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Rufus laid down the letter, and, choosing one among the envelopes
marked in red ink, looked at the introduction enclosed. "If the right
sort of invitation reached Amelius from this institution," he thought,
"the boy would lecture on Christian Socialism with all his heart and
soul. I wonder what the brown miss and her uncle would say to that?"

He smiled to himself, and put the letter back in the envelope, and
considered the subject for a while. Below the odd rough surface, he was
a man in ten thousand; no more single-hearted and more affectionate
creature ever breathed the breath of life. He had not been understood
in his own little circle; there had been a want of sympathy with him,
and even a want of knowledge of him, at home. Amelius, popular with
everybody, had touched the great heart of this man. He perceived the
peril that lay hidden under the strange and lonely position of his
fellow-voyager--so innocent in the ways of the world, so young and so
easily impressed His fondness for Amelius, it is hardly too much to
say, was the fondness of a father for a son. With a sigh, he shook his
head, and gathered up his letters, and put them back in his pockets.
"No, not yet," he decided. "The poor boy really loves her; and the girl
may be good enough to make the happiness of his life." He got up and
walked about the room. Suddenly he stopped, struck by a new idea. "Why
shouldn't I judge for myself?" he thought. "I've got the address--I
reckon I'll look in on the Farnabys, in a friendly way."

He sat down at the desk, and wrote a line, in the event of Amelius
being the first to return to the lodgings:

DEAR BOY,

"I don't find her photograph tells me quite so much as I want to know.
I have a mind to see the living original. Being your friend, you know,
it's only civil to pay my respects to the family. Expect my unbiased
opinion when I come back.

"Yours,

"RUFUS."

Having enclosed and addressed these lines, he took up his
greatcoat--and checked himself in the act of putting it on. The brown
miss was a British miss. A strange New Englander had better be careful
of his personal appearance, before he ventured into her presence. Urged
by this cautious motive, he approached the looking-glass, and surveyed
himself critically.

"I doubt I might be the better," it occurred to him, "if I brushed my
hair, and smelt a little of perfume. Yes. I'll make a toilet. Where's
the boy's bedroom, I wonder?"

He observed a second door in the sitting-room, and opened it at hazard.
Fortune had befriended him, so far: he found himself in his young
friend's bedchamber.

The toilet of Amelius, simple as it was, had its mysteries for Rufus.
He was at a loss among the perfumes. They were all contained in a
modest little dressing case, without labels of any sort to describe the
contents of the pots and bottles. He examined them one after another,
and stopped at some recently invented French shaving-cream. "It smells
lovely," he said, assuming it to be some rare pomatum. "Just what I
want, it seems, for my head." He rubbed the shaving cream into his
bristly iron-gray hair, until his arms ached. When he had next
sprinkled his handkerchief and himself profusely, first with rose
water, and then (to make quite sure) with eau-de-cologne used as a
climax, he felt that he was in a position to appeal agreeably to the
senses of the softer sex. In five minutes more, he was on his way to
Mr. Farnaby's private residence.

CHAPTER 2

The rain that had begun with the morning still poured on steadily in
the afternoon. After one look out of the window, Regina decided on
passing the rest of the day luxuriously, in the company of a novel, by
her own fireside. With her feet on the tender, and her head on the soft
cushion of her favourite easy-chair, she opened the book. Having read
the first chapter and part of the second, she was just lazily turning
over the leaves in search of a love scene, when her languid interest in
the novel was suddenly diverted to an incident in real life. The
sitting-room door was gently opened, and her maid appeared in a state
of modest confusion.

"If you please, miss, here's a strange gentleman who comes from Mr.
Goldenheart. He wishes particularly to say--"

She paused, and looked behind her. A faint and curious smell of mingled
soap and scent entered the room, followed closely by a tall, calm,
shabbily-dressed man, who laid a wiry yellow hand on the maid's
shoulder, and stopped her effectually before she could say a word more.

"Don't you think of troubling yourself to git through with it, my dear;
I'm here, and I'll finish for you." Addressing the maid in these
encouraging terms, the stranger advanced to Regina, and actually
attempted to shake hands with her! Regina rose--and looked at him. It
was a look that ought to have daunted the boldest man living; it
produced no sort of effect on _this_ man. He still held out his hand;
his lean face broadened with a pleasant smile. "My name is Rufus
Dingwell," he said. "I come from Coolspring, Mass.; and Amelius is my
introduction to yourself and family."

