Kate Beaumont :: :: University of Virginia Library

After he was seated at the dinner-table
the three members present of that family,
the aunt, the niece, and the nephew, followed
each other into the eating-saloon and
took places opposite him, the young lady
acknowledging by a slight inclination of the
head her remembrance of his service in the
morning. This was what he had not expected;
in fact, this was just what he supposed
he had guarded against; but the steward,
being slightly beery that morning, had
misunderstood his five dollars, and thought he
wanted to be close to the belle of the steamer.
So there was nothing for Mr. McMaster to
do but to return the girl's zephyr-like salutution,
to glance rapidly at the faces of
aunt and nephew, and then quietly fall to
eating.

Meantime Duffy and Bill Wilkins, paired
away farther down the table, looked on
breathlessly out of the corners of their eyes.
They expected, it is not best now to say
precisely what, but clearly it was something
remarkable. Duffy whispered, “That 's
curious, hey, Wilkins?” Wilkins responded
with a grunt which signified as plainly as
possible, “Shut up!” And when Duffy
failed to understand, and so stated in an
audible whisper, Wilkins hissed back between
his teeth, “By Jehu! if you don't
shut up, I change my seat.” Whereupon
Duffy, turning very red under the reproof,
looked around fiercely at the listening
waiter and called for a bottle of champagne,
being a man who under such snubbings
needed spirituous encouragement.

Presently Mrs. Chester began a coversation
with the mysterious giant. Mrs. Chester
was aristocratic; in fact, she was in a general
way disagreeably haughty; not at all
the sort of lady who habitually seeks intercourse
with strangers. But the giant was
— barring his too great height — decidedly
handsome; and, what is more fascinating
still to a woman, he had an air of distinction.

“Then why not be pleasant?” she
thought. “Such a little party as we have
on board; awkward not to speak to one's
vis-a-vis. moreover, he has been civil to my
niece.”

So Mrs. Chester astonished Duffy and
Wilkins by saying to the tall gentleman,
with that sweet smile which haughty and
self-conscious people often have, drawing
it out of depths of condescension, “The
sea is still a little troublesome, sir. It is
safer on deck for a gentleman than for a
lady.”

The captain, seated in his Olympus at the
head of the table, immediately thundered
his introduction: “Mr. McMaster, let me
present you to Mrs. Chester. Miss Beaumont,
Mr. Beaumont, Mr. McMaster. We
are all friends of the line, I believe; travelling
comrades. Let 's be jolly while we are
at sea. Time enough to be solemn on
shore.”

No notice taken of Duffy and Wilkins,
nor of other persons around the foot of the
table, all of whom Captain Brien knew by
instinct to be of a different breed from the
Beaumonts of Hartland.

The tall passenger made three slight bows,
and each of the Beaumonts made one. Even
while he was bowing, the former was querying
to himself whether he ought not to deny
the name of McMaster, and make public

the one which belonged to him. But he
decided against it; and evidently it was
an important decision; one could see that
by the wink which Duffy threw at Wilkins;
a wink which the cautious Wilkins totally
ignored.

“I think, madam, that we shall now have
a quiet time, at least for a few days,” said
the so-called Mr. McMaster, in a full, round
tone, and with a cultivated accent, very
pleasant to hear. “The barometer seems
to promise as much.”

“O, does it?” smiled the lady. “I am
so glad anything can prophesy in these
days. Well, we ought to be patient, even
with a long voyage. It is homeward. It is
towards our dear native country. I shall
be so delighted to see its shores again! If
you have been absent as long as we, you
must be able to sympathize with me.”

“I have been in Europe eight years, Mrs.
Chester.”

Spasmodic winking here from Duffy, who
thought the secret was coming out and the
muss at hand.

“Eight years!” exclaimed Mrs. Chester.
“And I was gone only one year. How can
an American stay abroad eight years?”

“I have been engaged in a course of
studies which made the time pass very
rapidly.”

“O, I understand. My niece has been
three years at school in England and
France. We ran over after her, and took
a year on the Continent. Europe is the
best place, I suppose, for a thorough education.
But eight years! Dear me! how
glad you must be to return!”

“I can't quite say that. I leave great
things behind me. Compared with America,
Europe is a completed and perfect
social edifice.”

“Excuse me!” objected Mrs. Chester,
quite sincerely and warmly. “I don't consider
them our equals. Look at their hordes
of brutal peasants. And even their aristocrats,
I don't consider them equal to our
gentlemen and ladies, our untitled nobility.
Where will you find anything in Europe
to compare with our best families?”

Duffy whispered to Wilkins, “That 's so,”
and Wilkins, in reply, muttered, “Confound
her!”

