University of Virginia Library

25. CHAPTER XXV.
THE REVELATION.

The toilets of the young ladies were nearly completed,
but without waiting to put another touch, all hastened to
the place where they had left Dennis. One of the colorless
young ladies appeared upon the scene with a shawl
around her bare shoulders, and a great deal of color on
one cheek, and none on the other as yet, but this slight
discrepancy was unnoted in the dire calamity they feared.

Many were the exclamations and lamentations.

“Why, the people will be here in fifteen minutes,” said
Miss Winthrop in a nervous tremor.

“Did he leave no word?” asked Miss Brown of the
servants.

“No word, mum,” was the dismal echo.

“What shall we do?” they said, looking at each other
with blank faces; but none could answer.

“I do hate such proud, stuck-up people. There is no
managing or depending on them,” said Miss Brown spitefully.

Miss Winthrop bit her lips to keep from saying to her
hostess what would be more true than polite. There was
a flash of anger in Christine's dark blue eyes, and she said
coldly,

“I imagine that you have finished the business this
time, Miss Brown. But I confess that I am greatly surprised,
for he said I could depend upon him for to-night.”

“So you can,” said Dennis, coming in behind them.
“I am sorry you have had this needless alarm. But the
fact is, I am a plain, ordinary mortal, and live in a very
material way.”

“There was plenty of lunch in the dining-room,” said
Miss Brown tartly. “You need not have gone out and
made all this trouble.”

“Pardon me for slighting your hospitality,” said Dennis
with emphasis on the word, “but I am very fastidious
as to the seasoning of my food.”

“Again significant glances were exchanged, and there
was a suppressed titter at Miss Brown's expense. She
darted a blank look at Dennis, and left the room.

“I can assure you, ladies,” added he, “that all is ready.
I can lay my hand on whatever is needed in a moment;
you need give yourselves no further anxiety.”

There was a general stampede for the dressing rooms,
but Miss Winthrop lingered. When Dennis was alone
she went up to him and frankly gave her hand, saying,

“Mr. Fleet, I wish to thank you for your course to-day.
Between Miss Ludolph's unwitting sermon, and your brave
and unexpected vindication of our faith, I hope to become
more deserving of the name of Christian. You are a gentleman,
sir, in the truest and best sense of the word, and
as such it will ever be a pleasure to welcome you at my
father's house,” and she gave him her card.

A flush of grateful surprise and pleasure mantled Dennis's
face, but before he could speak she was gone.

The audience were now thronging in. By half past
eight the performers were all in the back parlor, and there
was a brilliant array of actors and actresses in varied and
fanciful costume, many coming to the house dressed for
their part. There were gods and goddesses, shepherds,
shepherdesses, and angels, crusaders who would take leave
of languishing ladies, living statuary, and tableaux of all

sorts. Dennis was much shocked at the manner in which
ladies exposed themselves in the name of art, and for the
sake of effect. Christine seemed perfectly Greek and
Pagan in this respect, yet there was that in her manner
that forbade the wanton glance. But as he observed the
carriage of the men around him, he was more than satisfied
that no plea of art could justify the “style,” and felt
assured that every pure minded woman would take the
same view if she realized the truth. Under the names of
fashion and art much is done in society that would be
simply monstrous on ordinary occasions.

The music, as far as possible, was in character with
the scenes. The entertainment went forward with great
applause. Every one was radiant, and the subtle exhilarating
spirit of assured success glowed in every eye, and
gave a richer tone and coloring to everything.

Christine appeared in several and varied characters,
and Dennis had eyes only for her. The others he glanced
over critically as the artist in charge, and then dismissed
them from his thoughts, but on Christine his eyes rested
in a spell-bound admiration that both amused and pleased
her. She loved power of every kind, and when she read
approval in the cultured and critical eye of Dennis Fleet,
she knew that all the audience were applauding.

But Dennis had little time for musing, so great was the
strain upon him to prevent confusion. His voice excited
great surprise and applause, many inquiring vainly who he
was. When he and Christine sang together, the audience
were perfectly carried away, and stormed and applauded
without stint. Indeed it seemed that they could not be
satisfied. The call was so urgent that several asked
Christine to sing again, and she did so alone. For ten
minutes she held the audience perfectly entranced, and
none more so than Dennis. Usually she was too cold in
all that she did, but now in her excitement she far surpassed

herself, and he acknowledged that he never heard such
music before.

The very soul of song seemed breathed into her, and
every nook and corner of the house appeared to vibrate
with melody. Even the servants in distant rooms said that
it seemed that an angel was singing. After she ceased,
the audience sat spell-bound for a moment, and then followed
prolonged thunders of applause, the portly brewer,
Mr. Brown himself, leading off again and again.

“Now let the tenor sing alone,” he said, for though a
coarse man, he was hearty and good-natured.

The audience emphatically echoed his wish, but Dennis
as decidedly shook his head.

