Unleavened Bread Part 16

As a result of this conversation Littleton devoted himself more a.s.siduously than ever to his work. He was eager to increase his earnings so that his income should not be curtailed by his decision to avoid further ventures in the stock-market. He was troubled in soul, for Selma's accusation that he was visionary haunted him. Could it be that he was too scrupulous, too uncompromising, and lacked proper enterprise?

Self-scrutiny failed to convince him that this was so, yet left a lurking doubt which was hara.s.sing. His clear mind was too modest to believe in its own infallibility, for he was psychologist enough to understand that no one can be absolutely sure that his perspective of life is accurate. Possibly he was sacrificing his wife's legitimate aspirations to too rigid canons of behavior, and to an unconscious lack of initiative. On the other hand, as a positive character, he believed that he saw clearly, and he could not avoid the reflection that, if this was the case, he and Selma were drifting apart--the more bitter alternative of the two, and a condition which, if perpetuated, would involve the destruction of the scheme of matrimonial happiness, the ideal communion of two sympathetic souls, in which he was living as a proud partner. Apparently he was in one of two predicaments; either he was self deceived, which was abhorrent to him as a thoughtful grappler with the eternal mysteries, or he had misinterpreted the character of the woman whose transcendent quality was a dearer faith to him than the integrity of his own manhood.

So it was with a troubled heart that he applied himself to more rigorous professional endeavor. Like most architects he had pursued certain lines of work because orders had come to him, and the chances of employment had ordained that his services should be sought for small churches, school-houses and kindred buildings in the surrounding country rather than for more elaborate and costly structures. On these undertakings it was his habit to expend abundant thought and devotion. The cla.s.s of work was to his taste, for, though the funds at his disposal were not always so large as he desired for artistic effects, yet he enjoyed the opportunity of showing that simplicity need not be homely and disenchanting, but could wear the aspect of grace and poetry. Latterly he had been requested to furnish designs for some blocks of houses in the outlying wards of the city, where the owners sought to provide attractive, modern flats for people with moderate means. Various commissions had come to him, also, to design decorative work, which interested him and gave scope to his refined and aspiring imagination, and he was enthusiastically absorbed in preparing his compet.i.tive plans for the building of Wetmore College. His time was already well occupied by the matters which he had in hand. That is, he had enough to do and yet did not feel obliged to deny himself the luxury of deliberate thoroughness in connection with each professional undertaking. Save for the thought that he must needs earn more in order to please Selma, he would have been completely happy in the slow but flattering growth of his business, and in feeling his way securely toward greater success.

Now, however, he began to ask himself if it were not possible to hasten this or that piece of work in order to afford himself the necessary leisure for new employment. He began also to consider whether he might not be able, without loss of dignity, to put himself in the way of securing more important clients. To solicit business was not to be thought of, but now and again he put the question to himself whether he had not been too indifferent as to who was who, and what was what, in the development of his business.

While Littleton was thus mulling over existing conditions, and subjecting his conduct to the relentless lens of his own conscience and theories, Selma announced to him jubilantly, about a fortnight subsequent to their conversation, that her secret was a secret no longer, and that Mr. Parsons desired to employ him to build an imposing private residence on Fifth Avenue near the Park. Mr. Parsons confirmed this intelligence on the following day in a personal interview. He informed Littleton that he was going to build in order to please his wife and daughter, and intimated that expense need not stand in the way of the gratification of their wishes. After the business matters were disposed of he was obviously ready to intrust all the artistic details to his architect. Consequently Littleton enjoyed an agreeable quarter of an hour of exaltation. He was pleased at the prospect of building a house of this description, and the hope of being able to give free scope to his architectural bent without molestation made that prospect roseate. He could desire no better opportunity for expressing his ideas and proving his capacity. It was an ideal chance, and his soul thrilled as he called up the shadowy fabric of scheme after scheme to fill the trial canvas of his fantasy. Nor did he fail to award due credit to Selma for her share in the transaction; not to the extent, perhaps, of confessing incapacity on his own part, but by testifying lovingly to her cleverness. She was in too good humor at her success to insist on his humiliation in set terms. The two points in which she was most vitally interested--the advantage of her own interference and the consequent prompt extension of her husband's field of usefulness--had been triumphantly proved, and there was no need that the third--Wilbur's lack of capacity to battle and discriminate for himself--should be emphasized. Selma knew what she thought in her own mind, and she entertained the hope that this lesson might be a lamp to his feet for future illumination. She was even generous enough to exclaim, placing her hands on his shoulders and looking into his face with complacent fervor:

"You might have accomplished it just as well yourself, Wilbur."

