After a brief toilet, Lottie came down to tea looking like an innocent little lamb that any wolf could beguile and devour. She smiled on De Forrest so sweetly that the cloud began to pass from his brow at once.
"Why should I be angry with her?" he thought, "she did not understand what I was aiming at, and probably supposed that I meant to read her asleep, and yet I should have thought that the tones of my voice—Well, well, Lottie has been a little spoiled by too much devotion. She has become accustomed to it, and takes it as a matter of course. When we are married, the devotion must be on the other side of the house."
"I thought Mr. Hemstead would be back this evening?" she said to her aunt.
"No, not till to-morrow evening. You seem to miss Frank very much."
Then Lottie was provoked to find herself blushing like a school-girl, but she said, laughingly, "How penetrating you are, auntie. I do miss him, in a way you cannot understand."
But the others understood the remark as referring to her regret that he had escaped from her wiles as the victim of their proposed jest, and Bel shot a reproachful glance at her. She could not know that Lottie had said this to throw dust into their eyes, and to account for her sudden blush, which she could not account for to herself.
Before supper was over, Harcourt came in with great news, which threw Addie into a state of feverish excitement, and greatly interested all the others.
"Mrs. Byram, her son, and two daughters, have come up for a few days to take a peep at the country in winter, and enjoy some sleigh-riding. I met Hal Byram, and drove in with him. Their large house is open from top to bottom, and full of servants, and to-morrow evening they are going to give a grand party. There are invitations for you all. They expect most of their guests from New York, however."
Even languid Bel brightened at the prospect of so much gayety; and thoughts of Hemstead and qualms of conscience vanished for the time from Lottie's mind. The evening soon passed, with cards and conjectures as to who would be there, and the day following, with the bustle of preparation.
"I don't believe Frank will go to such a party," said Addie, as the three girls and De Forrest were together in the afternoon.
"Let us make him go by all means," said Lottie. "He needn't know what kind of a party it is, and it will be such fun to watch him. I should not be surprised if he and Mrs. Byram mutually shocked each other. We can say merely that we have all been invited out to a little company, and that it would be rude in him not to accompany us."
Mrs. Marchmont was asked not to say anything to undeceive Hemstead.
"It will do him good to see a little of the world," said Lottie; and the lady thought so too.
The others were under the impression that Lottie still purposed carrying out her practical joke against Hemstead. At the time when he had saved them from so much danger the evening before, they felt that their plot ought to be abandoned, and, as it was, they had mainly lost their relish for it. Hemstead had not proved so good a subject for a practical joke as they had expected. But they felt that if Lottie chose to carry it on, that was her affair, and if there were any fun in prospect, they would be on hand to enjoy it. The emotions and virtuous impulses inspired by their moment of peril had faded almost utterly away, as is usually the case with this style of repentance. Even Bel was growing indifferent to Lottie's course. Harcourt, who with all his faults had good and generous traits, was absent on business, and had partially forgotten the design against Hemstead, and supposed that anything definite had been given up on account of the service rendered to them all.
Lottie was drifting. She did not know what would be her action. The child of impulse, the slave of inclination, with no higher aim than to enjoy the passing hour, she could not keep a good resolve, if through some twinges of conscience she made one. She had proposed to avoid Hemstead, for, while he interested, he also disquieted her and filled her with self-dissatisfaction.
And yet for this very reason he was fascinating. Other men admired and flattered her, bowing to her in unvarying and indiscriminating homage. Hemstead not only admired but respected her for the good qualities that she had simulated, and with equal sincerity recognized faults and failures. She had been admired all her life, but respect from a true, good man was a new offering, and, even though obtained by fraud, was as delightful as it was novel. She still wished to stand well in his estimation, though why she hardly knew. She was now greatly vexed with herself that she had refused to visit Mrs. Dlimm. She was most anxious that he should return, in order that she might discover whether he had become disgusted with her; for, in the knowledge of her own wrong action, she unconsciously gave him credit for knowing more about her than he did.
She had no definite purpose for the future. Instead of coolly carrying out a deliberate plot, she was merely permitting herself to be carried along by a subtle undercurrent of interest and inclination, which she did not understand, or trouble herself to analyze. She had felt a passing interest in gentlemen before, which had proved but passing. This was no doubt a similar case, with some peculiar and piquant elements added. A few weeks in New York after her visit was over, and he would fade from memory, and pass below the horizon like other stars that had dazzled for a time. The honest old counsellor, conscience, recklessly snubbed and dismissed, had retired, with a few plain words, for the time, from the unequal contest.
She met Hemstead at the door on his return, and held out her hand, saying cordially, "I'm ever so glad to see you. It seems an age since you left us."
His face flushed deeply with pleasure at her words and manner. Expecting an indifferent reception, he had purposed to be dignified and reserved himself. And yet her manner on the morning of his departure had pained him deeply, and disappointed him. It had not fulfilled the promise of the previous day, and he had again been sorely perplexed. But his conclusion was partly correct.
"She is resisting the truth. She sees what changes in her gay life are involved by its acceptance; and therefore shuns coming under its influence."
