(Download PDF) International Trade 3rd Edition Feenstra Test Bank Full Chapter
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TestBanks Chapter 06: Increasing Returns to Scale and Monopolistic
Competition
Ricardian
HeckscherOhlin
monopolistic competition
specificfactors
4 Products traded between two nations that are very similar and
very close substitutes, but that may be of different quality or
prices, are called:
differentiated complements.
differentiated substitutes.
differentiated products.
perfect substitute products.
is perfectly inelastic.
is perfectly elastic.
slopes downward to the right.
has a positive slope.
32 Whenever a firm's marginal costs are less than its average costs,
its average costs must be:
falling.
rising.
constant.
falling, then rising.
35 Firm X's total fixed costs are $1,000. Its total variable costs of
producing 100 units are $2,000, and its total variable costs of
producing 200 units are $4,000. Which of the following will
happen to firm X's average costs as it increases output from 100
to 200 units?
Average costs increase.
Average costs decrease.
Average costs remain constant.
Average costs increase slightly.
40 If a firm has a total cost of $150 and a variable cost of $100 for
producing 5 units of output, then the fixed cost is:
$35.
$50.
$250.
$100.
71 In what two ways does trade benefit consumers when firms are
monopolistically competitive?
better quality products, increased information
higher incomes, more dependable products
lots of bells and whistles, higher wages
lower prices, more variety
shortrun costs.
adjustment costs.
variable costs.
overhead costs.
unskilled workers.
semiskilled workers.
higherincome workers.
agricultural workers.
96 Select the best answer: A recap of the effects of NAFTA for its
first 9 years reveals some adjustment costs were offset by:
I. benefits for U.S. manufacturing productivity.
II. benefits for U.S. consumers.
III. benefits for higherwage workers in Mexican maquiladora
industries.
I
II
III
I, II, and III
97 When imports and exports for the same type of good are nearly
equal:
the laws of comparative advantage break down.
it is an indication that nearly all the trade is intraindustry.
exports are probably just “finished” in the nation instead of
being fully sourced there.
there is a very low level of intraindustry trade.
105 If exports of an industry are $100 million and imports are zero,
which of the following is the value of the index of intraindustry
trade?
0
1
0.5
100 million
111 The higher the value for the index of intraindustry trade:
116 Other things equal, the gravity equation predicts that the United
States will have more trade with __________ than with
_________.
Bangladesh; Japan
Russia; Japan
Canada; Bangladesh
Russia; Bangladesh
117 Other things equal, the level of bilateral trade between two
countries will increase as their GDP:
rises.
falls.
stays the same.
becomes less equal.
121 Larger countries will trade more with one another; this is
empirically supported by:
the intraindustry trade.
the increasing returns to scale.
the gravity equation.
the comparative advantage.
123 The gravity equation was tested and found to be very accurate
in predicting:
world trade in total.
trade between various provinces in Canada and American
states.
trade between the United States and Japan.
trade between nations in the European Union.
trade.
tariffs.
monopolistic competition.
imperfect competition.
127 What did the gravity equation predict about trade within the
borders of a nation?
Trade between states or regions within a nation is much
more likely than trade outside the borders.
Trade between states or regions within a nation is much less
likely to occur.
There was no predictive value for trade within a nation's
borders.
Trade between states or regions within a nation is more
subject to national law and regulation and therefore not as
predictable.
128 When research and development costs are spread out over
more consumers, it is an example of what?
Answer:
economies of scale
Answer:
131 ABC Corporation is a monopolistic competitor. It has fixed costs of $5,000 and a
constant marginal cost of $500 per unit of production. It faces a demand curve
described by this equation:
P = 1,000 – 10Q.
A) Find ABC's equilibrium price and quantity.
B) Will it earn monopoly profits at this equilibrium?
C) What will happen to ABC's price, quantity, and monopoly profits in the long
run?
Answer:
A) The demand curve for this equation has x and y intercepts of Q = 1,000 and P
= 100. Its slope is –10. Its MR is P = 500 – 20P, while its MR curve has x and
y intercepts of Q = 500 and P = $1,000 and a slope of –20. To derive the MR
curve, multiply the demand curve by P and take the derivative, that is, TR =
PQ = (1,000 – 10Q) × Q = 1,000Q – 20Q2 and dTR/dQ = 1,000 – 20Q. Setting
MC (= $500) equal to MR (= 1,000 – 20Q) yields 20Q = 500 and Q = 25.
