"This maiden's sparkling eyesAre pretty and all that, sir;But then her little tongueIs quite too full of chat, sir."—Moore.
"This maiden's sparkling eyesAre pretty and all that, sir;But then her little tongueIs quite too full of chat, sir."—Moore.
"This maiden's sparkling eyesAre pretty and all that, sir;But then her little tongueIs quite too full of chat, sir."—Moore.
The effect of Archie's announcement on our party may be imagined. Lizzie uttered a stifled shriek and fell back in her seat; the squire's eyes protruded until they seemed ready to burst from their sockets; Louis gazed like one thunderstruck, and caught hold of Archie, who seemed inclined to leap on the stage in search of his little lady-love.
he effect of Archie's announcement on our party may be imagined. Lizzie uttered a stifled shriek and fell back in her seat; the squire's eyes protruded until they seemed ready to burst from their sockets; Louis gazed like one thunderstruck, and caught hold of Archie, who seemed inclined to leap on the stage in search of his little lady-love.
"Let me go into the green-room—let us go before she leaves," cried Archie, struggling to free himself from the grasp of Louis.
The crowd were now dispersing; and the squire and his party arose and were borne along by the throng, headed by Archie, whose frantic exertions—as he dug his elbows right and left, to make a passage, quite regardless of feelings and ribs—soon brought them to the outer air; and ten minutes later—the squire never could tell how—found them in the green-room, among painted actresses and slip-shod, shabby-looking actors.
Archie's eyes danced over the assembled company, who looked rather surprised, not to say indignant, at this sudden entrance, and rested at last on a straight, slight, little figure, with its back toward them. With one bound he cleared the intervening space betwixt them, and without waiting to say "by your leave,"clasped her in his arms, and imprinted a kiss upon her cheek.
"Dear me, Archie, is that you? Take care! you're mussing my new dress dreadfully!" was the astoundingly cool salutation, in the well-known tones of our little Gipsy.
"Oh, Gipsy, howcouldyou do it? Oh, Gipsy, it wassucha shame," exclaimed Archie, reproachfully.
At this moment she espied Louis advancing toward her, and accosted him with:
"How d'ye do, Louis?—how's Celeste and Minnette, and Mignonne, and all the rest? Pretty well, eh?"
"Gipsy! Gipsy! what a way to talk after our long parting," said Louis, almost provoked by her indifference. "You don't know how we all grieved for you. Poor Mrs. Gower has become quite a skeleton crying for her 'monkey.'"
"Oh, poor, dear aunty! that's too bad now. But here comes Guardy and Lizzie. I don't think Guardy was breaking his heart about me anyway! He looks in capital condition yet."
At this moment the squire came over with Lizzie leaning on his arm.
"Hallo! Guardy, how are you? How did you like the opera?" exclaimed Gipsy, in the same tone she would have used had she parted from him an hour before.
"Oh, Gipsy! you little wretch you! I never thought it would come to this," groaned the squire.
"No, you thought I wasn't clever enough! Just see how easy it is to be deceived! Didn't I dance beautifully, though, and ain't I credit to you now? I'll leave it to Archie here. Aunt Lizzie, I'll speak to you as soon as I get time. Here comes old Barnes, the manager, to know what's the matter."
"Oh, Gipsy, you'll come home with us, my love, you really must," exclaimed Lizzie.
"Couldn't, aunty, by no manner of means," replied Gipsy, shaking her head.
"But I'll be shot if youdon't, though," shouted the squire, "so no more about it. Do you think I'm going to let a ward ofminego with a gang of strolling players any longer?"
"I'm no ward of yours, Squire Erliston; I'm my own mistress, thanks be to goodness, free and independent, and so I mean to stay," exclaimed Gipsy, with sparkling eyes.
"But, oh, my dear! mydearGipsy, do come home with us to-night," pleaded Lizzie, taking her hand.
"You will, Gipsy, just for to-night," coaxed Louis. And: "Ah, Gipsy,won'tyou now?" pleaded Archie, looking up in her saucy little face, with something very like tears shining in his usually merry blue eyes.
"Well—maybe—just for to-night," said Gipsy, slowly yielding; "but mind, I must go back to-morrow."
"And may I be kicked to death by grasshoppers, if ever Iletyou go back," muttered the squire to himself.
"Here comes the manager, Mr. Barnes," said Gipsy, raising her voice; "these are my friends, and I am going home with them to-night."
"You'll be back to-morrow in time for the rehearsal" inquired Mr. Barnes, in no very pleased tone of voice.
"Oh, yes, to be sure," said Gipsy, as she ran off to get her hat and cloak.