Littleton shook his head and smiled. "It was a case of witchery and fascination. He probably divined how eager you were to help me, and he was glad to yield to the agreeable spell of your wifely devotion."

"Oh, no," said Selma. "I am sure he never guessed for one moment of what I was thinking. Of course, I did try to make him like me, but that was only sensible. To make people like one is the way to get business, I believe."

Littleton's quarter of an hour of exaltation was rudely checked by a note from Mrs. Parsons, requesting an interview in regard to the plans.

When he presented himself he found her and her daughter imbued with definite ideas on the subject of architects and architecture. In the eyes of Mrs. Parsons the architect of her projected house was nothing but a young man in the employ of her husband, who was to guide them as to measurements, carpentry, party-walls and plumbing, but was otherwise to do her bidding for a pecuniary consideration, on the same general basis as the waiter at the hotel or the theatre ticket-agent. As to architecture, she expected him to draw plans just as she expected dealers in carpets or wall-papers to show her patterns in easy succession. "I don't care for that; take it away." "That is rather pretty, but let me see something else." What she said to Littleton was, "We haven't quite decided yet what we want, but, if you'll bring some plans the next time you call, we'll let you know which we like best.

There's a house in Vienna I saw once, which I said at the time to Lucretia I would copy if I ever built. I've mislaid the photograph of it, but I may be able to tell you when I see your drawings how it differed from yours. Lucretia has a fancy for something Moorish or Oriental. I guess Mr. Parsons would prefer brown-stone, plain and ma.s.sive, but he has left it all to us, and both daughter and I think we'd rather have a house which would speak for itself, and not be mixed up with everybody else's. You'd better bring us half a dozen to choose from, and between me and you and Lucretia, we'll arrive at something elegant and unique."

This was sadly disillusionizing to Littleton, and the second experience was no less so. The refined outline sketches proffered by him were unenthusiastically surveyed and languidly discarded like so many wall-papers. It was evident that both the mother and daughter were disappointed, and Littleton presently divined that their chief objection was to the plainness of the several designs. This was made unmistakably obvious when Mrs. Parsons, after exhibiting a number of photographs of foreign public buildings with which she had armed herself, surveyed the most ornate, holding it out with her head on one side, and exclaimed impressively, "This is more the sort of thing we should like. I think Mr. Parsons has already explained to you that he desired our house to be as handsome as possible."

"I had endeavored to bear that in mind," Littleton retorted with spirit.

"I believe that either of these plans would give you a house which would be handsome, interesting and in good taste."

"It does not seem to me that there is anything unique about any of them," said Mrs. Parsons, with a cold sniff intended to be conclusive.

Nor did Littleton's efforts to explain that elaboration in a private residence was liable to detract from architectural dignity and to produce the effect of vulgarity fall upon receptive soil. The rich man's wife listened in stony silence, at times raising her lorgnette to examine as a curiosity this young man who was telling her--an American woman who had travelled around the world and seen everything to be seen--how she ought to build her own house. The upshot of this interview was that Littleton was sent away with languid instructions to try again.

He departed, thinking melancholy thoughts and with fire in his soul, which, for Selma's sake, he endeavored to keep out of his eyes.

CHAPTER VIII.

The departure of the Williamses to a smarter neighborhood was a trial for Selma. She nursed the dispiriting reflection that she and Wilbur might just as well be moving also; that a little foresight and shrewdness on her husband's part would have enabled him to sell at a handsome profit the house in which they were living; and that there was no reason, except the sheer, happy faculty of making the most of opportunities, to account for the social recognition which Flossy and her husband were beginning to receive. It had not been easy to bear with equanimity during the last year the ingenuous, light-hearted warblings in which Flossy had indulged as an outlet to her triumphant spirits, and to listen to nave recitals of new progress, as though she herself were a companion or ladies' maid, to whom such developments could never happen. She was weary of being merely a recipient of confidences and a sympathetic listener, and more weary still of being regarded as such by her self-absorbed and successful neighbor. Why should Flossy be so dense? Why should she play second fiddle to Flossy? Why should Flossy take for granted that she did not intend to keep pace with her? Keep pace, indeed, when, if circ.u.mstances would only shape themselves a little differently, she would be able speedily to outstrip her volatile friend in the struggle for social preferment.