Inserting Q = 25 into the demand equation yields a price of 1,000 – 10 × 49 =
$550.
B) At the price of $550 and quantity of 25, the firm's total revenue is $13,750 and
its total cost is $5,000 + 25 × $100 = $7,500. It is earning a monopoly profit
of $6,250.
C) Its price will fall, its output may fall or rise, depending on the change in its
demand curve as more firms enter its market, and its monopoly profits will
disappear.
A) Yes; its total revenue is $600 ($2 × 300) and its total costs
are $400 (TFC of $100 and TVC of $300 = $1 × 300). The
difference is $200 of monopoly profits.
B) In the long run, these monopoly profits will attract new
entrants to the industry, which will shift the firm's demand
curve to the left until P = AC.
134 Why would you expect firms with high research and
development costs to be more interested in free trade?
Answer:
135 The fall in real wages for the maquiladora workers during the
1990s was likely due to what?
Answer:
136 Would you say that the gains from NAFTA clearly outweigh its
costs for the United States?
Answer:
No; the initial gains from additional variety roughly equaled the
initial costs of adjustment. However, the accumulated gains
from additional variety clearly outweigh the adjustment costs.
Answer:
Answer:
139 Suppose that imports and exports in an industry are both $100
million. If exports rise to $200 million, will the value of the
industry's index of intraindustry trade rise, fall, or remain the
same?
Answer:
Answer:
144 Other things equal, do you expect that the gravity equation will
predict that there will be more trade between the United States
and Canada than between the United States and Argentina?
Answer:
Assuming that the GDPs of Canada and Argentina are
approximately equal, the gravity equation suggests that U.S.–
Canadian trade will be larger than United States – Argentina
trade since the denominator of the gravity equation (distn) is
smaller in the U.S–Canada case than in the U.S.–Argentina
case. The smaller denominator yields a higher value of the
index, which indicates more trade in the U.S.–Canada case.
146 Explain why the gravity equation for U.S and European trade
may be higher than the gravity equation for U.S. and Canadian
trade even though that the U.S. and Canada share a border.
Answer:
The two components to the gravity equation are the GDPs of the
two countries (in the numerator) and the distance between the
two countries (in the denominator). In the case of U.S.–EU
trade, the EU's larger GDP may outweigh its greater distance
from the United States and lead to a higher value for the gravity
equation for U.S.–EU trade.
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Overton first. Yet did he, could he, really understand how much—
how very much—it had mattered to her? In the midst of her walk
Diane stopped short.
“What am I doing?” she cried to herself. “What am I doing? I’ve just
promised to marry one man, and—and I’m crying out here in broad
daylight over another!”
“But you told him, you warned him!” replied an inner voice. “You have
a right to go on feeling just the same as you did before.”
“But I’ve no right to marry Faunce if I love another man more!” she
cried again, arguing with the unseen ego.
Then, in the rustle of the wind in the bare trees, and the crash of ice
falling from their boughs, she seemed to hear an answer—a sublime
voice that reassured her. Overton was dead. He was only a dim and
glorious presence now. He had entered that sphere where they
neither marry nor are given in marriage; how could it matter to him
what she did?
She went on, quickening her steps, trying to reassure herself. She
recalled Faunce, the warm certainty of his affection, the nearness of
his presence. She told herself that she was happy, that she was
right, that she had followed her heart.
XII
That assurance remained with her later on, when she and the judge
sat down to a slightly belated breakfast. It had so far tranquilized her
mood that she could chat with him across the table about Dr. Gerry’s
sleepless night and the storm, while she poured out his coffee and
put in the requisite amount of sugar and cream with a firm and
graceful hand.
“I saw two telegraph-poles down,” she said. “The drifts have
completely filled the hollow below Skerry’s Hill.”
The judge looked up sharply from his breakfast.
“Faunce had to cross that bridge. I wonder if he got home all right!”
She was a little startled, and then she smiled reassuringly.
“Why, of course, papa! It was early when he left. It was only snowing
a little then; don’t you remember?”
“How did I know?” her father retorted with something like a growl.
“This lumbago keeps me doubled up like a jack-in-the-box!”
