IV
Mrs. Merwent’s maiden name was Anna Lockhart. She was born in a southern state, of a family that was considered to be aristocratic and distinguished. None of its members had ever accomplished anything noteworthy, but they had lived a long time in Russellville, there were a large number of them, and they had usually raised sugar and cotton instead of corn and tobacco.
Her earliest memories were of a large, square, white house with a front porch supported by Corinthian pillars, a long driveway lined with great trees on either side, and much display of lavish hospitality.
From early childhood her whims were gratified and it never occurred to her that the numerous things given to her, the clothes, the pony, the negress who nursed her, the rings and brooches, were not a part of her own charm and importance.
Her first pleasure was to attract attention; whether by doing things that earned her the name of “Tomboy,” by being able to show dresses and ribbons finer than her playmates, or by any other device her ingenuity could discover.
She liked negroes because they were obsequious, and she was saucy to white children supposed not to be her social equals whom, in imitation of her elders, she designated as “trash.”
Anna, or Nannie as she was called, delighted in showing her power, and was relentless in exacting notice and recognition of her position. She stuck pins into the arms of Aunt Martha, her nurse, while the old negress was dressing her; she stepped on the bare toes of the small black children on her father’s place, and invented punishments for the dogs, cats, and other domestic animals that happened to be at her mercy.
Especially she enjoyed her tyranny over Troupe, as the large family dog was named. It pleased her to see him grovel before her when she scolded him. She often played a game that she called “circus.” She would tie the dog with a rope that had a loop which she could slip over a stake driven into the ground, and with a buggy whip she would make him run round and round. He would look back at her with pleading eyes, his tail clamped to his body, but she did not pity him. When he was completely exhausted he would lie down, his tongue lolling and the saliva dripping from his mottled black gums. After she untied him he would run about, crazy with joy, barking and licking at her hands and ankles. She paid no attention to these demonstrations.
Nannie was called stingy, as she seldom divided her sweetmeats or other good things with her playmates, and would not allow them to touch her toys. But occasionally, when glory could be gotten out of giving, she would bestow some old or broken plaything, always demanding profuse expressions of gratitude, however, from the recipient.
No attempt was made to teach Nannie any useful occupation, and, as she cared neither for stories nor for books, the task of amusing her became no sinecure.
As she grew older she loved to go shopping with her mother in the little town. They always went in the family carriage and Mrs. Lockhart, who considered that she could insult salespeople with impunity, invariably asked for the best in a haughty voice and inquired the price after she had decided on the article.
Nannie’s desire to attract notice increased with the years. She was fond of having her picture taken in fancy dress in imitation of various popular actresses. One, in which she was represented as Iphigenia, was most flattering and was displayed for some months in the windows of the establishment of the local photographer.
She begged a riding horse from her father, and she liked to be seen in elegant riding habits, and at parties in sumptuous gowns too old for her. She adopted a pertness and flippancy of speech that was described as “smart” and assumed a domineering manner toward the servants which was, it is true, less marked as regarded the “house boy” who was a handsome young mulatto.
She also picked out for condescending notice an admiring girl friend at the private school which they both attended and made a chum of her. This girl, Roberta White, was far from pretty, and could be patronized, but was not unintelligent, and possessed considerable personality. Unfortunately Nannie’s first boy admirer soon transferred his callow devotion to “Bob White,” as Nannie had dubbed Roberta. There was a curious scene in which Bob White was forever disowned, and Nannie ever after, in referring to it, spoke of Roberta’s “ingratitude.”
Nannie was eighteen years old when she left school. It was a disastrous year for her father. He had inherited money which he invested and spent with equal display and absence of judgment, but he awoke one day to find that creditors were impervious both to the dignity of the Lockhart name and the impressiveness of the ancestral mansion. Mrs. Lockhart was an efficient person, however, and brought to bear upon the situation many of the practical qualities in which her husband was lacking. The same could not be said of Nannie, who had absorbed from those around her what seemed a tacit recognition of divine right as regarded the members of her family. If she had been subject to her father alone it is probable that only the jolt of an absolute downfall would have aroused her to an appreciation of financial values, but fortunately Mrs. Lockhart exercised her authority as decisively as was her custom and gave Nannie to understand that, for the time being at least, she might enjoy few dresses and fewer parties.