What a strange power God has bestowed upon us! There is some one that we long to influence and change for the better. That one may know our wish and purpose, recognize our efforts, but quietly baffle us by an independent will that we can no more coerce and control than by our breath soften into spring warmth a wintry morning. We can look pleadingly into some dear one's eyes, clasp his hands and appeal with even tearful earnestness, and yet he may remain unmoved, or be but transiently affected. Though by touch or caress, by convincing arguments and loving entreaty, we may be unable to shake the obdurate will, we can gently master it through the intervention of another. The throne of God seems a long way round to reach the friend at our side,—for the mother to reach her child in her arms,—but it usually proves the quickest and most effectual way. Where before were only resistance and indifference, there come, in answer to prayer, strange telentings, mysterious longings, receptivity, and sometimes, in a way that is astonishing, full acceptance of the truth.
"The wind bloweth where it listeth," were the words of the all-powerful One, of the beautiful emblem of His own mysterious and transforming presence.
Again He said, "How much more shall your Heavenly Father give theHoly Spirit to them that ask him."
Here is a power, a force, an agency, that the materialist cannot calculate, weigh, or measure, or laugh scornfully out of existence.
As upon a sultry night a breeze comes rustling through the leaves from unknown realms of space, and cools our throbbing temples, so the soul is often stirred and moved by impulses heavenward that are to their subjects as mysterious as unexpected.
To a certain extent, God gives to the prayerful control of Himself, as it were, and becomes their willing agent; and when all mysteries shall be solved, and the record of all lives be truthfully revealed, it will probably be seen that not those who astonished the world with their own powers, but those who quietly, through prayer, used God's power, were the ones who made the world move forward.
While Hemstead would never be a Mystic or a Quietest in his faith, he still recognized most clearly that human effort would go but little way in awakening spiritual life, unless seconded by the Divine power. Therefore in his strong and growing wish that he might bring the beautiful girl, who seemed like a revelation to him, into sympathy with the truth that he believed and loved, he had based no hope on what he alone could do or say.
But her manner on the previous morning had chilled him, and he had half purposed to be a little distant and indifferent also.
It did not occur to him that he was growing sensitive in regard to her treatment of himself, as well as of the truth.
He readily assented to Lottie's request that he should accept Mrs. Byram's invitation, and found a strange pleasure in her graciousness and vivacity at the supper-table.
His simple toilet was soon made, and he sought the parlor and a book to pass the time while waiting for the Others. Lottie was a veteran at the dressing-table, and by dint of exacting much help from Bel, and resting content with nature's bountiful gifts,—that needed but little enhancing from art,—she, too, was ready considerably in advance of the others, and, in the full UNdress which society permits, thought to dazzle the plain Western student, as a preliminary to other conquests during the evening.
And he was both dazzled and startled as she suddenly stood before him under the chandelier in all the wealth of her radiant beauty.
Her hair was arranged in a style peculiarly her own, and powdered. A necklace of pearls sustained a diamond cross that was ablaze with light upon her white bosom. Her arms were bare, and her dress cut as low as fashion would sanction. In momentary triumph she saw his eye kindle into almost wondering admiration; and yet it was but momentary, for almost instantly his face began to darken with disapproval.
She at once surmised the cause; and at first it amused her very much, as she regarded it as an evidence of his delightful ignorance of society and ministerial prudishness.
"I gather from your face, Mr. Hemstead, that I am not dressed to suit your fastidious taste."
"I think you are incurring a great risk in so exposing yourself this cold night, Miss Marsden."
"That is not all your thought, Mr. Hemstead."
"You are right," he said gravely, and with heightened color.
"But it's the style; and fashion, you know, is a despot with us ladies."
"And, like all despots, very unreasonable; and wrong at times, I perceive."
"When you have seen more of society, Mr. Hemstead," she said, a little patronizingly, "you will modify your views. Ideas imported in the Mayflower are scarcely in vogue now."
He was a little nettled by her tone, and said with a tinge of dignity, "My ideas on this subject were not imported in the Mayflower. They are older than the world, and will survive the world."
Lottie became provoked, for she was not one to take criticism of her personal appearance kindly, and then it was vexatious that the one whom she chiefly expected to dazzle should at once begin to find fault; and she said with some irritation, "And what are your long-lived ideas."
"I fear they would not have much weight with you were I able to express them plainly. I can only suggest them, but in such a way that you can understand me in a sentence. I should not like a sister of mine to appear in company as you are dressed."
Lottie flushed deeply and resentfully, but said, in a frigid tone, "I think we had better change the subject I consider myself a better judge of these matters than you are."
He quietly bowed and resumed his book. She shot an angry glance at him and left the room.
This was a new experience to her,—the very reverse of what she had anticipated. This was a harsh and discordant break in the honeyed strains of flattery to which she had always been accustomed, and it nettled her greatly. Moreover, the criticism she received had a delicate point, and touched her to the very quick; and to her it seemed unjust and uncalled for. What undoubtedly is wrong in itself, and what to Hemstead, unfamiliar with society and its arbitrary customs, seemed strangely indelicate, was to her but a prevailing mode among the ultra-fashionable, in which class it was her ambition to shine.
"The great, verdant boor!" she said in her anger, as she paced restlessly up and down the hall. "What a fool I am to care what he thinks, with his backwoods ideas! Nor shall I any more. He shall learn to-night that I belong to a different world."
