Chapter 1

by Upton Sinclair

　　"I am," said Reggie Mann, "quite beside myself to meet this LucyDupree."

　　"Who told you about her?" asked Allan Montague.

　　"Ollie's been telling everybody about her," said Reggie. "It soundsreally wonderful. But I fear he must have exaggerated."

　　"People seem to develop a tendency to exaggeration," said Montague,"when they talk about Lucy."

　　"I am in quite a state about her," said Reggie.

　　Allan Montague looked at him and smiled. There were no visible signsof agitation about Reggie. He had come to take Alice to church, andhe was exquisitely groomed and perfumed, and wore a wonderfulscarlet orchid in his buttonhole. Montague, lounging back in a bigleather chair and watching him, smiled to himself at the thoughtthat Reggie regarded Lucy as a new kind of flower, with which hemight parade down the Avenue and attract attention.

　　"Is she large or small?" asked Reggie.

　　"She is about your size," said Montague,--which was very smallindeed.

　　Alice entered at this moment in a new spring costume. Reggie sprangto his feet, and greeted her with his inevitable effusiveness.

　　When he asked, "Do you know her, too?"

　　"Who? Lucy?" asked Alice. "I went to school with her."

　　"Judge Dupree's plantation was next to ours," said Montague. "We allgrew up together."

　　"There was hardly a day that I did not see her until she wasmarried," said Alice. "She was married at seventeen, you know--to aman much older than herself."

　　"We have never seen her since that," added the other. "She has livedin New Orleans."

　　"And only twenty-two now," exclaimed Reggie. "All the wisdom of awidow and the graces of an ingénue!" And he raised his hands with agesture of admiration.

　　"Has she got money?" he asked.

　　"She had enough for New Orleans," was the reply. "I don't know aboutNew York."

　　"Ah well," he said meditatively, "there's plenty of money lyingabout."

　　He took Alice away to her devotions, leaving Montague to thememories which the mention of Lucy Dupree awakened.

　　Allan Montague had been in love with Lucy a half a dozen times inhis life; it had begun when she was a babe in arms, and continuedintermittently until her marriage. Lucy was a beauty of the creoletype, with raven-black hair and gorgeous colouring; and Allancarried with him everywhere the face of joy, with the quick, mobilefeatures across which tears and laughter chased like April showersacross the sky.

　　Lucy was a tiny creature, as he had said, but she was a well-springof abounding energy. She had been the life of a lonely householdfrom the first hour, and all who came near her yielded to her spell.Allan remembered one occasion when he had entered the house and seenthe grave and venerable chief justice of the State down upon hishands and knees, with Lucy on his back.

　　She was a born actress, everybody said. When she was no more thanfour, she would lie in bed when she should have been asleep, andtell herself tragic stories to make her weep. Before long she haddiscovered several chests full of the clothes which her mother hadworn in the days when she was a belle of the old plantation society;and then Lucy would have tableaus and theatricals, and wouldastonish all beholders in the role of an Oriental princess or aQueen of the Night.

　　Her mother had died when she was very young, and she had grown upwith only her father for a companion. Judge Dupree was one of therich men of the neighbourhood, and he lavished everything upon hisdaughter; but people had said that Lucy would suffer for the lack ofa woman's care, and the prophecy had been tragically fulfilled.There had come a man, much older than herself, but with a glamour ofromance about him; and the wonder of love had suddenly revealeditself to Lucy, and swept her away as no emotion had ever donebefore.

　　One day she disappeared, and Montague had never seen her again. Heknew that she had gone to New Orleans to live, and he heard rumoursthat she was very unhappy, that her husband was a spendthrift and arake. Scarcely a year after her marriage Montague heard the story ofhis death by an accident while driving.

　　He had heard no more until a short time after his coming to NewYork, when the home papers had reported the death of Judge Dupree.And then a week or so ago had come a letter from Lucy, to hisbrother, Oliver Montague, saying that she was coming to New York,perhaps to live permanently, and asking him to meet her and toengage accommodations for her in some hotel.

　　Montague wondered what she would be like when he saw her again. Hewondered what five years of suffering and experience would have donefor her; whether it would have weakened her enthusiasm and dried upher springs of joy. Lucy grown serious was something that wasdifficult for him to imagine.

　　And then again would come a mood of doubt, when he distrusted thethrill which the memory of her brought. Would she be able tomaintain her spell in competition with what life had brought himsince?