Not to be cut out of the gaieties in which the once envious Bob White was participating, Nannie astonished no one more than her mother by displaying considerable taste and talent in the improvization of very effective frocks with the simplest means. Nannie was not a good seamstress. The hastily devised costumes were never neatly made and were often in actual danger of falling apart, but a ribbon here or a flower there was applied with a discrimination that Russellville was not too provincial to recognize as “chic.”
Though such haphazard dressmaking was her only contribution to the household economy, it had a value that was more than apparent, and Mrs. Lockhart recognized it. She had determined that Nannie should find salvation for the family by attracting a husband whose pretensions to that distinction should rest on a solid financial basis.
It seemed almost a divine intervention to insure the Lockharts’ future when Arthur Merwent, a young lawyer from the north, came to the home town.
Young Merwent rented an office and bought some furniture. He purchased steel engravings of famous jurists to decorate his walls, unpacked his law books, and had a sign painted and hung over his door.
Mrs. Lockhart knew, by hearsay at least, that Merwent held expectations of inheriting some money, and, as the young man was attractive and a stranger, it was soon arranged that Arthur should live at the Lockhart home. He insisted on paying for his board and, after some perfunctory objections which embarrassed Nannie and Mr. Lockhart but did not disturb the mother, this was agreed to.
Arthur was agreeable but uncommunicative. His reserve pleased Nannie’s father, who was pompous of manner and weak of purpose, but invariably inclined to be enthusiastic about a new acquaintance.
“That young man can keep his mouth shut. He’ll rise,” Mr. Lockhart often said.
From the beginning Nannie assumed a light and jesting attitude toward Arthur. She was saucy and capricious, demanding services and attentions calculated to convince him of her superior birth and position, and suggesting with unconscious skill potentialities that she neither possessed nor appreciated. He said little, as was his wont, but Nannie was clever enough to perceive the favorable impression she was making.
Thrown into a continuous semi-intimacy the two young people reacted as might have been expected and soon the imperturbable Arthur gravely declared himself. Mrs. Lockhart preserved a grim neutrality in the affair. True, his financial prospects were inclined to soften her, but with all that he was a Yankee and there existed a grave doubt as to the aristocracy of his connections. Her husband, who had visited the Merwents and had been considerably impressed by the prosperity evinced in their domestic establishment, was, however, positive in his approbation. This did not alter his wife’s opinion or change her attitude, for she was not accustomed to take his point of view seriously; but when a friend made a self imposed pilgrimage to the Merwent home and returned with enthusiastic corroboration of Mr. Lockhart’s report, Mrs. Lockhart relented and her negative aloofness became encouragement.
Nannie, who shared the common conviction that Arthur was a rising young lawyer and a desirable catch, consented to become engaged.
This did not hinder her from indulging in coquettish tricks of a number and variety that her fiancé found disconcerting.
Finally he brought things to an issue, refusing to be played with longer, and, after exhausting her ingenuity in the endeavor to gain more delay, she fixed the wedding day for a date four months ahead.
Twice in the midst of the work on the extensive trousseau, Nannie and Arthur quarrelled, and on each occasion she returned his ring. But the misunderstandings were adjusted and the wedding morning finally arrived.
Nannie had shown much interest in the more obvious preparations for the ceremony, insisting that her gowns must be of such and such a price, that her bridesmaids outnumber those of her previously married friends, and that the affair as a whole be conducted with an éclat which strained the resources of the Lockharts’ reduced finances to the uttermost.
Nevertheless, on the day before the wedding she showed herself to the household in a state of extraordinary depression, wandering listlessly from room to room, striking discordant notes on the piano, and finally, having fled from Arthur’s presence, she was discovered face downwards on an old horsehair sofa in a violent paroxysm of weeping.
