the hour that olive proposed to mrs. burrage, in a note sent early the next morning, for the interview to which she consented to lend herself, was the stroke of noon; this period of the day being chosen in consequence of a prevision of many subsequent calls upon her time. she remarked in her note that she did not wish any carriage to be sent for her, and she surged and swayed up the fifth avenue on one of the convulsive, clattering omnibuses which circulate in that thoroughfare. one of her reasons for mentioning twelve o’clock had been that she knew basil ransom was to call at tenth street at eleven, and (as she supposed he didn’t intend to stay all day) this would give her time to see him come and go. it had been tacitly agreed between them, the night before, that verena was quite firm enough in her faith to submit to his visit, and that such a course would be much more dignified than dodging it. this understanding passed from one to the other during that dumb embrace which i have described as taking place before they separated for the night. shortly before noon, olive, passing out of the house, looked into the big, sunny double parlour, where, in the morning, with all the husbands absent for the day and all the wives and spinsters launched upon the town, a young man desiring to hold a debate with a young lady might enjoy every advantage in the way of a clear field. basil ransom was still there; he and verena, with the place to themselves, were standing in the recess of a window, their backs presented to the door. if he had got up, perhaps he was going, and olive, softly closing the door again, waited a little in the hall, ready to pass into the back part of the house if she should hear him coming out. no sound, however, reached her ear; apparently he did mean to stay all day, and she should find him there on her return. she left the house, knowing they were looking at her from the window as she descended the steps, but feeling she could not bear to see basil ransom’s face. as she walked, averting her own, towards the fifth avenue, on the sunny side, she was barely conscious of the loveliness of the day, the perfect weather, all suffused and tinted with spring, which sometimes descends upon new york when the winds of march have been stilled; she was given up only to the remembrance of that moment when she herself had stood at a window (the second time he came to see her in boston), and watched basil ransom pass out with adeline — with adeline who had seemed capable then of getting such a hold on him but had proved as ineffectual in this respect as she was in every other. she recalled the vision she had allowed to dance before her as she saw the pair cross the street together, laughing and talking, and how it seemed to interpose itself against the fears which already then — so strangely — haunted her. now that she saw it so fruitless — and that verena, moreover, had turned out really so great — she was rather ashamed of it; she felt associated, however remotely, in the reasons which had made mrs. luna tell her so many fibs the day before, and there could be nothing elevating in that. as for the other reasons why her fidgety sister had failed and mr. ransom had held his own course, naturally miss chancellor didn’t like to think of them.

if she had wondered what mrs. burrage wished so particularly to talk about, she waited some time for the clearing-up of the mystery. during this interval she sat in a remarkably pretty boudoir, where there were flowers and faiences and little french pictures, and watched her hostess revolve round the subject in circles the vagueness of which she tried to dissimulate. olive believed she was a person who never could enjoy asking a favour, especially of a votary of the new ideas; and that was evidently what was coming. she had asked one already, but that had been handsomely paid for; the note from mrs. burrage which verena found awaiting her in tenth street, on her arrival, contained the largest cheque this young woman had ever received for an address. the request that hung fire had reference to verena too, of course; and olive needed no prompting to feel that her friend’s being a young person who took money could not make mrs. burrage’s present effort more agreeable. to this taking of money (for when it came to verena it was as if it came to her as well) she herself was now completely inured; money was a tremendous force, and when one wanted to assault the wrong with every engine one was happy not to lack the sinews of war. she liked her hostess better this morning than she had liked her before; she had more than ever the air of taking all sorts of sentiments and views for granted between them; which could only be flattering to olive so long as it was really mrs. burrage who made each advance, while her visitor sat watchful and motionless. she had a light, clever, familiar way of traversing an immense distance with a very few words, as when she remarked, “well, then, it is settled that she will come, and will stay till she is tired.”

nothing of the kind had been settled, but olive helped mrs. burrage (this time) more than she knew by saying, “why do you want her to visit you, mrs. burrage? why do you want her socially? are you not aware that your son, a year ago, desired to marry her?”

