University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.
MRS. TALBOT GIVES HER LITTLE DINNER PARTY, AND MR. BELCHER
MAKES AN EXCEEDINGLY PLEASANT ACQUAINTANCE.

Mrs. Talbot had a very dear friend. She had been her
dear friend ever since the two had roomed together at boarding-school.
Sometimes she had questioned whether in reality
Mrs. Helen Dillingham was her dear friend, or whether the
particular friendship was all on the other side; but Mrs. Dillingham
had somehow so manipulated the relation as always to
appear to be the favored party. When, therefore, the dinner
was determined upon, Mrs. Dillingham's card of invitation
was the first one addressed. She was a widow and alone. She
complemented Mr. Belcher, who was also alone.

Exactly the position Mrs. Dillingham occupied in society,
it would be hard to define. Everybody invited her,
and yet everybody, without any definite reason, considered
her a little “off color.” She was beautiful, she was accomplished,
she talked wonderfully well, she was au fait in
art, literature, society. She was superficially religious, and
she formed the theater of the struggle of a black angel and a
white one, neither of whom ever won a complete victory, or
held whatever advantage he gained for any considerable
length of time. Nothing could be finer than Mrs. Dillingham
in her fine moods; nothing coarser when the black angel
was enjoying one of his victories, and the white angel had sat
down to breathe. It was the impression given in these latter
moments that fixed upon her the suspicion that she was not
quite what she ought to be. The flowers bloomed where she
walked, but there was dust on them. The cup she handed to

[ILLUSTRATION]

Mr. Belcher is presented to Mrs. Dillingham.

[Description: 590EAF. Illustration page. Image of a group of finely dressed ladies and gentlemen. One woman curtseys while the man across from her bows slightly from the waist.]

her friends was pure to the eye, but it had a muddy taste.
She was a whole woman in sympathy, power, beauty, and
sensibility, and yet one felt that somewhere within she harbored
a devil—a refined devil in its play, a gross one when it
had the woman at unresisting advantage.

Next came the Schoonmakers, an elderly gentleman and his
wife, who dined out a great deal, and lived on the ancient respectability
of their family. They talked much about “the
old New Yorkers,” and of the inroads and devastations of
the parvenu. They were thoroughly posted on old family
estates and mansions, the intermarriages of the Dutch aristocracy,
and the subject of heraldry. Mr. Schoonmaker made
a hobby of old Bibles, and Mrs. Schoonmaker of old lace.
The two hobbies combined gave a mingled air of erudition
and gentility to the pair that was quite impressive, while their
unquestionably good descent was a source of social capital to
all of humbler origin who were fortunate enough to draw them
to their tables.

Next came the Tunbridges. Mr. Tunbridge was the president
of a bank, and Mrs. Tunbridge was the president of Mr.
Tunbridge—a large, billowy woman, who “brought him his
money,” according to the speech of the town. Mr. Tunbridge
had managed his trust with great skill, and was glad at
any time, and at any social sacrifice, to be brought into contact
with men who carried large deposit accounts.

Next in order were Mr. and Mrs. Cavendish. Mr. Cavendish
was a lawyer—a hook-nosed, hawk-eyed man, who knew
a little more about everything than anybody else did, and
was celebrated in the city for successfully managing the most
intractable cases, and securing the most princely fees. If a
rich criminal were brought into straits before the law, he always
sent for Mr. Cavendish. If the unprincipled managers
of a great corporation wished to ascertain just how closely before
the wind they could sail without being swamped, they
consulted Mr. Cavendish. He was everywhere accounted a
great lawyer by those who estimated acuteness to be above

astuteness, strategy better than an open and fair fight, and
success more to be desired than justice.

It would weary the reader to go through with a description
of Mrs. Talbot's dinner party in advance. They were such
people as Mr. and Mrs. Talbot naturally drew around them.
The minister was invited, partly as a matter of course, and
partly to occupy Mr. Schoonmaker on the subject of Bibles.
The doctor was invited because Mrs. Talbot was fond of him,
and because he always took “such an interest in the family.”

When Mr. Belcher arrived at Talbot's beautiful but quiet
house, the guests had all assembled, and, clothing their faces
with that veneer of smile which hungry people who are about
to dine at another man's expense feel compelled to wear in the
presence of their host, they were chatting over the news of
the day.