“It’s too bad! I did hope Dr. Gerry had got the better of it, or had
helped you to get the better of it; but I suppose this dreadful weather
is sure to retard the case.”
“There isn’t any cure for it. I’ve told Gerry so a dozen times. If it
stayed continuously, I should only be fit for a menagerie; but it’s
intermittent, thank Heaven! By the way, Di, where’s the newspaper?”
“It hasn’t come; I suppose the trains are stalled. They said something
about trouble on the line between here and New York. When I was
passing Sidney’s, on my way this morning, I heard the men talking at
the door. You had last night’s paper, papa, didn’t you?”
“As if I wanted stale news!” he retorted, going on with his breakfast.
“I saw something about the English expedition returning from the
antarctic. They must have had some delays, but they’ll crow over the
venture, I suppose. They seem to have made good. If only Overton
had lived!”
She pushed her plate aside, though she had scarcely tasted her
food, and clasped her hands on the edge of the table, suddenly
aware that her fingers were not quite steady.
“I didn’t notice the article. What did it say? I’m sure, quite sure, that
Arthur did all he could to finish the work, even after—their fearful
loss.”
“Very likely he did, my dear; but if these Englishmen got ahead of
him—steal a march on him, as it were—he hasn’t won much.
Besides, they’ve saved their ship. I saw there would be a great
reception for them in London. There’s nothing but disappointment in
that polar business. I want Faunce to give it up. I’ll put him in politics
here.”
She looked thoughtfully across the table at her father’s gray head,
his massive face, and his keen eyes bent on the table, while his
strong hands plied his knife and fork. The stooping of his big frame
suggested nothing of the weakness of age. His personality, dominant
and resourceful, seemed as immovable as rock.
“I’d rather you didn’t, papa,” she said quietly. “I want him to go on—to
finish the work he’s begun. He’s put his hand to the plow, as it were,
and he mustn’t turn back.”
Herford again looked up sharply.
“That’s a strange sentiment from a girl who’s supposed to be in love!
Don’t you know it’s a terrible risk for a man? Have you forgotten
Overton so soon?”
She rose from the table and went to the window, standing there,
looking out. He could see only the slender grace of her young figure
and the slight droop of her brown head.
“I shall never forget him,” she replied without looking at her father. “I
remember so well what he was, what he did, what he surely would
have become had he lived, that I don’t want Arthur to remain in his
shadow, to be so much less than he was. If there’s anything great in
a man’s soul, I think it’s wrong to choke it with weeds, and—and
——”
“You think the political weed is very suffocating?” her father
commented dryly. “As far as that goes, you’re right, my dear; but I’ve
managed to keep a little above the worst growth all these years, and
it’s possible that Arthur might do some weeding out. Reform is not
only a fad—it’s a fact.”
“You’re made for that kind of a life, papa; you can stand like a rock in
the midst of the tempest. You have the instinct and the prestige and
the great traditions that go to make a man safe in politics; but Arthur
has none of these things to give him a raison d’être in your world. I
feel sure it would dwarf him and spoil him. I want him to go on, to
finish his own work.”
“And if he gets killed on the way, you’ll still have the glory, eh?”
She turned with a shocked face.
“As if I cared for anything more than Arthur’s life!”
The judge strummed on the table with his fingers. His lumbago was
rending him to the point of incivility.
“Exactly! But you’re sending him to the pole to die as Overton died,
without reaping any reward but—death.”
She listened in silence, her eyes fixed on his angry face, but her
mind seemed to be far away. In fact, she was again questioning
herself. This recurrent mention of Overton shocked her new sense of
security, and seemed like a return of the moment when Dr. Gerry’s
question had broken the spell of her joy. After all, was it meant that
she should not forget? Must she try out and search her heart yet
further?
“I want you to drop this nonsense,” her father went on more
composedly. “Faunce will give up the idea if you will let him. I want
him here. I may not live long—I’m getting old, Diane, and I want you
married and settled.”
“Is that why you’re angry at the thought of the new expedition?”
He nodded.
“I want you to get married soon—before spring, anyway.”
She was startled.
“That would be too hurried, papa! You must give me more time than
that.”
“Why do you need time? It’s settled, isn’t it? You’ve followed your
own heart, haven’t you?”
There it was again, the same question!
“I want you married,” the judge repeated with some force. “I like
Faunce; you like him—very good! I’m opposed to long engagements,
and a lot of fuss and feathers. Make it short and plain, my girl.”
