CHAPTER XXII.HELEN IN SOCIETY.
It was three days before Christmas, and Katy was talking confidentially to Mrs. Banker, whom she had asked to see the next time she called.
“I want so much to surprise her,” she said, speaking in a whisper, “and you have been so kind to us both that I thought it might not trouble you very much if I asked you to make the selection for me, and see to the engraving.Wilford gave me fifty dollars, all I needed, as I had fifty more of my own, and now that I have a baby, I am sure I shall never again care to go out.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Banker said, thoughtfully, as she rolled up the bills, “you wish me to get as heavy bracelets as I can find—for the hundred dollars.”
“Yes,” Katy replied, “I think that will please her, don’t you?”
Mrs. Banker did not reply at once, for she felt certain that the hundred dollars could be spent in a manner more satisfactory to Helen. Still she hardly liked to interfere, until Katy, observing her hesitancy, asked again if she did not think Helen would be pleased.
“Yes, pleased with anything you choose to give her, but—excuse me, dear Mrs. Cameron, if I speak as openly as if I were the mother of you both. Bracelets are suitable for you who have everything else, but is there not something your sister needs more? Now, allowing me to suggest, I should say, buy her somefurs, and let the bracelets go. In Silverton her furs were well enough, but here, as the sister of Mrs. Wilford Cameron, she is deserving of better.”
Katy understood Mrs. Banker at once, her cheeks reddening as there flashed upon her the reasonwhyWilford had never yet been in the street with Helen, notwithstanding that she had more than once requested it.
“You are right,” she said. “It was thoughtless in me not to think of this myself. Helen shall have the furs, and whatever else is necessary. I am so glad you reminded me of it. You are as kind as my own mother,” and Katy kissed her friend fondly as she bade her good-bye, charging her a dozen times not to let Helen know the surprise in store for her.
There was little need of this caution, for Mrs. Banker understood human nature too well to divulge a matter which might wound one as sensitive as Helen. Between the latter and herself there was a strong bond of friendship, and to the kind patronage of this lady Helen owed most of the attentions she had as yet received from her sister’s friends, while Mark Ray did much toward lifting her to the place she held in spite of the common countrydress, which Juno unsparingly criticised, and which, in fact, kept Wilford from taking her out as his wife so often asked him to do. And Helen, too, keenly felt the difference between herself and those with whom she came in contact, crying over it more than once, but never dreaming of the surprise in store for her, when on Christmas morning she went as usual to Katy’s room, finding her alone, her face all aglow with excitement, and her bed a perfect show-case of dry goods, which she bade Helen examine and say how she liked them.
Wilford was no niggard with his money, and when Katy had asked for more it had been given unsparingly, even though he knew the purpose to which it was to be applied.
“Oh, Katy, Katy, why did you do it?” Helen cried, her tears falling like rain through the fingers she clasped over her eyes.
“You are not angry?” Katy said, in some dismay, as Helen continued to sob without looking at the handsome furs, the stylish hat, the pretty cloak, and rich patterns of blue and black silk, which Mrs. Banker had selected.
“No, oh no!” Helen replied. “I know it was all meant well; but there is something in me which rebels against taking this from Wilford, and placing myself under so great obligation to him.”
“It was a pleasure for him to do it,” Katy said, trying to reassure her sister, until she grew calm enough to examine and admire the Christmas gifts upon which no expense had been spared. Much as we may ignore dress, and sinful as is an inordinate love for it, there is yet about it an influence for good, when the heart of the wearer is right, holding it subservient to all higher, holier affections. At least Helen Lennox found it so, when clad in her new garments, she drove with Mrs. Banker, or returned Sybil Grandon’s call, feeling that there was about her nothing for which Katy need to blush, or even Wilford, who was not afraid to be seen with her now, and Helen, while knowing the reason of the change, did not feel like quarreling with him for it, but accepted with a good-natured grace all that made her life in New York so happy. With Bell Cameron she was on the best ofterms; while Sybil Grandon, always going with the tide, professed for her an admiration, which, whether fancied or real, did much toward making her popular; and when, as the mistress of her brother’s house, she issued cards of invitation for a large party, she took especial pains to insist upon Helen’s attending, even if Katy was not able. But from this Helen shrank. She could not meet so many strangers alone, she said, and so the matter was dropped, until Mrs. Banker offered to chaperone her, when Helen began to waver, changing her mind at last and promising to go.