De Forrest joined her soon and somewhat re-assured her by his profuse compliments. Not that she valued them as coming from him, but she felt that he as a society man was giving the verdict of society in distinction from Hemstead's outlandish ideas. She had learned from her mother—indeed it was the faith of her childhood, earliest taught and thoroughly accepted—that the dictum of their wealthy circle was final authority, from which there was no appeal.
Hemstead suffered in her estimation. She tried to think of him as uncouth, ill-bred, and so ignorant of fashionable life—which to her was the only life worth naming—that she could dismiss him from her mind from that, time forth. And in her resentment she thought she could and would. She was very gracious to De Forrest, and he in consequence was in superb spirits.
As they gathered in the parlor, before starting, De Forrest looked Hemstead over critically, and then turned to Lottie and raised his eye-brows significantly. The answering smile was in harmony with the exquisite's implied satire. Lottie gave the student another quick look and saw that he had observed their meaning glances, and that in consequence his lip had curled slightly; and she flushed again, partly with anger and vexation.
"Why should his adverse opinion so nettle me? He is nobody," she thought, as she turned coldly away.
Though Hemstead's manner was quiet and distant, he was conscious of a strange and unaccountable disappointment and sadness. It was as if a beautiful picture were becoming blurred before his eyes. It was more than that,—more than he understood. He had a sense of personal loss.
He saw and sincerely regretted his cousin Addie's faults; but when Lottie failed in any respect in fulfilling the fair promise of their first acquaintance, there was something more than regret.
At first he thought he would remain at home, and not expose himself to their criticism and possible ridicule; but a. moment later determined to go and, if possible, thoroughly solve the mystery of Lottie Marsden's character; for she was more of a mystery now than ever.
They soon reached Mrs. Byram's elegant country which gleamed afar, ablaze with light. The obsequious footman threw open the door, and they entered a tropical atmosphere laden with the perfumes of exotics. Already the music was striking up for the chief feature of the evening. Bel reluctantly accepted of Hemstead's escort, as sh; had no other resource.
"He will be so awkward!" she had said to Lottie, in irritable protest.
And at first she was quite right, for Hemstead found himself anything but at home in the fashionable revel. Bel, in her efforts to get him into the presence of the lady of the house, that they might pay their respects, reminded one of a little steam yacht trying to manage a ship of the line.
Not only were Lottie and De Forrest smiling at the scene, but also other elegant people, among whom Hemstead towered in proportions too vast and ill-managed to escape notice; and to Addie her cousin's lack of ease and grace was worse than a crime.
Bel soon found some city acquaintances, and she and her escort parted with mutual relief. Hemstead drifted into the hall, where he would be out of the way of the dancers, but through the open doors could watch the scene.
And this he did with a curious and observant eye. The party he came with expected him to be either dazzled and quite carried away by the scenes of the evening, or else shocked and very solemn over their dissipation. But he was rather inclined to be philosophical, and to study this new phase of life. He would see the creme de la creme, who only would be present, as he was given to understand. He would discover if they were made of different clay from the people of Scrub Oaks. He would breathe the social atmosphere which to Addie, to his aunt, and even to Lottie, he was compelled to fear was as the breath of life. These were the side issues; but his chief purpose was to study Lottie herself. He would discover if she were in truth as good a girl—as full of promise—as he had been led to believe at first.
Of course he was a predestined "wall-flower" upon such an occasion. Addie had said to Mrs. Byram, in a tone hard to describe but at once understood, "A cousin from the West, who is studying for the ministry"; and Hemstead was immediately classed in the lady's mind among those poor relations who must be tolerated for the sake of their connections.
He was a stranger to all, save those he came with, and they soon completely ignored and forgot him, except Lottie, by whom he was watched, but so furtively that she seemed as neglectful as the rest.
It was one of the fashions of the hour—a phase of etiquette as ill-bred as the poorest social slang—not to introduce strangers. Mrs. Byram and her daughters were nothing if not fashionable, and in this case the mode served their inclination, and beyond a few formal words they willingly left their awkward guest to his own resources.
He could not understand how true courtesy permitted a hostess to neglect any of her guests, least of all those who from diffidence or any cause seemed most in need of attention. Still, in the present instance, he was glad to be left alone.
The scenes around him had more than the interest of novelty, and there was much that he enjoyed keenly. The music was good, and his quick ear kept as perfect time to it as did Lottie's feet. He thought the square dances were beautiful and perfectly unobjectionable,—a vast improvement on many of the rude and often stupid games that he had seen at the few companies he had attended, and Lottie appeared the embodiment of grace, as she glided through them.
But when a blast-looking fellow, in whose eye lurked all evil passions and appetites, whirled her away in a waltz, he again felt, with indignation, that here was another instance in which fashion—custom—insolently trampled on divine law and womanly modesty. He had seen enough of the world to know that Lottie, with all her faults, was too good to touch the fellow whose embrace she permitted. Could she—could the others-be ignorant of his character, when it was indelibly stamped upon his face?
