Mrs. Fairchilds shook her head sadly. She had always believed London society quite the proper thing, and she had followed the serials of "The d.u.c.h.ess" with reverent awe. But Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene ought to know; she had traveled in Europe several seasons. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was one of the prominent social leaders, and Mrs. Fairchilds had ambitions. The ready listener gets along very well in this old world of ours.

"I always knew that some time or other the plebeian Bennington blood would crop out," went on Mrs. Haldene. "But we must not criticize the dead," benignly.

"We shall have to receive her."

"After a fashion," replied Mrs. Haldene, opening her prayer-book. Her tone implied that things would not go very smoothly for the interloper. "All this comes from a.s.similating English ideas," she added.

Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was one of those fortunate persons who always have their names in the society columns of the Sunday newspapers.

Either she was among those present, or she gave a luncheon, or she a.s.sisted at a reception, or was going out of town, or coming back.

Those who ran their husbands in debt to get into society always looked to see what Mrs. Haldene had been doing the past week. The society reporters, very often smug young women of aristocratic but impoverished families, called her up by telephone every day in the week. Mrs. Haldene pretended to demur, but the reporters found her an inexhaustible mine of t.i.ttle-tattle. Sometimes they omitted some news which she considered important; and, as the saying goes, the hair flew. She found many contestants for the leadership; but her rivals never lasted more than a month. She was president of hospital societies, orphan asylums, and the auxiliary Republican Club, and spoke at a bimonthly club on the servant question. Everybody was a little afraid of her, with one exception.

The society columns of the Sunday newspapers have become permanently established. In every city and hamlet from New York to San Francisco, you will find the society column. It is all tommyrot to the outsider; but the proprietor is generally a shrewd business man and makes vanity pay tribute to his exchequer. The column especially in early summer, begins something like this:

June will be a busy month for brides, and King Cupid and his gala court will hold sway. The bridal processions will begin to move this week in homes and churches. On Wednesday, at high noon, the marriage of Miss Katherine Challoner, the well-known actress, and Mr. John Bennington, of this city, will be solemnized in New York. Only the immediate relatives will be present. Richard Warrington, our own celebrated townsman, will act as best man. The announcement comes as a great surprise to society, as Mr. Bennington was looked upon as a confirmed bachelor.

And again you will find something of this sort:

April 22--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene leaves next week for Washington, where she will be the guest of Senator Soandso's wife.

April 29--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene left yesterday for Washington.

May 6--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, who is visiting in Washington, will return next week.

May 13--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene has returned home from a delightful visit in Washington.

Sometimes, when there was no escape from it, Mr. Franklyn-Haldene's name also appeared.

From mundane things to the spiritual!

"Yes, I feel for Mrs. Bennington," continued Mrs. Haldene. "We have to submit to our boys' running around with actresses; but to marry them!"

"And married life, I understand, seldom agrees with them. They invariably return to the stage. I wonder if this woman has ever been married before?"

"I shouldn't be surprised. For my part, I'm very glad the ceremony will not be performed in the church. Hush!" with a warning glance over her shoulder.

There was a sudden craning of necks, an agitation among the hats and bonnets. Down the aisle came a handsome, dignified woman in widow's weeds, a woman who was easily fifty-six, but who looked as if she had just crossed the threshold of the forties. Her face was serene, the half-smile on her lips was gentle and sweet her warm brown eyes viewed the world peacefully. Ah, how well she knew that to-day this temple of worship was but a den of jackals, ready to rend her if she so much as hesitated, so much as faltered in look or speech! Never should they feed themselves upon her sorrow. She went on, smiling here and there.

The low hum, the pallid lights, the murmur from the organ, all seemed cruelly accented. Her pew was third from the chancel; she was but half-way through the gantlet of curious eyes.

Following her was a young girl of twenty. She was youth in all its beauty and charm and fragrance. Many a young masculine heart throbbed violently as she pa.s.sed, and straightway determined to win fame and fortune, if for no other purpose than to cast them at her feet. This was Patty Bennington.

The two reached their pew without mishap, and immediately rested their heads reverently upon the rail in prayer. Presently the music ceased, the rector mounted the pulpit, and the day's service began. I doubt if many could tell you what the sermon was about that day.

No other place offers to the speculative eye of the philosopher so many varied phases of humanity as the church. In the open, during the week-days, there is little pretense, one way or the other; but in church, on Sunday, everybody, or nearly everybody, seems to have donned a mask, a transparent mask, a smug mask, the mask of the known hypocrite. The man who is a brute to his wife goes meekly to his seat; the miser, who has six days pinched his tenants or evicted them, pa.s.ses the collection plate, his face benevolent; the woman whose tongue is that of the liar and the gossip, who has done her best to smirch the reputation of her nearest neighbor, lifts her eyes heavenward and follows every word of a sermon she can not comprehend; and the man or woman who has stepped aside actually believes that his or her presence in church hoodwinks every one. Heigh-ho! and envy with her brooding yellow eyes and hypocrisy with her eternal smirk sit side by side in church.

Oh, there are some good and kindly people in this ragged world of ours, and they go to church with prayer in their hearts and goodness on their lips and forgiveness in their hands. They wear no masks; their hearts and minds go in and out of church unchanged. These are the salt of the earth, and do not often have their names in the Sunday papers, unless it is in the matter of their wills and codicils. Then only do the worldly know that charity had walked among them and they knew her not.