“my dear miss chancellor, that is just what i wish to talk to you about. i am aware of everything; i don’t believe you ever met any one who is aware of more things than i.” and olive had to believe this, as mrs. burrage held up, smiling, her intelligent, proud, good-natured, successful head. “i knew a year ago that my son was in love with your friend, i know that he has been so ever since, and that in consequence he would like to marry her today. i daresay you don’t like the idea of her marrying at all; it would break up a friendship which is so full of interest” (olive wondered for a moment whether she had been going to say “so full of profit”) “for you. this is why i hesitated; but since you are willing to talk about it, that is just what i want.”

“i don’t see what good it will do,” olive said.

“how can we tell till we try? i never give a thing up till i have turned it over in every sense.”

it was mrs. burrage, however, who did most of the talking; olive only inserted from time to time an inquiry, a protest, a correction, an ejaculation tinged with irony. none of these things checked or diverted her hostess; olive saw more and more that she wished to please her, to win her over, to smooth matters down, to place them in a new and original light. she was very clever and (little by little olive said to herself) absolutely unscrupulous, but she didn’t think she was clever enough for what she had undertaken. this was neither more nor less, in the first place, than to persuade miss chancellor that she and her son were consumed with sympathy for the movement to which miss chancellor had dedicated her life. but how could olive believe that, when she saw the type to which mrs. burrage belonged — a type into which nature herself had inserted a face turned in the very opposite way from all earnest and improving things? people like mrs. burrage lived and fattened on abuses, prejudices, privileges, on the petrified, cruel fashions of the past. it must be added, however, that if her hostess was a humbug, olive had never met one who provoked her less; she was such a brilliant, genial, artistic one, with such a recklessness of perfidy, such a willingness to bribe you if she couldn’t deceive you. she seemed to be offering olive all the kingdoms of the earth if she would only exert herself to bring about a state of feeling on verena tarrant’s part which would lead the girl to accept henry burrage.

“we know it’s you — the whole business; that you can do what you please. you could decide it tomorrow with a word.”

she had hesitated at first, and spoken of her hesitation, and it might have appeared that she would need all her courage to say to olive, that way, face to face, that verena was in such subjection to her. but she didn’t look afraid; she only looked as if it were an infinite pity miss chancellor couldn’t understand what immense advantages and rewards there would be for her in striking an alliance with the house of burrage. olive was so impressed with this, so occupied, even, in wondering what these mystic benefits might be, and whether after all there might not be a protection in them (from something worse), a fund of some sort that she and verena might convert to a large use, setting aside the mother and son when once they had got what they had to give — she was so arrested with the vague daze of this vision, the sense of mrs. burrage’s full hands, her eagerness, her thinking it worth while to flatter and conciliate, whatever her pretexts and pretensions might be, that she was almost insensible, for the time, to the strangeness of such a woman’s coming round to a positive desire for a connexion with the tarrants. mrs. burrage had indeed explained this partly by saying that her son’s condition was wearing her out, and that she would enter into anything that would make him happier, make him better. she was fonder of him than of the whole world beside, and it was an anguish to her to see him yearning for miss tarrant only to lose her. she made that charge about olive’s power in the matter in such a way that it seemed at the same time a tribute to her force of character.

“i don’t know on what terms you suppose me to be with my friend,” olive returned, with considerable majesty. “she will do exactly as she likes, in such a case as the one you allude to. she is absolutely free; you speak as if i were her keeper!”

then mrs. burrage explained that of course she didn’t mean that miss chancellor exercised a conscious tyranny; but only that verena had a boundless admiration for her, saw through her eyes, took the impress of all her opinions, preferences. she was sure that if olive would only take a favourable view of her son miss tarrant would instantly throw herself into it. “it’s very true that you may ask me,” added mrs. burrage, smiling, “how you can take a favourable view of a young man who wants to marry the very person in the world you want most to keep unmarried!”

this description of verena was of course perfectly correct; but it was not agreeable to olive to have the fact in question so clearly perceived, even by a person who expressed it with an air intimating that there was nothing in the world she couldn’t understand.