Regina silently acknowledged this information by a frigid bow, and
addressed herself to the maid, waiting at the door: "Don't leave the
room, Phoebe."

Rufus, inwardly wondering what Phoebe was wanted for, proceeded to
express the cordial sentiments proper to the occasion. "I have heard
about you, miss; and I take pleasure in making your acquaintance."

The unwritten laws of politeness obliged Regina to say something. "I
have not heard Mr. Goldenheart mention your name," she remarked. "Are
you an old friend of his?"

Rufus explained with genial alacrity. "We crossed the Pond together,
miss. I like the boy; he's bright and spry; he refreshes me--he does.
We go ahead with most things in my country; and friendship's one of
them. How _do_ you find yourself? Won't you shake hands?" He took her
hand, without waiting to be repelled this time, and shook it with the
heartiest good-will.

Regina shuddered faintly: she summoned assistance in case of further
familiarity. "Phoebe, tell my aunt."

Rufus added a message on his own account. "And say this, my dear. I
sincerely desire to make the acquaintance of Miss Regina's aunt, and
any other members of the family circle."

Phoebe left the room, smiling. Such an amusing visitor as this was a
rare person in Mr. Farnaby's house. Rufus looked after her, with
unconcealed approval. The maid appeared to be more to his taste than
the mistress. "Well, that's a pretty creature, I do declare," he said
to Regina. "Reminds me of our American girls--slim in the waist, and
carries her head nicely. How old may she be, now?"

Regina expressed her opinion of this familiar question by pointing,
with silent dignity, to a chair.

"Thank you, miss; not that one," said Rufus. "You see, I'm long in the
legs, and if I once got down as low as that, I reckon I should have to
restore the balance by putting my feet up on the grate; and that's not
manners in Great Britain--and quite right too."

He picked out the highest chair he could find, and admired the
workmanship as he drew it up to the fireplace. "Most sumptuous and
elegant," he said. "The style of the Re_nay_sance, as they call it."
Regina observed with dismay that he had not got his hat in his hand
like other visitors. He had left it no doubt in the hall; he looked as
if he had dropped in to spend the day, and stay to dinner.

"Well, miss, I've seen your photograph," he resumed; "and I don't much
approve of it, now I see You. My sentiments are not altogether
favourable to that art. I delivered a lecture on photographic
portraiture at Coolspring; and I described it briefly as justice
without mercy. The audience took the idea; they larfed, they did.
Larfin' reminds me of Amelius. Do you object to his being a Christian
Socialist, miss?"

The young lady's look, when she answered the question, was not lost on
Rufus. He registered it, mentally, in case of need. "Amelius will soon
get over all that nonsense," she said, "when he has been a little
longer in London."

"Possible," Rufus admitted. "The boy is fond of you. Yes: he loves you.
I have noticed him, and I can certify to that. I may also remark that
he wants a deal of love in return. No doubt, miss, you have observed
that circumstance yourself?"

Regina resented this last inquiry as an outrage on propriety. "What
next will he say?" she thought to herself. "I must put this presuming
man in his proper place." She darted another annihilating look at him,
as she spoke in her turn. "May I ask, Mr.--Mr.----?"

"Dingwell," said Rufus, prompting her.

"May I ask, Mr. Dingwell, if you have favoured me by calling here at
the request of Mr. Goldenheart?"

Genial and simple-minded as he was, eagerly as he desired to appreciate
at her full value the young lady who was one day to be the wife of
Amelius, Rufus felt the tone in which those words were spoken. It was
not easy to stimulate his modest sense of what was fairly due to him
into asserting itself, but the cold distrust, the deliberate distance
of Regina's manner, exhausted the long-suffering indulgence of this
singularly patient man. "The Lord, in his mercy, preserve Amelius from
marrying You," he thought, as he rose from his chair, and advanced with
a certain simple dignity to take leave of her.

"It did not occur to me, miss, to pay my respects to you, till Amelius
and I had parted company," he said. "Please to excuse me. I should have
been welcome, in my country, with no better introduction than being (as
I may say) his friend and well-wisher. If I have made a mistake--"

He stopped. Regina had suddenly changed colour. Instead of looking at
him, she was looking over his shoulder, apparently at something behind
him. He turned to see what it was. A lady, short and stout, with
strange wild sorrowful eyes, had noiselessly entered the room while he
was speaking: she was waiting, as it seemed, until he had finished what
he had to say. When they confronted each other, she moved to meet him,
with a firm heavy step, and with her hand held out in token of welcome.