Never since the days ofherfirst party had Katy been so wild with excitement as she was in helping to dress Helen, who scarcely knew herself when, before the mirror, with the blaze of the chandelier falling upon her, she saw the picture of a young girl arrayed in rich pink silk, with an overskirt of lace, and the light pretty cloak, just thrown upon her uncovered neck, where Katy’s pearls were shining.
“What would they say at home if they could only see you?” Katy exclaimed, throwing back the handsome cloak so as to show more of the well-shaped neck, gleaming so white beneath it.
“Aunt Betsy would say I had forgotten half my dress,” Helen replied, blushing as she glanced at the arms, which never since her childhood had been thus exposed to view, except at such times as her household duties had required it.
Even this exception would not apply to the low neck, at which Helen had long demurred, yielding finally to Katy’s entreaties, but often wondering what Mark Ray would think, and if he would not be shocked. Mark Ray had been strangely blended with all Helen’s thoughts as she submitted herself to Esther’s practiced hands, and when the hair-dresser, summoned to her aid, asked what flowers she would wear, it was a thought of him which led her to select a single water lily, which looked as natural as if its bed had really been the bosom of Fairy Pond.
“Nothing else? Surely mademoiselle will have these few green leaves?” Celine had said, but Helen would have nothing save the lily, which was twined tastefullyamid the heavy braids of the brown hair, whose length and luxuriance had thrown the hair-dresser into ecstasies of delight, and made Esther lament that in these days of false tresses no one would give Miss Lennox credit for what was wholly her own.
“You will be the belle of the evening,” Katy said as she kissed her sister good night and then ran back to her baby, while Wilford, yielding to her importunities that he should not remain with her, followed Mrs. Banker’s carriage in his own private conveyance, and was soon set down at Sybil Grandon’s door.
Meanwhile, at the elder Cameron’s there had been a discussion touching the propriety of their taking Helen under their protection, instead of leaving her for Mrs. Banker to chaperone, Bell insisting that it ought to be done, while the father swore roundly at Juno, who would not “be bothered with that country girl.”
“You would rather leave her wholly to Mark Ray and his mother, I suppose,” Bell said, adding, as she saw the flush on Juno’s face, “You know you are dying of jealousy, and nothing annoys you so much as to hear people talk of Mark’s attentions toMiss Lennox.”
“Do they talk?” Mrs. Cameron asked quickly, while in her gray eyes there gleamed a light far more dangerous and threatening to Helen than Juno’s open scorn.
Mrs. Cameron had long intended Mark Ray for her daughter, and accustomed to have everything bend to her wishes, she had come to consider the matter as certain, even though he had never proposed in words. He had done everything else, she thought, attending Juno constantly, and frequenting their house so much that it was a standing joke for his friends to seek him there when he was not at home or at his office. Latterly, however, there had been a change, and the ambitious mother could not deny that since Helen’s arrival in New York Mark had visited them less frequently and stayed a shorter time, while she had more than once heard of him at her son’s in company with Helen. Very rapidly a train of thought passed through her mind; but it did not manifest itself upon her face, which was composed and quiet as she decided with Juno that Helen should not trouble them. Withthe utmost care Juno arrayed herself for the party, thinking with a great deal of complacency how impossible it was for Helen Lennox to compete with her in point of dress.
“She is such a prude, I dare say she will go in that blue silk, with the long sleeves and high neck, looking like a Dutch doll,” she said to Bell, as she shook back the folds of her rich crimson, and turned her head to see the effect of her wide braids of hair.
“I am not certain that a high dress is worse than bones,” Bell retorted, playfully touching Juno’s neck, which, though white and gracefully formed, was shockingly guiltless of flesh.