"We'll see about that!" said the squire, inwardly, with a knowing nod.
Gipsy soon made her appearance. A cab was in waiting, and the whole party were soon on their way to the hotel.
"And now, tell us all your adventures since the night you eloped from Sunset Hall," said Louis, as they drove along.
"By and by. Tell me first all that has happened at St. Mark's since I left—all about Celeste, and the rest of my friends."
So Louis related all that had transpired since her departure—softening, as much as he could, the outrageous conduct of Minnette.
"Poor Celeste!" exclaimed Gipsy, with glowing cheeks and flashing eyes. "Oh, don't I wish I'd only been there to take her part!Wouldn'tI have given it to Minnette—the ugly old thing!—beg pardon, Archie, for calling your cousin names."
"Oh, you're welcome to call her what you please, for all I care," replied Archie, in a nonchalant tone. "I'm not dying about her."
"There's no love lost, I think," said Louis, laughing.
By this time they had reached the hotel. Lizzie took Gipsy to her room to brush her hair and arrange her dress, and then led her to the parlor, where the trio were waiting them.
"And now for your story!" exclaimed Archie, condescendingly pushing a stool toward Gipsy with his foot.
"Well, it's not much to tell," said Gipsy. "After leavingyou, Guardy, that night, in an excessively amiable frame of mind, I went up to my room and sat down to deliberate whether I'd set fire to the house and burn you all in your beds, or take a razor and cutyourwindpipe, by way of letting in a little hint to be more polite to me in future."
"Good Lord! I just thought so!" ejaculated the horrified squire.
"Finally, Guardy, I came to the conclusion that I would do neither. Both were unpleasant jobs—at least they would have been unpleasant to you, whatever they might have been to me, and would have taken too much time. So I concluded to let you burden the earth a little longer, and quote Solomon for the edification of the world generally, and in the meantime to make myself as scarce as possible; for I'd no idea of staying to be knocked about like an old dishcloth. So I got up, took my last supply of pocket-money, stole down to the stables, mounted Mignonne, and dashed off like the wind. Poor Mignonne! I rather think I astonished him that night, and we were both pretty well blown by the time we reached Brande's Tavern.
"There I took breakfast, left Mignonne—much against my will—jumped into the mail-coach, and started for the city. Arrived there, I was for awhile rather at a loss in what direction to turn my talents. My predominant idea, however, was to don pantaloons and go to sea. Being determined to see the lions, while I staid, I went one night to the play, saw a little girl dancing, and—Eureka! I had discovered what I was born for at last! 'Couldn'tI beat that?' says I to myself. And so, when I went home, I just got up before the looking-glass, stood on one toe, and stuck the other leg straight out, as she had done, cut a few pigeon-wings, turned a somerset or two, and came to the conclusion that if I didn't become adanseuseforthwith, it would be the greatest loss this world ever sustained—the fall of Jerusalem not excepted. To a young lady of my genius it was no very difficult thing to accomplish. I went to see Old Barnes, who politely declined my services. But I wasn't going 'to give it up so, Mr. Brown,' and, like the widow in the Scripture, I gave him no peace, night or day, untilhe accepted my services. Well, after that all was plain sailing enough. Maybe I didn't astonish the world by the rapidity with which my continuations went up and down. It was while there I wrote that letter of consolation to Aunty Gower, by way of setting your minds at ease. Then we went to Washington, then to New York, and everywhere I 'won golden opinions from all sorts of people,' as Shakespeare, or Solomon, or some of them old fellows says. I always kept a bright lookout for you all, for I had a sort of presentiment I'd stumble against you some day. So I wasn't much surprised, but a good pleased, when I saw Guardy's dear old head protruding, like a huge overboiled beet, from one of the boxes to-night. And so—Finis!"
"Gipsy," exclaimed Archie, "you're a regular specimen of Young America! You deserve a leather medal, or a service of tin plate—you do, by Jove!"
"'Pon honor, now?"
"Oh, Gipsy, my love, I'm very sorry to think you could have degraded yourself in such a way!" said Lizzie, with a shockingly shocked expression of countenance.
"Degraded, Aunt Lizzie!" exclaimed Gipsy, indignantly. "I'd like to know whether it's more degrading to earn one's living, free and merry, as a respectable, 'sponsible, danceable dancer, as Totty would say, or to stay depending on any one, to be called a beggar, and kicked about like an old shoe, if you didn't do everything a snappish old crab of an old gentleman took into his absurd old head. I never was made to obey any one—and what's more, I won't neither. There, now!"