Diane looked at her father a little reproachfully.
“I didn’t know you wanted to get rid of me so much, papa!”
“I don’t mean to get rid of you,” he retorted crustily. “I mean to break
up these polar follies and to keep Faunce here.”
She smiled faintly, a little flush on her face. Then she glanced out of
the window again.
“There’s Fanny Price. I’ll go and let her in. She has tramped over
through the snow.”
“Don’t bring her in here, then!” snapped the judge sharply. “My back
hurts like the devil. I want to finish my meal in peace.”
Diane reassured him and stepped out of the room, thankful enough
to be released. She began to see vaguely, and with some little alarm,
that her father had been quietly bending her to his will; that he had
purposely thrown Faunce in her way; that he was, in fact, making the
match. The thought of it, in this light, was so distasteful that she was
glad to go to the door to let in her visitor.
Fanny, muffled in furs and submerged under a big hat, was not as
visible to the eyes as usual. She seemed to evade observation by
withdrawing into the recesses of fur and felt; but she pounced upon
Diane with a swift, birdlike motion, and kissed her.
“I came right over,” she said in a rather high-pitched, nervous tone,
“to wish you joy, dear!”
Diane looked amazed.
“How in the world did you know?”
Fanny laughed softly.
“Your father phoned to papa last night—before the wires were down
—that you and Mr. Faunce were engaged.”
“Oh!”
There was a low note of surprise and dismay in the exclamation, but
Diane said no more. She drew Fanny into the sitting-room, where a
fire had been kindled on the hearth.
“Mama sent her love,” Fanny went on, trying to appear cordial, “and
of course papa must have said something over the phone; but, you
know, papa has to think twice before he says just the right thing.”
Diane was trying to remove Fanny’s hat and furs, but the latter
resisted.
“Oh, no, I can’t stay, really! I just ran over to—to wish you joy, dear
Diane!”
There was a suspicion of a quiver in the girlish voice which, at
another time, would not have failed to attract her friend’s attention;
but, at the moment, Diane’s mind was occupied with the vexatious
thought of her father’s haste. She knew him so well, knew how
skilled and subtle he was in his political manipulations, and she
experienced a new and unpleasant dread that he had used his skill
and subtlety on Arthur.
Was it possible that Arthur’s haste was due to her father? A deep
blush mounted to Diane’s hair, transforming and beautifying her face
so much that Fanny was startled.
“How beautiful you look, Di! Are you—is it because you’re so
happy?”
“I don’t think that’s just what I feel, Fanny. It’s too new to think of like
that. It only seems to pervade everything, and to change my point of
view. I’m—I’m not used to it yet, and I can’t think why papa was in
such a hurry to announce it!”
Fanny hesitated, looking down at the fire so as to keep the brim of
her hat between her eyes and Diane’s.
“Well, you know they’re great gossips, papa and your father. I
suppose he called up for something else, and then added that. Men
are awfully casual about our dearest concerns! Papa’s been asking
the judge’s advice about the changes at the seminary, you see.”
“Perhaps that was it,” Diane admitted with a feeling of relief. “He’s
anxious to have me settled down, too. It seems I’ve been on his
mind,” she added with an odd little laugh.
There was a second of hesitation before Fanny answered, and this
time Diane noticed a strange tone in the girl’s voice.
“You’re going to be married soon, then?”
Diane busied herself rearranging two old bronze vases on the high
colonial mantel. The storks and the coiled dragons that surrounded
them in high relief had been among the wonders of her childhood.
“I don’t know—how should I? You see, Fanny, Mr. Faunce is going to
be made the head of the new expedition, but papa doesn’t want him
to go. He wants him to stay here and go into politics.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Fanny, just above her breath.
“But I want him to go.”
“Oh!” her visitor gasped again. “Why, he might die, too! If I were you,
I’d never let him go!”
Diane’s eyes kindled with the look of one who visions far-off glories.
“I would gladly go with him!”
There was a little pause, and then Fanny spoke with an effort.
“I hadn’t thought of that. Of course you could, Di, you’re so heroic!
You measure up to all this great endeavor. That’s what I told him just
now.”
“You told him? Where did you see him, Fanny?”
“I met him as I came past the Gerry house. He and the doctor were
just coming out together, and I congratulated him.”
