The witnesses of Mavering's successful efforts to make everybody like him were interested in his differentiation of the attentions he offered every age and sex from those he paid Alice. But while they all agreed that there never was a sweeter fellow, they would have been puzzled to say in just what this difference consisted, and much as they liked him, the ladies of her cult were not quite satisfied with him till they decided that it was marked by an anxiety, a timidity, which was perfectly fascinating in a man so far from bashfulness as he. That is, he did nice things for others without asking; but with her there was always an explicit pause, and an implicit prayer and permission, first. Upon this condition they consented to the glamour which he had for her, and which was evident to every one probably but him.
Once agreeing that no one was good enough for Alice Pasmer, whose qualities they felt that only women could really appreciate, they were interested to see how near Mavering could come to being good enough; and as the drama played itself before their eyes, they pleased themselves in analysing its hero.
"He is not bashful, certainly," said one of a little group who sat midway of the piazza while Alice and Mavering walked up and down together.
"But don't you think he's modest? There's that difference, you know."The lady addressed waited so long before answering that the young couple came abreast of the group, and then she had to wait till they were out of hearing. "Yes," she said then, with a tender, sighing thoughtfulness, "I've felt that in him. And really think he is a very loveable nature.
The only question would be whether he wasn't too loveable.""Yes," said the first lady, with the same kind of suspiration, "I know what you mean. And I suppose they ought to be something more alike in disposition.""Or sympathies?" suggested the other.
"Yes, or sympathies."
A third lady laughed a little. "Mr. Mavering has so many sympathies that he ought to be like her in some of them.""Do you mean that he's too sympathetic--that he isn't sincere?" asked the first--a single lady of forty-nine, a Miss Cotton, who had a little knot of conscience between her pretty eyebrows, tied there by the unremitting effort of half a century to do and say exactly the truth, and to find it out.
Mrs. Brinkley, whom she addressed, was of that obesity which seems often to incline people to sarcasm. "No, I don't think he's insincere. Ithink he always means what he says and does--Well, do you think a little more concentration of good-will would hurt him for Miss Pasmer's purpose --if she has it?""Yes, I see," said Miss Cotton. She waited, with her kind eyes fixed wistfully upon Alice, for the young people to approach and get by.
"I wonder what the men think of him?"
"You might ask Miss Anderson," said Mrs. Brinkley.
"Oh, do you think they tell her?"
"Not that exactly," said Mrs. Brinkley, shaking with good-humoured pleasure in her joke.
"Her voice--oh yes. She and Alice are great friends, of course.""I should think," said Mrs. Stamwell, the second speaker, "that Mr.
Mavering would be jealous sometimes--till he looked twice.""Yes," said Miss Cotton, obliged to admit the force of the remark, but feeling that Mr. Mavering had been carried out of the field of her vision by the turn of the talk. "I suppose," she continued, "that he wouldn't be so well liked by other young men as she is by other girls, do you think?""I don't think, as a rule," said Mrs. Brinkley, "that men are half so appreciative of one another as women are. It's most amusing to see the open scorn with which two young fellows treat each other if a pretty girl introduces them."All the ladies joined in the laugh with which Mrs. Brinkley herself led off. But Miss Cotton stopped laughing first.
"Do you mean,", she asked, "that if a gentleman were generally popular with gentlemen it would be--""Because he wasn't generally so with women? Something like that--if you'll leave Mr. Mavering out of the question. Oh, how very good of them!" she broke off, and all the ladies glanced at Mavering and Alice where they had stopped at the further end of the piazza, and were looking off. "Now I can probably finish before they get back here again. What Ido mean, Miss Cotton, is that neither sex willingly accepts the favourites of the other.""Yes," said Miss Cotton admissively.
"And all that saves Miss Pasmer is that she has not only the qualities that women like in women, but some of the qualities that men, like in them. She's thoroughly human."A little sensation, almost a murmur, not wholly of assent, went round that circle which had so nearly voted Alice a saint.
"In the first place, she likes to please men.""Oh!" came from the group.
"And that makes them like her--if it doesn't go too far, as her mother says."The ladies all laughed, recognising a common turn of phrase in Mrs.
Pasmer.
"I should think," said Mrs. Stamwell, "that she would believe a little in heredity if she noticed that in her daughter;" and the ladies laughed again.
"Then," Mrs. Brinkley resumed concerning Alice, "she has a very pretty face--an extremely pretty face; she has a tender voice, and she's very, very graceful--in rather an odd way; perhaps it's only a fascinating awkwardness. Then she dresses--or her mother dresses her--exquisitely."The ladies, with another sensation, admitted the perfect accuracy with which these points had been touched.
"That's what men like, what they fall in love with, what Mr. Mavering's in love with this instant. It's no use women's flattering themselves that they don't, for they do. The rest of the virtues and graces and charms are for women. If that serious girl could only know the silly things that that amiable simpleton is taken with in her, she'd--""Never speak to him again?" suggested Miss Cotton.
"No, I don't say that. But she would think twice before marrying him.""And then do it," said Mrs. Stamwell pensively, with eyes that seemed looking far into the past.