"You may feel equally sure, sir, of a friendly reception here," she
said, in her steady self-possessed way. "I am this young lady's aunt;
and I am glad to see the friend of Amelius in my house." Before Rufus
could answer, she turned to Regina. "I waited," she went on, "to give
you an opportunity of explaining yourself to this gentleman. I am
afraid he has mistaken your coldness of manner for intentional
rudeness."

The colour rushed back into Regina's face--she vibrated for a moment
between anger and tears. But the better nature in her broke its way
through the constitutional shyness and restraint which habitually kept
it down. "I meant no harm, sir," she said, raising her large beautiful
eyes submissively to Rufus; "I am not used to receiving strangers. And
you did ask me some very strange questions," she added, with a sudden
burst of self-assertion. "Strangers are not in the habit of saying such
things in England." She looked at Mrs. Farnaby, listening with
impenetrable composure, and stopped in confusion. Her aunt would not
scruple to speak to the stranger about Amelius in her presence--there
was no knowing what she might not have to endure. She turned again to
Rufus. "Excuse me," she said, "if I leave you with my aunt--I have an
engagement." With that trivial apology, she made her escape from the
room.

"She has no engagement," Mrs. Farnaby briefly remarked as the door
closed. "Sit down, sir."

For once, even Rufus was not as his ease. "I can hit it off, ma'am,
with most people," he said. "I wonder what I've done to offend your
niece?"

"My niece (with many good qualities) is a narrow-minded young woman,"
Mrs. Farnaby explained. "You are not like the men she is accustomed to
see. She doesn't understand you--you are not a commonplace gentleman.
For instance," Mrs. Farnaby continued, with the matter-of-fact gravity
of a woman innately inaccessible to a sense of humour, "you have got
something strange on your hair. It seems to be melting, and it smells
like soap. No: it's no use taking out your handkerchief--your
handkerchief won't mop it up. I'll get a towel." She opened an inner
door, which disclosed a little passage, and a bath-room beyond it. "I'm
the strongest person in the house," she resumed, returning with a towel
in her hand, as gravely as ever. "Sit still, and don't make apologies.
If any of us can rub you dry, I'm the woman." She set to work with the
towel, as if she had been Rufus's mother, making him presentable in the
days of his boyhood. Giddy under the violence of the rubbing, staggered
by the contrast between the cold reception accorded to him by the
niece, and the more than friendly welcome offered by the aunt, Rufus
submitted to circumstances in docile and silent bewilderment. "There;
you'll do till you get home--nobody can laugh at you now," Mrs. Farnaby
announced. "You're an absent-minded man, I suppose? You wanted to wash
your head, and you forgot the warm water and the towel. Was that how it
happened, sir?"

"I thank you with all my heart, ma'am; I took it for pomatum," Rufus
answered. "Would you object to shaking hands again? This cordial
welcome of yours reminds me, I do assure you, of home. Since I left New
England, I've never met with the like of you. I do suppose now it was
my hair that set Miss Regina's back up? I'm not quite easy in my mind,
ma'am, about your niece. I'm sort of feared of what she may say of me
to Amelius. I meant no harm, Lord knows."

The secret of Mrs. Farnaby's extraordinary alacrity in the use of the
towel began slowly to show itself now. The tone of her American guest
had already become the friendly and familiar tone which it had been her
object to establish. With a little management, he might be made an
invaluable ally in the great work of hindering the marriage of Amelius.

"You are very fond of your young friend?" she began quietly.

"That is so, ma'am."

"And he has told you that he has taken a liking to my niece?"

"And shown me her likeness," Rufus added.

"And shown you her likeness. And you thought you would come here, and
see for yourself what sort of girl she was?"

"Naturally," Rufus admitted.

Mrs. Farnaby revealed, without further hesitation, the object that she
had in view. "Amelius is little more than a lad, still," she said. "He
has got all his life before him. It would be a sad thing, if he married
a girl who didn't make him happy." She turned in her chair, and pointed
to the door by which Regina had left them. "Between ourselves," she
resumed, dropping her voice to a whisper, "do you believe my niece will
make him happy?"

Rufus hesitated.

"I'm above family prejudices," Mrs. Farnaby proceeded. "You needn't be
afraid of offending me. Speak out."

Rufus would have spoken out to any other woman in the universe. _This_
woman had preserved him from ridicule--_this_ woman had rubbed his head
dry. He prevaricated.

"I don't suppose I understand the ladies in this country," he said.

