Chapter Six.A Loving Couple.“Married for love! Hach! fool that I’ve been!”The man who muttered these words was seated with elbows resting upon a table, and hands thrust distractedly through his hair.“Fool that I’ve been, and for a similar reason!” The rejoinder, in a female voice, came from an inner apartment. At the same instant the door, already ajar, was spitefully pushed open, disclosing the speaker to view: a woman of splendid form and features, not the less so that both were quivering with indignation.The man started, and looked up with an air of embarrassment. “You heard me, Frances?” he said, in a tone half-surly, half-ashamed.“I heard you, Richard,” answered the woman, sweeping majestically into the room. “A pretty speech for a man scarce twelve months married—for you! Villain!”“That name is welcome!” doggedly retorted the man. “It’s enough to make one a villain?”“What’s enough, sir?”“To think that but for you I might have had my thousands a year, with a titled lady for my wife!”“Not worse than to think that but for you I might have had my tens of thousands, with a lord for my husband! ay, a coronet on my crown, where you are barely able to stick a bonnet?”“Bah! I wish you had your lord.”“And bah to you! I wish you had your lady.” The dissatisfied benedict, finding himself more than matched in the game of recrimination, dropped back into his chair, replanted his elbows on the table, and resumed the torturing of his hair.Back and forth over the floor of the apartment paced the outraged wife, like a tigress chafed, but triumphant.Man and wife, they were a remarkable couple. By nature both were highly endowed; the man handsome as Apollo, the woman beautiful as Venus. Adorned with moral grace, they might have challenged comparison with anything on earth. In the scene described, it was more like Lucifer talking to Juno enraged.The conversation was in the English tongue, the accent was English, the speakers apparently belonging to that country—both of them. This impression was confirmed by some articles of travelling gear, trunks and portmanteaus of English manufacture, scattered over the floor. But the apartment was in the second storey of a second-class boarding-house in the city of New York.The explanation is easy enough. The amiable couple had but lately landed from an Atlantic steamer. The “O.K.” of the Custom House chalk was still legible on their luggage.Looking upon the pair of strange travellers—more especially after listening to what they have said—one skilled in the physiognomy of English life would have made the following reflections:—The man has evidently been born “a gentleman,” and as evidently brought up in a bad school. He has been in the British army. About this there can be no mistake; no more than that he is now out of it. He still carries its whisker, though not its commission. The latter he has lost by selling out; but not until after receiving a hint from his colonel, or a “round robin” from his brother officers, requesting him to “resign.” If ever rich, he has long since squandered his wealth; perhaps even the money obtained for his commission. He is now poor. His looks proclaim him an adventurer.Those of the woman carry to a like conclusion, as regards herself. Her air and action, the showy style of her dress, a certain recklessness observable in the cast of her countenance, bring the beholder, who has once stood alongside “Rotten Row,” back to the border of that world-renowned ride. In the fair Fan he sees the type of the “pretty horse-breaker”—the “Anonyma” of the season.It is an oft-repeated experience. A handsome man, a beautiful woman, both equally heart-wicked, inspiring one another with a transient passion, that lasts long enough to make man and wife of them, but rarely outlives the honeymoon. Such was the story of the couple in question.The stormy scene described was far from being the first. It was but one of the squalls almost daily occurring between them.The calm succeeding such a violent gust could not be continuous. A cloud so dark could not be dissipated without a further discharge of electricity.It came; the last speaker, as if least satisfied, resuming the discourse.“And supposing youhadmarried your lady—I know whom you mean—that old scratch, Lady C—, what a nice time the two of you would have had of it! She could only have kissed you at the risk of losing her front teeth, or swallowing them. Ha! ha! ha!”“Lady C— be hanged! I could have had half a score of titled ladies; some of them as young, and just as good-looking, is you!”“Boasting braggart! ’Tis false, and you know it! Good-looking asme! How you’ve changed your tune! You know I was called the ‘Belle of Brompton!’ Thank heaven, I don’t need you to satisfy me of my good looks. Men of ten times your taste have pronounced upon them;and may yet!”The last speech was delivered in front of a cheval glass, before which the speaker had stopped, as if to admire her person.Certainly the glass gave out an image that did not contradict what she had said.“May yet!” echoed the satiated rake in a drawl, that betokened either indifference, or its assumption. “I wish some of themwould!”“Indeed! Then some of themshall!”“Oh! I’m agreeable. Nothing would give me greater pleasure. Thank God! we’ve got into a country whose people take a common-sense view of these questions, and where divorce can be obtained, not only on the quiet, but cheaper than the licence itself! So far from standing in your way, madam, I’ll do all I can to assist you. I think we can honestly plead ‘incompatibility of temper’?”