"Take care, Gipsy; don't make any rash promises," said Archie. "You've got to promise to 'love, honor, and obey'me, one of these days."
"Never-r-r! Obeyyou, indeed! Don't you wish I may do it?"
"Well, but, my love," said Lizzie, returning to the charge, "though it is too late to repair what you have done, you must be a dancing-girl no longer. You must return home with us to Sunset Hall."
"Return to Sunset Hall! Likely I'll go there to be abused again! Not I, indeed, Aunt Lizzie; much obliged to you, at the same time, for the offer."
"And I vow, Miss Flyaway, youshallgo with us—there!"
"And I vow, Guardy, Isha'n'tgo with you—there!"
"I'll go to law, andcompelyou to come. I'm your rightful guardian!" said the squire, in rising wrath.
"Rightful fiddlesticks! I'm no ward of yours; I'm Aunty Gower's niece; and the law's got nothing to do with me," replied Gipsy, with an audacious snap of her fingers; for neither Gipsy nor the boys knew how she was found on the beach.
"And is that all the thanks you give me for offering to plague myself with you, you ungrateful little varmint?"
"I'mnotungrateful, Squire Erliston!" flashed Gipsy—a streak of fiery red darting across her dark face. "I'mnotungrateful; but Iwon'tbe a slave to come at your beck; Iwon'tbe called a beggar—a pauper; Iwon'tbe told the workhouse is my rightful home; Iwon'tbe struck like a cur, and then kiss the hand that strikes me. No! I'm not ungrateful; but, though I'm only a little girl, Iwon'tbe insulted and abused for nothing. I can earn my own living, free and happy, without whining for any one's favor, thank Heaven!"
Her little form seemed to tower upward with the consciousness of inward power, her eyes filled, blazed, anddilated, and her dark cheek crimsoned with proud defiance.
The squire forgot his anger as he gazed in admiration on the high-spirited little creature standing before him, as haughty as a little empress. Stretching out his arms, he caught her, and seated her on his knee—stroking her short, dancing curls, as he said, in the playful tone one might use to a spoiled baby:
"And can't my little monkey make allowance for an old man's words? You know you were very naughty and mischievous that day, and I had cause to be angry with you; and if I said harsh things, it was all for your good, you know."
"All for my good!—such stuff! I wish you'd put me down. I'm a young lady, I'd have you to know; and I ain't going to be used like a baby, dandled up and down without any regard for my dignity!" said Gipsy, with so indignant an expression of countenance, that Archie—who, as I before mentioned, was blessed with a keen sense of the ludicrous—fell back, roaring with laughter.
"Now, Gipsy, my love, do be reasonable and return home with us," said Lizzie, impatiently.
"I won't, then—there!" said Gipsy, rather sullenly.
But the tears rushed into Lizzie's eyes—for she really was very fond of the eccentric elf—and in a moment Gipsy was off the squire's knee, and her arms round Lizzie's neck.
"Why, aunty, did I make you cry? Oh, I'm so sorry! Please don't cry, dear,dearaunty."
"Oh, Gipsy, it's so selfish of you not to return with us, when we are so lonesome at home without you," said Lizzie, fairly sobbing.
"Yes; and poor Mrs. Gower will break her heartwhen she hears about it—I know she will," said Louis, in a lachrymose tone.
"And I'll break mine—I know I will!" added Archie, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes, and with some difficulty squeezing out a tear.
"And I'll blow my stupid old brains out; andafter that, I'll break my heart, too," chimed in the squire, in a very melancholy tone of voice.
"Well! la me! you'll have rather a smashing time of it if you all break your hearts. What'll you do with the pieces, Guardy?—sell them for marbles?" said Gipsy, laughing.
"There! I knew you'd relent; I said it. Oh, Gipsy, my darling, I knew you wouldn't desert your 'Guardy' in his old age. I knew you wouldn't let him go down to his grave like a miserable, consumptive old tabby-cat, with no wicked little 'imp' to keep him from stagnating. Oh, Gipsy, my dear, may Heaven bless you!"
"Bother! I haven't said I'd go. Don't jump at conclusions. Before I'd be with you a week you'd be blowing me up sky-high."
"But, Gipsy, you know I can't live without blowing somebody up. You ought to make allowance for an old man's temper. It runs in our family to blow up. I had an uncle, or something, that was 'blown up' at the battle of Bunker Hill. Then I always feel after it as amiable as a cat when eating her kittens. 'After a storm there cometh a calm,' as Solomon says."
"Well, maybe there's something in that," said Gipsy, thoughtfully.
