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About The Independent (Moccasin, Mont.) 1920-1924 | View This Issue
The Independent (Moccasin, Mont.), 08 Nov. 1923, located at <http://montananewspapers.org/lccn/sn85053314/1923-11-08/ed-1/seq-2/>, image provided by MONTANA NEWSPAPERS, Montana Historical Society, Helena, Montana.
egmmielli 5s101011111111111111•111111. The Cortlandts of Washington Square Copyright by The Bobto Merrill Co. /111.181.011M111. 1 1.1 1 .1 11 . 1 0. 11111111101 MMi l l ir By JANET A. FAIRBANK •weitmeiglenimmin CHAPTER KV—Continued. \Marriage!\ she exclaimed, aloud— \A stranger like that!\ She went to the window to cool her flushed face, and standing there, overloking the fa- miliar square, she summoned btick her dimming memories of the Italian. In- dubitably, he was a romantic figure, more difskly beautiful than any other man she had seen, and with some- thing unknown and alien about him. . . . He had been very good to her; she recallee her awakening in the cot- tage, with Avezzana's eyes upon her. and the subsequent scene which had so filled her with unreasoning panic. . . . He had asked for her guardian's address. Now she knew why. . . How fantastic it all was! . . . He had been brave, too, there in the midst of the fighting. . . . And Italy was a most lovely place—Densley had said it was a paradise for lovers.... It was strange how remote her association with Densley seemed; only an irradi- cable impretrion of his sophisticnted viewpoint remained, and a gentle -e- gret. . . . It might have been years ago that be had died.... Life was a queer business. . . . How could any one want to marry her without know- ing more of her? ... Still, It was nice of him. ... A countess, too? Glamor stole over her -senses, and yet she was sad; she did not kliow why. .. . lier guardian's acceptance of the idea of her leaving him depressed her. . . . It made her feel homeless and miser- able. . . To her amazement, tears euddenly brimmed in her eyes. She welcomed them in a luxury of emo- tionalism, and flung herself face down across her bed. . . . Sobs shook her, powerfully. She was interrupted by a sharp knock on her door, and Mrs. Cortland's flurried voice inquiring, \Ann who in the world is R Count Guido Mario Avezzana inquiring for me—and for you?\ Ann stayed her sobs, and c4ed tremulously, \Count Avezzana? Rirvva- Matra?\ \Yes in the library. Who is he?\ \He was at Gettysburg, Aunt Em- ily.\ \You must come down at once.\ \I ain't. It will take me a long time! You go down and see him, Aunt Emily, do.\ \He asked for me, Ann. Naturally I shall go down. But hurry.\ Ann found it impossible to obey this command. She wanted very much to see Avezenna—she was breathless at the thought of him below, waiting. She was all on fire with curiosity as to what he would do next, hut at the same tin she wanted to look her hest when shouts onfronted him, lest he his amazing overtures. She rfi10 the glass and scrutinized her face; although she had only just begun to cry, her eyes were undoubt- edly rather red. \I look even worse than I did In the train,\ she murmured discontentedly, as she poured water Into her wash basin. The cold was de- lichme to her flushed face; no one would ever know she had been crying, ehe decided, when she looked in the mirror again, after prolonged applica- tions. She lingered over her dresses, unable to decide which one she should put on; but she was determined that It should not be black, and finally she se- lected an apricot green tissue, which she had worn in the spring before she put on her mourning. In it she had a young and vernal look that was un- doubtedly charming. She had a heart- ening conviction of it, herself. As she stole down the *steins she could hear alternately Mrs. Cortlendt's high voice and Avezzann's lower, more emotional tones. \What are they talk- ing about?\ Ann wondered, pausing midway on the steps. She thought that they seemed to be getting on very well without her, so when she went down the long library to greet the young Italian officer she assumed a little air of indifference. Avezzana sprang to his feet at her coming and regarded her with intent eyes. He was more beautiful than ever, and els uniform was more splendid than the one he had worn on the field. Under his look she was Inclined to be some- what uncomfortable, and when he bent to kiss her hand she flinched visibly. It was impossible for her to acceet this salutation casually, and she felt self-consciously that Mrs. Cortlandt's massive presence was not the place for an amorous interlude. She sent her a lightning glance under her eyelashes, hut ev'en before Avezsena's fiend was lifted Ann could see that Mrs. Core landt had preserved an air of worldly complacence. \Well.