she was going to be there), but she did not appear, and at dinner that evening he heard that the Hollingsworths had returned to town, and that Danforth had gone back with them.