"And you know, my love," said Lizzie, "that, though a little girl may be a dancer, it's a dreadful life for a young woman—which you will be in two or three years. No one ever respects a dancing girl; no gentleman ever would marry you."
"Wouldn't they, though!" said Gipsy, so indignantly that Archie once more fell back, convulsed. "If they wouldn't, somebody 'd lose the smartest, cleverest, handsomest young lady on this terrestrial globe, though I say it, as 'hadn't oughter.' Well, since you all are going to commit suicide if I don't go with you, I suppose old Barnes must lose the 'bright particular star' of his company, and I must return to St. Mark's, to waste my sweetness on the desert air."
This resolution was greeted with enthusiastic delight by all present; and the night was far advanced before the squire could part with his "little vixen," and allow her to go to rest.
Old Barnes—as Gipsy called him—was highly indignant at the treatment he had received, and, going to the hotel, began abusing Gipsy and the squire, and everybody else generally; whereupon the squire, who never was noted for his patience, took him by the collar, and, by a well-applied kick, landed him in the kennel—a pleasant way of settling disputes which he had learned while dealing with his negroes, but for which an over-particular court made him pay pretty high damages.
Three days after, Louis and Archie bade them farewell, and entered college; and the squire, after a pleasure-trip of a few weeks, set out for St. Mark's.
In due course of time he arrived at thatrefugium peccatorum; and the unbounded delight with which Gipsy was hailed can never be described by pen of mine.
Good Mrs. Gower could scarcely believe that her darling was really before her; and it was only when listening to the uproar that everywhere followed the footsteps of the said darling, that she could be convinced.
As for Celeste, not knowing whether to laugh or crywith joy, she split the difference, and did both. Even Miss Hagar's grim face relaxed as Gipsy came flashing into their quiet cottage like a March whirlwind, throwing everything into such "admired disorder," that it generally took the quiet little housekeeper, Celeste, half a day to set things to rights afterward.
And now it began to be time to think of completing the education of the two young girls. Minnette had left for school before the return of Gipsy, and it became necessary to send them likewise. Loath as the squire was to part with his pet, he felt he must do it, and urged Miss Hagar to allow Celeste to accompany her.
"Gipsy will defend her from the malice of Minnette, and the two girls will be company for each other," said the old man to the spinster. "Girlsmustknow how to chatter French, and bang on a piano, and make worsted cats and dogs, and allsuch! So let little Snowdrop, here, go with my monkey, and I'll foot the bill."
Miss Hagar consented; and a month after found our little rustic lasses—our fair "Star of the Valley" and our mountain fairy, moving in the new world of boarding-school.
"His youthful form was middle size,For feat of strength or exerciseShaped in proportion fair;And dark-blue was his eagle eye,And auburn of the darkest dyeHis short and curling hair.Light was his footstep in the dance,And firm his stirrup in the lists,And oh! he had that merry glanceThat seldom lady's heart resists."—Scott.
"His youthful form was middle size,For feat of strength or exerciseShaped in proportion fair;And dark-blue was his eagle eye,And auburn of the darkest dyeHis short and curling hair.Light was his footstep in the dance,And firm his stirrup in the lists,And oh! he had that merry glanceThat seldom lady's heart resists."—Scott.
"His youthful form was middle size,For feat of strength or exerciseShaped in proportion fair;And dark-blue was his eagle eye,And auburn of the darkest dyeHis short and curling hair.Light was his footstep in the dance,And firm his stirrup in the lists,And oh! he had that merry glanceThat seldom lady's heart resists."—Scott.
Five years passed. And the children, Gipsy and Celeste, we can never see more; for those five years have changed them into young ladies of seventeen. Strange to say, neither Louis nor Archie has met Minnette, Gipsy, or Celeste, since the time they parted to go to college: and with all the change that years have made in their appearance, it is doubtful whether they would even recognize one another now, if they met.
ive years passed. And the children, Gipsy and Celeste, we can never see more; for those five years have changed them into young ladies of seventeen. Strange to say, neither Louis nor Archie has met Minnette, Gipsy, or Celeste, since the time they parted to go to college: and with all the change that years have made in their appearance, it is doubtful whether they would even recognize one another now, if they met.
The way of it was this: Louis and Archie, after the life and excitement of the city, began to think that Sunset Hall was an insufferably dull place; and with the usual fickleness of youth, instead of going home to spend their vacation, invariably went with some of their school-fellows. This troubled the old squire very little; for without Gipsy, in the quiet of Sunset Hall, he was falling into a state of stupid apathy, and gave Master Louiscarte blancheto go where he pleased. Lizzie was too indolent to trouble herself much about it, and as she generally went on a visit to New York every winter, she contented herself with seeing her son and heir then, andknowing he was well. As for Gipsy and Celeste, their faithless boy-lovers seemed to have quite outgrown their early affection for them.