\ she thought unbidden, \I'll have to get used to it. If I am going to live In Italy.\ After that they conversed. The three of them sat very upright in their chairs and went politely through the topics of the day. Ann was amazed at herself; she had not dreamed she had such reserves of conventionalities. It seemed to her that heturs passed be- fore Aveszenti rose smartly to his feet, bowed, planted a kiss first on the ex- act diametrical back of Mrs. Cort- landt's hand, and then on hers, and prepared to take his departure. On his way to the door he paused, as though struck with a midden thought. \The ambassador from my country will be in this city on Wednesday. Would It, perhaps, prove amusing to you, Signora, to meet him? If BO I will arrange a little dinner at the Fifth Avenue hotel, where I am stop- ping for, it is possible, a fortnight.\ \A fortnight,\ thought Ann, with a flashing grin. \He doesn't think It wilt take very long.\ However, an am- bassador; that was something! She rejoined the conversation to hear Mrs. Cortiandt accepting effusive- ly for herself, Ann and Fanny. \You are stopping at the hotel?\ she contin- ued. \You are, I have no doubt, comfortable there. We are very proud of the Fifth Avenue, but after all—a hotel!\ She shrugged her plump shoulders scornfully. \It would give me great pleasure if you would take dinner with us on Sunday. I am only sorry that Mr. Cortlandt is not here to make you a elcorne.\ Avezsana accept- ed with every symptom of decorous delight, and took ‘ his departure with- out noire than a glance at Ann. It was all entirely incomprehensi- ble; had anyone except her guardian been Involved, she would have thought the whole thing a gigantic hoax. Mrs. Cortiandt, however, was decidedly Im- pressed. \Whatever he sees In you, Ann, I cannot Imagine,\ she confided to the girl. \He is a charming young man. Such beautiful manners! Such de- lightful breeding!\ Without going in- to It further, Ann understood that Mrs. Cortlandt had been informed of Avez- zeroes intentions. Fanny was greatly excited at the prospect of meeting a genuine Italian count, for, in the 'sixties, titles were a novelty In New York. She asked Ann a great many questions about him, to which that young woman replied, dry- ly, \Oh he Is just a man. Fanny, like other men—blacker, perhaps.\ The Theodore Rennenlyers came to the ceremonious mid -Sunday dinner, miraculously reconciled to Atm. Mrs. Renneslyer had not spoken to her since she had jilted Hendricks, and his father, on the one or two occasions when the girl had seen him, had been so filled with kindly embarrassment in her company, that she had minded It more than his wife's icy displeasure. She wondered what sort of a meal they would have, all together with Ayes- zana, and wished nervously that she might be excluded from it, as she had been in the rebellious days of her childbood. To her amazement, when Mrs. Renneslyer came In, just on the heels of the young Italian, she was full of a pleasing, if shallow, affection to- ward her; and her husband had re- turned gaily to his old lively comrade- ship. It was as though nothing had happened to discredit her with them. Mrs. Renneslyer had bought herself new dresses; on abandoning her mourn- ing, and she seemed, on this bright September afternoon, to have returaed miraculously to her youth. She wore a filmy mauve frock, covered with frothy little ruffles of white lace, and a purple bonnet with pansies on the wide brim, which poked forward over her vivacious face. Her waist was per- haps a little thicker and her cheeks a trifle pinker than they had been, on the day, so long ago, when Ann had first seen her, and if one were disa- greeable enough to look for them, one might possibly find, In the shadow of \Oh He is Just • Man, Fanny, Like Other Men;. Blacker, Perhaps.* her hat brim, a network of eine wrin- kles about the corners of her pretty eyes, but her throat and her hands were as white as ever, while the glossy ringlets that clustered under the wreath of pansies on her hat were extraordinarily veracious. Mrs. Cortlandt had asked no one else to dinner. \Only the family,\ she said archly to Aveamna. and he had responded with a grave courtesy which Ann thought made Mrs. William seem bourgeois. The talk at the din- ner, however, was quite brilliant. Mrs. Renneslyer had been to Italy before her marriage. \How can you bear to leave so beautiful a place?