The Temptation! CHAPTER 1
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Mr. and Mrs. Algeron had resolved to give the first large "party of the season." They were rich, and could afford to lead off in splendid style — and this they intended to do.
"It is time our invitations were out," said Mrs. Algeron to her husband, about ten days before the evening fixed for the brilliant affair, "someone may get in advance of us."
"Very true. Well, suppose we make out a list at once, and have our cards ready to send by tomorrow afternoon."
"I think we should delay no longer. First, then, comes Mr. and Mrs. Turner, their son and beautiful daughter Grace."
"Of course. They give a new interest to the social circle this winter. Grace I think is one of the loveliest young creatures I have ever seen."
"She is indeed a sweet girl. So modest, yet so free from weakness. So accomplished and intelligent, and yet so gracefully retiring. I look upon her as a model for our daughters."
"I have thought, sometimes, when I have seen her more than usually animated in conversation, that she resembled Margaretta," said the father, alluding to his oldest child, a gentle girl of eighteen summers.
"I have also thought the same," replied Mrs. Algeron, while a fond maternal smile passed over her face. "Our Margaretta is a dear, good girl, and everyone thinks her beautiful."
"If as good as she is beautiful."
"As a child, she has ever been to me all I could wish," Mrs. Algeron returned, while her voice trembled, and her eyes grew dim with affection's tears. A brief silence followed this remark, and then she added, with a smile, though a bright drop glistened on her eyelash as she spoke —
"We cannot hope always to keep the dear girl with us. She will be wooed and won in the bloom and beauty of early womanhood, and taken from us at the moment our love has grown deeper and purer than ever."
"I think of that daily," said Mr. Algeron, in a voice of tender interest. "We cannot hope, as you say, long to keep her with us. She will be wooed and won — but by whom? That is the doubtful question! Of all the young men I have seen, there is but one to whom I could resign that sweet child without a sigh — and that one is Henry Turner. He is worthy of her hand."
"And she of his," added the fond and partial mother.
"I believe so."
"We must only hope for the best. They will be thrown much into each other's company this winter, and be drawn together, I trust, by mutual attraction. But who shall we invite next? Let me see."
"The Marklands."
"Oh, yes — they must come next."
"But what about Sidney Markland? You know he has acted very badly during the summer?"
"True — but we cannot pass him by. It would be a direct offence to the family," said Mrs. Algeron, thoughtfully.
"It would, no doubt. But his character is so bad, and his principles so loose, that I feel a most unconquerable reluctance to inviting him."
"But you know he is so handsome and accomplished, and adds so much to the life and enjoyment of a company. I really don't see how he could be spared, under any circumstances. Apart, however, from that, I could not think of wounding his sister and mother by so marked a reference to his recent bad conduct. It must be galling enough to them as it is."
"Yes, galling enough. But," resumed Mr. Algeron, "it is a question in my mind how far we are justified in admitting a person like Sidney Markland into the social circle. Conduct like his should meet the penalty of instant exclusion from virtuous society."
"If he stood alone, this could and ought to be done," replied Mrs. Algeron. "But he is the son of Mr. Markland, and we cannot exclude him. To his family, it would be a mortal offence. Think, now, if he were our own son, how we would feel to have him driven from good society. I am sure that I could not bear it."
"It would be, I know, a hard trial. Still, if one of my sons would act the base part that Sidney Markland has acted — I would have no right to complain if all the world shunned him. Look at poor Mrs. Spencer! I never meet her, that my heart does not ache for her. I never meet her that I do not utter an involuntary malediction upon the destroyer of her peace."
"Still, you must acknowledge that her daughter Sarah was equally to blame with the young man."
"I know nothing of the circumstances attending the case. I only know that he has robbed a poor widowed mother of her child, and made that child a curse instead of a blessing to the world. I know, moreover, that he is a most vile and abandoned character — a sophistocated villain — a black-hearted destroyer of innocence!"
"Don't — don't speak so hastily," said his wife, deprecatingly; "Sidney is but a very young man."
"So much the worse. A deliberate villain at his age, gives a wretched promise for the future. The fact is, he ought to be excluded from virtuous society. He is a dangerous man — aserpent with a charming eye — and a poisonous fang! I really think, now that I begin to reflect more seriously upon the subject, that we ought not to invite him. We will give the first party. Let us set the example of excluding the wicked and unprincipled. If we invite him, we assume the responsibility of introducing to the young and virtuous daughters of our friends, a man whose character and habits we detest — a man with whom we would no more trust our own child, than we would trust her with a demon. Let us stand up with virtuous integrity and put the ban upon him. It is full time that the social atmosphere was purified from the pestilent breath of such men as Sidney Markland!"