There was an angry reply, and then, wrapping her cloak about her, Juno went out to their carriage, and was ere long one of the gay crowd thronging Sybil Grandon’s parlors. Helen had not yet arrived, and Juno was hoping she would not come, when there was a stir at the door and Mrs. Banker appeared, and with her Helen Lennox, but so transformed that Juno hardly knew her, looking twice ere sure that the beautiful young lady, so wholly self-possessed, was the country girl she affected to despise.
“Who is she?” was asked by many, who at once acknowledged her claims to their attention, and as soon as practicable sought her acquaintance, so that Helen suddenly found herself the centre of a little court of which she was the queen and Mark her sworn knight.
Presuming upon his mother’s chaperonage, he claimed the right of attending her, and Juno’s glory waned as effectually as it had done when Katy was the leading star to which New York paid homage.
Juno had been annoyed then, but now fierce jealousy took possession of her heart as she watched the girl whom all seemed to admire, even Wilford feeling a thrill of pride that the possession of so attractive a sister-in-law reflected credit upon himself.
He was not ashamed of her now, nor did he retain a single thought of the farm-house or Uncle Ephraim as he made his way to her side, standing protectingly at her left, just as Mark was standing at her right, and at last asking her to dance.
With a heightened color Helen declined, saying frankly,
“I have never learned.”
“You miss a great deal,” Wilford rejoined, appealing to Mark for a confirmation of his words.
But Mark did not heartily respond. He, too, had solicited Helen as a partner when the dancing first commenced, and her quiet refusal had disappointed him a little, for Mark was fond of dancing, and though as a general thing he disapproved of waltzes and polkas when he was the looker-on, he felt that there would be something vastly agreeable and exhilarating in clasping Helen in his arms and whirling her about the room just as Juno was being whirled by a young cadet, a friend of Lieutenant Bob’s. But when he reflected that not his arm alone would encircle her waist, or his breath touch her neck, he was glad she did not dance, and professing a weariness he did not feel, he declined to join the dancers on the floor, but kept with Helen, enjoying what she enjoyed, and putting her so perfectly at her ease that no one would ever have dreamed of the curdy cheeses she had made, or the pounds of butter she had churned. But Mark thought of it as he secretly admired the neck and arms, seen once before, on that memorable day when he assisted Helen in the labors of the dairy. If nothing else had done so, the lily in her hair would have brought that morning to his mind, and once as they walked up and down the hall he spoke of the ornament she had chosen, and how well it became her.
“Pond lilies are my pets,” he said, “and I have kept one of those I gathered when at Silverton. Do you remember them?” and his eyes rested upon Helen with a look which made her blush as she answered yes; but she did not tell him of a little box at home, made of cones and acorns, where was hidden a withered water lily, which she could not throw away, even after its beauty and fragrance had departed.
Had she told him this, it might have put to flight the doubts troubling Mark so much, and making him wonder if Dr. Grant had really a claim upon the girl stealing his heart so fast.
“I mean to sound her,” he thought, and as LieutenantBob passed by, making some jocose remark about his offending all the fair ones by the course he was taking, Mark said to Helen, who suggested returning to the parlor,
“As you like, though it cannot matter; a person known to be engaged is above Bob Reynolds’s jokes.”
Quiet as thought the blood stained Helen’s face and neck, for Mark had made a most egregious blunder giving her the impression thathewas the engaged one referred to, not herself, and for a moment she forgot the gay scene around her in the sharpness of the pang with which she recognized all that Mark Ray was to her.
“It was kind in him to warn me. I wish it had been sooner,” she thought, and then with a bitter feeling of shame she wondered how much he had guessed of her real feelings, and who the betrothed one was. “Not Juno Cameron,” she hoped, as after a few moments Mrs. Cameron came up and, adroitly detaching Mark from her side, took his place while he sauntered to a group of ladies and was ere long dancing merrily with Juno.
“They are a well-matched pair,” Mrs. Cameron said, assuming a very confidential manner towards Helen, who assented to the remark, while the lady continued, “There is but one thing wrong about Mark Ray. He is a most unscrupulous flirt, pleased with every new face, and this of course annoysJuno.”