But Hemstead soon noticed that this man's attentions were everywhere received with marked pleasure, and that Mrs. Byram and her daughters made much of him as 8 favored guest. In anger he saw how sweetly Lottie smiled upon him as they were passing near. She caught his dark look, and, interpreting it to mean something like jealousy, became more gracious toward her roue-looking attendant, with the purpose of piquing Hemstead.
A little later Bel came into the hall, leaning upon the arm of a gentleman. Having requested her escort to get her a glass of water she was left alone a few moments. Hemstead immediately joined her and asked, "Who is that blase-looking man upon whose arm Miss Marsden is leaning?"
"And upon whom she is also smiling so enchantingly? He is the beau of the occasion, and she is the belle."
"Do you know anything about him? I hope his face and manner do him injustice."
"I fear they do not. I imagine he is even worse than he looks."
"How, then, can he be such a favorite?"
She gave him a quick, comical look, which intimated, "You are from the back country," but said, "I fear you will think less of society when I tell you the reasons. I admit that it is very wrong; but so it is. He has three great attractions: he is brilliant; he is fast; he is immensely rich,—therefore society is at his feet."
"O, no; not society, but a certain clique who weigh things in false balances," said Hemstead, quickly. "How strange it is that people are ever mistaking their small circle for the world!"
Bel gave him a look of some surprise, and thought, "I half believe he is looking down upon us with better right than we upon him."
After a moment Hemstead added, "That man there is more than fast. I should imagine that Harcourt was a little fast, and yet he has good and noble traits. I could trust him. But treachery is stamped upon that fellow's face, and the leer of a devil gleams from his eye. He is not only fast, he is bad. Does Miss Marsden know his character?"
"She knows what we all do. There are hard stories about him, and, as you say, he does not look saintly; but however wrong it may be, Mr. Hemstead, it is still a fact that society will wink at almost everything when a man is as rich and well connected as he, that is, as long as a man sins in certain conventional ways and keeps his name out of the papers."
Here her escort joined her, and they passed on; and Hemstead stood lowering at the man, the pitch of whose character began to stain the beautiful girl who, knowing him somewhat, could willingly and encouragingly remain at his side.
True, he had seen abundant proof that she had a heart, good impulses, and was capable of noble things, as he had told her; but was she not also giving 'lira equal proof that the world enthralled her heart, and that senseless and soulless fashion, rather than the will of God, or the instincts of a pure womanly nature, controlled her will?
He had no small vanity in which to wrap himself while he nursed a spiteful resentment at slights to himself. It was a tendency of his nature, and a necessity of his calling, that he should forget himself for the sake of others. Lottie awoke his sympathy, and he pitied while he blamed.
But he desponded as to the future, and feared that she would never fulfil her first beautiful promise. He realized, with a vague sense of pain, how far apart they were, and in what different worlds they dwelt. At one time it had seemed as if they might become friends, and be in accord on the chief questions of life. But now that she was smiling so approvingly upon a man whose very face proclaimed him villain, he saw a separation wider and more inexorable than Hindu caste,—that of character.
And yet with his intense love of beauty it seemed like sacrilege—the profanation of a beautiful temple—that such a girl as Charlotte Marsden should permit the associations of that evening. It was true that he could find no greater fault with her in respect to dress, manners, and attendants, than with many others,—not as much as with his own cousin. But for some reason that did not occur to him it was peculiarly a source of regret that Lottie should so fall short of what he believed true and right.
His thoughts gave expression to his face, as in momentary abstraction he paced up and down the hall. Suddenly a voice that had grown strangely familiar in the brief time he had heard it said at his side, "Why, Mr. Hemstead, you look as if at a funeral. What are you thinking of?"
Following an impulse of his open nature, he looked directly intoLottie's face, and replied, "You."
She blushed slightly, but said with a laugh, "That is frank," but added, meaningly, "I am surprised you cannot find anything better to think about."
"I think Mr. Hemstead shows excellent judgment," said Mr. Brently, the young man whose face had seemed the index of all evil. "Where could he find anything better to think about?"
"Mr. Hemstead's compliments and yours are very different affairs. He means all he says. Mr. Hemstead, permit me to introduce to you Mr. Brently of New York. I wish you could induce him to be a missionary."
The young rake laughed so heartily at this idea that he did not notice that Hemstead's acknowledgment was frigidly slight; but Lottie did.
"How absurdly jealous!" she thought; yet it pleased her that he was.
"I shall never be good enough to eat, and so cannot be persuaded to visit the Cannibal Islands in the role of missionary." Brently was too pleased with his own poor wit, and too indifferent to Hemstead, to note that the student did not even look at him.
"I expect that you will lecture me well for all my folly and wickedness to-morrow," said Lottie, with a laugh.
"You are mistaken, Miss Marsden," Hemstead answered coldly. "I have neither the right nor the wish to 'lecture' you"; and he turned away, while she passed on with an unquiet, uncomfortable feeling, quite unlike her usual careless disregard of the opinions of others.
At that moment a gentleman and lady brushed past them on their way to the drawing-rooms, and he heard Lottie whisper, "There are Mr. and Miss Martell after all. I feared they were not coming."
A moment later he saw a tall and beautiful girl enter the parlors upon the arm of a gentleman who was evidently her father. Mrs. Byram received them with the utmost deference, and was profuse in her expressions of pleasure that they had not failed to be present. Having explained their detention, they moved on through the rooms, receiving the cordial greetings of many who knew them, and much attention from all. They were evidently people of distinction, and from the first Hemstead had been favorably impressed with their appearance and bearing.