"I feel the force of all you say," was the reply of Mrs. Algeron, "but still, I do not think that we ought to assume the responsibility of which you speak."
Mr. and Mrs. Markland would never forgive us. Nor do I believe we would be sustained in the course you propose. Let somebody else act first in this matter — somebody not so intimate as we are with the Marklands."
"Well, let it be as you think best," was the acquiescing reply of Mr. Algeron, more than half willing, as his temporary enthusiasm subsided, to get rid of the responsibility he had been, a moment before, for assuming.
Sidney was, therefore, included in the card sent to the Markland family, when the invitations went out.
A beautifully embossed card, in a fancy envelope, was left at Mr. Turner's on the day following that on which the Algerons had concluded to send out their invitations. It contained "Mr. and Mrs. Algeron's compliments," etc. etc., all in due form. Mrs. Turner was holding it in her hand, as she sat near the window, in a musing attitude, when her husband came in about the hour of twilight, from his counting-room. He was a merchant who had moved to Philadelphia from New York about a year before. Mrs. Turner handed him the card without speaking. He looked at it, smiled, and handed it back to her, remarking as he did so,
"We must go, of course."
"Oh, certainly. But the principle of action we have laid down for ourselves will, doubtless, be severely tried."
"Well! Let the trial come — we must bear it with patient firmness. We have carefully weighed the whole subject, and our resolution is the result of a deliberate conviction, that it is the only safe course for ourselves, and the only honest one towards others."
"Yes, of that I am satisfied. Our social atmosphere needs purification."
"Indeed it does. No conduct, however heinous — no principles, however false and dangerous, are considered sufficient to exclude any one from our social circles — if wealth or family connections are thrown into the opposing scale. Is it any wonder, then, that year after year, our sweet young maidens, because they are reputed rich, are wooed and won by specious scoundrels, and their hearts crushed or broken before the warm flush of youth and beauty has faded from their cheeks? There is hardly a family among us, whose peace has not been destroyed from this very cause. And have we any guarantee that our dear child will not become the prey of some designing wretch, who may have the power to win her innocent, unsuspecting heart? None at all, as society is now constituted! A friend invites our daughter to his house, and at the same time invites a young man because he is respectably connected, who is as base as evil indulgences can make him. They are consequently thrown together. He wins her heart, because he wishes to make a wealthy marriage — and then breaks that heart! He cares nothing for her, but for the wealth and standing which she brings him. Gaining these, what is she to him but an encumbrance; or, at best, but a necessary evil? Would that this picture were a false one! But it is, alas! too true — and the contemplation of it makes my heart ache."
"That vile young man, Sidney Markland, I am very much afraid, will be countenanced still, for the sake of his family," remarked Mrs. Turner.
"Most probable. We can hardly depend upon the Algerons to exclude him. They are rather too much disposed to go with the mass. And besides, they are on terms of intimacy with the Marklands. Well! if he is at their party — we will have to retire with Grace. Our minds are made up to that."
"Mine is, certainly. As painful as such a course will be, I see no other for us to take."
"There is no other. We must protect our child, at all hazards. And, more than this, seeing as we do, clearly, the dangerous effects which flow from the present state of things, we would be false to our social trust, did we not set our faces against it. Someone must lead the way in this matter — and why not we?"
"Side by side with you, I am willing to stand," returned Mrs. Turner, firmly. "Clearly do I see that it is our duty, as members of society, to set our faces against all social evils. Is there a worse one than this evil of exposing our daughters to the corrupting influence attending upon association with young men of bad character?"
"None. And is it not astonishing that any parent is to be found indifferent on this subject? Astonishing that so few think of the dangers which beset their daughters? And still more astonishing that any, when once warned of danger, should continue criminally indifferent? Look at the sad case of Sarah Toner. Poor girl! how often my heart has ached for her! Urged by a sense of duty, I openly declared to her father my conviction of the danger she ran, in being permitted to attend parties where Sanford was a guest. He admitted that the young man was a most despicable character, but could not be convinced that there was any danger of his forming an intimacy with Sarah. The result proved not only his lack of true sagacity, but of true affection for his child — for true affection for a child seeks to guard it from danger. A wise parent knows that dangers lie all around; and a wise parent is ever active in warding them off!"
"As in New York," said Mrs. Turner, "so in this city, I fear that we shall stand almost alone."
"We shall, for a time — but, as in New York, our firm stand will doubtless have the effect to open the eyes of a few. That result will be worth the effort, and more than worth it. A little center will be formed; that center will gather the few who can see clearly, and have the conscientiousness to act firmly. Like the leaven hidden in three measures of meal — the principles from which this little center acts, will, as time progresses, spread widely — will, I trust, leaven the whole lump. There is in society a common-sense perception of right; especially of right principles, that are protective in their operations — to them I look confidently."
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