　　His revery was broken by Oliver, who came in to ask him if he wishedto go to meet her. "Those Southern trains are always several hourslate," he said. "I told my man to go over and 'phone me."

　　"You are to have her in charge," said Montague; "you had better seeher first. Tell her I will come in the evening." And so he went tothe great apartment hotel--the same to which Oliver had originallyintroduced him. And there was Lucy.

　　She was just the same. He could see it in an instant; there was thesame joyfulness, the same eagerness; there was the same beauty,which had made men's hearts leap up. There was not a line of careupon her features--she was like a perfect flower come to itsfulness.

　　She came to him with both her hands outstretched. "Allan!" shecried, "Allan! I am so glad to see you!" And she caught his hands inhers and stood and gazed at him. "My, how big you have grown, andhow serious! Isn't he splendid, Ollie?"

　　Oliver stood by, watching. He smiled drily. "He is a trifle too epicfor me," he said.

　　"Oh, my, how wonderful it seems to see you!" she exclaimed. "Itmakes me think of fifty things at once. We must sit down and have along talk. It will take me all night to ask you all the questions Ihave to."

　　Lucy was in mourning for her father, but she had contrived to makeher costume serve as a frame for her beauty. She seemed like aflaming ruby against a background of black velvet. "Tell me how youhave been," she rushed on. "And what has happened to you up here?How is your mother?"

　　"Just the same," said Montague; "she wants you to come aroundto-morrow morning."

　　"I will," said Lucy,--"the first thing, before I go anywhere. AndMammy Lucy! How is Mammy Lucy?"

　　"She is well," he replied. "She's beside herself to see you."

　　"Tell her I am coming!" said she. "I would rather see Mammy Lucythan the Brooklyn Bridge!"

　　She led him to a seat, placed herself opposite him, devouring himwith her eyes. "It makes me seem like a girl again to see you," shesaid.

　　"Do you count yourself aged?" asked Montague, laughing.

　　"Oh, I feel old," said Lucy, with a sudden look of fear,--"you haveno idea, Allan. But I don't want anybody to know about it!" And thenshe cried, eagerly, "Do you remember the swing in the orchard? Anddo you remember the pool where the big alligator lived? And thepersimmons? And Old Joe?"

　　Allan Montague remembered all these things; in the course of thehalf hour that followed he remembered pretty nearly all the excitingadventures which he and Oliver and Lucy had had since Lucy was oldenough to walk. And he told her the latest news about all theirneighbours, and about all the servants whom she remembered. He toldher also about his father's death, and how the house had beenburned, and how they had sold the plantation and come North.

　　"And how are you doing, Allan?" she asked.

　　"I am practising law," he said. "I'm not making a fortune, but I'mmanaging to pay my bills. That is more than some other people do inthis city."

　　"I should imagine it," said Lucy. "With all that row of shops onFifth Avenue! Oh, I know I shall spend all that I own in the firstweek. And this hotel--why, it's perfectly frightful."

　　"Oliver has told you the prices, has he?" said Montague, with alaugh.

　　"He has taken my breath away," said Lucy. "How am I ever to managesuch things?"

　　"You will have to settle that with him," said Montague. "He hastaken charge, and he doesn't want me to interfere."

　　"But I want your advice," said Lucy. "You are a business man, andOllie never was anything but a boy."

　　"Ollie has learned a good deal since he has been in New York," theother responded.

　　"I can tell you my side of the case very quickly," he went on aftera moment's pause. "He brought me here, and persuaded me that thiswas how I ought to live if I wanted to get into Society. I tried itfor a while, but I found that I did not like the things I had to do,and so I quit. You will find us in an apartment a couple of blocksfarther from Fifth Avenue, and we only pay about one-tenth as muchfor it. And now, whether you follow me or Ollie depends upon whetheryou want to get into Society."

　　Lucy wrinkled her brows in thought. "I didn't come to New York tobury myself in a boarding-house," she said. "I do want to meetpeople."

　　"Well," said Montague, "Oliver knows a lot of them, and he willintroduce you. Perhaps you will like them--I don't know. I am sureyou won't have any difficulty in making them like you."

　　"Thank you, sir," said Lucy. "You are as ingenuous as ever!"

　　"I don't want to say anything to spoil your pleasure," said theother. "You will find out about matters for yourself. But I feellike telling you this--don't you be too ingenuous. You can't trustpeople quite so freely here as you did at home."