The tall gentleman waived the comparison
of manners; he alluded, he said civilly,
to art, literature, and science.

“But look at our list of noble names,”
urged Mrs. Chester, pushing on from victory
to victory. “The authors of the Federalist,
— Legarè, Cooper, Irving, Baneroft, —
Washington Irving.”

The lady's lore, it will be perceived, was
of early days; she had read “the books
which no gentleman's library should be
without.”

The tall young man obviously hesitated
about contradicting a woman; then he
seemed to find a reason for speaking plainly,
even at the risk of giving offence.

“I admit those and a few others,” he said.
“But how few they all are! And we are a
nation of thirty millions. We have been a
civilized people a hundred years and more.
I can't account for the sparseness of our
crop of great intellects. I sometimes fear
that our long backwoods life has dwarfed
the national brain, or that our climate is not
fitted to develop the human plant in perfection.
Our painting can't get into European
exhibitions. Our sculpture has only
done two or three things which have attracted
European attention. Our scientific
men, with three or four exceptions, confine
themselves to rehearsing European discoveries.
Our histories are good second-class;
so are our poems, the best of them. I don't
understand it. There is only one poor comfort.
It is not given to every nation to produce
a literature. There have been hundreds
of nations, and there have been only
six or eight literatures.”

Evidently this Mr. McMaster, or whatever
his name might be, was a frank and
resolute fellow, if not a downright wilful one.
At the same time his manner was perfectly
courteous, and his cultivated voice was even
insinuating, though raised in contradiction.
In spite of annoyance at hearing her native
land criticised and her own importance
thereby considerably depreciated, Mrs. Chester
was confirmed in her opinion that he was
a youth of good blood.

“How can an American attack his own
country?” was her only remonstrance, and
that sweetened by a smile.

“I beg your pardon; I don't call it attacking.
If I should discover a leak in our
vessel here, I should feel it my duty to tell
the captain of it. How can we mend our
imperfections so long as we persuade each
other that we are already perfect?”

“By Jove, you 're right there, sir,” put
in Tom Beaumont, a genteel but devil-may-care
looking youth, perhaps twenty-one or
twenty-two years old. “If I see a fellow
going wrong, especially if he 's a friend of
mine, I say to him right off, `Look here, old
chap, allow me to tell you, by Jove, that
that sort of thing won't do.' Yes, sir,”
continued Tom who had taken a straight
cocktail before dinner and was now drinking
liberally of champagne, “your doctrine
suits my ideas exactly. As to America, I
hurrah for it, of course. We can whip the
world, if we could get at it. But when it
comes to palaces and picture-galleries and
that sort of thing, by Jove, we 're in the
swamps; we 're just nowhere. We have n't
anything to show. What can you take a
man round to when he travels amongst us?

The only thing we can offer to pass the time
is just a drink. Show him up to a bar;
that 's what we have to come to. And
that 's the reason, by Jove, that we're always
nipping.”

It seemed as if Mr. McMaster thought
that Tom had nipped too much that morning
to allow of his conversation being profitable.
He turned to the sister. He had,
by the way, no business to turn to her.
Even Mr. Duffy, though not very bright,
was aware of that; he showed it by hitting
his knee against the knee of his friend Wilkins;
for Duffy could not endure to have
an idea without letting some one know it.
Nevertheless, a brief and rather shy conversation
took place between Mr. McMaster
and Miss Kate Beaumont.

Yes, she agreed with him, at least in part;
she had been long enough abroad to like
people abroad; the English she liked very
much; the French not so well The English
were so frank and straightforward and
honest! You could depend on them. It
was strange that it should be so; but it
seemed to her that life was more simple with
them than with other people; they had less
guile and pretence than other people. Perhaps,
she admitted, she had seen the best
side.

He looked pleased; seemed to think it
much to her credit that she should see the
best side; probably thought that only good
people can fully discover goodness.

“Women are fortunate in being so situated
as to see mainly the best side,” he
added. “I have sometimes thought it
would be an angelic existence to see all the
good there is in the world and none of the
evil.”

Whether Miss Kate felt that there was a
compliment in this, or whether she perceived
that the young gentleman looked at
her very steadily, she colored a little. He
noticed it, and immediately stopped talking
to her; he was astonished and indignant at
his own folly; what right had he to be paying
her compliments? The girl's face and
air and manner had actually made him forget
who she was. No wonder; if not a perfectly
beautiful face, it was a perfectly
charming one; one of the faces that make
both man and woman long to offer kindness.
An oval contour, features faintly aquiline,
abundant chestnut hair, soft hazel eyes, a
complexion neither dark nor light, a constant
delicate color in the cheeks, were not
enough to explain the whole of the fascination.
It was the expression that did the
beholder's business; it was the sweetness,
the purity, the unmeant dignity; it was the
indescribable.

