CHAPTER VIII.RETRENCHMENT.
Winter passed, spring came and went, and the commencement exercises of the seminary where Star was attending drew nigh.
The faculty, as was their custom, sent forth cards of invitation to its patrons, requesting them to be present and see for themselves what their children had accomplished during the year.
It chanced this time to fall upon Star’s birthday, although no one was aware of that fact save herself; but to her it was destined to prove an eventful occasion, and one long to be remembered.
Mr. Richards received and opened his invitation with his other letters on that very morning, and after glancing over it, passed it to his wife.
She merely looked at it, yawned, and then laid it indifferently one side.
Mr. Richards compressed his lips at this. It did not please him that all the young girl’s interests should be thus slightinglyignored; but he said nothing, although his thoughts were busy during the remainder of the meal, and as soon as it was completed he repaired to his library and rang his bell.
“Send Miss Gladstone to me,” he said to the servant who answered his summons.
Star received the command, wondering what it meant, and went down, with some trepidation, to obey it.
She was almost like an alien in that house, living so apart from the family, and so rarely encountering any of them; but she possessed a sunny, even disposition, and although she often grieved over the neglect she experienced, and yearned for love and sympathy, yet she would not allow herself to brood over it; thus she was always sweet and genial in her temperament.
As she entered the library this morning, Mr. Richards looked up and smiled with pleasure.
She was so fresh, and bright, and lovely that it was a delight to look upon her.
“I have received a card for the closing exercises of your school to-day,” he said, pleasantly. “I think I should like to attend, if I can make it convenient. How have you been progressing?”
“Professor Roberts has been kind enough to say that I have done very well. You know I did not enter until nearly the middle of the second term,” Star modestly replied, while her cheeks glowed and her eyes shone with pleasure that he should manifest this interest in her welfare.
“Do you have any particular part in the exercises to-day?” he questioned.
“Yes, sir. I have a programme here in my pocket; perhaps you would like to see it?” and she drew it forth, laying it upon the table before him.
He glanced over it, and, third upon the list, he saw:
“Music, instrumental, by Miss Stella Gladstone.”
Further down he read:
“Essay, by Miss Stella Gladstone. Subject: ‘Walls Must Get the Weather-stain Before They Grow the Ivy.’”
He looked up at her with some surprise.
“Did you choose the subject of your essay?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Why did you take such a topic?”
“I do not know, sir,” Star answered, thoughtfully. “I read the line somewhere one day; it haunted me continually, until I wrote out some thoughts upon it, as I often do upon different subjects. Professor Roberts found them between the leaves of my Horace one day, and liked them so well that he asked me to elaborate and extend them, and read it as an essay to-day. He always has two or three essays from members of the junior class read upon commencement day.”
Mr. Richards had been looking her over critically while she was speaking.
She was clad in a gown of some light gray material, made very plainly, but fitting her graceful figure to perfection. Simple bands of linen were just visible at her throat and wrists, while a knot of pale blue ribbon fastened her collar.
She looked lovely. She would have been so in anything; but he saw that her toilet was hardly befitting the ward of his wife.
“Girls for commencement always have a new dress, don’t they?” he asked. “Have you made any arrangements of the kind?”
“No, sir; I shall go just as I am. This is the best that I have,” she returned, glancing down at her dress and flushing slightly.
“How much time have you before the exercises begin?” he inquired.
“An hour or more,” she said, looking up at the clock on the mantel. “I am ready very early,” she added, smiling, “for I wished to look over my essay before reading it.”
Mr. Richards looked grave. He remembered how Josephine had been all “fuss and feathers” at every commencement, and here this lovely girl was going to appear before a crowded hall in a dress which his daughter would not have worn in her own private room.
“If you will step around to Hunt & Co.’s with me, you shall have one of those pretty summer silks that they are advertising so extensively. I should be gratified to have you as well dressed as your classmates, and I fear that your needs have been neglected in this respect,” he remarked, with a slight frown.
Star flushed scarlet now.
She had wished—oh,soearnestly!—that morning that she could have something dainty to wear, and she had sighed regretfully as she thought of all her pretty clothes lying at the bottom of the ocean, for they had been prettily made, although they were of inexpensive material; and she had heard the girls talking of the new dresses which were being made for them. But when her toilet was completed and she looked in the glass, she felt that, notwithstanding the disadvantage of her apparel, there was at least a distinguished air about her which bespoke the true lady, and she was comforted.
