NEVERTHELESS, some curious chance made him see a good deal of Miss Thomas. He was very apt to sit next her at dinner, even if he did not take her in. And whatever she might be, she certainly was not silly. She said very little, it is true; but it occurred to Vane one day that what she did say never placed her in a false or foolish position. Nor had he ever made a remark which she did not fully understand, in its full bearing and implication. Sometimes she affected—particularly if its nature was complimentary—to be wholly unconscious of its meaning; sometimes she would even ask an explanation. But a moment after, she was very apt to say or do some little thing which showed that she had understood it perfectly. Vane, who, in his flippant moods, was rather an adept at conversational fencing, and had flattered himself that very careful ground was quite unnecessary with Miss Thomas, gradually put more attention into his guard and more care in his attack. And when he saw, to continue his own metaphor, that his simple thrusts in quarte and tierce were easily parried and sometimes returned, he began to honor his adversary with a more elaborate attack. But, as he one day acknowledged to himself, though she had rarely touched him, yet he was not sure that he had ever got fairly under her own guard. Altogether, the more he saw of Miss Thomas, the more she interested him; and after the serious struggles of the day, he quite enjoyed his little playful evening encounters with so charming a feminine adversary. For he began to admit to himself that she was charming—there was no doubt of that. And meantime (so he fancied) the intercourse with her happy, simple nature was having a beneficial influence on his own.
For the past three years his attitude had been one of stern courage, of self-renunciation. But, after all, why should even he be always shut out from the spring? Flowers still bloomed in the world, summer followed winter, and this pretty little butterfly that fluttered near him might, after all, bring him healthier thoughts from her own air than he found in his morbid life. What a sharp inquisitor is one’s own self! What a cross-examiner of hidden motive! And what a still sharper witness is that self under inquisition! Vane never took his young friend seriously; and felt a need of excusing himself for trifling, as he thought.
John suddenly asked him, one day, what he thought of Miss Thomas now, and whether he had changed his views at all. “I was very much struck with your first diagnosis,” he said. “At a moment’s study, you gave the popular opinion of her; that she was gay, shallow, good-humored, and ambitious—and you might have added clever, rather than innocent.”
Vane was a little displeased.
“I think that I and the world were wrong,” said he. “She is not shallow, but she is humble rather than vain; as for ambition, she is perhaps too much without it; and I should not be surprised if somewhere about her pretty little self she had a true woman’s heart, which she is not yet conscious of.”
John laughed. “Look out, old man,” said he; “only a poet is allowed to fall in love with his own creation. Never say I have not given you fair warning. Ten Eyck was very attentive to her at one time; and the world believed that she wanted to marry him. But he was appointed chargé d’affaires at London; and left her without bringing matters to an issue. Since then, when he has been back in New York once or twice, he has entirely dropped her.”
“And do you mean to say that she still cares for him after that?”
“So the world thinks; and the world is apt to be right in such matters.”
“Bah!” said Vane. “No woman could care for a man who had once led her to believe he loved her, and left her.”
“Humph!” answered John. “That may be true of woman in the abstract; but I am not sure of its truth in this longitude. It is easier to judge woman in general than a New York girl in particular.”
“At all events,” said Vane, “I give her full leave to try her skill on me, skilful as you say she is. Indeed, if you think she is fair game for what you call a flirtation, you have removed my only scruples.”
“Very well, old boy—go in. But Miss Thomas once told another girl that she could understand any man in two days’ acquaintance. Don’t go in too deep.”
“Nonsense!” thought Vane when John had left. “I flatter myself I am beyond her hurting. It is pleasant enough to have her as a friend. I wish I could wish to marry her.” And he called to his mind Brittany and that last rose. “But I am sorry if she really can still care for that man. Ten Eyck was his name? I should be sorry to like her less. How strange these American women are! Now, in France—Bah!” he broke off, “it can’t be true; and, after all, what do I care if it is?”
Vane liked her very much, and thought her very much underrated by the world; and the same afternoon, by way of vindication, he went to her house and made a long call, tête-à-tête. He had fallen into an easy companionship with her, which made her society a delightful rest and respite from the earnest stress and strain of his life, of any man’s life. They were beginning to have numerous little confidences as to people and things; views shared by them only, which gave them little private topics of conversation, nooks of thought, where they met. Thus Vane could quite shut out a third party from the conversation, and keep Miss Thomas to himself. Her cultivation and taste surprised him more and more as he knew her. This pretty little New York girl, naturally half-spoiled and petted, brought up in a particularly bourgeois household, never having been out of it and New York, had yet a range of mind and appreciation quite equal to anything he could bring her in books or in conversation. The people about her seemed totally different—different in views, in taste, in appearance, in manner. Yet she never seemed discontented at home—a common fault of children in a country where they improve upon their parents. She moved among them modestly and lovingly, like a princess unconscious of her royalty. All this thought Vane, and marvelled.
He found that even his peculiar tastes were shared. It has been mentioned that this successful young business man had a secret taste for Italian poetry. This he had been used to indulge alone; but on his mentioning it, she spoke with enthusiasm of the sweet old mediæval terza rima. Having little opinion of women’s power of purely ideal enjoyment, he had at first doubted the sincerity of this taste. Still, he brought around some old verses one day; and soon it became his habit, instead of reading alone, to pass an evening or two in a week reading with her. And so during the winter, with double the pleasure he had ever known before, they went through the familiar pages of Ariosto, Tasso and Dante. The fifth canto of the Inferno remained, however, her favorite; and with the light of her eyes upon the text Vane made a much better translation than Byron or Cary ever dreamed. She was never tired of hearing the passage beginning “Siede la terra dove nata fui.” And much practice in translation makes perfect.
Thus, thanks to Miss Thomas and a little sight of the lighter rim of life, Vane passed a winter which, if not happy, was at least less bitter than he had known for years. In the natural course of events, society pronounced him attentive to Miss Thomas; but Vane cared little for that. His character was not of the mould which cares what the world says. He did not believe that her life was very happy, either; and he thought they were both the better for their friendship. The more he saw of her, the less he doubted that she had at one time cared for some one, Ten Eyck or another; though, of course, for him she would never care again. After all, she was his superior; she had kept her sweet self above her sorrow, he had not. How he had misinterpreted her that first evening! Now he saw she was a woman, in all the glory of her womanhood, strong, gentle, and true.
Vane went back to Brittany in the June of the summer following. One of his last calls was upon Miss Thomas, and she chided him with not making it the very last. However, the call lasted three hours. Twenty times Vane rose to go, and each time was detained by some pretext or another of Miss Thomas. There is a sweet pleading manner of urging a wish, even a selfish one, that makes you feel as if you were doing yourself a favor in gratifying it. Miss Thomas had this manner, which few men, particularly strong men, can resist. Vane always yielded. He would as soon have thought of putting a pet canary through the manual of arms as of resisting it. In this way Vane’s visit was prolonged, and when he went home he admitted to himself that it had been a very charming one. He thought she was a lovely woman, and wished some nice fellow would marry her. What a gentle, sunny nature she had! And what a lovely type of the best American women, so different both from the French and English, so natural, so pure, and yet so bright and charming. “At least,” thought Vane, “if I ever go back to France to live I shall have seen some things wholly worthy of admiration in my own country.” He was sorry if she really cared (as she had seemed to) that he had called upon her two days before his departure. She had been very kind to him that winter, and it certainly would have been more empressé to have called upon her last. Vane stopped on his way to Jersey City the morning of the steamer’s sailing, and procured a superb mass of roses. These he sent to Miss Thomas with his card: “From her sincere friend.” It was the last thing he did in America.