Then, when the time came for them to graduate, and make choice of a profession, Squire Erliston found that young Mr. Oranmore would neither be doctor, lawyer, nor clergyman; nor even accept a post in the army or navy.
"Why not," said the squire, during an interview he had with him; "what's your objection?"
"Why, my dear grandfather," replied Louis, "you should have too much regard for your suffering fellow-mortals to make a doctor of me. As for being a lawyer, I haven't rascality enough for thatyet; and I've too much respect for the church to take holy orders. Neither does the camp nor forecastle agree with me. I have no particular love for forced marches or wholesale slaughter; nor do I care over much for stale biscuit, bilge-water, and the cat-o'-nine-tails; so I must e'en decline all."
"Then what in the name of Heavenwillyou be?" exclaimed the squire.
"An artist, sir; an artist. Heaven has destined me for a painter. I feel something within me that tells me I will yet win fame and renown. Let me go to Europe—to Germany and Italy, and study the works of the glorious old masters, and I will yet win a name you will not blush to hear."
"Glorious old fiddlesticks! Go, if you like, but I never expected to find a grandson of mine such a fool! The heir of Mount Sunset and its broad lands, the heir of Oranmore Hall, and old Mother Oranmore's yellow guineas, can do as he pleases, of course. Go and waste your time daubing canvas if you will, I'll be hanged ifIcare!"
Therefore, six months before the return of the girls from school, Louis, accompanied by a friend, sailed for Europe without seeing them.
"And you, sir," said the squire, turning to Archie; "areyougoing to be a fool and turn painter, too?"
"No, sir," replied Master Archie; "I'm not going to be a fool, but I'm going to be something worse—a knave; in other words, a lawyer. As for painting, thank fortune, I've no more talent for it than I have for turning milliner, beyond painting my face when acting charades."
So Archie went to Washington, and began studying for the bar.
Gipsy, who was a universal favorite in school, began, for the last few years, to copy the example of the boys, and spend her vacations with her friends. Minnette and Celeste always returned home; for Minnette, cold, and reserved, and proud, was disliked and feared by all; and though Celeste was beloved by everybody, duty and affection forbade her to leave Miss Hagar for her own pleasure.
Our madcap friend, Gipsy, had lost none of her wicked nor mischief-loving propensities during those years. Such a pest and a plague as she was in the school, driving teachers and pupils to their wits' end with her mad pranks, and yet liked so well. There was usually a downright quarrel, about the time of the holidays, to see who would possess her; and Gipsy, after looking on and enjoying the fun, would, to the surprise and chagrin of all, go with some one who least hoped for the honor.
Gipsy was spending the winter with a school-friend, Jennie Moore, at Washington. The three girls, whose united fortunes are the subject of this history, had graduated; Minnette, with the highest honors the school could give; Celeste, with fewer laurels, but with far more love; and Gipsy—alas, that I should have to say it!—most wofully behind all. The restless elfwouldnot study—wasalwaysat the foot of her class, and only laughed at the grave lectures of the teachers; and yawned horribly over the rules of syntax, and the trying names in her botany. So poor Gipsy left little better than when she entered.
The folding-doors of Mr. Moore's spacious drawing-room were thrown open, blazing with light and radiant with brilliantly-dressed ladies. Miss Jennie had resolved that the first ball should surpass anything that had taken place that winter. All theeliteof the city, wealth, beauty, fashion, gallantry, and talent, were mingled in gay confusion. There were soft rustling of silks, and waving of perfumed handkerchiefs, and flirting of fans, and flirting ofbelles; and bright ladies cast killing glances from their brilliant eyes; and gentlemen bowed and smiled, and paid compliments, and talked all sorts of nonsense, and
"All went merry as a marriage bell."
"All went merry as a marriage bell."
"All went merry as a marriage bell."
Near the upper end of the room the belle,par excellence, seemed to be; for in her train flowed all that were wittiest, and gayest, and loveliest there. Whenevershemoved, a throng of admirers followed; and where the laughter was loudest, the mirth highest, the crowd greatest, there might you find the center of attraction, this belle of whom I am speaking.
And yet she was not beautiful; at least, not beautiful when compared with many there who were neglected for her. She is floating now in a gay waltz round the room with a distinguished foreigner, and "I will paint her as I see her."