Not unnaturally their friends.h.i.+p had been somewhat strained by the simmering of these thoughts in Selma's bosom. If a recipient of confidences becomes tart or cold, ingenuous prattle is apt to flow less spontaneously. Though Flossy was completely self-absorbed, and consequently glad to pour out her satisfaction into a sympathetic ear, she began to realize that there was something amiss with her friend which mere conscientious disapproval of her own frivolities did not adequately explain. It troubled her somewhat, for she liked the Littletons and was proud of her acquaintance with them. However, she was conscious of having acquitted herself toward them with liberality, and, especially now that her social vista was widening, she was not disposed at first to a.n.a.lyze too deeply the cause of the lack of sympathy between them. That is, she was struck by Selma's offish manner and frigid silences, but forgot them until they were forced upon her attention the next time they met. But as her friend continued to receive her bubbling announcements with stiff indifference, Flossy, in her perplexity, began to bend her acute mental faculties more searchingly on her idol. A fixed point of view will keep a shrine sacred forever, but let a wors.h.i.+pper's perspective be altered, and it is astonis.h.i.+ng how different the features of divinity will appear. Flossy had wors.h.i.+pped with the eyes of faith.

Now that her adoration was rejected without apparent cause, her curiosity was piqued, and she sought an interpretation of the mystery from her clever wits. As she observed Selma more dispa.s.sionately her suspicion was stirred, and she began to wonder if she had been burning incense before a false G.o.ddess. This doubt was agitating her mind at the time when they moved from the street.

Selma was unconscious of the existence of this doubt as she had been largely unconscious of her own sour demeanor. She had no wish to lose the advantages of intimate a.s.sociation with the Williamses. On the contrary, she expected to make progress on her own account by admission into their new social circle. She went promptly to call, and saw fit to show herself tactfully appreciative of the new establishment and more ready to listen to Flossy's volubility. Flossy, who was radiant and bubbling over with fresh experiences which she was eager to impart, was glad to dismiss her doubt and to give herself up to the delights of unbridled speech. She took Selma over her new house, which had been purchased just as it stood, completely furnished, from the previous owner, who had suffered financial reverses. "Gregory bought it because it was really a bargain," she said. "It will do very well for the present, but we intend to build before long. I am keeping my eye on your husband, and am expecting great things from the Parsons house. Do you know, I believe in Mr. Littleton, and feel sure that some day we shall wake up and find him famous."

This was amiable, particularly as Flossy was very busily engaged in contemplating the brilliant progress of Gregory Williams and his wife.

But Selma returned home feeling sore and dissatisfied. Flossy had been gracious, but still dense and navely condescending. Selma chose to foresee that her friend would neglect her, and her foresight was correct. The call was not returned for many weeks, although Flossy had a.s.sured her when they separated that distance would make no difference in their intimacy. But in the first place, her doubts recurred to Flossy after the departure of her visitor, and in the second, the agitations incident to her new surroundings, fortified by these doubts, made neglect easy. When she did call, Selma happened to be out. A few days later an invitation to dine with the Williamses arrived. Selma would have preferred to remain at home as a rebuke, but she was miserably conscious that Flossy would not perceive the point of the refusal. So she went, and was annoyed when she realized that the guests were only people whom she knew already--the Parsonses, and some of Gregory Williams's former a.s.sociates, whom she had met at the old house. It was a pleasant dinner, apparently, to all except Selma. The entertainment was flatteringly lavish, and both the host and hostess with suavity put in circulation, under the rose, the sentiment that there are no friends like old friends--a graceful insincerity which most of them present accepted as true. Indeed, in one sense it was not an insincerity, for Gregory and his wife entertained cordial feelings toward them all. But on the other hand, Selma's immediate and bitter conclusion was also true, that the company had been invited together for the reason that, in the opinion of Flossy, they would not have harmonized well with anyone else.

Said Wilbur as they drove away from the house--"Barring a few moments of agony in the society of my tormentor, Mrs. Parsons, I had a pleasant evening. They were obviously potting their old acquaintance in one pie, but to my thinking it was preferable to being sandwiched in between some of their new friends whom we do not know and who know nothing of us. It was a little evident, but on the whole agreeable."

Selma, shrouded in her wraps, made no reply at first. Suddenly she exclaimed, with, fierceness, "I consider it rank impertinence. It was as much as to say that they do not think us good enough to meet their new friends."

Littleton, who still found difficulty in remembering that his wife would not always enjoy the humor of an equivocal situation, was sorry that he had spoken. "Come, Selma," he said, "there's no use in taking that view of the matter. You would not really care to meet the other people."

"Yes, I would, and she knows it. I shall never enter her house again."

"As to that, my dear, the probabilities are that we shall not be asked for some time. You know perfectly well that, in the nature of things, your intimacy with Mrs. Williams must languish now that she lives at a distance and has new surroundings. She may continue to be very fond of you, but you can't hope to see very much of her, unless I am greatly mistaken in her character."