From the gentleman's erect and vigorous form it would seem that his hair was prematurely gray. His face indicated intellect and high-breeding, while the deep-set and thoughtful eyes, and the firm lines around his mouth, suggested a man of decided opinions.
The daughter was quite as beautiful as Lottie, only her style was entirely different. She was tall and willowy in form, while Lottie was of medium height. Miss Martell was very fair, and her large blue eyes seemed a trifle cold and expressionless as they rested on surrounding faces and scenes. One would hardly suppose that her pulse was quickened by the gayety and excitement, and it might even be suspected that she was not in sympathy with either the people or their spirit.
And yet all this would only be apparent to a close observer, for to the majority she was the embodiment of grace and courtesy, and as the Lanciers were called soon after her arrival, she permitted Harcourt to lead her out as his partner. They took their stations near the door where Hemstead was standing at the moment. Lottie and Mr. Brently stood at the head of the parlor; and Hemstead thought he had never seen two women more unlike, and yet so beautiful.
While he in his isolation and abstraction was observing them and others in much the same spirit with which he was accustomed to haunt art galleries, Harcourt, seeing him so near, unexpectedly introduced him to Miss Martell, saying good-naturedly: "You have one topic of mutual interest to talk about, and a rather odd one for a clergyman and a young lady, and that is—horses. Miss Martell is one of the best horsewomen of this region, and you, Mr. Hemstead, managed a span that were beyond me,—saved my neck at the same time, in all probability."
The young lady at first was simply polite, and greeted him as she naturally would a stranger casually introduced. But from something either in Harcourt's words, or in Hemstead's appearance as she gave him closer scrutiny, her eye kindled into interest, and she was about to speak to him, when the music called her into the graceful maze of the dance. Hemstead was as much surprised as if a portrait on the wall had stepped down and made his acquaintance, and in his embarrassment and confusion was glad that the lady was summoned away, and he given time to recover himself.
Lottie had noted the introduction, and from her distance it had seemed that Miss Martell had treated him slightingly, and that she had not spoken, but had merely recognized him by a slight inclination; so, acting upon one of her generous impulses, the moment the first form was over and there was a brief respite, she went to where he stood near Miss Martell, and said kindly, but a little patronizingly, "I'm sorry you do not dance, Mr. Hemstead. You must be having a stupid time."
He recognized her kindly spirit, and said, with a smile, "A quiet time, but not a stupid one. As you can understand, this scene is a quite novel one to me,—a glimpse into a new and different world."
"And one that you do not approve of, I fear."
"It has its lights and shadows."
Lottie now turned to speak to Miss Martell, and evil-eyed Brently, her partner, had also been standing near, waiting till Harcourt should cease to occupy her attention so closely.
The young lady was polite, but not cordial, to Lottie; she did not vouchsafe a glance to Brently. But he was not easily abashed.
"Miss Martell," he said suavely, "will you honor me for the next waltz?"
"You must excuse me, sir," she said coldly.
"Well, then, some time during the evening, at your own pleasure," he urged.
"You must excuse me, sir," she repeated still more frigidly, scarcely glancing at him.
"What do you mean?" he asked insolently, at the same time flushing deeply.
She gave him a cold, quiet look of surprise, and, turning her back upon him, resumed conversation with Harcourt. Lottie was a little indignant and perplexed at this scene; but noted, with a feeling of disgust, that her partner's face, in his anger, had the look of a demon.
But her own reception had been too cool to be agreeable, and this, with the supposed slight to Hemstead, caused Miss Martell to seem to her, for the time, the embodiment of capricious pride.
Harcourt said, "Brently does not seem to be in your good graces, MissMartell; and that is strange, for he is the lion of the evening."
"I can well imagine that he belongs to the cat species," she replied. "I have no personal grievance against Mr. Brently, but I do not consider him a gentleman. My father knows that he is not one, and that is enough for me."
Harcourt flushed with both pleasure and shame; and as the next form just then required that he should take his companion's hand, he did so with a cordial pressure, as he said, "Men would be better—I should be better—if all young ladies showed your spirit, Miss Martell."
At the next pause in the dance she said, in a low tone, "Come, let us have no 'ifs.' Be better anyway."
She detected the dejection which he tried to mask with a light laugh, as he replied, "I often wish I were, but the world, the flesh, and the devil are too much for me."'
"Yes, and always will be for you. Who can fight such enemies alone? Besides, you are reading and thinking in the wrong direction. You are going out into the desert."
"Well, it's kind of you to care," he said, with a look that deepened the faint color of her cheeks.
"I am not inhuman," she replied quietly. "Is it a little thing that a mind should go astray?"
He looked at her earnestly, but made no reply.
Soon after, Lottie saw with surprise, during one of the intervals between the forms, that Miss Martell turned and spoke freely and cordially to Hemstead. Her surprise became something akin to annoyance, as, at the close, she took his arm and began to walk up and down the wide hall, evidently becoming deeply interested in his conversation. She soon shook off moody Brently, who could think of nothing but the slight he had received, and, taking De Forrest's arm, also commenced promenading in the hall. She noted, with satisfaction, that Hemstead was not so occupied with his new and fascinating acquaintance as to be oblivious of her presence.