Mrs. Chester once more grasped the reins
of the conversation; and was allowed to
have them, so far as her niece and the
stranger were concerned; the genial Tom
alone making an occasional grab at them.
It was noticeable that while this lady talked
with Mr. McMaster, she was mellifluous and
smiling; but from the moment her own
family joined in the discussion, she acquired
a sub-acid flavor. “one of those women
who have a temper of their own by their
own firesides,” judged her new acquaintance.
When the meal was over, however,
all parties rose from the table on seemingly
excellent terms with each other.

Once on deck, Mr. Duffy drew his friend
Wilkins aside by the elbow and muttered in
profound amazement, “Ever see anything
like that, Bill Wilkins?”

The prudent Wilkins, looking as noncommittal
as a mummy, responded by an
incomprehensible grunt.

“What would old Belmont have said, if
he 'd happened in?” pursued Duffy.

Wilkins looked cautiously about him:
“Don't speak so loud, man. You 'll split
with it.”

“I hain't mentioned the other name,” declared
Duffy.

“Yes, but by Jehu, you want to. I know
you, Duffy. By Jehu, I 'd rather trust my
grandmother with a secret than you. I
wish to Heaven you 'd shut up on the whole
subject till we get ashore. If you don't,
there 'll be a fuss aboard.”

“O, you be hanged, Bill Wilkins!” retorted
Duffy, walking away in great offence,
and would not speak to his friend again for
half an hour.

Meantime the Beaumonts, clustered in a
little group on deck, were discussing this
Mr. McMaster.

“Seen him before, by Jove!” muttered
Tom, bringing his fist down on the arm of
his chair. “By Jove, Aunt Marian, I 've
seen him before. Where was it?”

“Tom, I wish you would n't by Jove it
quite so constantly in my presence,” replies
Mrs. Chester. “You seem to take me for
one of your own fellows, as you call them.”

“By — I beg your pardon; there it pops
again,” says Tom. “I was going to say
it would n't do at all among the fellows.
Takes something stronger than that to make
them look around.”

“I care very little how you address them,”
retorts Mrs. Chester with peppery dignity.
“What I do care for is how you address
me.”

“Well, all right. Beg pardon, as I said
before. Catch another hold. Who is this
tall chap?”

“He looks like so many young Englishmen,”
suggests Kate. “Only he is taller.”

“So he does,” nods Tom. “Perhaps
that 's it. Dare say I saw him in England
and took him for a John Bull. Though,
by — never mind, aunt — did n't let it out

— try another barrel — what was I going to
say? Oh! I can't for the life of me remember
where I did see him. Was it in Scotland?
Give it up.”

“At all events, he is a gentleman,” decides
Mrs. Chester. “I did n't hear him by
Joving it at us.”

“Come, Aunt Marian!” said the young
man, speaking with sudden seriousness and
even dignity. “Allow me to suggest that
that is going a great ways. Do you notice
that you insinuated that I am not a gentleman?”

Mrs. Chester appeared to be struck by the
protest; she looked up at her nephew with
surprise and gravity.

“Tom, you are quite right,” she said, “I
trust you will always repel that insinuation,
from whomsoever it comes. I did not mean
it.”

“All right,” returned the youngster, dropping
back into the easy, good-natured way
which was habitual with him. “Now, if you
don't mind it, I 'll light up.”

During this short tiff, Kate Beaumont
glanced gravely and thoughtfully from one
to the other of the pair. It was evident
that she had been long enough away from
her relations to forget their characters a
little, and that she was studying them with
an interest almost amounting to anxiety.

“So you like the English, Kate?” recommences
Tom, with a bantering smile, — the
smile of a good-hearted tease. “Honest,
steady-going chaps are they? I wonder
how you will like us. Seen any Americans
yet that you fancy? What do you say to
me?”

“You are my brother, Tom.”

“O, that 's all, is it. What if I was n't?
I almost wish I was n't. What a fancy I
would take to you! You 'd have an offer
this trip. Perhaps you will, as it is. This
Mr. McMaster is looking a good deal your
way.”

“Nonsense, Tom!” And Kate colored
as innocent girls do under such remarks.

“So I say,” put in Mrs. Chester. “Tom,
you talk like a school-girl. They babble
about matches in that style.”