But Mrs. Farnaby was not to be trifled with. "If Amelius was your son,
and if he asked you to consent to his marriage with my niece," she
rejoined, "would you say Yes?"

This was too much for Rufus. "Not if he went down on both his knees to
ask me," he answered.

Mrs. Farnaby was satisfied at last, and owned it without reserve. "My
own opinion," she said, "exactly expressed! don't be surprised. Didn't
I tell you I had no family prejudices? Do you know if he has spoken to
my husband, yet?"

Rufus looked at his watch. "I reckon he's just about done it by this
time."

Mrs. Farnaby paused, and reflected for a moment. She had already
attempted to prejudice her husband against Amelius, and had received an
answer which Mr. Farnaby considered to be final. "Mr. Goldenheart
honours us if he seeks our alliance; he is the representative of an old
English family." Under these circumstances, it was quite possible that
the proposals of Amelius had been accepted. Mrs. Farnaby was not the
less determined that the marriage should never take place, and not the
less eager to secure the assistance of her new ally. "When will Amelius
tell you about it?" she asked.

"When I go back to his lodgings, ma'am."

"Go back at once--and bear this in mind as you go. If you can find out
any likely way of parting these two young people (in their own best
interests), depend on one thing--if I can help you, I will. I'm as fond
of Amelius as you are. Ask him if I haven't done my best to keep him
away from my niece. Ask him if I haven't expressed my opinion, that
she's not the right wife for him. Come and see me again as soon as you
like. I'm fond of Americans. Good morning."

Rufus attempted to express his sense of gratitude, in his own briefly
eloquent way. He was not allowed a hearing. With one and the same
action, Mrs. Farnaby patted him on the shoulder, and pushed him out of
the room.

"If that woman was an American citizen," Rufus reflected, on his way
through the streets, "she'd be the first female President of the United
States!" His admiration of Mrs. Farnaby's energy and resolution,
expressed in these strong terms, acknowledged but one limit. Highly as
he approved of her, there was nevertheless an unfathomable something in
the woman's eyes that disturbed and daunted him.

CHAPTER 3

Rufus found his friend at the lodgings, prostrate on the sofa, smoking
furiously. Before a word had passed between them, it was plain to the
New Englander that something had gone wrong.

"Well," he asked; "and what does Farnaby say?"

"Damn Farnaby!"

Rufus was secretly conscious of an immense sense of relief. "I call
that a stiff way of putting it," he quietly remarked; "but the
meaning's clear. Farnaby has said No."

Amelius jumped off the sofa, and planted himself defiantly on the
hearthrug.

"You're wrong for once," he said, with a bitter laugh. "The
exasperating part of it is that Farnaby has said neither Yes nor No.
The oily-whiskered brute--you haven't seen him yet, have you?--began by
saying Yes. 'A man like me, the heir of a fine old English family,
honoured him by making proposals; he could wish no more brilliant
prospect for his dear adopted child. She would fill the high position
that was offered to her, and fill it worthily.' That was the fawning
way in which he talked to me at first! He squeezed my hand in his
horrid cold shiny paw till, I give you my word of honour, I felt as if
I was going to be sick. Wait a little; you haven't heard the worst of
it yet. He soon altered his tone--it began with his asking me, if I had
'considered the question of settlements'. I didn't know what he meant.
He had to put it in plain English; he wanted to hear what my property
was. 'Oh, that's soon settled,' I said. 'I've got five hundred a year;
and Regina is welcome to every farthing of it.' He fell back in his
chair as if I had shot him; he turned--it was worse than pale, he
positively turned green. At first he wouldn't believe me; he declared I
must be joking. I set him right about that immediately. His next change
was a proud impudence. 'Have you not observed, sir, in what style
Regina is accustomed to live in my house? Five hundred a year? Good
heavens! With strict economy, five hundred a year might pay her
milliner's bill and the keep of her horse and carriage. Who is to pay
for everything else--the establishment, the dinner-parties and balls,
the tour abroad, the children, the nurses, the doctor? I tell you this,
Mr. Goldenheart, I'm willing to make a sacrifice to you, as a born
gentleman, which I would certainly not consent to in the case of any
self-made man. Enlarge your income, sir, to no more than four times
five hundred pounds, and I guarantee a yearly allowance to Regina of
half as much again, besides the fortune which she will inherit at my
death. That will make your income three thousand a year to start with.
I know something of domestic expenses, and I tell you positively, you
can't do it on a farthing less.' That was his language, Rufus. The
insolence of his tone I can't attempt to describe. If I hadn't thought
of Regina, I should have behaved in a manner unworthy of a Christian--I
believe I should have taken my walking-cane, and given him a sound
thrashing."