　　"Thank you," said Lucy. "Ollie has already been lecturing me. I hadno idea it was such a serious matter to come to New York. I told himthat widows were commonly supposed to know how to take care ofthemselves."

　　"I had a rather bad time of it myself, getting adjusted to things,"said Montague, smiling. "So you must make allowances for myforebodings."

　　"I've told Lucy a little about it," put in Oliver, drily.

　　"He told me a most fascinating love story!" said Lucy, gazing at himwith a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "I shall certainly look outfor the dazzling Mrs. Winnie."

　　"You may meet her to-morrow night," put in Oliver. "You are invitedto dinner at Mrs. Billy Alden's."

　　"I have read about Mrs. Billy in the newspapers," said Lucy. "But Inever expected to meet her. How in the world has Oliver managed tojump so into the midst of things?"

　　Oliver undertook to explain; and Montague sat by, smiling to himselfover his brother's carefully expurgated account of his own socialcareer. Oliver had evidently laid his plans to take charge of Lucy,and to escort her to a high seat upon the platform of Society.

　　"But tell me, all this will cost so much money!" Lucy protested."And I don't want to have to marry one of these terriblemillionaires."

　　She turned to Montague abruptly. "Have you got an office somewheredown town?" she asked. "And may I come to-morrow, and see you, andget you to be my business adviser? Old Mr. Holmes is dead, you know.He used to be father's lawyer, and he knew all about my affairs. Henever thought it worth while to explain anything to me, so now Idon't know very well what I have or what I can do."

　　"I will do all I can to help you," Montague answered.

　　"And you must be very severe with me," Lucy continued, "and not letme spend too much money, or make any blunders. That was the way Mr.Holmes used to do, and since he is dead, I have positively beenafraid to trust myself about."

　　"If I am to play that part for you," said Montague, laughing, "I amafraid we'll very soon clash with my brother."

　　Montague had very little confidence in his ability to fill the part.As he watched Lucy, he had a sense of tragedy impending. He knewenough to feel sure that Lucy was not rich, according to New Yorkstandards of wealth; and he felt that the lure of the city wasalready upon her. She was dazzled by the vision of automobiles andshops and hotels and theatres, and all the wonders which these heldout to her. She had come with all her generous enthusiasms; and shewas hungry with a terrible hunger for life.

　　Montague had been through the mill, and he saw ahead so clearly thatit was impossible for him not to try to guide her, and to save herfrom the worst of her mistakes. Hence arose a strange relationshipbetween them; from the beginning Lucy made him her confidant, andtold him all her troubles. To be sure, she never took his advice;she would say, with her pretty laugh, that she did not want him tokeep her out of trouble, but only to sympathise with her afterwards.And Montague followed her; he told himself again and again thatthere was no excuse for Lucy; but all the while he was makingexcuses.

　　She went over the next morning to see Oliver's mother, and MammyLucy, who had been named after her grandmother. Then in theafternoon she went shopping with Alice--declaring that it wasimpossible for her to appear anywhere in New York until she had madeherself "respectable." And then in the evening Montague called forher, and took her to Mrs. Billy Alden's Fifth Avenue palace.

　　On the way he beguiled the time by telling her about the terribleMrs. Billy and her terrible tongue; and about the war between thegreat lady and her relatives, the Wallings. "You must not besurprised," he said, "if she pins you in a corner and asks all aboutyou. Mrs. Billy is a privileged character, and the conventions donot apply to her."

　　Montague had come to take the Alden magnificence as a matter ofcourse by this time, but he felt Lucy thrill with excitement at thevision of the Doge's palace, with its black marble carvings and itslackeys in scarlet and gold. Then came Mrs. Billy herself,resplendent in dark purple brocade, with a few ropes of pearls flungabout her neck. She was almost tall enough to look over the top ofLucy's head, and she stood away a little so as to look at hercomfortably.

　　"I tried to have Mrs. Winnie here for you," she said to Montague, asshe placed him at her right hand. "But she was not able to come, soyou will have to make out with me."

　　"Have you many more beauties like that down in Mississippi?" sheasked, when they were seated. "If so, I don't see why you came uphere."

　　"You like her, do you?" he asked.

　　"I like her looks," said Mrs. Billy. "Has she got any sense? It isquite impossible to believe that she's a widow. She needs someone totake care of her just the same."

　　"I will recommend her to your favour," said Montague. "I have beentelling her about you."