It is probable that the great city was never the scene of a
personal introduction that gave more quiet amusement to an
assemblage of guests than that of the presentation of Mr.
Belcher. That gentleman's first impression as he entered the
room was that Talbot had invited a company of clergymen
to meet him. His look of surprise as he took a survey of the
assembly was that of a knave who found himself for the first
time in good company; but as he looked from the gentlemen
to the ladies, in their gay costumes and display of costly
jewelry, he concluded that they could not be the wives of clergymen.
The quiet self-possession of the group, and the consciousness
that he was not en régle in the matter of dress, oppressed
him; but he was bold, and he knew that they knew
that he was worth a million of dollars.

The “stiff upper lip” was placed at its stiffest in the midst
of his florid expanse of face, as, standing still, in the center
of the room, he greeted one after another to whom he was
presented, in a way peculiarly his own.

He had never been in the habit of lifting his hat, in courtesy
to man or woman. Even the touching its brim with his

fingers had degenerated into a motion that began with a flourish
toward it, and ended with a suave extension of his palm toward
the object of his obeisance. On this occasion he quite
forgot that he had left his hat in the hall, and so, assuming
that it still crowned his head, he went through with eight or
ten hand flourishes that changed the dignified and self-contained
assembly into a merry company of men and women,
who would not have been willing to tell Mr. Belcher what
they were laughing at.

The last person to whom he was introduced was Mrs. Dillingham,
the lady who stood nearest to him—so near that the
hand flourish seemed absurd even to him, and half died in the
impulse to make it. Mrs. Dillingham, in her black and her
magnificent diamonds, went down almost upon the floor in
the demonstration of her admiring and reverential courtesy,
and pronounced the name of Mr. Belcher with a musical distinctness
of enunciation that arrested and charmed the ears
of all who heard it. It seemed as if every letter were swimming
in a vehicle compounded of respect, veneration, and
affection. The consonants flowed shining and smooth like
gold-fish through a globe of crystal illuminated by the sun.
The tone in which she spoke the name seemed to rob it of all
vulgar associations, and to inaugurate it as the key-note of a
fine social symphony.

Mr. Belcher was charmed, and placed by it at his case. It
wrought upon him and upon the company the effect which she
designed. She was determined he should not only show at
his best, but that he should be conscious of the favor she had
won for him.

Before dinner was announced, Mr. Talbot made a little
speech to his guests, ostensibly to give them the good news
that Mr. Belcher had purchased the mansion, built and formerly
occupied by Mr. Palgrave, but really to explain that he
had caught him in town on business, and taken him at the
disadvantage of distance from his evening dress, though, of
course, he did not say it in such and so many words. The

speech was unnecessary. Mrs. Dillingham had told the whole
story in her own unapproachable way.

When dinner was announced Mr. Belcher was requested to
lead Mrs. Talbot to her seat, and was himself placed between
his hostess and Mrs. Dillingham. Mrs. Talbot was a stately,
beautiful woman, and bore off her elegant toilet like a queen.
In her walk into the dining-room, her shapely arm rested
upon the proprietor's, and her brilliant eyes looked into his
with an expression that flattered to its utmost all the fool there
was in him. There was a little rivalry between the “dear
friends;” but the unrestricted widow was more than a match
for the circumspect and guarded wife, and Mr. Belcher was
delighted to find himself seated side by side with the former.

He had not talked five minutes with Mrs. Dillingham before
he knew her. The exquisite varnish that covered her
person and her manners not only revealed, but made beautiful,
the gnarled and stained wood beneath. Underneath the
polish he saw the element that allied her with himself. There
was no subject upon which she could not lead or accompany
him with brilliant talk, yet he felt that there was a coarse
under-current of sympathy by which he could lead her, or she
could lead him—where?

The courtly manners of the table, the orderly courses that
came and went as if the domestic administration were some
automatic machine, and the exquisite appointments of the
board, all exercised a powerful moral influence upon him;
and though they did not wholly suppress him, they toned him
down, so that he really talked well. He had a fund of small
wit and drollery that was sufficient, at least, for a single dinner;
and, as it was quaint and fresh, the guests were not only
amused, but pleased. In the first place, much could be forgiven
to the man who owned Palgrave's Folly. No small
consideration was due to one who, in a quiet country town,
had accumulated a million dollars. A person who had the
power to reward attention with grand dinners and splendid
receptions was certainly not a person to be treated lightly.

Mr. Tunbridge undertook to talk finance with him, but
retired under the laugh raised by Mr. Belcher's statement that
he had been so busy making money that he had had no time
to consider questions of finance. Mr. Schoonmaker and the
minister were deep in Bibles, and on referring some question
to Mr. Belcher concerning “The Breeches Bible,” received
in reply the statement that he had never arrived any nearer a
Breeches Bible than a pocket handkerchief with the Lord's
Prayer on it. Mr. Cavendish simply sat and criticised the
rest. He had never seen anybody yet who knew anything
about finance. The Chamber of Commerce was a set of old
women, the Secretary of the Treasury was an ass, and the
Chairman of the Committee of Ways and Means was a person
he should be unwilling to take as an office-boy. As for him,
he never could see the fun of old Bibles. If he wanted a
Bible he would get a new one.