“did your son know that you were going to speak to me about this?” olive asked, rather coldly, waiving the question of her influence on verena and the state in which she wished her to remain.

“oh yes, poor dear boy; we had a long talk yesterday, and i told him i would do what i could for him. do you remember the little visit i paid to cambridge last spring, when i saw you at his rooms? then it was i began to perceive how the wind was setting; but yesterday we had a real éclaircissement. i didn’t like it at all, at first; i don’t mind telling you that, now — now that i am really enthusiastic about it. when a girl is as charming, as original, as miss tarrant, it doesn’t in the least matter who she is; she makes herself the standard by which you measure her; she makes her own position. and then miss tarrant has such a future!” mrs. burrage added, quickly, as if that were the last thing to be overlooked. “the whole question has come up again — the feeling that henry tried to think dead, or at least dying, has revived, through the — i hardly know what to call it, but i really may say the unexpectedly great effect of her appearance here. she was really wonderful on wednesday evening; prejudice, conventionality, every presumption there might be against her, had to fall to the ground. i expected a success, but i didn’t expect what you gave us,” mrs. burrage went on, smiling, while olive noted her “you.” “in short, my poor boy flamed up again; and now i see that he will never again care for any girl as he cares for that one. my dear miss chancellor, j’en ai pris mon parti, and perhaps you know my way of doing that sort of thing. i am not at all good at resigning myself, but i am excellent at taking up a craze. i haven’t renounced, i have only changed sides. for or against, i must be a partisan. don’t you know that kind of nature? henry has put the affair into my hands, and you see i put it into yours. do help me; let us work together.”

this was a long, explicit speech for mrs. burrage, who dealt, usually, in the cursory and allusive; and she may very well have expected that miss chancellor would recognise its importance. what olive did, in fact, was simply to inquire, by way of rejoinder: “why did you ask us to come on?”

if mrs. burrage hesitated now, it was only for twenty seconds. “simply because we are so interested in your work.”

“that surprises me,” said olive thoughtfully.

“i daresay you don’t believe it; but such a judgement is superficial. i am sure we give proof in the offer we make,” mrs. burrage remarked, with a good deal of point. “there are plenty of girls — without any views at all — who would be delighted to marry my son. he is very clever, and he has a large fortune. add to that that he’s an angel!”

that was very true, and olive felt all the more that the attitude of these fortunate people, for whom the world was so well arranged just as it was, was very curious. but as she sat there it came over her that the human spirit has many variations, that the influence of the truth is great, and that there are such things in life as happy surprises, quite as well as disagreeable ones. nothing, certainly, forced such people to fix their affections on the daughter of a “healer”; it would be very clumsy to pick her out of her generation only for the purpose of frustrating her. moreover, her observation of their young host at delmonico’s and in the spacious box at the academy of music, where they had privacy and ease, and murmured words could pass without making neighbours more given up to the stage turn their heads — her consideration of henry burrage’s manner, suggested to her that she had measured him rather scantily the year before, that he was as much in love as the feebler passions of the age permitted (for though miss chancellor believed in the amelioration of humanity, she thought there was too much water in the blood of all of us), that he prized verena for her rarity, which was her genius, her gift, and would therefore have an interest in promoting it, and that he was of so soft and fine a paste that his wife might do what she liked with him. of course there would be the mother-inlaw to count with; but unless she was perjuring herself shamelessly mrs. burrage really had the wish to project herself into the new atmosphere, or at least to be generous personally; so that, oddly enough, the fear that most glanced before olive was not that this high, free matron, slightly irritable with cleverness and at the same time good-natured with prosperity, would bully her son’s bride, but rather that she might take too fond a possession of her. it was a fear which may be described as a presentiment of jealousy. it occurred, accordingly, to miss chancellor’s quick conscience that, possibly, the proposal which presented itself in circumstances so complicated and anomalous was simply a magnificent chance, an improvement on the very best, even, that she had dreamed of for verena. it meant a large command of money — much larger than her own; the association of a couple of clever people who simulated conviction very well, whether they felt it or not, and who had a hundred useful worldly ramifications, and a kind of social pedestal from which she might really shine afar. the conscience i have spoken of grew positively sick as it thought of having such a problem as that to consider, such an ordeal to traverse. in the presence of such a contingency the poor girl felt grim and helpless; she could only vaguely wonder whether she were called upon in the name of duty to lend a hand to the torture of her own spirit.

