If Van Berg had given thought to himself that evening as he did to Ida Mayhew he might have discovered some rather odd phenomena in his varying mental states.Earlier in the summer he had been a very deliberate and conscientious wooer.He had leisurely taken counsel of his reason,judgment,and good taste;he mentally consulted his parents,and satisfied himself that Miss Burton would have peculiar charms for them,and so it had come to seem almost a duty as well as a privilege to seek that young lady's hand.The sagacity and nice appreciation of character on which he had so greatly prided himself led to the belief that fortune in giving him a chance to win such a maiden had been very kind.That his pulse was so even and his heart had so little to say in the matter was only a proof that he did not possess an unbalanced head-long nature like that of Stanton,who had soon become wholly mastered by his passion.He had at one time reasoned it all out to his satisfaction,and believed he was paying his suit to the woman he would make his wife in an eminently proper way.but now that he was merely trying to obtain a young girl's friendship,the cool and masterful poise which he had then been able to maintain,was apparently deserting him.He might have asked himself if he ever remembered being such an enthusiastic friend before.He might have considered how often he had kept awake and counted the hours till he should meet a friend from whom he had just parted.That these obvious thoughts and contrasts did not occur to him only proved that he was smitten already by that blindness which a certain spiritual malady usually occasions in its earlier stages.
As for poor Ida,she still felt that her little boat was being carried forward by a shining tide--whither she dared not think.
She had come to the city to escape from the artist,and as a result she might spend long hours alone with him in his studio and see far more of him than if she had remained in the country.She had not sought it--she had not even dared to hope or dream of such a thing;but now that this exquisite cup of pleasure had been pressed to her very lips by other hands she could not refuse it.
Her father had watched her keenly but furtively since she had been his companion,and until the artist had accosted her the evening before had not been able to understand the depression which she could not disguise wholly from him;but the light and welcome that flashed into her face when greeting Van Berg had suggested her secret,and all that followed confirmed his surmise.The truth was plainer still when she came down to their early breakfast the next morning with color in her cheeks and a fitful light of excitement in her eyes.
As he realized the truth he fairly trembled with apprehension and longing."Oh,if Ida could only marry that man I would be almost beside myself with joy,"he thought;"but I fear it is rash even to hope for such a thing.Indeed,I myself am the obstacle that would probably prevent it all.The Van Bergs are a proud race,and this young man's father knows me too well.O God!I could be annihilated if thereby my child could be happy.""Ida,"he said,hesitatingly,"perhaps I had better not go with you this morning.I imagine Mr.Van Berg asked me out of politeness rather than from any wish to see me and--and--I think I had better not go."She looked up at him swiftly,and the rich color mantled her face,for she read his thoughts in part.But she only said quietly:
"Then I will not go."
"That would not be right or courteous,Ida,"but I think you young people will get on better without me.""You are mistaken,Father;I never intend to get on without you,and any friend of mine who does not welcome you becomes a stranger from that hour.But I think you are doing Mr.Van Berg an injustice.
At any rate we will give him a chance to show a better spirit.""Ida,my child,if you only knew how gladly I would sacrifice myself to make you happy!"She came to him and put her arms around his neck and looking up into his face said,with the earnestness and solemnity of a vow,"I will take no happiness which I cannot receive as your loving daughter.As long as you are the man you have been since Sunday Iwill stand proudly at your side.If you should ever be weak again you will drag me down with you."He held her from him and looked at her as a miser might gloat over his treasure.
"Ida,my good angel,"he murmured.
"Nonsense!"she exclaimed,trying to hide her feelings by a little brusqueness,"I'm as human a girl as there is in this city,and will try your patience a hundred times before the year is out.Come,let us go and visit this proud artist.He had better beware,or he may find an expression on my face that he won't like if I should decide to give him a sitting."But the artist did like the expression of Ida's face as he glanced up from his work with great frequency and with an admiring glow in his eyes that was anything but cool and business-like.Even her jealous love had not detected a tone or act in his reception of her father that was not all she could ask,and she had never seen the poor man look so pleased and hopeful as when he left the studio for his office.There had not been a particle of patronage in Van Berg's manner,but only the cordial and respectful courtesy of a younger gentleman towards an elderly one.Mr.Mayhew had been made at home at once,and before he left,the artist had obtained his promise to come again with his daughter on the following morning.
"His bearing towards father was the perfection of good breeding,"thought Ida,and it would seem that some of the gratitude with which her heart overflowed found its way into her tones and eyes.
"You look so pleasantly and kindly,that you must be thinking of Mr.Eltinge,"said Van Berg.
"You are not to paint my thoughts,"said Ida,with a quick flush.
"I wish I could."
"I'm glad you can't."