Each man had his shot, until the conversation fell from the
general to the particular, and at last Mr. Belcher found himself
engaged in the most delightful conversation of his life
with the facile woman at his side. He could make no approach
to her from any quarter without being promptly met.
She was quite as much at home, and quite as graceful, in bandying
badinage as in expatiating upon the loveliness of country
life and the ritual of her church.

Mr. Talbot did not urge wine upon his principal, for he
saw that he was excited and off his guard; and when, at
length, the banquet came to its conclusion, the proprietor
declined to remain with the gentlemen and the supplementary
wine and cigars, but took coffee in the drawing-room with
the ladies. Mrs. Dillingham's eye was on Mrs. Talbot, and
when she saw her start toward them from her seat, she took
Mr. Belcher's arm for a tour among the artistic treasures of
the house.

“My dear Kate,” said Mrs. Dillingham, “give me the
privilege of showing Mr. Belcher some of your beautiful
things.”

“Oh, certainly,” responded Mrs. Talbot, her face flushing,
“and don't forget yourself, my child, among the rest.”

Mrs. Dillingham pressed Mr. Belcher's arm, an action which
said: “Oh, the jealous creature!”

They went from painting to painting, and sculpture to
sculpture, and then, over a cabinet of bric-à-brac, she quietly
led the conversation to Mr. Belcher's prospective occupation
of the Palgrave mansion. She had nothing in the world to
do. She should be so happy to assist poor Mrs. Belcher in
the adjustment of her housekeeping. It would be a real pleasure
to her to arrange the furniture, and do anything to help
that quiet country lady in inaugurating the splendors of city
life. She knew all the caterers, all the confectioners, all the
modistes, all the city ways, and all the people worth knowing.
She was willing to become, for Mrs. Belcher's sake,
city-directory, commissionaire, adviser, director, everything.
She would take it as a great kindness if she could be permitted
to make herself useful.

All this was honey to the proprietor. How Mrs. Dillingham
would shine in his splendid mansion! How she would
illuminate his landau! How she would save his quiet wife,
not to say himself, from the gaucheries of which both would
be guilty until the ways of the polite world could be learned!
How delightful it would be to have a sympathetic friend
whose intelligent and considerate advice would be always
ready!

When the gentlemen returned to the drawing-room, and
disturbed the confidential tête-à-tête of these new friends, Mrs.
Dillingham declared it was time to go, and Mr. Belcher insisted
on seeing her home in his own carriage.

The dinner party broke up with universal hand-shakings.
Mr. Belcher was congratulated on his magnificent purchase
and prospects. They would all be happy to make Mrs. Belcher's
acquaintance, and she really must lose no time in letting
them know when she would be ready to receive visitors.

Mr. Belcher saw Mrs. Dillingham home. He held her

pretty hands at parting, as if he were an affectionate older
brother who was about to sail on a voyage around the world.
At last he hurriedly relinquished her to the man-servant who
had answered her summons, then ran down the steps and
drove to his hotel.

Mounting to his rooms, he lit every burner in his parlor,
and then surveyed himself in the mirror.

“Where did she find it, old boy? Eh? Where did she
find it? Was it the figure? Was it the face? Hang the
swallow tails! Must you, sir, come to such a humiliation?
How are the mighty fallen! The lion of Sevenoaks in the
skin of an ass! But it must be. Ah! Mrs. Belcher—Mrs.
Belcher—Mrs. Belcher! You are good, but you are lumpy.
You were pretty once, but you are no Mrs. Dillingham. By
the gods! Wouldn't she swim around my house like a queen!
Far in azure depths of space, I behold a star! Its light
shines for me. It doesn't? It must not? Who says that?
Did you address that remark to me, sir? By the way, how
do you think you got along? Did you make a fool of yourself,
or did you make a fool of somebody? Honors are easy.
Let Robert Belcher alone! Is Toll making money a little
too fast? What do you think? Perhaps you will settle that
question by and by. You will keep him while you can use
him. Then Toll, my boy, you can drift. In the meantime,
splendor! and in the meantime let Sevenoaks howl, and learn
to let Robert Belcher alone.”

From these dizzy heights of elation Mr. Belcher descended
to his bed and his heavy dreams, and the next morning found
him whirling away at the rate of thirty miles an hour, but not
northward. Whither was he going?