Diane stopped her play with the bric-à-brac and stood with one hand
still on the tallest vase, looking down on the top of Fanny’s big hat.
“Was he with Dr. Gerry this morning? How did he manage in the
snow, I wonder? Did they have the sleigh?”
Fanny looked up, and their eyes met.
“He said he knew very little about the storm. He spent the night with
Dr. Gerry.”
Diane made no reply. In the ensuing silence she turned to the mantel
and, lifting down the vase, began to wipe a little dust from the
elaborate design at its mouth. It was quite a long time before she
replaced it.
XIII
Diane’s engagement created a stir of pleasure and pride in
Mapleton, but very little surprise. It was said on all sides that it had
been expected. New York and Washington would find it news, and it
might do to cable to London and Paris, where Faunce was already
recognized; but Mapleton had been anticipating it for weeks. Of
course, both young people were overwhelmed with felicitations.
Faunce, flushed with a new kind of pride and a joy that disguised his
secret pain, appeared even more winning than usual, while Diane, if
her happiness was more subdued, was equally charming.
As soon as Judge Herford’s lumbago relaxed its grip, he gave a little
dinner to announce his daughter’s engagement, and it proved a
great success. Even Fanny Price, pretty and studiously gay, helped
to keep the ball rolling, while Diane, in a simple gown that exactly
suited her, had never looked more lovely. No one could blame
Faunce for the infatuation that he was at no pains to conceal. Their
happiness found a response in nearly every heart, recalling the
ancient apothegm that “all the world loves a lover.”
Almost immediately after this occasion, too, there began to be a
report that the marriage would take place within a few weeks, for
Arthur Faunce, in spite of his recent engagement and Judge
Herford’s political dreams, had accepted the command of the new
antarctic expedition. He was to succeed not only to Overton’s work,
but to Overton’s honors.
If it seemed strange that he should elect to leave his prospective
bride so soon, all gossip was silenced by Diane’s own enthusiasm. It
was her wish, she said, that Arthur should complete the great task
that he had undertaken, and should carry the expedition through to a
final triumph. She believed in it. Her soul seemed to rise above fear
and doubt, and her beautiful eyes were fixed on the visionary glory of
a finished achievement.
It was an open secret that her father had consistently opposed the
expedition, and had tried to induce his future son-in-law to enter
politics; but Diane had overruled him, people whispered, and it was
her inspiration that had fired Faunce to renewed effort. It was an
open secret, too, that she was planning to accompany him for at
least part of the journey. They would be married just before the ship
sailed, and she would go with her husband, sharing his hardships
and his dangers as far as a woman could follow in the perilous path
of the explorers.
“I can’t bear to let her go,” the irate judge told Dr. Gerry; “but she’s
set her heart on it, and I’ve told Arthur that it’s up to him to see that
she’s kept out of danger. We can do that without her finding us out
until the last moment. When he comes back”—the judge smiled
grimly—“then comes my turn—politics and a safe road to fame!”
Dr. Gerry refrained from comment. He was the only one who had not
expressed enthusiastic approval. All the other neighbors and old
friends seemed to consider it an occasion for great rejoicing, an
honor and distinction to Mapleton, since Faunce was already an
international character, and was so soon to lead another important
expedition.
It remained for the dean, however, to disturb Mrs. Price’s satisfaction
in an engagement so poetic and distinguished, as she herself
described it.
Dr. Price, called to New York on various occasions, returned by late
trains, and one night, delayed beyond reason, he arrived after the
household had retired. His entrance roused Mrs. Price from her
dreams, and, while the dean was preparing to go to bed, they carried
on a disjointed conversation through the open door of his dressing-
room, made up of questions on her part and abstracted answers on
his. But he had something on his mind, and finally emerged to
plunge into the topic that had so recently absorbed the village.
“My dear, I’m not sure that Diane’s making such a fine match,” he
remarked. “It’s the second or third time that I’ve met Faunce
prancing around in lonely places at all hours.”
Mrs. Price sat up in bed.
“My dear Edward, do you suppose he drinks?”
The dean shook his head thoughtfully.
“I spoke to him, and I don’t think he knew me at first. His wits
seemed to be wool-gathering.”
“Perhaps, Edward, he’s—he’s seeking a light!” she whispered in an
awed tone.
The dean looked unconvinced.