Rufus neither expressed surprise nor offered advice. He was lost in
meditation on the wealth of Mr. Farnaby. "A stationer's business seems
to eventuate in a lively profit, in this country," he said.

"A stationer's business?" Amelius repeated disdainfully. "Farnaby has
half a dozen irons in the fire besides that. He's got a newspaper, and
a patent medicine, and a new bank, and I don't know what else. One of
his own friends said to me, 'Nobody knows whether Farnaby is rich or
poor; he is going to do one of two things--he is going to die worth
millions, or to die bankrupt.' Oh, if I can only live to see the day
when Socialism will put that sort of man in his right place!"

"Try a republic, on our model, first," said Rufus. "When Farnaby talks
of the style his young woman is accustomed to live in, what does he
mean?"

"He means," Amelius answered smartly, "a carriage to drive out in,
champagne on the table, and a footman to answer the door."

"Farnaby's ideas, sir, have crossed the water and landed in New York,"
Rufus remarked. "Well, and what did you say to him, on your side?"

"I gave it to him, I can tell you! 'That's all ostentation,' I said.
'Why can't Regina and I begin life modestly? What do we want with a
carriage to drive out in, and champagne on the table, and a footman to
answer the door? We want to love each other and be happy. There are
thousands of as good gentlemen as I am, in England, with wives and
families, who would ask for nothing better than an income of five
hundred a year. The fact is, Mr. Farnaby, you're positively saturated
with the love of money. Get your New Testament and read what Christ
says of rich people.' What do you think he did, when I put it in that
unanswerable way? He held up his hand, and looked horrified. 'I can't
allow profanity in my office,' says he. 'I have my New Testament read
to me in church, sir, every Sunday.' That's the sort of Christian,
Rufus, who is the average product of modern times! He was as obstinate
as a mule; he wouldn't give way a single inch. His adopted daughter, he
said, was accustomed to live in a certain style. In that same style she
should live when she was married, so long as he had a voice in the
matter. Of course, if she chose to set his wishes and feelings at
defiance, in return for all that he had done for her, she was old
enough to take her own way. In that case, he would tell me as plainly
as he meant to tell her, that she must not look to a single farthing of
his money to help her, and not expect to find her name down in his
will. He felt the honour of a family alliance with me as sincerely as
ever. But he must abide by the conditions that he had stated. On those
terms, he would be proud to give me the hand of Regina at the altar,
and proud to feel that he had done his duty by his adopted child. I let
him go on till he had run himself out--and then I asked quietly, if he
could tell me the way to increase my income to two thousand a year. How
do you think he answered me?"

"Perhaps he offered to utilise your capital in his business," Rufus
guessed.

"Not he! He considered business quite beneath me; my duty to myself, as
a gentleman, was to adopt a profession. On reflection, it turned out
that there was but one likely profession to try, in my case--the Law. I
might be called to the Bar, and (with luck) I might get remunerative
work to do, in eight or ten years' time. That, I declare to you, was
the prospect he set before me, if I chose to take his advice. I asked
if he was joking. Certainly not! I was only one-and-twenty years old
(he reminded me); I had plenty of time to spare--I should still marry
young if I married at thirty. I took up my hat, and gave him a bit of
my mind at parting. 'If you really mean anything,' I said, 'you mean
that Regina is to pine and fade and be a middle-aged woman, and that I
am to resist the temptations that beset a young man in London, and lead
the life of a monk for the next ten years--and all for what? For a
carriage to ride out in, champagne on the table, and a footman to
answer the door! Keep your money, Mr. Farnaby; Regina and I will do
without it.'--What are you laughing at? I don't think you could have
put it more strongly yourself."

Rufus suddenly recovered his gravity. "I tell you this, Amelius," he
replied; "you afford (as we say in my country) meaty fruit for
reflection--you do."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, I reckon you remember when we were aboard the boat. You gave us
a narrative of what happened in that Community of yours, which I can
truly cha_rac_terise as a combination of native eloquence and
chastening good sense. I put the question to myself, sir, what has
become of that well-informed and discreet young Christian, now he has
changed the sphere to England and mixed with the Farnabys? It's not to
be denied that I see him before me in the flesh when I look across the
table here; but it's equally true that I miss him altogether, in the
spirit."

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