\ she demanded oratorically. \It was in the spring when I was there, and there were roses everywhere—everY- where, I assure you, Ann—and purple dowers, great masses of them, I forget their name---\ \Bogumvella Avezzana affirmed, smiling. \Yes that's It. So sweet! Of course, I was there long before any one had heard of Garibaldi. I am quite an old woman, you see! I went down to Rome and was presented to the pope. flied to wear a black veil on my head, Fanny; it was really quite becoming, and the pope was very sweet to mei— very. Oh, yes, I loved Rome! I wes a great success there, too. I often wiel- der, Theodore, that I ever came back to New York to marry you. There was such an attractive man I met there! I wonder, Count Avezzana, If by chance you knew him? Of course, by this time, he Is probably a grandfather!\ And then began a long cataloguing of possible acquaintances, In which Avez- sans engaged himself vivaciously. Ann wondered if the Italian were really amused by It. It was impossi- ble to tell, when watching him from across the table. Now and then he glanced up, and his black eyes clashed with her gray ones, but there was nothing personal, nothing demanding, In his look; the man she had known in the little house at Gettysburg had vanished so completely that she thought her memory must have tricked her in regard to him. As for her guardian's letter—she could only be- lieve that Avezzana had, by this tinit•, changed his mind In regard to her, for he had made no effort to arrange for glimpse of her between the Thurs- day of his call and Sunday. In the drawing room after dinner, however, he asked her, choosing a moment when she was protected by the pres- ence of both the aunts, if It would be a proper thing for him to ask her to ride with him one afternoon. \Quite I should think,\ Ann said, dryly. Mrs. Renneslyer added, smoothly, \In New York, of course, we are not so rigid as you are in Europe; young girls do many things I would prefer a daughter of mine didn't. But you have my permission, Ann, to ride with Count Avezzana.\ Ann grinned a little at that; ter; she recalled her last ride with the Italian, and a slow flush burned up in her cheeks, for the elaborate se crecy with which he surrounded that episode was making her self-con- scious. It was arranged that they would go on the afternoon before the count's dinner for the Italian ambas- sador, but at noon of that day the heat broke in a sharp thunder squall and a flood of rain, so that riding was out of the question; Ann had an odd sense of relief at postponing the tete-a-tete. In the evening they all wore their best clothes; when Mrs. William, Fanny and Ann drove through the rain in the big Cortlandt carriage, It could scarcely accommodate their flamboy- ant skirts. Ann was in white, Fanny in pink, and Mrs. Cortlandt In plum color. The older woman talked all the way of the charms of their young host; his good looks, his brilliancy and his tine manners. Ann wondered what she would be saying if she knew of the night In the little cottage at Gettysburg. \Nothing against him,\ she thought, cynically, \but probably a great deal against me!\ The dinner was a most impressive occasion. Avezzana had engaged a private dining room In his hotel, and had decorated the table lavishly with flowers, aftef the Iteiltdit fashion. He had secured distinguished company to meet his ambassador; a general in_the Northern army, whom he had met tat Gettysburg, en ex-mini/der to Italy from Wilmington. Delaware. and an Italian capitalist from Chicago—a squat, fat, swarthy man, who, when he talked at all, talked volubly of the pos- sibilities of the fruit trade in Aimee, - ea. The ambassador proved to be de- lightful. He was a fine-looking old man, with a white Imperial, fierce, white brows over them, which moved up and down frantically when he talked. Ann liked him at once; It would have been Impossible not to have done so, for he immediately set about making himself pleasant, and she was by no means proof against such flattering attention. She sat on his right, for Aveszana had placed the aunts on either side of him, and she found herself devoting most of the evening to a discussion of her host. \A charming boy,\ the ambassador sn, smiling indulgently across the table at Avezzana. \I knew his father well, and his mother. Ah—une bells Signora. Signorina, and how she will enjoy you, so fresh, so naive, so Amer - lean l\ His English was extraordinar- ily fluent. \My young friend has a great life before him. It will not be long, now, when my king will have a united Italy; there will be t no more lighting—no more wars. Tbe young Guido will be free for polities, and be will go far.