self, clear and clean of sham and folly and fraud, and worthy of you.
There is no grain of social inequality between us; I, like you, am poor;
I, like you, am without position or distinction; you are a struggling
artist, I am that, too, in my humbler way. Our bread is honest bread, we
work for our-living. Hand in hand we will walk hence to the grave,
helping each other in all ways, living for each other, being and
remaining one in heart and purpose, one in hope and aspiration,
inseparable to the end. And though our place is low, judged by the
world’s eye, we will make it as high as the highest in the great
essentials of honest work for what we eat and wear, and conduct above
reproach. We live in a land, let us be thankful, where this is all-
sufficient, and no man is better than his neighbor by the grace of God,
but only by his own merit.”
Tracy tried to break in, but she stopped him and kept the floor herself.
“I am not through yet. I am going to purge myself of the last vestiges
of artificiality and pretence, and then start fair on your own honest
level and be worthy mate to you thenceforth. My father honestly thinks
he is an earl. Well, leave him his dream, it pleases him and does no one
any harm: It was the dream of his ancestors before him. It has made
fools of the house of Sellers for generations, and it made something of a
fool of me, but took no deep root. I am done with it now, and for good.
Forty-eight hours ago I was privately proud of being the daughter of a
pinchbeck earl, and thought the proper mate for me must be a man of like
degree; but to-day–oh, how grateful I am for your love which has healed
my sick brain and restored my sanity!–I could make oath that no earl’s
son in all the world–”
“Oh,–well, but–but–”
“Why, you look like a person in a panic. What is it? What is the
matter?”
“Matter? Oh, nothing–nothing. I was only going to say”–but in his
flurry nothing occurred to him to say, for a moment; then by a lucky
inspiration he thought of something entirely sufficient for the occasion,
and brought it out with eloquent force: “Oh, how beautiful you are! You
take my breath away when you look like that.”
It was well conceived, well timed, and cordially delivered–and it got
its reward.
“Let me see. Where was I? Yes, my father’s earldom is pure moonshine.
Look at those dreadful things on the wall. You have of course supposed
them to be portraits of his ancestors, earls of Rossmore. Well, they are
not. They are chromos of distinguished Americans–all moderns; but he
has carried them back a thousand years by re-labeling them. Andrew
Jackson there, is doing what he can to be the late American earl; and the
newest treasure in the collection is supposed to be the young English
heir–I mean the idiot with the crape; but in truth it’s a shoemaker, and
not Lord Berkeley at all.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why of course I am. He wouldn’t look like that.”
“Why?”
“Because his conduct in his last moments, when the fire was sweeping
around him shows that he was a man. It shows that he was a fine, high-
souled young creature.”
Tracy was strongly moved by these compliments, and it seemed to him that
the girl’s lovely lips took on anew loveliness when they were delivering
them. He said, softly:
“It is a pity he could not know what a gracious impression his behavior
was going to leave with the dearest and sweetest stranger in the
land of–”
“Oh, I almost loved him! Why, I think of him every day. He is always
floating about in my mind.”
Tracy felt that this was a little more than was necessary. He was
conscious of the sting of jealousy. He said:
“It is quite right to think of him–at least now and then–that is, at
intervals–in perhaps an admiring way–but it seems to me that–”
“Howard Tracy, are you jealous of that dead man?”