“She’d be an angel that couldn’t plead that with you.”“There’s no danger, then, of your being denied the plea, unless fallen angels be excepted.”“Mean insulter! Oh, mercy! to think I’ve thrown myself away on this worthless man?”“Thrown yourself away? Ha! ha! ha! What were you when I found you? A waif, if not worse. The darkest day of my life was that on which I picked you up!”“Scoundrel!”The term “scoundrel” is the sure and close precursor of a climax. When passed between two gentlemen, it not unfrequently leads to a mutual pulling of noses. From a lady to a gentleman the result is of course different, though in any case it conducts to a serious turn in the conversation. Its effect in the present instance was to end it altogether.With only an exclamation for rejoinder, the husband sprang to his feet, and commenced pacing up and down one side of the room. The wife, already engaged in like perambulation, had possession of the other.In silence they crossed and recrossed; at intervals exchanging angry glances, like a tiger and tigress, making the tour of their cage.For ten minutes or more was this mute, unsocial promenade continued.The man was the first to tire of it, and once more resuming his seat, he took a “regalia” from his case, set fire to the weed, and commenced smoking.The woman, as if determined not to be outdone in the way of indifference, producedhercigar-case, selected from it a tiny “queen,” and, sinking down into a rocking-chair, sent forth a cloud of smoke that soon rendered her almost as invisible as Juno in hernimbus.There was no longer an exchange of glances—it was scarce possible—and for ten minutes more not any of speech. The wife was silently nursing her wrath, while the husband appeared to be engaged on some abstruse problem that occupied all his intellect. At length an exclamation, escaping involuntarily from his lips, seemed to declare its solution; while the cheerful cast of his countenance, just perceptible through the smoke, told of his having reached a conclusion that was satisfactory to him.Taking the regalia from between his teeth, and puffing away the cloud that intervened, he leant toward his wife, at the same time pronouncing her name in diminutive—“Fan!”The form, with the accent in which it was uttered, seemed to say that on his side the storm had blown over. His chafed spirit had become tranquillised under the influence of the nicotine.The wife, as if similarly affected, removed the “queen” from her lips; and in a tone that smacked of forgiveness, gave out the rejoinder:“Dick!”“An idea has occurred to me,” said he, resuming the conversation in a shape entirely new. “A grand idea!”“Of its grandeur I have my doubts. I shall be better able to judge when you’ve imparted it. You intend doing that, I perceive.”“I do,” he answered, without taking notice of the sarcasm.“Let’s hear it, then.”“Well, Fan, if there’s anything in this world clearer than another, it’s that by getting married we’ve both made a mucker of it.”“That’s clear as daylight—to me at least.”“Then you can’t be offended if I take a similar view of the question. We married one another for love. There we did a stupid thing, since neither of us could afford it.”“I suppose I know all that. Tell me something new.”“More than stupid,” pursued the worthless husband; “it was an act of absolute madness!”“Most certainly, on my part.”“On the part of both of us. Mind you, I don’t say I repent making you my wife. Only in one way, and that is because I’ve spoiled your chances in life. I am aware youcouldhave married richer men.”“Oh, you admit that, do you?”“I do. And you must admit I could have married richer women.”“Lady Scratch, for example.”“No matter. Lady Scratch could have kept me from this hard scratch for a living, which promises to be still harder. You know there’s no resource left me but the little skill I’ve acquired in manipulating pasteboard. I’ve come over here under the pleasant hallucination I should find plenty of pigeons, and that the hawks only existed on our side of the Atlantic. Well, I’ve been round with my introductions, and what’s the result? To discover that the dullest flat in New York would be a sharp in the saloons of London. I’ve dropped a hundred pounds already, and don’t see much chance of taking them up again.”“And whatdoyou see, Dick? What’s this grand idea?”“Are you prepared to listen to a proposal?”“How condescending of you to ask me! Let me hear it. Whether I may feel inclined to agree to it is another thing.”“Well, my dear Fan, your own words have suggested it, so you can’t reproach me for originating it.”“If it be anidea, you needn’t fear that. What words, may I ask?”“You said you wished Ihadmarried my lady.”“I did. What is there in that?”“More than you think for. A whole world of meaning.”“I meant what I said.”“In spite only, Fan.”“In earnest.”“Ha, ha! I know you too well for that.”“Do you? You flatter yourself, I think. Perhaps you may some day find your mistake.”“Not a bit of it. You love me too well. Fan, as I do you. It is just for that I am going to make the proposal.”“Out with it! I shan’t like you any the better for thus tantalising me. Come, Dick; you want me to grant something? What is it?”“Give me your permission to—”“To do what?”“To get married again!”The wife of twelve months started, as if struck by a shot. In her glance there was anger and surprise, only subdued by interrogation.“Are you in earnest, Dick?”The inquiry was mechanical. She saw that he was.