\ Ann, at this juncture, made a feeble attempt to divert the conversation into more Abstract channels, but the am- banador would have none of It. \His family jewels!\ he exclaimed, alvottos of nothing, \such pearlst But pearls are too dull fbr you. I have seen his grandmothers diamond eartings, which wait for Avezzana's bride -- there is a tiara, too.\ Hill glance trav- eled to the top of Ann's shining head and rested there until she felt uncom- fortably naked; she had never seen a tiara, to be sure, but her instinct told her the place for one. \And his houses. Do you like the country, Signorina?\ \Ye -es,\ said Ann. \Pretty well.\ She bad in mind the tittle white farm house in Milton Center. \Ali until you have seen Piedmont you have not seen the country! A beautiful old castle, Signorina, atone everywhere, inside and out; therefore, even In midsummer, you have never the heat like this. Such gardens! Such flowers! Such fruits! Ill America you have no Idea of fruits—In spite of \You Are a Sly Puss, My Dear. And It is No Wonder That My Poor Boy Could Not Carry the Day Against Such a Rival.\ what our friend yonder is at this mo- ment engaged in saying, by way of en- dearing itimself to your so charming aunt, Mrs. Renneslyer. . . . And the moon light on the terrace on a May night, Signorina—even your cold Amer- ican heart could not withstand that I\ \What does one do in the country in Italy?\ Ann demanded lucidly. \There is hunting, my dear young lady. You should see the Count Avez- zana returning from the chase—\ Ann Interrupted' him ruthlessly, quite regardless of the fact that he was an ambassador. \No. I mean what do the women do?\ The ambassadorial eyebrows fltw up and down with extraordinary rapidity. \Oh be said, \the ladles! Our sun- light, Signorina! To sit in it is Heaven! The ladies have always a parasol of some beautiful color; they make pictures, so, which a man re members. They gather the flowers, too, and instruct the gardeners as to the fruits, and, of course, Signorina, they talk, in more languages, perhaps, than in this, your country, but the con- text is the same—for our ladles are no different In that respect from ladles all over the world.\ He laughed, secure In the humor of his little joke, and added. \And of course, they have their devotions --their charities.\ \In the cities,\ Ann continued defi- nitely, \what do they do there?\ The ambassador leaned back In his chair and expanded his white shirt- front genially. \Per Baccot—such de- lightful lives! Not perhaps so ener- getic as this of yours, in this so charm- ing country, but always feminine, you understand. It is the custom In the cities of my country to drive in the afternook----in Roma, on the Corso, and. In Firenze, in the Canine; the ladles use the elegant open carriage like those in which the Queen Victoria drives. Also, itemise our king sane - lions it, It has recently become the custom for the ladles to ride on the horse in my country. as they do in Eng- land—but, you understand, with some- what less freedom., And there are balls,—solrees—the d ippera--ell those entertainments which one finds in capital.—and also, naturally, they have their devotions—their charities.\ Ann said nothing in response to this. She was wondering if the Italian la- dies liked It, title* cushioned lives like that. After all, a day- had twenty-four hours: the ambassador's sketch left gaps her imagination could not fill. When the ladies were Mewling, Mrs. Rennneslyer murmured to Ann, softly, \You are a sly puss, my dear, and It is no wonder that my poor boy could not carry the day against such a rival.\ She swept out before Ann could de- fend herself, but on second thought the girl decided It was perhaps as welt she had not had the occasion to ex- plain to Hendricks' mother that she had never loved her son. The dinner made a great difference in the attitude of the Cortiandts to- ward her, there was no question about that. Mrs. Rennesiyer awarded her a reluctant resesect. while Mrs. William deferred to her as though she were al- ready one of the magntfleent Ayes - sans. about whom the Italian ambas- sador had talked. Al a result. Ann's life was vastly_ more comfortable. Fanny regarded her with dazzled eyes; she turned suddenly shy, end was much too timid to discuss the possibili- ties of • great marriage. As for the girl herself, she could not help enjoy- ing the extraordinary situation In which she found herself, and her won- derment as te what Avezzana's next move would Se became • preoccupa- tion. It was evident that Avezzarie considered the dinner a definite step In his courtship, for