Soon after Mr. Martell joined his daughter, and was introduced toHemstead; and they went out to supper together.
Lottie managed that she and De Forrest should find seats near them in a roomy angle, where, being out of the crush, Mr. Martell and his little party could season Mrs. Byram's sumptuous viands with Attic salt. And the flavor of their wit and thought was so attractive that they soon had a group of the most intelligent and cultivated of the company around them, and Lottie saw that Hemstead, who had been neglected by his own party, was becoming appreciated by the best people present. Miss Martell, with the tact of a perfect lady, had the power of putting him at his ease and drawing him out. Hemstead's mind was no stagnant, muddy pool, but a living fountain, and his thought sparkled as it flowed readily on the congenial topics that Mr. and Miss Martell introduced. The freshness and originality of his views seemed to interest them and others greatly; but what pleased him most was that Lottie, who sat near, was neglecting her supper and De Forrest's compliments in her attention to the conversation. Her face showed a quick, discriminating mind, and as the discussion grew a little warm on a topic of general interest, he saw from her eager and intelligent face that she had an opinion, and he had the tact to ask her for it just at the right moment. Though a little embarrassed at his unexpected question, she expressed her thought so briefly and brightly that the others were pleased, and she was at once taken into the circle of their talk, which of course became more animated and spicy with her piquant words and manner added. It was evident that she was enjoying this employment of her brain more than she had that of her feet. The lower pleasure paled before the higher; and she was grateful to Hemstead for having drawn her within the charmed circle.
De Forrest did not grieve over Lottie's absorption, as it gave him more time for the supper-table and champagne; and to the latter he and a good many others were so devoted that they were hardly their poor selves the rest of the evening. In Brently's case it was most marked after the ladies had retired. He began to talk quite loudly and boisterously of his slight, and at one time was about to seek Miss Martell, and demand an explanation, but was prevailed upon by his friends to be quiet.
In the changes that occurred after leaving the supper-room, Miss Martell took Harcourt's arm and said in a low tone, "I was glad to see that you did not take any wine."
"And I am glad you cared to see. But how could I, after your gentle hint? I know my weakness. If I had indulged in one glass I might have taken too many, as I am sorry has been the case in more instances than one to-night."
"You admit, then, that it is a weakness?" she said gently fixing her eyes, that were no longer cold and expressionless, upon him.
"In truth, I must admit that I have many weaknesses, Miss Martell."
"You certainly possess one element of strength, in that you recognize them. Knowledge of danger is often the best means of safety. But how is it that you are so ready to acknowledge weakness of any kind? I thought that men scoffed at the idea that they could be weak or in danger from any temptation."
"If they do, they either do not know themselves, or they are not honest. I do know myself, to my sorrow, and it would seem like sacrilege to me not to be truthful and sincere with you. And yet it is when I am with you that I most despise myself."
"How, then, can you endure my presence?" she asked, with a shy, half-mischievous glance.
He flushed slightly, and tried to disguise a deeper meaning with a slight laugh, as he said, "If I were shut out of Eden, I should often be tempted to look over the hedge."
She did not reply at once, nor lift her eyes to his, but the color deepened upon her cheeks; and if he had seen the expression of her averted face, his might have appeared more hopeful.
After a moment she turned and said, with a smile, "I think the fact that you would like to look over the hedge a very promising sign. It proves that you regret our lost Eden purity, and would like to possess it again. If you will only let your wishes develop into right action, instead of looking wistfully over the hedge, you may be welcomed within the gate of the better Paradise."
He looked at her searchingly, but she again turned away her face, and would not meet his eye. After a moment, he said, "I do not think you used the pronoun 'our,' correctly. There is nothing akin between my moral state and yours."
"Yes, there is," she replied earnestly. "If you struggle as hard to do right as I do, you are trying very hard indeed."
With a quick glance of surprise he said, "It has ever seemed to me that you were developing as naturally and inevitably as a moss-rose."
"Nonsense!" she answered, a little abruptly. "I am as human as you are. I have doubtless had advantages over you in being more sheltered and less tempted. But in a world like ours, and with natures like ours, every one must struggle hard who would live a good life. Even then we need Divine help."
They had now passed into a large conservatory, where they supposed they were alone. He took her hand and said, with a manly sincerity that made his face almost as noble as hers was beautiful: "Miss Martell, you are holier than I am. You are as much above me as heaven is above the earth. And yet, because you have not said to me, 'Stand aside, for I am holier than thou'; because you have made a claim, which I can scarcely understand, of kindred weakness,—of like need of effort to do right,—you have given me a little hope that possibly at some distant day I may find a way out of my doubts and weaknesses. I should like to be a true and believing man."