“Wait till you’ve heard me out,” he rejoined, proceeding to the explanation.She waited.“What I propose, then, is this: You leave me free toget married again. More than that, give me your help to accomplish it—for our mutual benefit. It’s the very country for such a scheme; and I flatter myself I’m the very man who may bring it to a satisfactory conclusion. These Yankees have been growing rich. There are now scores—hundreds of heiresses among them. Strange if I can’t pick one of them up! They must either be daintier than you, Fan, or else I’ve lost my attractions.”The appeal to her vanity, skilful though it was, failed to elicit a rejoinder. She remained silent, permitting her husband to continue his explanation. He continued:“It’s no use shutting our eyes to the situation. We’ve both been speaking the truth. We’ve made fools of ourselves. Your beauty has been the means of spoilingmychances in life; and my—well, good looks, if I must say it—have done the same foryou. It’s been a mutual love, and a reciprocal ruin—in short, a sell on both sides.”“True enough. Go on?”“The prospect before us! I, the son of a poor prebend; you—well, it’s no use to talk of family affairs. We came over here in hopes of bettering our condition. The land of milk and honey turns out to be but gall and bitterness. We’ve but one hundred pounds left. When that’s gone, what next, Fan?”Fan could not tell.“We may expect but slight consideration for gentility here,” continued the adventurer. “Our cash once spent, what can I do—or what you? I know of nothing, except to take hold of the delicate ribbons of a street hack; while you must attune your musical ear to the tinkle of a sewing-machine, or the creaking of a mangle. By heaven! there’ll be no help for it?”Theci-devantbelle of Brompton, appalled by the prospect, started up from the rocking-chair, and once more commenced pacing the room.Suddenly she stopped, and, turning to her husband, inquired:“Do you intend to be true to me, Dick?”The question was put in an eager, earnest tone.Equally earnest was the answer:“Of course I do. How can you doubt me, Fan? We’re both alike interested in the speculation. You may trust me as steel!”“I agree to it, then, Dick. But dread steel if you betray me!”Dick answered the threat with a light laugh; at the same time imprinting a Judas kiss on the lips that had pronounced it!
“Married for love! Hach! fool that I’ve been!”
The man who muttered these words was seated with elbows resting upon a table, and hands thrust distractedly through his hair.
“Fool that I’ve been, and for a similar reason!” The rejoinder, in a female voice, came from an inner apartment. At the same instant the door, already ajar, was spitefully pushed open, disclosing the speaker to view: a woman of splendid form and features, not the less so that both were quivering with indignation.
The man started, and looked up with an air of embarrassment. “You heard me, Frances?” he said, in a tone half-surly, half-ashamed.
“I heard you, Richard,” answered the woman, sweeping majestically into the room. “A pretty speech for a man scarce twelve months married—for you! Villain!”
“That name is welcome!” doggedly retorted the man. “It’s enough to make one a villain?”
“What’s enough, sir?”
“To think that but for you I might have had my thousands a year, with a titled lady for my wife!”
“Not worse than to think that but for you I might have had my tens of thousands, with a lord for my husband! ay, a coronet on my crown, where you are barely able to stick a bonnet?”
“Bah! I wish you had your lord.”
“And bah to you! I wish you had your lady.” The dissatisfied benedict, finding himself more than matched in the game of recrimination, dropped back into his chair, replanted his elbows on the table, and resumed the torturing of his hair.
Back and forth over the floor of the apartment paced the outraged wife, like a tigress chafed, but triumphant.
Man and wife, they were a remarkable couple. By nature both were highly endowed; the man handsome as Apollo, the woman beautiful as Venus. Adorned with moral grace, they might have challenged comparison with anything on earth. In the scene described, it was more like Lucifer talking to Juno enraged.
The conversation was in the English tongue, the accent was English, the speakers apparently belonging to that country—both of them. This impression was confirmed by some articles of travelling gear, trunks and portmanteaus of English manufacture, scattered over the floor. But the apartment was in the second storey of a second-class boarding-house in the city of New York.
The explanation is easy enough. The amiable couple had but lately landed from an Atlantic steamer. The “O.K.” of the Custom House chalk was still legible on their luggage.
Looking upon the pair of strange travellers—more especially after listening to what they have said—one skilled in the physiognomy of English life would have made the following reflections:—
The man has evidently been born “a gentleman,” and as evidently brought up in a bad school. He has been in the British army. About this there can be no mistake; no more than that he is now out of it. He still carries its whisker, though not its commission. The latter he has lost by selling out; but not until after receiving a hint from his colonel, or a “round robin” from his brother officers, requesting him to “resign.” If ever rich, he has long since squandered his wealth; perhaps even the money obtained for his commission. He is now poor. His looks proclaim him an adventurer.