“Thank you,” she answered, quietly, while the color slowly receded from her brow and cheeks; “you are very kind to suggest it, but, if you please, I prefer to go as I am. I shall be gratified,” she added, dropping the proud ring out of her voice, “if you feel sufficiently interested to attend the exercises to-day, and I will endeavor to show you that I have tried to improve the advantages that you have given me.”
“I should be willing to take your word for it,” Mr. Richards said, heartily, “but I will come and see for myself.”
Star looked pleased at this assurance, and then, giving him a friendly little bow and smile, went away with a light heart.
“By George! she’ll make a woman to be proud of, or—or ‘I’m much mistaken,’ as Mrs. Blunt would remark. She hasspirit, too, and is bound to stand on her own merits. There are not many girls who would have refused the offer of a pretty new dress for such an occasion. I’ll go over to the seminary and see what she has been doing.”
When Mr. Richards entered the hall of the seminary, he found it crowded to overflowing with spectators, anxious friends, and fond parents.
He gradually worked his way forward toward the platform, for he was determined to hear Star’s essay, if possible, and finally took his stand beside a piece of statuary and near an open window, where he could have air and yet command a good view of all the exercises.
Almost at the same moment a slight, willowy figure, clad in light gray, with a fair, delicate face, deep blue eyes, scarlet lips, and a wealth of golden hair, glided noiselessly to the piano on the platform, sat down, and after running her fingers nimbly over the keys for a moment or two, dashed off into a brilliant and difficult sonata.
It was executed apparently without a mistake from beginning to end, and without notes, and when it was finished the fair performer retired from the instrument amid enthusiastic applause.
Mr. Richards was astounded.
He had expected some simple melody, passably performed. She had told him, in her modest way, that she had given some attention to music, but he had not imagined that she was as proficient as this, and he could not understand how she had kept up her practice, with no instruction, and no permission to use the piano at home.
He did not know of that hour at noon, nor the odd minutes, when other girls were chattering away at recess time, that Star had diligently given to this science which she so dearly loved.
He was no less astounded during the reading of her essay.
When it was announced, she came quietly forward withgraceful self-possession, and unfolding the roll of manuscript which she carried in her hand, read in sweet, yet clear tones, a production which held her listeners spell-bound from beginning to end.
She must have woven something of her own heart history into it, he thought, for two or three times the tears welled unbidden to his eyes at the pathos which those smoothly rounded sentences contained.
It seemed as if Star’s efforts were more highly appreciated than any other portion of the exercises. Even the valedictory, from a member of the senior class, although well written and to the point, was not listened to with such breathless attention.
At the conclusion of the programme, the diplomas were awarded to the graduating class, and then the professor said he would read the names of those who had passed their examination and were to be promoted from the other classes. There were two young ladies, he said, who were entitled to a double promotion, having accomplished the work of a year in about six months, which was, to say the least, a very unusual and laudable circumstance.
The names of those entitled to this were Miss Stella Gladstone and Miss Grace Turnbull, and they would, upon the beginning of the fall term, take their places in the senior class.
As the people flocked by him out of the hall, Mr. Richards heard Star’s praises on every side, and inwardly vowed that the girl should have every chance in the future.
He made his way toward the platform, intending to speak with and congratulate her upon her success; but just before he reached her another gentleman approached her, and after shaking hands in the most cordial manner with her, gave her a small package, and bending down, whispered a few words in her ear.
He could not understand the expression of mingled surprise and joy which for a moment absolutely glorified her fair face asshe received the package; then the tears sprang to her eyes, as, with tremulous lips, she appeared to be thanking the giver.
The gentleman chatted a few moments longer with her, then put out his hand for the roll of manuscript which she still held, while he smilingly asked her for it.
Star hesitated about giving it to him, while a lovely color suffused her face; then, with a shy movement, she laid it in his palm.
He received it with a brilliant smile, bowed gracefully to her, and then left her.
Mr. Richards now approached her, and taking her hand, said, almost affectionately:
“Star, you have shone effulgently to-day, and I am proud of you.”
It would not have been in human nature to have prevented the little gleam of triumph which flashed from her eyes at this tribute to her talents, but she said, gratefully:
“Thank you, sir; but I owe my success all to you.”
“Not a bit of it,” he returned, with some emotion; “you owe it to yourself alone; but I will take care that you do not thank me for nothing at the close of another year.”