Mrs. Lockhart, who had gone to seek her, was unable to elicit any explanation of her distress and called Merwent. But it was a mistake. Nannie turned on him with a storm of accusations.
“You’ve wrecked my life! I don’t know what’s to become of me!” she wailed.
“It’s not too late yet, Nannie,” Arthur answered. His voice was slightly unsteady and his eyes shone dangerously, but his manner was quiet.
“Oh! Oh! How dare you! I was never so insulted in my life! You don’t care how much disgrace and humiliation you heap on me! It doesn’t make any difference to you what they say about me!”
Arthur was left alone. He sat on the sofa Nannie had quitted and held his head in his hands. After a few moments he rose and lighted a cigar. He was smoking when Mrs. Lockhart came in search of him a quarter of an hour later. She brought with her a glass of hot eggnog which she had made to comfort him.
“It’s all the perfectly natural result of her high strung state,” remarked Mrs. Lockhart emphatically. “You must remember this is the last day of her girlhood,” she added in a significant manner.
Arthur drank the eggnog and said nothing.
The next day, however, Nannie was radiant. Her mother and her cousin, Mrs. Sheldon, had helped to dress her. The wedding gown bore the mark of an expensive Louisville house, the bouquet was of white orchids, and the diamond pendant which Arthur had given her, though modestly small and fragile, glittered becomingly on her plump throat.
Arthur entered the church gravely, his head bent, and even as Nannie came toward him at the chancel rail he did not lift his eyes. It was only as they stood side by side that he glanced at her face. Every trace of depression had vanished. She held her head high with the slightly insolent air that she had so often been told was aristocratic, and she really looked prettier than he had ever seen her.
The recessional was played. As the bridal couple emerged from the church he turned slightly toward her.
“Well, Nannie,” he whispered, smiling a little.
They were close to the carriage steps. Arthur moved back to assist her. By some chance awkwardness his heel caught in a loop of satin. There was a tearing sound and Nannie flung herself from his grasp.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
An impassioned but enigmatic “Ah!” was her only reply, and until the house was reached she sat far away from him on the carriage cushions, replying in monosyllables until Arthur relapsed into moody silence. When they arrived at their destination Nannie left the carriage hurriedly and unassisted.
A supper had been planned but the hour of the departure of the train they were to take prevented their presence. There was, however, no way to escape the brief reception. At this function Nannie, who had looked almost defiantly spirited during the ceremony, assumed a sudden appearance of disconcerting melancholy. The pair stood under an arch of smilax, and Nannie could see herself quite plainly in the long pier glass opposite and appreciated how large and dark her eyes seemed in the shadows that fell on her face.
The affair as a whole was not gay. Mrs. Lockhart shed a few impressive tears, glancing somewhat apprehensively from time to time at her daughter’s unresponsive features. Bob White had come to the reception, being herself engaged. Nannie greeted her with effusive sadness and clasped her in an embrace that was like a despairing renewal of devotion. The two girls talked in low tones, and Arthur was conscious of being ignored. A few moments later Nannie went off to prepare for travel and he was able to excuse himself.
It was half past eleven at night. The Pullman was dimly lighted. Merwent had avoided a stateroom and every appearance that might indicate that he and Nannie were a bridal couple, but he felt that the fresh modishness of Nannie’s costume betrayed them. They sat down in a vacant seat while the beds were being made up. Arthur kept an unresponsive profile turned to his wife. He had resolved not to make any more advances.
The two swayed stiffly with the motion of the car. The woodwork creaked. Long shadows moved up and down at the end of the passage. Snoring from a curtained berth was audible.
Nannie touched Arthur’s arm lightly. He looked down at her in surprise. She was regarding him with a new and softened expression.
“Arthur!” Her voice shook slightly.
His face cleared.
“Nannie!” They kissed stealthily.
When the conductor came down the aisle they were sitting consciously far apart and Arthur’s face was flushed.