Of such was Miss Anna Warrington, spinster-aunt of Richard. She occupied the other half of the Bennington pew. Until half a dozen years ago, when her boy had come into his own, she had known but little save poverty and disillusion; and the good she always dreamed of doing she was now doing in fact. Very quietly her withered old hand stole over the low part.i.tion and pressed Mrs. Bennington's hand. The clasp spoke mutely of courage and good-will. She knew nothing of awe, kindly soul; the great and the small were all the same to her. She remembered without rancor the time when Mrs. Bennington scarcely noticed her; but sorrow had visited Mrs. Bennington and widened her vision and broadened her heart; and the two met each other on a common basis, the loss of dear ones.

The clock is invariably hung in the rear of the church. The man who originally selected this position was evidently a bit of a cynic.

Perhaps he wanted to impress the preacher with the fact that there must be a limitation to all things, even good sermons; or perhaps he wanted to test the patience and sincerity of the congregation. The sermon was rather tedious this Sunday; shiny, well-worn plat.i.tudes are always tedious. And many twisted in their seats to get a glimpse of the clock.

Whenever Patty looked around (for youth sits impatiently in church), always she met eyes, eyes, eyes. But she was a brave la.s.s, and more than once she beat aside the curious gaze. How she hated them! She knew what they were whispering, whispering. Her brother was going to marry an actress. She was proud of her brother's choice. He was going to marry a woman who was as brilliant as she was handsome, who counted among her friends the great men and women of the time, who dwelt in a world where mediocrity is unknown and likewise unwelcome. Mediocrity's teeth are sharp only for those who fear them.

Patty was nervous on her mother's account, not her own. It had been a blow to the mother, who had always hoped to have her boy to herself as long as she lived. He had never worried her with flirtations; there had been no youthful affairs. The mother of the boy who is always falling in love can meet the final blow half-way. Mrs. Bennington had made an idol of the boy, but at the same time she had made a man of him. From the time he could talk till he had entered man's estate, she had been constant at his side, now with wisdom and learning, now with laughter and wit, always and always with boundless and brooding love.

The first lesson had been on the horror of cruelty; the second, on the power of truth; the third, on the good that comes from firmness. It is very easy to make an idol and a fool of a boy; but Mrs. Bennington always had the future in mind. It was hard, it was bitter, that another should step in and claim the perfected man. She had been lulled into the belief that now she would have him all her own till the end of her days. But it was not to be. Her sense of justice was evenly balanced; her son had the same right that his father had; it was natural that he should desire a mate and a home of his own; but, nevertheless, it was bitter. That his choice had been an actress caused her no alarm. Her son was a gentleman; he would never marry beneath him; it was love, not infatuation; and love is never love unless it can find something n.o.ble and good to rest upon. It was not the actress, no; the one great reiterating question was: did this brilliant woman love her son? Was it the man or his money? She had gone to New York to meet Miss Challoner. She had steeled her heart against all those subtle advances, such as an actress knows how to make. She had gone to conquer, but had been conquered. For when Kate Challoner determined to charm she was not to be resisted. She had gone up to the mother and daughter and put her arms around them. "I knew that I should love you both. How could I help it? And please be kind to me: G.o.d has been in giving me your son." Ah, if she had only said: "I shall love you because I love him!" But there was doubt, haunting doubt. If the glamour of married life wore out, and the craving for publicity returned, this woman might easily wreck her son's life and the lives of those who loved him.

She was very glad when the service came to an end and the stir and rustle announced the departure of the congregation.

At the door she found Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. She rather expected to find her. They were enemies of old.

"Shall I congratulate you?" asked the formidable person.

Many of the congregation stopped. They hadn't the courage of Mrs.

Franklyn-Haldene, but they lacked none of her curiosity.

"You may, indeed," returned Mrs. Bennington serenely. She understood perfectly well; but she was an old hand at woman's war. "My son is very fortunate. I shall love my new daughter dearly, for she loves my son."

"She is just splendid!" said Patty, with sparkling eyes. How she longed to scratch the powder from Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's beak-like nose! Busybody, meddler! "I never suspected John had such good sense."

"You are very fortunate," said Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. She smiled, nodded, and pa.s.sed on into the street. A truce!

Mr. Franklyn-Haldene, as he entered the carriage after his wife, savagely bit off the end of a cigar.

"What the devil's the matter with you women, anyhow?" he demanded.

"Franklyn!"

"Why couldn't you leave her alone? You're all a pack of buzzards, waiting for some heart to peck at. Church!--bah!"

It was only on rare occasions that Mr. Franklyn-Haldene voiced his sentiments. On these occasions Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene rarely spoke.

There was a man in her husband she had no desire to rouse. Mr. Haldene was the exception referred to; he was not afraid of his wife.

They rode homeward in silence. As they pa.s.sed the Warrington place, Mr. Haldene again spoke.

"Warrington is home over Sunday. Saw him on horseback this morning."

"There's one thing I'm thankful for: the wedding will not be in Herculaneum."

"Humph!"

"It's disgusting; and we shall have to receive her. But I do not envy her her lot."

"Neither do I," said Haldene. "You women have already mapped out a nice little h.e.l.l for her. Why should you be so vindictive simply because she is an actress? If she is good and honest, what the deuce?"

"There's no use arguing with you."

"I'm glad you've found that out. You'd find out lots of other things if you stayed home long enough. I shall treat the woman decently."

"I dare say all you men will."