Star wondered what he meant, but she did not question him, and her heart was lighter than it had been before, since she crossed the ocean, as he led her from the building and walked home with her.
But he noticed all the way that there was a nervous tremor about her, while she was unusually absent-minded and silent.
“Who was that gentleman who came and spoke to you at the close of the exercises?” he asked, just before they reached home.
Star glanced up with a start.
“His name is Appleton,” she answered, and pretended not to notice that his eyes were resting curiously upon the package which he had given her.
When they entered the house, Star ascended to her own room, while Mr. Richards sought his wife.
He found her and Josephine together in the drawing-room, and, for a wonder, no callers with them.
He informed them where he had been, and also of the brilliant appearance which Star had made before the public.
Both mother and daughter sneered audibly at his account, and this aroused his indignation.
His eyes began to blaze, and his wife sobered instantly; she always recognized and dreaded this dangerous symptom.
“You are a couple of selfish, heartless women,” he began; “and now, let me tell you, you have got to turn over a new leaf, or there will be trouble in the camp. That girl, whom you have so despised and tried to degrade ever since she came into the house, has wonderful talent—talent of which any one might be proud. She is rightly named, for she certainly shone like a star of the first magnitude to-day. Her essay was superior to anything produced there, and her performance upon the piano something wonderful for one so young and possessing so few advantages.”
“Oh, papa, you don’t mean to say that she can play the piano! I’m sure she has never touched this one since she came here, and no one can play well without constant practice,” asserted Miss Josephine, with a toss of her dark head, for she was accounted a good musician.
“You don’t believe what I tell you, then,” her father said, frowning.
“Well, I think you must have overestimated her talent in that direction,” the girl answered.
Mr. Richards did not reply, but walked to the bell-rope and gave it a pull.
“Go and say to Miss Gladstone that I would like to see her in the drawing-room,” he said to the servant who opened the door.
“Really, Mr. Richards,” interrupted his wife, with severe dignity; but he stopped her short with a motion of his hand.
“Go!” he repeated to the servant, who had hesitated as she spoke, and then he turned again to her.
“I want you to understand,” he said, “something of the wrong which you have been doing this child, and now I am going to ask her to play to you. I desire that you treat her civilly, too, when she comes down. She should have been received here as one of us—I regret that I did not insist upon it in the beginning—she should have been on an equal footing with Josie, enjoying the same advantages, and receiving sympathy and encouragement instead of—well, it’s no use fretting over it now; but, by Jove! I’ll make it up to her in the future. Hark! she is coming, and now I’ll have no sneers or sour looks,” he concluded, as the door handle turned.
Star entered at this moment, and seeing the whole family assembled, looked somewhat surprised; but Mr. Richards approached her, saying, quietly:
“I have sent for you to ask if you will play again for us what you played at the hall to-day?”
Star glanced at the two ladies, but their attitude was not encouraging.
Mrs. Richards was the personification of dignified indifference, while Miss Josephine sat looking out of a window, and partially concealed by its drapery.
She saw that she was wholly indebted to Mr. Richards for this opportunity of displaying her talent, and that they were evidently somewhat doubtful as to her ability to do what he claimed for her; therefore her fingers began to tingle to do their very best.
“Certainly; I shall be pleased to play for you if you desire it,” she said, as she walked quietly and unassumingly to the piano and sat down.
She had not struck a dozen notes before she had the undividedattention of every listener; and when she had concluded, two of the little company were quivering with jealous anger.
Josephine had the name of being a good musician, but both she and her mother could plainly perceive that she had not a tithe of the talent that the fair, despised girl, of whom they had tried to make a common servant, possessed.
“Play something else, please,” Mr. Richards said, when she had finished the sonata which she had played at school; and, without a word, her slender fingers went sweeping through one of Mendelssohn’s “Romances sans Paroles” in the most intoxicating manner imaginable, and her new admirer, with a look of pardonable triumph, thanked her most warmly when she concluded.
She quietly left the room, although she felt assured that a storm was ready to burst as soon as she should be beyond hearing; the very atmosphere was heavy with it.
She was right in her conjecture, for no sooner was the door closed behind her than Mrs. Richards’ tongue was loosed, and she broke forth in a torrent of wrath.