Then came a cry, “Miss Ludolph and the Tenor
again,” and the audience took it up with a clamor that
would not be denied.

Christine looked inquiringly at Dennis, and he replied
in a low tone,

“You command me this evening.”

Again she thanked him with her eyes, and from a music
stand near, chose a magnificent duet from Mendelssohn,
in which he must sing several difficult solos.

“Will that answer?” she asked.

“Act your pleasure. I am familiar with it,” he said,
smiling at the way she had circumvented him in his refusal
to sing alone.

Christine sat down and played her own accompaniment,
while Dennis stood at her side. He determined to do his
best and prove that though he swept a store, he could also
do something else. Many of the strains were plaintive, and
his deep and unconscious feeling for his fair companion
in song, gave to his voice a depth, and at times a pathos
that both thrilled and touched the heart, and there were
not a few wet eyes in the audience. Unconsciously to
himself and all around, he was singing his love, and even

Christine, though much preoccupied with her part, wondered
at the effect upon herself, and recognized the deep
impression made upon the audience.

As the last notes died away the sliding doors were
closed.

Dennis had achieved a greater success than Christine,
because singing from the heart he had touched the heart.
His applause could be read in moist eyes and expressive
faces, rather than in noisy hands. She saw and understood
the result. A sad, disappointed look came into her
face, and she said in a low, plaintive tone, as if it were
wrung from her,

“There must be something wrong about me. I fear I
shall never reach true art. I can only win admiration,
never touch the heart.”

Dennis was about to speak eagerly, when they were
overwhelmed by the rush and confusion attendant on the
breaking up of the entertainment.

Part of the older guests at once left for their homes,
and the rest stayed for supper.

The parlors were to be cleared as soon as possible for
dancing. Christine was joined by her father, who had sat
in the audience, scarcely believing his eyes, much less his
ears. Was that the young man who was blacking old
Schwartz's boots the other day?

His daughter was overwhelmed with compliments, but
she took them very coolly and quietly, for her heart was
full of bitterness. That which her ambitious spirit most
desired she could not reach, and to the degree that she
loved art, was her disappointment keen. She almost envied
poor Dennis, but she knew not the secret of his success;
nor did he, either, in truth. His old manner returned,
and he busied himself in rapidly packing up everything
that he had brought. Mr. Ludolph, who had received a
brief explanation from Christine, came and said kindly,

“Why, Fleet, you have blossomed out strongly to-day.”

“Indeed, sir, I think I have never had a more rigorous
pruning,” was the reply.

When the story had been told him in full, he understood
the remark. Christine was waiting for the crowd to
disperse somewhat, in order to speak to Dennis also, for
her sense of justice and genuine admiration impelled her
to warm and sincere acknowledgment. But at that moment
Mr. Mellen came in exclaiming,—

“Miss Ludolph, they are all waiting for you to lead the
dance, for to you is given this honor by acclamation, and
I plead your promise to be my partner,” and he carried
her off, she meaning to return as soon as possible, as she
supposed Dennis would remain.

A moment after, light airy music was heard in the front
parlor, followed by the rhythmical cadence of light feet and
the rustle of silks like a breeze through a forest.

For some reason, as she went away Dennis's heart
sank within him. The strong excitements of the day reacted,
and a strange sense of weariness and despondency
crept over him. The gay music in the other room seemed
plaintive and far away, and the tripping feet sounded like
the patter of rain on Autumn leaves. The very lights appeared
to turn dimmer, and the color to fade out of his life.

Mechanically he packed up the few remaining articles,
to be called for in the morning, and then leaned heavily
against a pillar, intending to rest a moment before going
out into the night alone.

Some one pushed back the sliding-door a little and
passed through the room. Through the opening he caught
a glimpse of the gay scene within. Suddenly Christine
appeared floating lightly through the waltz in her gauzy
drapery as if in a white vapory cloud. Through the narrow
opening she seemed a radiant, living portrait. But
her partner whirled her out of his line of vision. Thus in

the mazes of the dance she kept appearing and disappearing,
flashing on sight one moment, leaving a blank in the
crowded room the next.

“So it will ever be, I suppose,” he said to himself bitterly;
“chance and stolen glimpses my only privilege.”

Again she appeared, smiling archly on the man whose
arm clasped her waist.

A frown black as night gathered on Dennis's brow—
then a sudden pallor overspread his face to his very
lips.

The revelation had come! Then for the first time he
knew—knew it as if written in letters of fire before him,
that he loved Christine Ludolph.

At first the knowledge stunned and bewildered him,
and his mind was a confused blur; then as she appeared
again, smiling upon and in the embrace of another man,
a sharp sword seemed to pierce his heart.

Dennis was no faint shadow of a man who had frittered
away what little heart he originally had, in numberless
flirtations. He belonged to the male species, with something
of the pristine vigor of the first man, who said of
the one woman of all the world “This is now bone of my
bones, and flesh of my flesh;” and one whom he had
never seen but a few short months since, now seemed to
belong to him by the highest and divinest right. But
could he ever claim his own?

