Discouragement and despair are dangerous and often destructive to character.This would be especially true of one like Ida Mayhew;for even in her imperfection she possessed a simplicity and unity which made it impossible for a part of such moral nature as she possessed to stand,if another part were undermined or broken down.
The whole fabric would stand or fall together.
She had been a wayward child,more neglected than petted,and had naturally developed a passion for having her own will,right or wrong.As she grew older,her extraordinary dower of beauty threatened to be a fatal one.It brought her attention continuous admiration and flattery from those who cared nothing for her personally.She had received in childhood but little of the praise which love prompts,the tender,indulgent idolatry which,although dangerous indeed to one's best development,sometimes softens and humanizes,instead of rendering selfish and arrogant.
Mrs.Mayhew petted and scolded her child according to her mood,but was quite consistent in her general neglect.Mr.Mayhew was a tired,busy man,who visited at his own home rather than lived there.Thus the growing girl was left chiefly to her own impulses,and average human nature ensured that the habit of thinking of herself first and of pleasing herself at all times should be early formed.Then,as she saw and became capable of understanding the homage that waits on mere beauty,the world over,pride and vanity grew in overshadowing rankness.The attention she received,however,was chiefly made up of the bold stare of strangers,and the open flattery of those who admired her beauty as they would that of a picture,unconsciously but correctly leaving the impression that they cared for her only because of her beauty.That the girl's nature should grow hard and callous under such influences was what might have been expected.
Neglect and a miserable sham of an education had dwarfed her mind.
She had been "finished"by an ultra fashionable school before she understood the meaning of the studies which she passed over in a dainty quickstep,scarcely touching the surface.
Her heart and moral nature were almost equally undeveloped.Hitherto she had known but little experience tending to evoke gentle feeling or generous action.She had confounded the few genuine admirers,who,infatuated with her beauty,endowed her with all heavenly graces,awaiting only the awakening hand of their love,with the heartless or brainless fellows who were not particular about heavenly graces,provided a girl had a fine figure and a fair face.
When the artist first met her at the concert garden,she was in truth a modern Undine.She had feminine qualities and vices,but not a woman's soul.She was not capable of any strong,womanly action or feeling.Her scheme of life was ****** indeed,although she was learning to be very artful in carrying it out.It was to have "a good time,"as she would phrase it,and at any and every cost to others.After wearying of the life of a belle,she proposed to marry the best establishment that came her way,and became a leader of fashion.
It would seem that not a few fine ladies carry out this ****** scheme of life,and never receive a woman's soul.There are Undines at sixty as well as at sixteen.
The artist had been attracted by her beauty,like so many others,but unlike others he had not (as was the case with not a few sensible men)given an admiring glance at the face,and then,recognizing the fact that there was not a woman back of it,passed on indifferently;nor had he bestowed upon her imaginary virtues;and much less had he been satisfied with more flesh and blood.
His manner had been exploring,questioning.He was looking for her woman's soul,even though he might find it unawakened,like the fabled beauty in the mythical castle.
His keen eyes had disturbed her equanimity from the first.As he pursued his quest,her undefined fears and misgivings increased.
At last she was compelled to follow his questioning glances,and look past outward beauty to her real self within.From that hour the rank and evil weeds of pride and vanity began to wither.Honest self-scrutiny was like a knife at their roots.
But these traits give a transient support like a false stimulant.
As they failed there was nothing to take their place--no faith in God,no self-respect or self-reliance.She could not turn to her own family for sustaining sympathy,such as many fin din their homes,and which is all the more grateful because not inquisitive nor expressed in formal terms.In her selfish pleasure-seeking life she found that she had made an endless number of acquaintances,but no friends.She had not even the resources of a cultivated mind that could exist upon its own stores through this sudden famine which had impoverished her world,nor could she think of a single innocent,attractive,pursuit by which she could fill the weary days.She was like a child that had dwelt in a tropical oasis,the flowers and fruits of which had seemed as limitless as its extent.
She had supposed that the whole world would be like this oasis,and the only necessity ever imposed on her would be that of choice from its rich profusion.But ere she was aware she had lost herself in a desert;the oasis had vanished like a mirage,and she had no choice at all.That which her heart craved with an intensity which fairly made it ache,seemed as hopeless as a sudden bloom and fruitage from arid sands.