A small, slight, straight, lithe figure, airy and bird-like in its motions, skimming over the floor withoutseeming to touch it; never at rest; but quick, sudden, abrupt, and startling in all its motions, yet every motion instinct, glowing with life. A dark, bright, laughing little face, that no one knows whether it is handsome or not, it is so radiant, so bewitching, so sparkling, so full of overflowing mirth and mischief. Short, crisp black curls, adorning the sauciest little head in the world; wicked brown eyes, fairlytwinklingwith wickedness; a rosy little mouth, that seemed always laughing to display the little pearly teeth. Such was the star of the evening. Reader, do you recognize her?
As she seated herself after the dance, tired and a little fatigued, Jennie Moore, a pretty, graceful girl, came up to her, saying, in a low voice:
"Oh, Gipsy, I have a stranger to introduce to you—a mostdistinguishedone. One of the cleverest and most talented young lawyers in Washington."
"Distinguished! Now, I'm tired to death of 'distinguished' people; they're all a set of bores—ugly as sin and pedantic as schoolmasters. Don't stare—it's a fact!"
"Oh, but Mr. Rivers is not; he is young, handsome, agreeable, witty, a regular lady-killer, and worth nobody knows how much."
"Mr.—worth what?" exclaimed Gipsy, springing to her feet so impulsively that her friend started back.
"Why, what's the matter?" said Jennie in surprise.
"Nothing! nothing!" said Gipsy, hastily. "Whodid you say it was?"
"Mr. Archibald Rivers, student-at-law."
"Jennie, they say I've changed greatly of late. Do you think I look anything like I did when you first saw me?"
"Why, not much. You were a tawny little frightthen; you'realmosthandsome now," said the candid Jennie.
"Then he won't know me. Jennie, will you oblige by introducing Mr. Rivers to me under an assumed name?"
"Why——"
"There! there! don't ask questions; I'll tell by and by. Go and do it."
"Well, you have always some new crotchet in your crotchety little head," said Jennie, as she started to obey.
In a few moments she reappeared, leaning on the arm of the "distinguished" Mr. Rivers. Our Archie has not changed as much as Gipsy has done during these years, save that he has grown taller and more manly-looking. He has still his frank, handsome, boyish face; his merry blue eye and boisterous manner, alittlesubdued.
The indistinct tone in which Miss Moore introduced him prevented him from catching the name, but he scarcely observed; and seeing in the young lady, whose lips were now pursed up and whose eyes were cast modestly on the floor, a shrinking, bashful girl, he charitably began to draw her out.
"There is quite an assembly here this evening," was his original remark, by way of encouraging her.
"Yes, sir," was the reply, in a tone slightly tremulous, whichheascribed to maiden bashfulness.
"What a delightful young lady your friend, Miss Moore, is," continued Archie.
"Yes, sir."
"There are a great many beautiful ladies in the room."
"Yes, sir."
"Confound her!" muttered Archie, "can she saynothing but 'Yes, sir?' But the most beautiful lady present is by my side," he continued, aloud, to see how she would swallow so palpable a dose of flattery.
"Yes, sir!"
"Whew! if that's not cool! I wonder if the girl's an idiot!" thought Master Archie. Then, aloud: "Do you know you're very beautiful?"
"Yes. I know it."
A stare of surprise followed this answer. Then he continued:
"You are a most bewitching young lady! Never was so much charmed by anybody in my life!"
"Sorry I can't return the compliment."
"Hallo!" thought Archie, rather taken aback. "She's not such a fool as I took her to be. What do you think of that lady!" he added, pointing to a handsome but dark-complexioned girl, whom report said would one day be Mrs Rivers.
"Oh! I don't think her pretty at all—she's such agipsy."
Archie gave a little start at the name. Poor Gipsy! he had quite forgotten her of late.
"Do you know," he said, "I once had a little friend called Gipsy? Your words recalled her to my memory. You remind me of her, somehow, only you are handsomer. She was dark and ugly."
"Indeed! Did you like her?"
"Ye-e-e-s—a little," said Archie, hesitatingly; "she was a half-crazy little thing—black as a squaw, and I don't think I was very fond ofher, but she wasveryfond of me."
"Indeed, sir!" said the young lady, a momentary flash gleaming from her dark eyes; "she must have been a bold girl, rather, to let you know it."
"She was bold—the boldest girl ever I knew, with nothing gentle and womanly about her whatever."
"What did you say her name was?"
"Gipsy—Gipsy Gower. You seem interested in her."
"I am, sir—I know her."
"You do?" cried Archie, aghast.