every day, follow- ing that event, he sent her flowers; they arrived early in the mortting, fresh and untouched by the September heat. In the evening he came, formal- ly, to call on her and Mrs. William; It well always a repetition of big first visit; the older woman was Invariably present, and the conversation flowed In shallow courses, so that Ann found herself swallowing yawns. Avezzana's form of courtship was new and excit- ing, but she came reluctantly to the conclusion that she did not like him, particularly. It was all very perplex- ing, but, at the same time, it was a fascinating game. When the proposal finally came she was, for all her anticipation of it caught unaware. The Hellen came to dinner in Washington square, and found her alone in the library. It was obvious that the others would be there In a moment, and Ann had no expecta- tion of anything decisive Impending, until, contrary to his habit, Avezzana came close to her chair, and stood over her with an air of affectionate pt'oprie- torshIp. ( \It is coming!\ Ann thought, stag- gered, and she began to talk rapidly of the extraordinary heat of the night. He brushed her simple defenses aside with a romantic gesture of his hand. \I have something to ask of you.\ \No. Please don't ask me anything, Count Avezzana.\ She knew, as she spoke, that he took her compunction for mere maidenly confusion. He smiled, and surprised her. \Have I your permission to call you by your name? To call you Ann?\ In her relief, she almost laughed. \Oh—that? Yes, of course, If you like.\ This permission encouraged Ayes - cane to an extraordinary extent. He leaned closer to her, and the scent of his pomade enveloped her With an odor entirely different from that used by American men. \Grazla inio Bella. You know, perhaps, why I have re- main so long in your city?\ \I thought perhaps you liked it.,\ Ann said nervously. \I do.\ Avezzana shrugged one of his slim shoulders. No, I have remain so long in your city because of you, my Ann. You must have—what is It you say?— guessed, that it was my intention to ask you to do me the honor to be MY wife. Ever since that night at Gettys- burg\—he broke off, and for a moment his deep look flickered away—\but we will not talk of that—not now. ft Is only that since then I have the wish but for one thing.\ He slipped his hand over Ann's at this juncture. \Could you care for me?\ he asked, smiling brilliantly down upon her; his assur- ance was contagious. \I am afraid not.\ Amin said drear- ily; at the time It seemed to her unfor- tunate. \I will teach you.\ Avezzana pro- claimed, joyfully. It was exactly as though she had not spoken. \You must marry me, my Ann. You must come with me—to Italia.\ Ann continued to look at him, half. hypnotized. \I think my uncle would like it,\ she murmured. \But yes—it is a good alliance. The only question Is this. Is It your wish?\ Her wish? She almost yielded to his power of suggestion. . . . Everything seemed to be pushing her toward this marriage.... Nineteen years old.... High time. . . . Every one would be pleased.... She had only to nod her head. She smiled rather miserably at Ayes - sane, and heard a tiny voice some- where saying, \I really can't—I'm sorry.\ She half regretted the words as soon as she knew them to be hers, and yet she --did net 'recall them. Avezzana flushed deeply, and for an instant the vivid passion of his nature flashed out. as It had -.at Gettysburg. \I must have your he said; for the first time he was loud and uncon- trolled. \I will not give you up. How I, It that you can think to refuse me, after that night near the battle?\ \That Is all past,\ Ann said. \It has nothing to do with my marrying you, or not.\ With a violent effort, Avezzana gained his smooth control of himself. \Please he begged, \give me a little time. Do not yet make up your mind against me, I hag you.\ \Very well.\ Ann conceded grudg- ingly. \But don't be too hopeful.\ That night, before he left, Avezzana had a word alone with Mrs. Cortiandt, and the next afternoon Ann came in to find the two closeted in the library. She was only too glad to steal past the door to the stair, filled with an exhil- arating sense of escape. She had been In her room hut a few moments when Mrs. Cortlandt rapped portentously at her door. She came in, Ann thought, like a Nth* 'under full sail. \Well miss.\ she flung at the girl, with a complete return to her old man- ner, \and so, having disgraced the fam- ily which has been your benefactor, you have the insolence to refuse to marry the man who is willing to clear your good name!\ \SO Ann said Indignantly, \he has told you.