“He’s a young man, Julia, and not religious. There’s something odd
about it. You remember Overton? You could feel his strength—he
seemed fairly to give it out. If he’d been a professing Christian, I
believe he could have led a host; but Faunce——” Dr. Price stopped
and stared meditatively into space.
“But he’s so handsome, Edward, and so much in love! I’ve often
thought he looked inspired, like that picture—you remember it?—
Andrea del Sarto’s young St. John. I think it’s very touching if his
grief for Overton has unbalanced his mind. It’s such a perfect
instance of friendship, I suppose the judge would call it a case of
Orestes and Pylades, but I can only think of David and Jonathan. I
hate heathen analogies! You take my word for it, he’s grieving for
Overton.”
The dean was skeptical.
“I’ve lived a long time, Julia,” he remarked dryly, “and I’ve never
known a young man to die of grief for his friend—or to lose his
reason, either.”
“Oh, Edward, you remember what is said about ‘greater love’?”
“Julia, Faunce didn’t lay down his life for his friend, and”—the dean
put out the light with a jerk, and his wife heard a decisive note in his
voice, as if his idea had gained momentum in the darkness—“I don’t
believe he’s got the courage to, either!”
“Edward!” she exclaimed with indignation.
The dean, however, refused to modify his opinion, and cut short the
conversation by promptly falling asleep.
Dr. Price had not been the only one to observe these nocturnal
wanderings of Arthur Faunce. They began to appear in certain vague
rumors that were afloat on the countryside. Two or three other
belated wayfarers had encountered the young explorer on his
midnight rambles, and his haggard looks attracted attention. That he
was not well showed in his brilliant eyes and the habitual pallor of his
face, which was flushed only in moments of excitement or pleasure.
Recently he had been forced to frame excuses to Diane, who had
observed the change in him, his forced gaiety, his frequent fits of
abstraction. He had attributed all this to the difficulties he was
encountering in his preparations for the new expedition, and he had
succeeded in so far enlisting her interest in his description of his
plans that her anxiety had apparently been disarmed.
He was aware, too—and the thought stung him—that Diane’s love
had none of that intimate tenderness which enables one mind almost
intuitively to understand the other, and one soul to feel the
overshadowing of its mate. He tried to comfort himself with the
assurance that it was best so, that he would not have it otherwise,
since he must keep his own secrets. Yet it cost him a pang to feel
that here, as everywhere else, the shade of Overton came between
him and perfect happiness. Even the triumph of his successful love
was chilled by the thought that in Diane’s heart he was second, and
that her girlish imagination clung to the memory of the lost leader
who had fallen, like the hero he was, on the road to glory.
His confession to Dr. Gerry, and the doctor’s subsequent efforts to
break the chloral habit, had effected only a temporary relief. He was
face to face with the shame of having laid bare his soul to another, of
having disclosed the mortal secret that ground his heart, to see only
contempt and condemnation in the eyes of his father confessor.
Nor had the doctor been content with secret adjurations. He had
tried his utmost to make Faunce release Diane, and, by some act of
self-immolation, to offer a kind of spiritual expiation for his crime. To
the sturdy old man the whole matter was intolerable. He had no
sympathy with complex natures like that of Faunce. He would have
declared that the possibilities of such a soul had to bear some
proportionate relation to the general economies of value; that to try
to expand Arthur’s spiritual horizon would be attended with the
difficulties encountered by the frog of the ancient story, which lost its
life in trying to expand its dimensions to the size of the neighboring
cow.
As for Faunce, the frantic impulse that had carried him to the height
—or the depth—of confession had expired almost as soon as the
words were uttered. It had seemed to him that confession would
ease his conscience, that the mere act of telling of his cowardice
would wipe out some of the score against him; but it had not proved
so. He was still haunted, and he had the added humiliation of the
doctor’s knowledge, the uneasy fear that an accident might lead to
betrayal.
All these months his silence—so easy and so secure, since there
was no living man to contradict him—had covered his error. That
was what he called it to himself—an error. He could not call it a
crime. Dr. Gerry’s idea that it was like murder was inexpressibly
shocking.
Faunce told himself that he was incapable of murder, that Overton
had been as good as dead, and that he left him—sorely against his
own will—to save himself from the same fate. Was it necessary that
both should die when one could be saved? Was it right that a young,
strong man should lay down his life rather than desert a frozen
comrade, who had barely enough vigor left in him to keep his heart
beating an hour? The idea seemed monstrous, when he thought of
it. At the time he had not thought of it; he had merely obeyed an
overwhelming instinct and fled for his life.