“Do they!” wonders Tom. “News to
me. Thought I 'd suggested a new train of
thought to Kate. But this Mr. McMaster
—”

In short, there was much talk among the
Beaumonts concerning this Mr. McMaster.
For various reasons, and especially perhaps
because of the mystery attaching to him, he
was a favorite. On board ship any subject
of curiosity is a delight, and any tolerably
fine fellow may get the name of a Crichton.
Even the fact that the young man did not
seek the Beaumonts was rather a recommendation
to people who were so sure of
their own position. He was not a pushing
creature; consequently he was a gentleman.
Mrs. Chester sent for him to join in whist
parties, and Tom clapped him on the shoulder
with proffers of drinks and cigars.

As for him, he wished heartily that they
would let him alone, until there came a time
when he could not wish it, at least not
heartily. In his first interview with them
he had contradicted Mrs. Chester's glorification
of America, not altogether because he
did not agree with her and because it was
his nature to be sincere and outspoken, but
partly also to leave a bad impression of himself
upon her mind, and so evade an awkward
intimacy. It was awkward in more
ways than one. His time was valuable to
him; he had in his state-room thick German
volumes of mineralogy and metallurgy which
he wanted to master; and he had proposed
to make this voyage an uninterrupted course
of study. In the second place, there was
between this family and his family a disagreement
too inveterate and serious to be
rubbed out by a chance acquaintance.

At times he regretted that he had not at
first announced his name and individuality.
He had not done it, from good motives; he
despised and detested the old family quarrel;
he did not want to be dragged into it personally;
did not want a voyage of pouting
and perhaps of open hostility. A momentary
impulse, an impulse strengthened by
the surprise of finding himself face to face
with Beaumonts, had induced him to accept
the false name which somehow had
fallen upon him. Now that he had time to
think over the matter coolly, was the impulse
to be regretted? On the whole, no; notwithstanding
that he hated to sail under
false colors, no; notwithstanding that he
was in a ridiculous position, no. As McMaster
he could go through the voyage
peaceably; and after it was over, he should
never meet the Beaumonts again; although
they lived within a few miles of each other,
there was no chance of a meeting.

But if he voyaged with these people
under a false name, he must not become
intimate with them. On this, for the first
two or three days, he was resolved; and on
this, after two or three days, he was not so
resolved. The temptation which led him
into this change of feeling, the strongest
temptation to which a man can be subjected,
was a woman. If the youngster needs excuse,
let us remember that for the last four
years he had been studying with a will, and
had had scarcely an idea or a sentiment outside
of chemistry, mineralogy, and metallurgy.
He had rarely spoken to a woman, except
his elderly, hard working landlady, and the
fat, plain daughter of his landlady. If there
had been any pretty girls in the little town
of Göttingen, he had failed to see them.
For four years he had not been in love, nor

thought of being in love. And, all of a
sudden, here he was face to face with a
young lady who was handsome enough and
sweet enough to make a sensation in any
society, and who, in the desert of the Mersey,
with only Mrs. Chester and the stewardess
for rivals, seemed of course the loveliest
of women.

She was a mighty temptation. He could
not help looking at her and studying her.
If she needed helping from a dish within
reach of his long arm, he must perforce anticipate
the waiter. If she wanted to walk
the deck, and her fly-away, devil-may-care
brother was larking below among the beer-bottles
and punch-glasses, he could not help
saying, “Allow me.” If she asked questions
about life in Germany or about the studies
in a German university, he did not know
how to evade telling her many things, and
so making an interesting conversation. Each
link in this intercourse seemed in itself so
unimportant! And yet the whole made
such a chain!

Of course, this intimacy, so singular to
those who knew all its circumstances, could
not fail to draw the sidelong wonder of
Messrs. Wilkins and Duffy. As the tall
young man and the graceful young woman
pace the quarter-deck in company, Duffy,
clothing his flat face with puckers of deep
meaning, pokes a spasmodic elbow into his
friend's ribs and mumbles: “I say, Bill
Wilkins, that 's the queerest start out. That
may be a love affair before we get home.
What then?”

“Humph!” grunts Wilkins, — a grunt
of contemptuous unbelief, — that fool of a
Duffy!

“If it should,” pursues Duffy, dimpling
and simpering, “it might collapse the
whole fight; put a complete stopper on it.”

Wilkins utters another incredulous, scornful
grunt and turns away; that Duffy is too
much of a ninny to be listened to with any
patience.

“I did n't say it would,” explains Duffy.
“I said it might. Old Beaumont himself
would n't —”

“Shut up!” mutters Wilkins, grinding
his teeth through his cigar, but looking innocently,
diplomatically, at the foam in the
steamer's wake. If that secret was to be
divulged on board, it should not be the fault
of the tongue, or face, or eye, of Bill Wilkins.