"Yes, sir; but I like her no more than you do. She was a rough, uncouth savage, detested by every one who knew her. I had the misfortune to be her room-mate in school, and she used to bore me dreadfully talking about her gawky country friends, particularly some one whom she calledArchie."
"Yes? What used she to say about him? She liked him, didn't she?" said Archie, eagerly.
"Why,no; I should say not. She used to say he was a regular fool—always laughing. She said she never knew such a greeny in all her life."
Mr. Rivers suddenly wilted down, and hadn't a word to say. Just at that moment a party of Gipsy's friends came along, and it was:
"Oh, Gipsy! Gipsy! Oh, Miss Gower! we've been searching all over for you. Everybody's dying of the blues, because you are absent. Do come with us!"
Archie leaped from his seat as though he had received a bayonet thrust. Gipsy rose, saying, in a low, sarcastic voice, as she passed him:
"Remember me to Gipsy when you see her. Tell her what I said about Archie," and she was gone.
During the remainder of the evening the "distinguished" Mr. Rivers looked about as crestfallen as a young lawyer possessed of a large stock of native impudence could well do. There he stood and watched Gipsy, who had never been so magnetic, so bewitching, so entrancing in her life before. Never by chance didshe look at him; but there was scarcely another masculine head in the room she had not turned.
"Confound the little witch!" muttered Master Archie, "no wonder she called me a fool! But who the deuce would ever think of finding little Gipsy Gower in one of the belles of Washington? Had it been Celeste, now, I should not have felt surprised. And who would ever think that yonder dazzling, brilliant, magnetic girl was the little shy maiden who, ten minutes ago, sat beside me with her demure 'yes, sir!' Well, she seems to be enjoying herself anyway. So, Miss Gipsy, I'll follow your example and do the same."
For the remainder of the evening Archie threw himself into the gay throng with the evident determination of enjoying himself or dying in the attempt. And more than one fair cheek flushed, and more than one pair of bright eyes grew brighter, as their owner listened with downcast lashes and smiling lips to the gallant words of the handsome young lawyer. He was, if notthehandsomest, at leastoneof the handsomest, men in the room; and
"Oh! he had that merry glance,That seldom lady's heart resists."
"Oh! he had that merry glance,That seldom lady's heart resists."
"Oh! he had that merry glance,That seldom lady's heart resists."
And eclipsed belles raised their graceful heads in triumph to find the bewildering Gipsy had no power over him. But if they had known all, they would have found that those "merry glances" were not for them, but to pique the jealousy of the evening star.
Ere the company dispersed he sought out Gipsy, who withdrawing herself from the revelers, stood, silent and alone, by the window.
"Gipsy!" he said, gently.
"Mr. Rivers!" she said, drawing herself up.
"Forgive me, Gipsy, for what I said."
"I have nothing to forgive! I rather think we are quits!" replied Gipsy, coolly.
"Well, make up friends with me, and be a little like the Gipsy I used to know."
"What! like that black little squaw—that bold, ugly, half-crazy thing? You astonish me, Mr. Rivers!"
"Yes, even so, Gipsy; you know it's all true; and I'll be the same 'regular fool, always laughing.' Then shake hands and call me Archie, as you used to."
"Well, now, I don't know," said Gipsy—"I don'tthinkI ought to forgive you."
"Don't think about it, then. Nonsense, Gipsy—you know you're to be my little wife!"
She laughed and extended her hand, though her dark cheek grew crimson.
"Well, there, I forgive you, Archie. Will that do? And now let us go into the supper-room, for I'm starving. One of my early habits I have not outgrown—and that is, a most alarming appetite."
"Now I shall have her all to myself for the rest of the evening," thought Archie, as he stood beside her, and watched triumphantly the many savage and ferocious glances cast toward him by the gentlemen.
But Archie found himself slightly mistaken; for Gipsy, five minutes later, told him to be off—that he was an old bore, and not half as agreeable as the most stupid of her beaus. Then laughing at his mortified face, she danced and flirted unmercifully, leaving Mr. Rivers to think she was the most capricious elf that ever tormented a young lawyer.
Every day for a week after he was a constant visitor at Mr. Moore's. And every day for a week he went away as he came, without seeing Gipsy. She was always out riding, or driving, or "not at home," though he could see her plainly laughing at him at the window.The willful fairy seemed to take a malicious delight in teasing the life out of poor Archie. Evening after evening she accepted the escort of a handsome young English baronet, Sir George Stuart, the most devoted of all her lovers—leaving Archie to bear it as he pleased. And between jealousy, and rage, and mortification, and wounded pride, Mr. Rivers had a hard time of it. Itwastoo bad to see his own little Gipsy—his girlish lady-love—taken from him this way without being able to say a word against it.