"She is a shallow little worldling," said Selma, with measured intensity.

"But you knew that already. The fact that she invited us to dinner and did not ignore our existence altogether shows that she likes us and wishes to continue the friends.h.i.+p. I've no doubt she believes that she is going to see a great deal of us, and you should blame destiny and the force of fas.h.i.+onable circ.u.mstances, not Flossy, if you drift apart."

"She invited us because she wished to show off her new house."

"Not altogether. You musn't be too hard on her."

Selma moved her shoulders impatiently, and there was silence for some moments broken only by the tapping of her foot. Then she asked, "How nearly have you finished the plans for the Parsons house?"

Wilbur's brow clouded under cover of the night. He hesitated an instant before replying, "I am sorry to say that Mrs. Parsons and I do not seem to get on very well together. Her ideas and mine on the subject of architecture are wide apart, as I have intimated to you once or twice. I have modified my plans again, and she has made airy suggestions which from my point of view are impossible. We are practically at loggerheads, and I am trying to make up my mind what I ought to do."

There was a wealth of condensation in the word 'impossible' which brought back unpleasantly to Selma Pauline's use of the same word in connection with the estimate which had been formed of Miss Bailey.

"There can be only one thing to do in the end," she said, "if you can't agree. Mrs. Parsons, of course, must have her house as she wishes it. It is her house, Wilbur."

"It is her house, and she has that right, certainly. The question is whether I am willing to allow the world to point to an architectural hotch-potch and call it mine."

"Isn't this another case of neglecting the practical side, Wilbur? I am sure you exaggerate the importance of the changes she desires. If I were building a house, I should expect to have it built to suit me, and I should be annoyed if the architect stood on points and were captious."

Selma under the influence of this more congenial theme had partially recovered her equanimity. Her duty was her pleasure, and it was clearly her duty to lead her husband in the right path and save him from becoming the victim of his own shortcomings.

Wilbur sighed. "I have told her," he said, "that I would submit another entirely new sketch. It may be that I can introduce some of her and her daughter's splurgy and garish misconceptions without making myself hopelessly ridiculous."

He entered the house wearily, and as he stood before the hall table under the chandelier, Selma took him by the arm and turning him toward her gazed into his face. "I wish to examine you. Pauline said to me to-day that she thinks you are looking pale. I don't see that you are; no more so than usual. You never were rosy exactly. Do you know I have an idea that she thinks I am working you to death."

"Pauline? What reason has she to think anything of the kind? Besides, I am perfectly well. It is a delight to work for a woman like you, dearest." He took her face between his hands and kissed her tenderly; yet gravely, too, as though the riddle of life did not solve itself at the touch of her lips. "You will be interested to hear," he added, "that I shall finish and send off the Wetmore College plans this week."

"I am glad they are off your hands, for you will have more time for other work."

"Yes. I think I may have done something worth while," he said, wistfully.

"And I shall try not to be annoyed if someone else gets the award," she responded, smoothing down the sheen of her evening dress and regarding herself in the mirror.

"Of course someone else may have taken equal pains and done a better thing. It is necessary always to be prepared for that."

"That is the trouble. That is why I disapprove of compet.i.tions."

"Selma, you are talking nonsense," Littleton exclaimed with sudden sternness.

The decision in his tone made her start. The color mounted to her face, and she surveyed him for an instant haughtily, as though he had done her an injury. Then with an oratorical air and her archangel look, she said, "You do not seem to understand, Wilbur, that I am trying to save you from yourself."

Littleton was ever susceptible to that look of hers. It suggested incarnate conscientiousness, and seemed incompatible with human imperfection or unworthy ambitions. He was too wroth to relent altogether, but he compressed his lips and returned her look searchingly, as though he would scrutinize her soul.

"I'm bound to believe, I do believe, that you are trying to help me, Selma. I need your advice and help, even against myself, I dare say. But there are some matters of which you cannot judge so well as I. You must trust my opinion where the development of my professional life is concerned. I shall not forget your caution to be practical, but for the sake of expediency I cannot be false to what I believe true. Come, dear, let us go to bed."

He put his hand on her arm to lead her upstairs, but she turned from it to collect her fan and gloves. Looking, not at him, but at herself in the mirror, she answered, "Of course. I trust, though, that this does not mean you intend to act foolishly in regard to the Parsons house."

"I have already told you," he said, looking back, "that I am going to make another attempt to satisfy that exasperating woman and her daughter."