It was not his fault that Overton’s honors had fallen upon him like a
mantle of glory, that he had succeeded to Overton’s command. He
knew that old Dr. Gerry condemned him still more for grasping these
honors—which would never have come his way if he had returned
with the bare story of his flight; but he was not strong enough to
decline them. He knew that he would have been ruined forever had
the truth been known, but he had succeeded in saving himself. He
had chosen to let the snow and ice cover his desertion, and out of
the wreck of his peace of mind he had snatched at the mundane
honors that came to him. They were all he had, for his conscience
was in agony, and the face of Overton haunted him.
Sometimes, when he wandered at night, unable to sleep, he recalled
the torments of Macbeth. There were moments, dark and secret
ones, when the chloral was slow in taking effect, and his mind was
clouded with lurid visions. He felt himself one with the company of
those who have followed, through all the ages, in the bloody
footprints of Judas Iscariot. It was after such moments as these that
he nearly yielded to Dr. Gerry’s admonition.
“Go break off your engagement!” the doctor thundered in his ear.
“What right have you to marry a girl like Diane? If she knew, she’d
never forgive you. I tell you you’ve got to break it—you shall!”
But he did not. Instead, he pursued his course with a peculiar
obstinacy, a tenacity of purpose that amazed his counselor. He loved
Diane. It was the strongest passion he had left in the wreck of his
moral consciousness. He meant to snatch at happiness as he
snatched at honors and high repute, and to hold them almost by
force.
He was tortured, too, by the thought that delay might in some
inexplicable way result in disaster, and he urged on Judge Herford’s
inclination toward an early marriage. They had planned, at first, that
it should take place just before the new expedition sailed. It was
welcome news when he was informed that the ship would be ready a
month earlier than had been expected, and that it remained for him
either to change the date of departure or to wait until the time
originally set.
The message sent the blood to his heart with a mad rush of joy. He
would make Diane consent to an earlier wedding. Then he would
feel secure—secure of her at last—and he could set out as soon as
possible. Alone, he would dread the frozen wastes, but with her—
courage and high endeavor must be inspired by a love like his. He
would rise to the height of achievement, would expiate his past
failures in brilliant success. Then his conscience would surely
absolve him for not having uselessly laid down his own life because
another man had to die!
XIV
Faunce hurried to Diane at once with his tidings. As he approached
the house, he let his eyes rest on it with almost a feeling of
ownership, not unpardonable in a man who was soon to be united to
the only child of the owner. It might be said that after that he, too,
would have a claim upon it.
The house was old; it had been in the Herford family for two hundred
years. Looking at it, Faunce could distinguish the older portions, the
slant of the wide gables from the high ridge-pole, the small,
diamond-paned windows, and the stoop, which suggested a Dutch
origin. One of the ancient chimneys still towered high between the
main building and the sprawling extension; but modern taste and
increased family fortunes had added a bay window or two, and a
wide Southern veranda had increased the dignity and importance of
Judge Herford’s “mansion,” as it was called among the townspeople
when they remembered to drop the more familiar synonym—“the old
Herford house on Broad Street.”
Faunce liked it He liked its air of dignity behind trim hedgerows, its
embowered vines, and the wide-spread branches of the elm before
the door. He went up the path with the feeling that here, at last, there
were peace and security for him.
He found Diane in the library, bending over some sewing, which she
put away as he entered. She laughed softly as he bent to kiss her.
“You mustn’t come so often,” she chided, “if you want me to be ready
two months from now!”
He held her, looking down into her eyes.
“I want it sooner! Diane, the ship is ready. Can’t we be married in two
weeks?”
She did not reply. Instead, her eyes sank under his, and he felt a
quiver run through her. He thought of Overton again, with a pang of
jealousy, and tightened his hold.
“Diane, you’ll say yes? I must go, but I can’t go without you. You—
you’re not going to refuse?” he pleaded urgently, clasping her with
one arm, while with his other hand he lifted one of hers and pressed
it fervently against his cheek.
She did not withdraw her hand, but he felt that it lay cold and still in
his clasp. She was a long time in replying.