So Archie fell a prey to "green and yellow melancholy," and never saw the stately young nobleman without feeling a demoniacal desire to blow his brains out; and nothing prevented him from doing it but the becoming respect he had for the laws of his country.
One morning, however, for a wonder, he had the good fortune to find Gipsy alone in the parlor, looking perfectly charming in her becomingdeshabille.
"How did you enjoy yourself last night at Mrs. Greer's ball? I saw you there with that fool of a baronet," said Archie, rather savagely.
"I enjoyed myself very well, as I always do. And I must beg of you not to speak of Sir George in that way, Mr. Rivers. I won't allow it."
"Oh, you won't!" sneered Archie. "You seem to think a great deal of him, Miss Gower."
"Why,of course I do! He'ssohandsome—so perfectly gentlemanlike—so agreeable, and so—everything else. He's a real love of a man."
"Oh! the deuce take him!"
"Why, Mr. Rivers!" said Gipsy, with a very shocked expression of countenance.
"Gipsy, be serious for once. I have had something to say to you this long time, but you have been so preciouscareful to keep out of my sight, I've had no chance to say it. Gipsy, do youloveSir George Stuart?"
"Why, Archie!to be sureI do."
"Oh-h-h!" groaned Archie.
"What's the matter?—got the toothache?"
"Oh, dear, no. I have the heart-ache!"
"Sorry to hear it. Better go to Deep Dale and consult Doctor Spider about it."
"Will you come with me?"
"I've no objection. I'm going home to-morrow, and I'd just as lief have you for an escort as any one else."
"Then you are not going to be married to Sir George Stuart, Gipsy?" exclaimed Archie, eagerly.
"Why, not just now, I think."
"Gipsy, would you marry me?"
"Well, I wouldn't mind, if nobody better offers."
"Oh, Gipsy! be serious; don't laugh at me now. You know you promised, when a little girl, to be my little wife. Will you,dearGipsy?"
"There—gracious me! you're treading on Sambo's toes."
A howl from an unfortunate black pug dog testified to the truth of this remark.
"Men are such awkward creatures! Poor Sambo! did he hurt you?" said Gipsy, stooping and caressing the ugly little brute.
"Oh, saints and angels! only hear her. She will drive me mad—I know she will. Here I offer her my heart, and hand, and fortune (though I don't happen to have such a thing about me), and she begins talking about Sambo's toes. That girl will be the death of me. And when I die I'll charge them to place on my tombstone, 'Died from an overdose of a coquette.'"
And Master Archie stamped up and down, and flunghis coat-tails about with an utterly distracted expression of countenance.
"Why, what nonsense are you going on with there?" inquired Gipsy, pausing in her task of comforting Sambo, and looking at him in surprise.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Archie, pausing before her, and throwing himself into a tragic attitude. "Infatuated girl! the heart you now cast from you will haunt you in the dead hours of the night, when everything (but the mosquitoes) is sleeping; it will be ever before you in your English home, when you are the bride of Sir George (confound him!) Stuart; it will——"
But Master Archie could proceed no further; for Gipsy fell back in her chair, fairly screaming with laughter. Archie made a desperate effort to maintain his gravity, but the effort proved a failure, and he was forced to join Gipsy in an uproarious peal.
"Oh, dear!" said Gipsy, wiping her eyes, "I don't know when I have laughed so much."
"Yes," said Archie, in high dudgeon—"pretty thing to laugh at, too! After breaking my heart, to begin grinning about it. Humph!"
"You looked so funny—you looked——"
Gipsy's voice was lost in another fit of laughter.
"Come, now, Gipsy, like a good girl, don't laugh any more; but tell me,willyou marry me—will you be my wife?"
"Why, yes, you dear old goose, you! I never intended to be anything else. You might have known that I'd be your wife, without making such a fuss about it," said Gipsy.
"And Sir George, Gipsy?"
"Oh, poor fellow, I gave him hiscoup de congelast night, and he set out for England this morning."
"Oh, Gipsy, my dear, you're a pearl without price!" exclaimed Archie, in a rapture.
"Glad to hear it, I'm sure. And nowdogo away, Archie, and don't bother me any longer; for I must pack up my things and start for home to-morrow."
"You little tyrant! Well, I am to accompany you, mind."
"Just as you please—onlydoleave me."
"Little termagant! Accept this ring as a betrothal gift."
"Well, there—put it on, and for goodness' sake clear out."
With a glance of comical despair, Mr. Rivers took his hat and quitted the house.