“and if she should marry him, how could i be sure that — afterwards — you would care so much about the question which has all our thoughts, hers and mine?” this inquiry evolved itself from olive’s rapid meditation; but even to herself it seemed a little rough.

mrs. burrage took it admirably. “you think we are feigning an interest, only to get hold of her? that’s not very nice of you, miss chancellor; but of course you have to be tremendously careful. i assure you my son tells me he firmly believes your movement is the great question of the immediate future, that it has entered into a new phase; into what does he call it? the domain of practical politics. as for me, you don’t suppose i don’t want everything we poor women can get, or that i would refuse any privilege or advantage that’s offered me? i don’t rant or rave about anything, but i have — as i told you just now — my own quiet way of being zealous. if you had no worse partisan than i, you would do very well. my son has talked to me immensely about your ideas; and even if i should enter into them only because he does, i should do so quite enough. you may say you don’t see henry dangling about after a wife who gives public addresses; but i am convinced that a great many things are coming to pass — very soon, too — that we don’t see in advance. henry is a gentleman to his finger-tips, and there is not a situation in which he will not conduct himself with tact.”

olive could see that they really wanted verena immensely, and it was impossible for her to believe that if they were to get her they would not treat her well. it came to her that they would even overindulge her, flatter her, spoil her; she was perfectly capable, for the moment, of assuming that verena was susceptible of deterioration and that her own treatment of her had been discriminatingly severe. she had a hundred protests, objections, replies; her only embarrassment could be as to which she should use first.

“i think you have never seen doctor tarrant and his wife,” she remarked, with a calmness which she felt to be very pregnant.

“you mean they are absolutely fearful? my son has told me they are quite impossible, and i am quite prepared for that. do you ask how we should get on with them? my dear young lady, we should get on as you do!”

if olive had answers, so had mrs. burrage; she had still an answer when her visitor, taking up the supposition that it was in her power to dispose in any manner whatsoever of verena, declared that she didn’t know why mrs. burrage addressed herself to her, that miss tarrant was free as air, that her future was in her own hands, that such a matter as this was a kind of thing with which it could never occur to one to interfere. “dear miss chancellor, we don’t ask you to interfere. the only thing we ask of you is simply not to interfere.”

“and have you sent for me only for that?”

“for that, and for what i hinted at in my note; that you would really exercise your influence with miss tarrant to induce her to come to us now for a week or two. that is really, after all, the main thing i ask. lend her to us, here, for a little while, and we will take care of the rest. that sounds conceited — but she would have a good time.”

“she doesn’t live for that,” said olive.

“what i mean is that she should deliver an address every night!” mrs. burrage returned, smiling.