“Are they engaged?” came involuntarily from Helen’s lips, while Mrs. Cameron’s foot beat the carpet with a very becoming hesitancy, as she replied, “That was settled in our family a long time ago. Wilford and Mark have always been like brothers.”
Mrs. Cameron could not quite bring herself to a deliberate falsehood, which, if detected, would reflect upon her character as a lady, but she could mislead Helen, and she continued, “It is not like us to bruit our affairs abroad, and were my daughters ten times engaged the world would be none the wiser. I doubt if even Katy suspects what I have admitted; but knowing how fascinating Mark can be, and that just at present he seems to be pleased with you, I have acted as I should wish a friend to act toward my own child. I have warned youin time. Were it not that you are one ofour family, I might not have interfered, and I trust you not to repeat even to Katy what I have said.”
Helen nodded assent, while in her heart was a wild tumult of feelings—flattered pride, disappointment, indignation, and mortification all struggling for the mastery—mortification to feel that she who had quietly ignored such a passion as love when connected with herself, had, nevertheless, been pleased with the attentions of one who was only amusing himself with her, as a child amuses itself with some new toy soon to be thrown aside—indignation at him for vexing Juno at her expense—disappointment that he should care for such as Juno, and flattered pride that Mrs. Cameron should include her in “our family.” Helen had as few weak points as most young ladies, but she was not free from them all, and the fact that Mrs. Cameron had taken her into a confidence which even Katy did not share, was soothing to her ruffled spirits, particularly as after that confidence, Mrs. Cameron was excessively gracious to her, introducing her to many whom she did not know before, and paying her numberless little attentions, which made Juno stare, while the clear-seeing Bell arched her eyebrows, and wondered for what Helen was to be made acat’s pawby her clever mother. Whatever it was it did not appear, save as it showed itself in Helen’s slightly changed demeanor when Mark again sought her society, and tried to bring back to her face the look he had left there. But something had come between them, and the young man racked his brain to find the cause of this sudden indifference in one who had been pleased with him only a short half hour before.
“It’s that confounded waltzing which disgusted her,” he said, “and no wonder, for if ever a man looks like an idiot, it is when he is kicking up his heels to the sound of a fiddle, and whirling some woman whose skirts sweep everything within the circle of a rod, and whose face wears that die-away expression I have so often noticed. I’ve half a mind to swear I’ll never dance again.”
But Mark was too fond of dancing to quit it at once, and finding Helen still indifferent, he yielded to circumstances, and the last she saw of him, as at a comparativeearly hour she left the gay scene, he was dancing again with Juno. It was a heavy blow to Helen, for she had become greatly interested in Mark Ray, whose attentions had made her stay in New York so pleasant. But these were over now;—at least the excitement they brought was over, and Helen, as she sat in her dressing-room at home, and thought of the future as well as the past, felt stealing over her a sense of desolation and loneliness such as she had experienced but once before, and that on the night when leaning from her window at the farm-house where Mark Ray was stopping she had shuddered and shrank from living all her days among the rugged hills of Silverton. New York had opened an entirely new world to her, showing her much that was vain and frivolous, with much too that was desirable and good; and if there had crept into her heart the thought that a life with such people as Mrs. Banker and those who frequented her house would be preferable to a life in Silverton, where only Morris understood her, it was but the natural result of daily intercourse with one who had studied to please and interest as Mark Ray had done. But Helen had too much good sense and strength of will, long to indulge in what she would have called “love-sick regrets” in others, and she began to devise the best course for her to adopt hereafter, concluding finally to treat him much as she had done, lest he should suspect how deeply she had been wounded. Now that she knew of his engagement, it would be an easy matter so to demean herself as neither to annoy Juno nor vex him. Thoroughly now she understood why Juno Cameron had seemed to dislike her so much.
“It is natural,” she said, “and yet I honestly believe I like her better for knowing what I do. There must be some good beneath that proud exterior, or Mark would never seek her.”
Still, look at it from any point she chose, it seemed a strange, unsuitable match, and Helen’s heart ached sadly as she finally retired to rest, thinking whatmight have beenhad Juno Cameron found some other lover more like herself than Mark could ever be.