\ \And high time he did! What your guardian will think of melt behavior! All night! Abner \No.\ Ann corrected her coldly. \Not alone. With (mount Aveseana.\ \Have you no orrrore of shame?\ \I have nothing to be ashamed et. -- -- I can't see why be had to tell you about it, now everythfng Is all over.\ \Over? Nonsense! Count Aversion is willing to marry you, Ann.\ \But I'm not willing to marry him. I don't love him, Aunt Emily.\ Mrs. Cortiandt looked at her, exas- peration written plainly on her face. \You have compromised yourself with him,\ she said. \You might jest as well love him. You certainly 'wHi have to marry him.\ , \Do you think uncle would agree with you in thatr. - Mrs. Cortiandt paused; for mo- ment she was staggered. \I dare say,\ she said, at length, \that ' you/ guardian la satielently infatuated with you to excuse even this impropriety, but if you have ordinary gratitude tot all his kindness, you will marry Count Aveziana, and save hinetebe embarrass- ment of explaining yon i escapade.\ Ann's eyes widened. She had not thought of that aspect of her sorry case. \I wish you would let me - ex- plain it to you,\ she said. weekly . . Mrs Cortlapdt furled aoine of. her ' sail, at this concession. 9114 seite4„ ‘ herself majestically, and. bent a sorry- Ing look on the culprit. \Nothing ran ever explain it, Ann,\ ihe said heavily. \There is nothing for you to do but marry Count Avezzana. And your guardian approves the match.. I have had a letter from him stating his wishes In regard to It\ \Ot may I see itr It seemed to' Ann like a life line in drowning seas. \Certainly not, miss.... This young man is everything you- could wane titled, head over heels in lowi with you —rich, even. You would be mad to hesitate, even If you had an enema- . tive.\ She looked at Ann threwaly. \Your inardian's choice! Have you no gratitude?\ Suddenly weariness engulfed Ann. is Vas angry woman arguing with herr She wanted to be rid af..11111%.10any coat. . . She could see years of rail- ing etretchIng out before -he-,- and in- nuendo about it, too; shii thought, shivering, that nothing could he worse than that. . . . He aerates _tilaiti.d the match. Tbat 1 tselt, was enough. . . She amazed Mrs. Contemn by a swift capitulation. \Very well, I'll marry him. You can ten him so.\ She looked at the older woman in open- sneering scorn as she bounced up from her seat; Mrs. Cortiandt smiled, she even kissed Ann -a rdift peck on an averted cheek—murmuring \Contessa !\ as she did so. • • • • • Tanny was all a -flutter 'over her friead's romantic alliance; the Ben- neslyers were pleasantry congratula- . tory, and Battered, too, and Avezzana was delighted. From the moment Mrs. Cortlandt conveyed the good news to him he boomed Into a happy conviction that Ann had loved him all along— that it was only maidenly modesty a‘ which had prevented her admitting it. A : He gave her an ancestral ring of such e -Magnificent proportions that It fairly She Understood Why the Italian Ladles Only Picked Flowers and Sat in the Sun. staggered her. With It on her hand she could think of nothing else; she could perform none of the ercilnaj...„ Its overpowering magnifieseE - ce, she duties of her life, and looking At -if i n picked flowers sad sat in the sun. understood why the Ranee l a di es only From the moment of ter acceptance, affairs seemed to move &tang entirely without her volition. She heard Mrs. early date for the marriage, her trona- Cortiandt and Avezzana dis cuss i ng an sea% Wedding presents, and millings, all at once. In a half-hou, she was more nearly wedded to this stranger than she had been to Hen4rieks In all the years of her engagetnent, and she was aghast at such speett, Mrs. oort- tandem enthusiasm sweta her along on rebel- lious. high tide, runts, but already rebel - (TO BE CONTTN1.1 fra)./ Drama and Religion. The drama in its relation to religiott b., _ In its association with the Greek wor- ship began about 000 B. C., when it took the form of dancing and verlons forms of artistic expression. In the Christian church the drama did not find a place for 300 years, and after a lapse of 500 years It was revived for the purpose of teaching and inter- esting people in the stories of the Old and New Testaments. There was a form of liturgical drama at that time In connection with the mass. rind there are still to be found In England old stone sepulchers uhlch were used at one period with that form of drama at Easter. Miracle plays were fol- lowed by mend drama In pavan form. Thee also came morality sett - \The PUerha's Progress\ was really as* of the surality playa.