“Of course you’ll go, Arthur, but—not so soon! I couldn’t go so soon!
It seems too horribly hasty, as if I were in such a hurry to get married
that I couldn’t wait for any kind of dignity and ceremony!”
“It’s I who am in a hurry,” he rejoined quickly. “My darling, I can’t feel
secure! I keep thinking that you don’t really love me, and that you’ll
slip off and leave me at the eleventh hour.”
She laughed softly, a little tenderly. The warmth of his affection
seemed to enfold her in such a new security that she could not
understand what seemed to be, on his part, a haunting fear.
“I’m not like that, Arthur. I’ve always tried to be rather a loyal person,
dear; but I don’t like haste—in weddings!”
“But you must in ours,” he pleaded. “The ship can sail so much
sooner. I mean that it shall never sail without you, Diane! You don’t
want to make me more unhappy than I am?”
She withdrew herself a little from his embrace, looking up into his
face with serious eyes.
“Are you unhappy?” Then something that she saw there moved her
deeply. “Arthur, you’re not well! What’s wrong? Tell me!”
He hesitated; then he thought of using her evident anxiety to further
his purpose.
“I’m sick for the sea, dear, and to be off again—finishing the work.
Every day of delay tells on me; but I vow I sha’n’t go without you!”
She looked at him then, a light in her eyes, the charm of her face, so
delicate, so elusive, lending it a peculiar softness and glow.
“I don’t want you to go without me; but you must give me a little time.
Why, Arthur, I was working on wedding-finery when you came in!”
she admitted with a shy little laugh, glancing at the mass of fluff and
lace in the basket beside her.
“You don’t need it. You’re too charming for finery. Diane”—he caught
her hands again and drew her, half resisting, toward him—“make it
Wednesday at the latest!”
She shook her head.
“Shocking! I couldn’t!”
Then something in his look, in the troubled, handsome face bending
toward her, swept away her scruples. If she meant to marry him at
all, why quibble for delay, why beg off? She softened, and he read
her yielding in her eyes.
“Wednesday?” he repeated eagerly.
“Wednesday week,” she corrected.
Nor could he coax her to advance that day. She declared that she
was ashamed of such haste. They might as well run away and be
done with it!
“That would be heavenly—no fuss, no feathers! I’m ready. Will you
come, Diane? There’s a parson across the road!”
She smiled absently, her eyes still on his face.
“Arthur, you’re not well, or you’re worried,” she declared irrelevantly.
“Won’t you tell me? I can see that there’s something on your mind.”
He was startled, and reddened under her look.
“There’s nothing on my mind now, except Wednesday week!” he
protested steadily. “That’s far enough off to weigh upon me, isn’t it?”
She shook her head, not altogether reassured. She began to feel
vaguely that there was something between them, an impenetrable
veil which seemed to screen his inner self, and that not even the love
which he protested with such passion could dispel that impalpable
reserve; but a certain pride in her kept her from pursuing her
questions, and she let the matter drop.
XV
In the hastened preparations for the wedding, Fanny Price came
over to give her help. She and Diane directed the cards of invitation,
and sorted out and arranged the presents that were to be displayed
to the few intimates who could now witness the ceremony.
“You certainly have some lovely things,” was Fanny’s comment; “but
it’s strange, isn’t it, the way people’s minds seem to run to oyster-
forks? You’ve got eighteen dozen.”
Diane laughed.
“At least I can serve oysters! Here’s a beautiful fish-knife and fork,
too. Perhaps they connect us with things from the sea because
Arthur’s going to sail so soon!”
“I should think you were going to marry Neptune. Here are some
fish-plates!”
“They ought to have added something especially for the expedition!”
Fanny occupied herself in arranging the silver.
“Aren’t you a little afraid of it, Diane? The thought of that frozen
solitude frightens me. I’ve no courage!”
Diane made no immediate reply, and Fanny, giving her a sidelong
look, discovered that she had stopped work and was looking out of
the window with an absent air, her face quite colorless. The girl’s
heart beat fast with a sensation almost of anger. She was sure, with
her keen, girlish insight into such things, that at the moment Diane
was thinking, not of Faunce, but of Overton.
Fanny’s heart leaped up in defense of her hero. She remembered
him at her own fireside, with no eyes, no thought, for any one except
Diane. She made a deliberate tinkle in spreading out more spoons
and ladles.