"Please do not think that I have it in my heart to say 'Stand aside' to any one. Such a spirit is most unchristian, and in me would be most unwarranted. Do not think I meant that when I repulsed Mr. Brently. He has forfeited every right to the title of gentleman. I believe he is utterly bad, and he shows no wish to be otherwise; and I was disgusted by the flattering attentions he received from those with whom he had no right to associate at all. When will society get beyond its vulgar worship of wealth! But, Mr. Harcourt, please don't talk about a 'possible way out of your doubts and weaknesses at some distant day.' You paid me the highest compliment in your power, when you refrained from wine at supper to-night. I am going to ask a personal favor. Won't you let it alone altogether? Mr. Harcourt," she added, her eyes filling with tears, "I cannot bear to think of a nature like yours becoming a slave to such an appetite, and it does seem to master those who are naturally the noblest."
He turned away to hide his own feeling, while she, with clasped hands, stood looking at him, as his good angel might. When he turned to her, he spoke calmly, and almost humbly: "I will not protest too much, Miss Martell. I will make no loud and absolute promises, but it seems to me, while I stand here in your presence, I could not do a mean or ignoble thing again. But in that degree that I revere you, I distrust myself. But I pledge you my honor, that I will try to do what you ask, and more."
"You give me just the kind of promise I like best," she said, giving him her hand with a happy smile. "But I can not tell you how much I wish you could seek God's help, as simply, as believingly, as I do."
"Ah, there is the trouble," he replied, in deep dejection. "My mind is tossed upon a sea of doubt and uncertainty." Then, as from a sudden impulse, he said, "But I could worship you. You are the most beautiful woman here tonight, but instead of making your beauty the slave of contemptible vanity, and employing it, like Miss Marsden and others, merely to win flattery and attention, you turn from all, and forget yourself and your own pleasure, that you may keep a man that is hardly worth saving from going to the devil. If I go, after your kindness to-night, it will be because I ought."
Here her father called her from the door. The character of the entertainment was becoming such that he was anxious to get away. As they left the conservatory, she said in a low, hasty tone, "I am not so unselfish as you think; for it would make me very unhappy if you did not become what you are capable of being."
"Since you care personally what becomes of me, you have given me a double incentive," he answered eagerly, as they passed out.
As they disappeared, Lottie Marsden stepped out from behind a large lemon-tree, with an expression upon her face quite as acid as the unripe fruit that had helped to conceal her. How she came to witness the scene described requires some explanation. As they left the supper-room, she shook De Forrest off for a time, and when Miss Martell parted from Hemstead, she joined him. After the attention he had received, she was not in as patronizing a mood as before.
"Are you willing to take a short promenade with such a guy as I am, Mr. Hemstead?" she asked.
"Yes, if you are willing to link yourself with so much awkwardness."
"I wish I had your grace of mind, Mr. Hemstead."
"You have no occasion to find fault with nature's gifts to you."
"I fear you think I should find much fault with myself, if not with nature. But I can hardly find fault with you after your kindly tact in the supper-room. I wanted to join your breezy, sprightly chat, and you gave me a chance so nicely."
"Because I wished you to join it. It was not a deed of charity, and you well repaid me. Indeed, I saw so much thought in your face, that I wanted more of the same kind."
"I think you see more than we give you credit for," she Said, looking doubtfully at him.
"'We'? who are 'we'? Yes, I am seeing a good deal here to-night. As you went to see the 'other set' a few evenings ago, I also am seeing some new phases of character."
"And some new phases in one that you had a pretty good opinion of that night. I imagine you no longer consider me 'capable of the noblest things.'"
"I have not changed my mind on that point at all, but—" and here he hesitated.
"But you are discovering that I am also capable of just the reverse."
He flushed, but said gravely, "You put my thought too strongly, Miss Marsden. It would be nearer the truth, if you care for ray opinion at all, to say that I do not understand you."
She also flushed, but said a little coldly, "I am not surprised;I scarcely understand myself."
"I find you full of puzzling contradictions," he added.
"Since I cannot contradict you, I will seek some fallible creatures like myself"; and she vanished, leaving him as uncomfortable and puzzled as ever he had been in his life.
She had scarcely entered the parlor before both De Forrest and Brently sought her hand for a waltz. The latter had disgusted her before, and now he was too tipsy for even the willing blindness of girls like Addie Marchmont, so she escaped with De Forrest, but soon found that his step was out of tune with the music, or her own mind so preoccupied that their feet made discord with the notes. Therefore she led her subservient attendant into the conservatory, and got rid of him for a time by the following ruse.
"I dropped something in the supper-room. Please find it, and look till you do."
De Forrest's ideas were too confused for him to ask what she had lost; and once in the supper-room again, the champagne was so inviting that he, with Brently and others, finished another bottle.
With thoughts dwelling on Hemstead's words, she strolled to the farther end of the walk, and around into another aisle, wishing to be alone for a few moments. It was then that Harcourt and Miss Martell entered, and before she was aware she heard the uncomplimentary reference to herself, and understood the significance of the unexpected scene.
"That is what Mr. Hemstead thinks me capable of," she thought, with tingling cheeks,—"making my 'beauty the slave of contemptible vanity,' and employing it merely to win flattery and attention for myself. You put it very plainly, Mr. Harcourt. I know what is your opinion of me certainly. I wish I cared as little what Mr. Hemstead thinks; and why I should care any more I'm sure I don't know. Yes, I do, too. He's a true, good man, and is the first one that ever treated me as if I were a true, good woman. But now I have made it clear to him, as well as to Harcourt and Miss Martell, what I really am. I knew what Brently was as well as the rest, and yet I smiled upon him because the others did. By this time both of my most ardent admirers are tipsy. What is their admiration worth?"