“Well, George Richards, I suppose you imagine that you have done something wonderful in bringing that girl here and showing her off to us; but you will find that you have made a mistake. It is very praiseworthy, indeed, to seek to humiliate one’s own daughter, and I should suppose you would feel very proud of such an achievement. Where is your self-respect, that you bring a beggar in here and set her up as a reproach to your wife? I will not stand it, sir—I tell you I will not stand it! Things are come to a pretty pass, I should say, if our domestic peace is to be destroyed by that insignificant chit, and I was a fool ever to consent to her coming here.”
This and much more of the same kind the angry woman poured forth in a perfect volley.
Mr. Richards listened with quiet gravity to the tirade, and when she had concluded, he quietly remarked:
“Well, Ellen, now that you are through, we’ll say that it’s my turn. You might just as well make up your mind to be reasonable first as last, for mine is settled upon one thing—Star Gladstone has done the last day’s work in this house that she ever will do! She is to have her time entirely to herself until she graduates, a year hence. I shall offer to allow her to pursue music, and painting if she desires, during the long vacation just at hand, giving her the best of masters which New York affords, and spare no reasonable expense to make her the accomplished woman that I think she is capable of becoming.You promisedall this to her father; he sent her to you with the belief that she would enjoy these advantages until she was fitted to become a teacher,and she shall have them. Now, one thing more—and you know that when I get aroused to this pitch I mean what I say—if I find that you or Jo are making her unhappy at any time, I’ll put her into the most genteel boarding-house in the city, out of your reach. As for ‘domestic peace,’ about which you twit me, I believe I love my family better than the average of men, and am not in the habit of stirring up strife; so it will rest withyouto keep the peace.”
Mr. Richards did not wait for any rejoinder to this plain speaking, but left the room, and finding Star out upon the balcony leading from the dining-room, he told her that he had decided to let her take up music and painting during the vacation if she wished.
He felt amply repaid for his efforts on her behalf on seeing the look of joy which flashed over her face, while her voice thrilled with earnestness as she replied:
“Oh, sir, I ought to be the happiest girl in Brooklyn to have so much of good come to me on this, my seventeenth birthday!”
“Is this your birthday?” he asked, with a feeling of selfreproachthat it should have come and nearly gone with no token of remembrance, while he glanced over her meager attire and marked the absence of all jewelry or trinkets such as young girls love, for she wore nothing of the kind save a dainty cameo head fastened to the knot of ribbon at her throat.
“Yes, sir; and it is one which I shall always remember with great pleasure,” she said, with a tremulous smile that he did not then understand. “I thank you,” she added, “for allowing me to go on with my music, and I will be very faithful in improving my opportunity; but—I think, if you please, I will not mind about the painting at present. I am very fond of it, but—I——”
“Very well; do as you choose,” he said, as he saw she was somewhat embarrassed. “You are to have all the advantages you desire during the next year, and you are to do no more work of any kind in this house——”
“Oh, but I like to work about the house,” she began, eagerly; but he stopped her authoritatively.
“No; I will not have it. You need all the time you can get for study and practice. Maggie Flynn, or some other Maggie, shall come back as chamber and waiting-maid, and you are to remember it is my command that you do nothing of the kind. If you have any spare time, use it in making the pretty things which young ladies of your age like so much. Here is something to begin upon, and I will allow you the same amount every month;” and he tucked a bill of no mean denomination into her hand as he concluded.
He did not wait to hear her thanks, but turned abruptly away, feeling very tenderly toward this sweet young maiden, who had lived such an isolated, neglected life in the midst of that household of luxury.
Star looked after him with a glorified face.
“Oh, what a birthday!” she said, as she went up stairs and shut herself into her room.
She folded that precious bill—more money than she had ever possessed before at one time—for “pretty things,” and laid it safely away in a drawer; then she took up a handsomely bound book that lay on her table.
“A red letter day!” she murmured. “My success—my promotion—his kindness, and, above all, this beautiful book—it all seems to be too lovely to be real.”
She raised the volume and softly touched her lips to it; then bowing her golden head, her heart overcharged with its unaccustomed weight of happiness, found relief in a shower of tears.
“The book” was the package, devoid of its wrapper, which the strange gentleman had given her in the presence of Mr. Richards.
The next morning’s papers contained an interesting account of the commencement exercises of —— Seminary, together with a copy in full of Miss Stella Gladstone’s essay, and speaking in very flattering terms of its excellence as a literary production.
Another important event occurred that morning.
One of Mr. Richards’ driving horses was sold, and his wife, upon learning of the circumstance, lifted up her hands and scornfully exclaimed:
“Retrenchment!”