“i think you try to prove too much. you do believe — though you pretend you don’t — that i control her actions, and as far as possible her desires, and that i am jealous of any other relations she may possibly form. i can imagine that we may perhaps have that air, though it only proves how little such an association as ours is understood, and how superficial is still”— olive felt that her “still” was really historical —“the interpretation of many of the elements in the activity of women, how much the public conscience with regard to them needs to be educated. your conviction with respect to my attitude being what i believe it to be,” miss chancellor went on, “i am surprised at your not perceiving how little it is in my interest to deliver my — my victim up to you.”

if we were at this moment to take, in a single glance, an inside view of mrs. burrage (a liberty we have not yet ventured on), i suspect we should find that she was considerably exasperated at her visitor’s superior tone, at seeing herself regarded by this dry, shy, obstinate, provincial young woman as superficial. if she liked verena very nearly as much as she tried to convince miss chancellor, she was conscious of disliking miss chancellor more than she should probably ever be able to reveal to verena. it was doubtless partly her irritation that found a voice as she said, after a self-administered pinch of caution not to say too much, “of course it would be absurd in us to assume that miss tarrant would find my son irresistible, especially as she has already refused him. but even if she should remain obdurate, should you consider yourself quite safe as regards others?”

the manner in which miss chancellor rose from her chair on hearing these words showed her hostess that if she had wished to take a little revenge by frightening her, the experiment was successful. “what others do you mean?” olive asked, standing very straight, and turning down her eyes as from a great height.

mrs. burrage — since we have begun to look into her mind we may continue the process — had not meant any one in particular; but a train of association was suddenly kindled in her thought by the flash of the girl’s resentment. she remembered the gentleman who had come up to her in the music-room, after miss tarrant’s address, while she was talking with olive, and to whom that young lady had given so cold a welcome. “i don’t mean any one in particular; but, for instance, there is the young man to whom she asked me to send an invitation to my party, and who looked to me like a possible admirer.” mrs. burrage also got up; then she stood a moment, closer to her visitor. “don’t you think it’s a good deal to expect that, young, pretty, attractive, clever, charming as she is, you should be able to keep her always, to exclude other affections, to cut off a whole side of life, to defend her against dangers — if you call them dangers — to which every young woman who is not positively repulsive is exposed? my dear young lady, i wonder if i might give you three words of advice?” mrs. burrage did not wait till olive had answered this inquiry; she went on quickly, with her air of knowing exactly what she wanted to say and feeling at the same time that, good as it might be, the manner of saying it, like the manner of saying most other things, was not worth troubling much about. “don’t attempt the impossible. you have got hold of a good thing; don’t spoil it by trying to stretch it too far. if you don’t take the better, perhaps you will have to take the worse; if it’s safety you want i should think she was much safer with my son — for with us you know the worst — than as a possible prey to adventurers, to exploiters, or to people who, once they had got hold of her, would shut her up altogether.”

olive dropped her eyes; she couldn’t endure mrs. burrage’s horrible expression of being near the mark, her look of worldly cleverness, of a confidence born of much experience. she felt that nothing would be spared her, that she should have to go to the end, that this ordeal also must be faced, and that, in particular, there was a detestable wisdom in her hostess’s advice. she was conscious, however, of no obligation to recognise it then and there; she wanted to get off, and even to carry mrs. burrage’s sapient words along with her — to hurry to some place where she might be alone and think. “i don’t know why you have thought it right to send for me only to say this. i take no interest whatever in your son — in his settling in life.” and she gathered her mantle more closely about her, turning away.

“it is exceedingly kind of you to have come,” said mrs. burrage imperturbably. “think of what i have said; i am sure you won’t feel that you have wasted your hour.”

“i have a great many things to think of!” olive exclaimed insincerely; for she knew that mrs. burrage’s ideas would haunt her.