In his morbid, wearied state, there seemed a “great
gulf fixed” between them. For a moment he fairly felt
faint and sick, as if he had received a wound. He was
startled by hearing Miss Winthrop say at his side—

“Mr. Fleet, you will not leave yet. I have many friends
wishing an introduction to you. What is the matter? You
really look sick.”

At her voice he flushed painfully. He was so vividly
conscious of his love himself that he felt that every one

else must be able to see it, and darkness and solitude now
seemed a refuge. Recovering himself by a great effort,
he said—

“Pardon me, I do—I am not well—nothing is the matter—a
little rest and I will be myself again.”

“No wonder. You have been taxed every way beyond
mortal endurance, and I think that it is a shame the way
you have been treated. Pray do not judge Chicago society
altogether by what you have seen here. Let me get
you some refreshment, and then I will acquaint you with
some people who can recognize a gentleman when they
meet him.”

“No, Miss Winthrop,” said Dennis courteously but
firmly, “you are not in your own home, and by staying I
would not accept your hospitality. I appreciate your kindness
deeply, and thank your friends who have expressed a
willingness to make my acquaintance. It would not be
right to stay longer in this house than is necessary. I do
not feel resentful. I have no room in my memory for Miss
Brown and her actions, but at the same time self-respect
requires that I go at once,” and he took his hat.

“I am not surprised that you feel as you do. But give
me the pleasure of welcoming you at my own home as
soon as possible,” she said, and gave her hand to him in
parting.

Dennis took it respectfully and bowed low, saying,

“I shall not willingly deny myself so great a pleasure,”
and was gone.

“Christine came in a few moments later, and found
only servants clearing the room for dancing.

“Where is Mr. Fleet?” she asked.

“Gone, mum.”

“Yes,” said Miss Winthrop, coming in at the same
time, “he has gone now in very truth; and I don't think
the power exists that could lead him to darken these doors

again. I doubt if I ever come myself. I never saw a
clearer instance of—of—well—shoddy.”

“It seems to me that you Christians are as proud as
any of us.”

“Isn't there a difference between pride and self-respect?
I am satisfied that if Miss Brown were in trouble,
or poor, Mr. Fleet would be the first to help her. O Christine,
we have treated him shamefully!”

“You seem to take a wonderful interest in this unknown
knight in rusty armor.” (Dennis's dress was decidedly
threadbare.)

“I do,” said the impulsive girl frankly, “because he is
wonderfully interesting. What man of all the large audience
present to-night, could have acted the part he did.
I am satisfied that that man is by birth and education a
gentleman. Are you ready, with your aristocratic notions,
to recognize chiefly Miss Brown's title to position? What
could her coat-of-arms be but the dollar symbol and beer
barrel?”

“Come, remember she is our hostess.”

“You are right; I should not speak so here; but my
indignation gets the better of me.”

“Would you invite him to your house?”

“Certainly. I have; and what is more, he has promised
to come. Supposing that he is poor, are not many
of your noblemen as poor as poverty? My parlors shall
be haunted only by men of ability and character.”

“You are not going to shut out this little heathen,”
said Christine, putting her arm about her friend.

“Never!” said Miss Winthrop, returning the embrace
with double warmth. Then she added sadly, “You are not
an unbeliever from conviction and knowledge, Christine,
but from training and association. While I admire and
honor your father as a splendid and gifted man, I regret
his and your skepticism more deeply than you can ever
know.”

“Well, Susie,” said Christine with a smile, “if they shut
out such as you from your Paradise, I do not wish to go
there.”

“If with my clear knowledge of the conditions of entrance,
I shut myself out, I will have no right to complain,”
said Miss Winthrop sadly.

But the absence of two such belles could not long remain
unnoted, and having been discovered, they were
pounced upon by half a dozen young gentlemen, clamorous
for the honor of their hand for the “German.”

In spite of herself, Christine was vexed and annoyed.
Dennis had seemed, in his obscurity, a nice little bit of
personal property, that she could use and order about as
she pleased. He had been so subservient and eager to
do her will, that she had never thought of him otherwise
than her “humble servant.” But now her own hand had suddenly
given him the role of a find gentleman. Christine
was too logical to think of continuing to order about, as
she might Pat Murphy, a man who could sing Mendelssohn's
music as Dennis had.

She congratulated herself that the arrangement of the
store was nearly completed, and only one show-room unfinished.

“I suppose he will be very dignified when we meet
again,” she thought to herself. “I should not be at all
surprised if my impulsive little friend Susie loses her
heart to him. Well, I suppose she can to any one she
choses. As for me, rich or poor, stupid or gifted, the
men of this land are all alike,” and with a half sigh she
plunged resolutely into the gayeties of the evening, as if
to escape from herself.