As she entered the parlors she saw at a glance what would be the character of the remaining hours. The sensuous spirit of wine would inspire the gayety and intensify the natural excitement of the occasion. Heretofore she could join in a fashionable revel with the keenest zest, but she could not to-night. Unconsciously Miss Martell had given her a stinging rebuke. She had been shown how a beautiful woman might employ the power of her fascinations to lure men into purer and nobler life, as Hemstead had suggested the morning after his arrival. As she remembered that she had used her beauty only to lure men to her feet, that she might enjoy a momentary triumph, soon to be forgotten in other conquests, she was already more than dissatisfied with herself,—an unusual experience with Lottie Marsden.
She refused half a dozen invitations to dance, and was about ascending to the dressing-room, when Harcourt met her in the hall and said, "I think I had better send De Forrest home. Hemstead will go with him."
"What is the matter with Julian?"
"Well, they say he mistook a decanter of brandy for wine. At any rate he is under the table, 'looking for something of yours,' he says; though what he does not say or does not know. What's more, we can't get him up, for he says you told him not to leave the dining-room till he found it. I fear we shall have to use force, unless you can manage him."
Then with a. burning flush of shame she remembered how, in her wish to be alone, she had sent him into temptation, instead of trying to shield and protect, as had Miss Martell in the case of Harcourt, whose abstemiousness had excited the surprise of more than one. But without a word she went directly to the supper-room; and there witnessed a scene that she never forgot.
The elegant De Forrest was crawling about the floor, uttering her name continually in connection with the most maudlin sentiment, and averring with many oaths that he would never rise till he had found what she had lost.
Brently, almost equally drunk, sat near, convulsed with laughter, saying with silly iteration, "He's looking for Miss Marsden's heart."
Mrs. Byram and her son stood helplessly by, their manner showing that their wish to be polite was almost mastered by their disgust. Hemstead, who was trying to get De Forrest up, had just given a stern rebuke to one of the giggling waiters as Lottie entered.
It did not take her over a moment to comprehend all. While herface was crimson, she acted decidedly and with a. certain dignity.Going directly to De Forrest she said, "Julian, I have found whatI lost. Get up and come with me."
His habitual deference to her wishes and words served him now. Her tone and manner were quiet but very firm and positive, and he at once sought to obey. Hemstead and Harcourt helped him to his feet.
"I am going home, Julian, and wish you to go with me," she continued in the same tone.
"Certainly (hic) my dear (hic) I'll do anything (hic) in the world (hic) or anywhere else for you."
A look of intense disgust flitted across her face, but she turned, and said emphatically to the others: "I am more to blame for this than he. I sent him here some time since, when I knew, or ought to have known, that he should have been kept away from temptation. May I trespass so far upon your kindness as to ask all present to remain silent in regard to this scene."
"I know little of etiquette," said Hemstead, "but surely any one would fail utterly in true courtesy, did they not accede to that request."
"Thank you, Mr. Hemstead," said Lottie, with a look he did not soon forget. "Will you order the sleigh to the door? Mr. Harcourt, will you get Mr. De Forrest's hat and coat?"
The door leading into the parlor had been closed and locked as soon as the trouble commenced, and thus the guests were ignorant of the disgraceful scene.
"Julian, I wish you to sit quietly here till I return," said Lottie, in the most decided manner.
He had sense enough left to know that something was wrong, and that his safest course was to yield to her. So, muttering, maudlin, and dishevelled, he sat almost helplessly in the chair where he was placed, with not a trace of his former elegance left.
Lottie looked at him a second, with a strange expression, then, taking Mrs. Byram aside, asked,
"Will you be so kind as to have the doors of the parlors leading into the hall closed, as if accidentally, when we pass out?" Adding, "I think if Mr. Byram can get Mr. Brently to his room now, it would also be well."
Mrs. Byram commenced many professions of regret, but Lottie merely said, "I cannot think about it now. I can only act," and she hastened away to prepare for the drive home.
A moment later De Forrest was steadied through the hall and helped into the sleigh.
"Shall I sit by him?" asked Harcourt.
"No," said Lottie, in the same decided voice. "I will take care of him. I was the cause of his trouble, and will not leave him till he is safely home. You will greatly oblige me if you will remain with Addie and Bel, and disarm their suspicion and that of others. Mr. Hemstead will accompany me, and we will send the sleigh back immediately."
"Miss Marsden," said Harcourt, "you are a noble hearted girl. I will do whatever you wish."
"Thank you for what you have done. That is all."
"The horses are restless; I will sit with the coachman," said Hemstead, surmising that Lottie would desire all the seclusion possible under the circumstances. He was not mistaken, for as Harcourt retired she said in a low tone, "You are right. I should be glad to escape now even from your eyes, that are friendly, I trust."
"Yes," he replied, with an emphasis that did her good,—"most friendly"; and they drove away through the cold white moonlight and colder and whiter snow; and to Lottie, with her burdened conscience and heavy heart, the calm night seemed more than ever like a face regarding her with cold and silent scorn.