　　"What have you told her?" asked Mrs. Billy, serenely,--"that I wintoo much money at bridge, and drink Scotch at dinner?" Then, seeingMontague blush furiously, she laughed. "I know it is true. I havecaught you thinking it half a dozen times."

　　And she reached out for the decanter which the butler had justplaced in front of her, and proceeded to help herself to her openingglass.

　　Montague told her all about Lucy; and, in the meantime, he watchedthe latter, who sat near the centre of the table, talking withStanley Ryder. Montague had played bridge with this man once ortwice at Mrs. Winnie's, and he thought to himself that Lucy couldhardly have met a man who would embody in himself more of thefascinations of the Metropolis. Ryder was president of the GothamTrust Company, an institution whose magnificent marble front was oneof the sights of Fifth Avenue. He was a man a trifle under fifty,tall and distinguished-looking, with an iron-grey mustache, and themanners of a diplomat. He was not only a banker, he was also a manof culture; he had run away to sea in his youth, and he hadtravelled in every country of the world. He was also a bit of anauthor, in an amateur way, and if there was any book which he hadnot dipped into, it was not a book of which one would be apt to hearin Society. He could talk upon any subject, and a hostess who couldsecure Stanley Ryder for one of her dinner-parties generally countedupon a success. "He doesn't go out much, these busy days," said Mrs.Billy. "But I told him about your friend."

　　Now and then the conversation at the table would become general, andMontague noticed that it was always Ryder who led. His flashes ofwit shot back and forth across the table; and those who matchedthemselves against him seldom failed to come off the worse. It wasan unscrupulous kind of wit, dazzling and dangerous. Ryder was thetype of man one met now and then in Society, who had adopted radicalideas for the sake of being distinguished. It was a fine thing for aman who had made a brilliant success in a certain social environmentto shatter in his conversation all the ideals and conventions ofthat environment, and thus to reveal how little he really cared forthe success which he had won.

　　It was very entertaining at a dinner-party; but Montague thought tohimself with a smile how far was Stanley Ryder from the type ofperson one imagined as the head of an enormous and flourishing bank.When they had adjourned to the drawing-room, he capped the climax ofthe incongruity by going to the piano and playing a movement fromsome terrible Russian suite.

　　Afterwards Montague saw him stroll off to the conservatory with LucyDupree. There were two people too many for bridge, and that was agood excuse; but none the less Montague felt restless during thehours that he sat at table and let Mrs. Billy win his money.

　　After the ordeal was over and the party had broken up, he found hisfriend sitting by the side of the fountain in Mrs. Billy'sconservatory, gazing fixedly in front of her, while Ryder at herside was talking.

　　"You met an interesting man," he said, when they had got settled inthe carriage.

　　"One of the most extraordinary men I ever met," said Lucy, quickly."I wish that you would tell me about him. Do you know him well?"

　　"I have heard him talk some, and I know him in a business way."

　　"Is he so very rich?" she asked.

　　"He has a few millions," said he. "And I suppose he is turning themover very rapidly. People say that he is a daring speculator."

　　"A speculator!" exclaimed Lucy. "Why, I thought that he was thepresident of a bank!"

　　"When you have been in New York awhile," said Montague, with asmile, "you will realise that there is nothing incompatible in thetwo."

　　Lucy was silent, a little staggered at the remark. "I am told,"Montague added, with a smile, "that even Ryder's wife won't keep hermoney in the Gotham Trust."

　　Montague had not anticipated the effect of this remark. Lucy gave asudden start. "His wife!" she exclaimed.

　　"Why, yes," said Montague. "Didn't you know that he was married?"

　　"No," said Lucy, in a low voice. "I did not."

　　There was a long silence. Finally she asked, "Why was not his wifeinvited to the dinner?"

　　"They seldom go out together," said Montague.

　　"Have they separated?" she asked.

　　"There is a new and fashionable kind of separation," was the answer."They live in opposite sides of a large mansion, and meet on formaloccasions."

　　"What sort of a woman is she?" asked Lucy,

　　"I don't know anything about her," he replied.

　　There was a silence again. Finally Montague said, "There is no causeto be sorry for him, you understand."

　　And Lucy touched his hand lightly with hers.

　　"That's all right, Allan," she said. "Don't worry. I am not apt tomake the same mistake twice."

　　It seemed to Montague that there was nothing to be said after that.