“and tell her that if she will make us the little visit, all new york shall sit at her feet!”

that was what olive wanted, and yet it seemed a mockery to hear mrs. burrage say it. miss chancellor retreated, making no response even when her hostess declared again that she was under great obligations to her for coming. when she reached the street she found she was deeply agitated, but not with a sense of weakness; she hurried along, excited and dismayed, feeling that her insufferable conscience was bristling like some irritated animal, that a magnificent offer had really been made to verena, and that there was no way for her to persuade herself she might be silent about it. of course, if verena should be tempted by the idea of being made so much of by the burrages, the danger of basil ransom getting any kind of hold on her would cease to be pressing. that was what was present to olive as she walked along, and that was what made her nervous, conscious only of this problem that had suddenly turned the bright day to greyness, heedless of the sophisticated-looking people who passed her on the wide fifth avenue pavement. it had risen in her mind the day before, planted first by mrs. burrage’s note; and then, as we know, she had vaguely entertained the conception, asking verena whether she would make the visit if it were again to be pressed upon them. it had been pressed, certainly, and the terms of the problem were now so much sharper that they seemed cruel. what had been in her own mind was that if verena should appear to lend herself to the burrages basil ransom might be discouraged — might think that, shabby and poor, there was no chance for him as against people with every advantage of fortune and position. she didn’t see him relax his purpose so easily; she knew she didn’t believe he was of that pusillanimous fibre. still, it was a chance, and any chance that might help her had been worth considering. at present she saw it was a question not of verena’s lending herself, but of a positive gift, or at least of a bargain in which the terms would be immensely liberal. it would be impossible to use the burrages as a shelter on the assumption that they were not dangerous, for they became dangerous from the moment they set up as sympathisers, took the ground that what they offered the girl was simply a boundless opportunity. it came back to olive, again and again, that this was, and could only be, fantastic and false; but it was always possible that verena might not think it so, might trust them all the way. when miss chancellor had a pair of alternatives to consider, a question of duty to study, she put a kind of passion into it — felt, above all, that the matter must be settled that very hour, before anything in life could go on. it seemed to her at present that she couldn’t re-enter the house in tenth street without having decided first whether she might trust the burrages or not. by “trust” them, she meant trust them to fail in winning verena over, while at the same time they put basil ransom on a false scent. olive was able to say to herself that he probably wouldn’t have the hardihood to push after her into those gilded saloons, which, in any event, would be closed to him as soon as the mother and son should discover what he wanted. she even asked herself whether verena would not be still better defended from the young southerner in new york, amid complicated hospitalities, than in boston with a cousin of the enemy. she continued to walk down the fifth avenue, without noticing the cross-streets, and after a while became conscious that she was approaching washington square. by this time she had also definitely reasoned it out that basil ransom and henry burrage could not both capture miss tarrant, that therefore there could not be two dangers, but only one; that this was a good deal gained, and that it behoved her to determine which peril had most reality, in order that she might deal with that one only. she held her way to the square, which, as all the world knows, is of great extent and open to the encircling street. the trees and grass-plats had begun to bud and sprout, the fountains plashed in the sunshine, the children of the quarter, both the dingier types from the south side, who played games that required much chalking of the paved walks, and much sprawling and crouching there, under the feet of passers, and the little curled and feathered people who drove their hoops under the eyes of french nursemaids — all the infant population filled the vernal air with small sounds which had a crude, tender quality, like the leaves and the thin herbage. olive wandered through the place, and ended by sitting down on one of the continuous benches. it was a long time since she had done anything so vague, so wasteful. there were a dozen things which, as she was staying over in new york, she ought to do; but she forgot them, or, if she thought of them, felt that they were now of no moment. she remained in her place an hour, brooding, tremulous, turning over and over certain thoughts. it seemed to her that she was face to face with a crisis of her destiny, and that she must not shrink from seeing it exactly as it was. before she rose to return to tenth street she had made up her mind that there was no menace so great as the menace of basil ransom; she had accepted in thought any arrangement which would deliver her from that. if the burrages were to take verena they would take her from olive immeasurably less than he would do; it was from him, from him they would take her most. she walked back to her boarding-house, and the servant who admitted her said, in answer to her inquiry as to whether verena were at home, that miss tarrant had gone out with the gentleman who called in the morning, and had not yet come in. olive stood staring; the clock in the hall marked three.