Leighton:"I do not contend that it is impossible,madam,but it is very difficult in a thoroughly commercialized society,like yours,to have the feelings of a gentleman.How can a business man,whose prosperity,whose earthly salvation,necessarily lies in the adversity of some one else,be delicate and chivalrous,or even honest?If we could have had time to perfect our system at the South,to eliminate what was evil and develop what was good in it,we should have had a perfect system.But the virus of commercialism was in us,too;it forbade us to make the best of a divine institution,and tempted us to make the worst.Now the curse is on the whole country;the dollar is the measure of every value,the stamp of every success.What does not sell is a failure;and what sells succeeds.""The hobby is oat,mah deah,"said Miss Woodburn,in an audible aside to Alma.
"Were you speaking of me,Colonel Woodburn?"Alma asked.
"Surely not,my dear young lady."
"But he's been saying that awtusts are just as greedy aboat money as anybody,"said his daughter.
"The law of commercialism is on everything in a commercial society,"the Colonel explained,softening the tone in which his convictions were presented."The final reward of art is money,and not the pleasure of creating.""Perhaps they would be willing to take it all oat in that if othah people would let them pay their bills in the pleasure of creating,"his daughter teased.
"They are helpless,like all the rest,"said her father,with the same deference to her as to other women."I do not blame them.""Oh,mah goodness!Didn't you say,sir,that Mr.Beaton had bad manners?"Alma relieved a confusion which he seemed to feel in reference to her.
"Bad manners?He has no manners!That is,when he's himself.He has pretty good ones when he's somebody else."Miss Woodburn began,"Oh,mah-"and then stopped herself.Alma's mother looked at her with distressed question,but the girl seemed perfectly cool and contented;and she gave her mind provisionally to a point suggested by Colonel Woodburn's talk.
"Still,I can't believe it was right to hold people in slavery,to whip them and sell them.It never did seem right to me,"she added,in apology for her extreme sentiments to the gentleness of her adversary.
"I quite agree with you,madam,"said the Colonel."Those were the abuses of the institution.But if we had not been vitiated on the one hand and threatened on the other by the spirit of commercialism from the North--and from Europe,too--those abuses could have been eliminated,and the institution developed in the direction of the mild patriarchalism of the divine intention."The Colonel hitched his chair,which figured a hobby careering upon its hind legs,a little toward Mrs.Leighton and the girls approached their heads and began to whisper;they fell deferentially silent when the Colonel paused in his argument,and went on again when he went on.
At last they heard Mrs.Leighton saying,"And have you heard from the publishers about your book yet?"Then Miss Woodburn cut in,before her father could answer:"The coase of commercialism is on that,too.They are trahing to fahnd oat whethah it will pay.""And they are right-quite right,"said the Colonel."There is no longer any other criterion;and even a work that attacks the system must be submitted to the tests of the system.""The system won't accept destruction on any othah tomes,"said Miss Woodburn,demurely.
XI.
At the reception,where two men in livery stood aside to let him pass up the outside steps of the house,and two more helped him off with his overcoat indoors,and a fifth miscalled his name into the drawing-room,the Syracuse stone-cutter's son met the niece of Mrs.Horn,and began at once to tell her about his evening at the Dryfooses'.He was in very good spirits,for so far as he could have been elated or depressed by his parting with Alma Leighton he had been elated;she had not treated his impudence with the contempt that he felt it deserved;she must still be fond of him;and the warm sense of this,by operation of an obscure but well-recognized law of the masculine being,disposed him to be rather fond of Miss Vance.She was a slender girl,whose semi-aesthetic dress flowed about her with an accentuation of her long forms,and redeemed them from censure by the very frankness with which it confessed them;nobody could have said that Margaret Vance was too tall.Her pretty little head,which she had an effect of choosing to have little in the same spirit of judicious defiance,had a good deal of reading in it;she was proud to know literary and artistic fashions as well as society fashions.She liked being singled out by an exterior distinction so obvious as Beaton's,and she listened with sympathetic interest to his account of those people.He gave their natural history reality by drawing upon his own;he reconstructed their plebeian past from the experiences of his childhood and his youth of the pre-Parisian period;and he had a pang of suicidal joy in insulting their ignorance of the world.
"What different kinds of people you meet!"said the girl at last,with an envious sigh.Her reading had enlarged the bounds of her imagination,if not her knowledge;the novels nowadays dealt so much with very common people,and made them seem so very much more worth while than the people one met.
She said something like this to Beaton.He answered:"You can meet the people I'm talking of very easily,if you want to take the trouble.
It's what they came to New York for.I fancy it's the great ambition of their lives to be met.""Oh yes,"said Miss Vance,fashionably,and looked down;then she looked up and said,intellectually:"Don't you think it's a great pity?How much better for them to have stayed where they were and what they were!""Then you could never have had any chance of meeting them,"said Beaton.
