The Bacillus of Beauty Part 40

"Well, I'm glad of that. But so must I be going."

And she whisked out of the room, leaving in my hands this astounding outrage upon truth and decency:

BY EDWARD PEPPER.

Helen Wins.h.i.+p is the most extraordinary woman living;

The most beautiful woman in the world;

A scientist of national repute;

She has just pa.s.sed through a tragedy which has left an impress upon her whole life;

Most wonderful of all, she is the only American girl who has ever refused a t.i.tled lover.

This is her life story, told for the first time:--

_Chapter I.--Death:_

A woman's scream of agony!

A strange scene, like an alchemist's den, the light of falling day reflected from test tubes and crucibles, revealing in dark corners uncouth appliances, queer diagrams, strange odours. Upon the floor the inert figure of the foremost of New York's chemists; above his prostrate form, wild-eyed with horror at seeing his dramatic death, a beautiful woman, the most beautiful in the world.

This was the end of Prof. Carl Darmstetter;

This was how the legacy of science came to Helen Wins.h.i.+p.

To carry it out, she has refused a t.i.tle.

_Chapter II.--Love:_

Born upon a Western farm, Helen Wins.h.i.+p's father is a yeoman of the st.u.r.dy stock that has laid the world under tribute for its daily bread.

Early she made the choice that devotes her life to science. She was the confidant of the dead chemist, whose torch of knowledge she took up firm- handed, when it fell from his nerveless fingers.

She is vowed as a vestal virgin to science.

Strange whim of destiny! Across this maiden life of devoted study came the shadow of a great name which for two hundred years has been blazoned upon the pages of England's history.

In the loom of fate the modest gray warp of Helen Wins.h.i.+p's life crossed the gay woof of a Lord of high degree, and left a strange mark upon the web of time.

Love came to her--many times; but came at last in a guise that seldom woos in vain.

_Chapter III.--Sacrifice:_

Who has forgotten the memorable scene in the Metropolitan Opera House, when the beautiful Miss Wins.h.i.+p took the vast audience by storm, causing almost a panic, which was exclusively reported in these columns?

It was followed by a greater sensation.

Rumour ran through the ranks of the Four Hundred, and the rustle of it was as the wind in a great forest. For one of the proudest t.i.tles from beyond the sea, before which the wealth and fas.h.i.+on of the city had marshalled their attractions, had pa.s.sed them by to kneel at the feet of the lovely scholar.

The Earl of Strathay is the twelfth Earl of his house. He is twenty-one years old. His mother, the Countess Strathay, famous as a beauty, has been prominent in the "Prince's set."

Witley Castle, his seat, is one of the show places of England, though financially embarra.s.sed by the follies of the late Earl.

It was Lord Strathay's intention, upon landing in New York to go West in a week; but he looked upon the fair investigator, and to look is to love.

He laid his t.i.tle at the feet of the lovely daughter of Democracy, but with that smile whose sweetness is a marvel to all men, she shook her beautiful head.

She was wedded to learning.

Fretted by the pain, he plunged into the wilderness to hide like a wounded deer.

What shall be said of this beautiful woman, for whom men sigh as for the unattainable? That she is lovely as the morning? All New York knows it.

That her walk is like a lily's swaying in the wind, her voice is the sweetest music that ever ravished ear, her hair a lure for sunbeams? It is the commonplace of conversation at every smart house.

For this lovely woman of science is no ascetic. She moves by right of beauty and high purpose, in the best society. This farmer's daughter walks among the proudest in the land, and none there is to compare with her.

Like the Admirable Crichton, no art is to her unknown, no accomplishment by her neglected. Her eager soul, not satisfied with dominion over the realm of beauty and of love, would have all knowledge for its sphere.

Amusing, isn't it?--to one who is not the heroine of the tale! The tragedy of Darmstetter revived, my scientific attainments--but oh, the worst--the worst of all--is the wicked lie that I am in the "best society."

Why, the very day before, we had been "at home," Mrs. Whitney and I, and hardly a soul that counts was here. Mrs. Van Dam had a convenient headache; I haven't seen her since Peggy's wedding. If she had not been so very civil--she and Mrs. Henry--I might think that even then she suspected that Strathay--

There were a few correct, vapid young men in gray trousers and long frock coats among our guests that day, but none worth serious attention. And the women!

One creature tucked tracks under the tea cloth, whereat Mrs. Whitney's pinched nose was elevated. Ethel saw the action--in spite of her mother and sister, the poor girl clings to me; I suppose it's natural that _she_ should love beauty--and hopping round the table at the first chance, she pulled out one, chuckling mightily.

"'Favour is deceitful and beauty is vain,'" she quoted in undertone; "oh, Nelly, take your share of the unco guid and the riders of hobby horses, and be thankful it's no larger."

Ethel doesn't know how great it is. There was the woman who insists on gloating over me as a proof of the superiority of her s.e.x; the woman who had written a book, the woman who would talk about Karma, and the woman-- there was more than one--who would talk about the Earl.

After they had gone, Mrs. Whitney's disgust was as plain as her horror of their appet.i.te for cake and other creature comforts. But the storm broke in earnest a day or two later, after the last reception we shall ever hold together.

I can't describe it. I don't understand it. Women are fast leaving the city; it was too late for an "evening."

But that made no difference; I do not deceive myself. I am pressing with my shoulders against a mountain barrier--the prejudice of women--and it never, never yields. Active opposition I could fight; but the tactics are now to ignore me. In response to cards, I get "regrets," or women simply stay away.

Men--ah, yes, there are always men, and many of them like as well as admire me. But there is a subtle something that affects every man's thought of a woman of whom women disapprove. They don't condemn me--ah, a man can be generous!--they imagine they allow for women's jealousies; but deep in their hearts lies hid the suspicion that only women are qualified judges of women. They respect me, but they reserve judgment; and they do not wholly respect themselves, for in order to see me, they evade their lawful guardians--their wives and mothers.

It may have been the wine--I overheard two young cads making free of my house to discuss my affairs.

"Mrs. Terry really dragged Hughy out of town?" one of them asked, a.s.suming a familiarity with Bellmer that I suspect he cannot claim.

"Guess so; he's playing horse with old Bellmer's money; always wrong side of the betting."