An Ambitious Man

"If only I could give Alice the benefit of my past career," the

Baroness would say to herself at times. "I know so well how to

manage men; but what use is my knowledge to me now that I am old?

Alice is young, and even without beauty she could do so much, if she

only understood the art of masculine seduction. But then it is a

gift, not an acquired art, and Alice was not born with the gift."

While Mabel and Alice had been centring their thoughts and attentions

on the rector, the Baroness had not forgotten the rector's mother.

She knew the very strong affection which existed between the two, and

she had discovered that the leading desire of the young man's heart

was to make his mother happy. With her wide knowledge of human

nature, she had not been long in discerning the fact that it was not

because of his own religious convictions that the rector had chosen

his calling, but to carry out the lifelong wishes of his beloved

mother.

Therefore she reasoned wisely that Arthur would be greatly influenced

by his mother in his choice of a wife; and the Baroness brought all

her vast battery of fascination to bear on Mrs Stuart, and succeeded

in making that lady her devoted friend.

The widow of Judge Lawrence was still an imposing and impressive

figure wherever she went. Though no longer a woman who appealed to

the desires of men, she exhaled that peculiar mental aroma which

hangs ever about a woman who has dealt deeply and widely in affairs

of the heart. It is to the spiritual senses what musk is to the

physical; and while it may often repulse, it sometimes attracts, and

never fails to be noticed. About the Baroness's mouth were hard

lines, and the expression of her eyes was not kind or tender; yet she

was everywhere conceded to be a universally handsome and attractive

woman. Quiet and tasteful in her dressing, she did not accentuate

the ravages of time by any mistaken frivolities of toilet, as so many

faded coquettes have done, but wisely suited her vestments to her

appearance, as the withering branch clothes itself in russet leaves,

when the fresh sap ceases to course through its veins. New York City

is a vast sepulchre of "past careers," and the adventurous life of

the Baroness was quietly buried there with that of many another

woman. In the mad whirl of life there is small danger that any of

these skeletons will rise to view, unless the woman permits herself

to strive for eminence either socially or in the world of art.