Those of the woman carry to a like conclusion, as regards herself. Her air and action, the showy style of her dress, a certain recklessness observable in the cast of her countenance, bring the beholder, who has once stood alongside “Rotten Row,” back to the border of that world-renowned ride. In the fair Fan he sees the type of the “pretty horse-breaker”—the “Anonyma” of the season.
It is an oft-repeated experience. A handsome man, a beautiful woman, both equally heart-wicked, inspiring one another with a transient passion, that lasts long enough to make man and wife of them, but rarely outlives the honeymoon. Such was the story of the couple in question.
The stormy scene described was far from being the first. It was but one of the squalls almost daily occurring between them.
The calm succeeding such a violent gust could not be continuous. A cloud so dark could not be dissipated without a further discharge of electricity.
It came; the last speaker, as if least satisfied, resuming the discourse.
“And supposing youhadmarried your lady—I know whom you mean—that old scratch, Lady C—, what a nice time the two of you would have had of it! She could only have kissed you at the risk of losing her front teeth, or swallowing them. Ha! ha! ha!”
“Lady C— be hanged! I could have had half a score of titled ladies; some of them as young, and just as good-looking, is you!”
“Boasting braggart! ’Tis false, and you know it! Good-looking asme! How you’ve changed your tune! You know I was called the ‘Belle of Brompton!’ Thank heaven, I don’t need you to satisfy me of my good looks. Men of ten times your taste have pronounced upon them;and may yet!”
The last speech was delivered in front of a cheval glass, before which the speaker had stopped, as if to admire her person.
Certainly the glass gave out an image that did not contradict what she had said.
“May yet!” echoed the satiated rake in a drawl, that betokened either indifference, or its assumption. “I wish some of themwould!”
“Indeed! Then some of themshall!”
“Oh! I’m agreeable. Nothing would give me greater pleasure. Thank God! we’ve got into a country whose people take a common-sense view of these questions, and where divorce can be obtained, not only on the quiet, but cheaper than the licence itself! So far from standing in your way, madam, I’ll do all I can to assist you. I think we can honestly plead ‘incompatibility of temper’?”
“She’d be an angel that couldn’t plead that with you.”
“There’s no danger, then, of your being denied the plea, unless fallen angels be excepted.”
“Mean insulter! Oh, mercy! to think I’ve thrown myself away on this worthless man?”
“Thrown yourself away? Ha! ha! ha! What were you when I found you? A waif, if not worse. The darkest day of my life was that on which I picked you up!”
“Scoundrel!”
The term “scoundrel” is the sure and close precursor of a climax. When passed between two gentlemen, it not unfrequently leads to a mutual pulling of noses. From a lady to a gentleman the result is of course different, though in any case it conducts to a serious turn in the conversation. Its effect in the present instance was to end it altogether.
With only an exclamation for rejoinder, the husband sprang to his feet, and commenced pacing up and down one side of the room. The wife, already engaged in like perambulation, had possession of the other.
In silence they crossed and recrossed; at intervals exchanging angry glances, like a tiger and tigress, making the tour of their cage.
For ten minutes or more was this mute, unsocial promenade continued.
The man was the first to tire of it, and once more resuming his seat, he took a “regalia” from his case, set fire to the weed, and commenced smoking.
The woman, as if determined not to be outdone in the way of indifference, producedhercigar-case, selected from it a tiny “queen,” and, sinking down into a rocking-chair, sent forth a cloud of smoke that soon rendered her almost as invisible as Juno in hernimbus.
There was no longer an exchange of glances—it was scarce possible—and for ten minutes more not any of speech. The wife was silently nursing her wrath, while the husband appeared to be engaged on some abstruse problem that occupied all his intellect. At length an exclamation, escaping involuntarily from his lips, seemed to declare its solution; while the cheerful cast of his countenance, just perceptible through the smoke, told of his having reached a conclusion that was satisfactory to him.
Taking the regalia from between his teeth, and puffing away the cloud that intervened, he leant toward his wife, at the same time pronouncing her name in diminutive—
“Fan!”
The form, with the accent in which it was uttered, seemed to say that on his side the storm had blown over. His chafed spirit had become tranquillised under the influence of the nicotine.
The wife, as if similarly affected, removed the “queen” from her lips; and in a tone that smacked of forgiveness, gave out the rejoinder:
“Dick!”
“An idea has occurred to me,” said he, resuming the conversation in a shape entirely new. “A grand idea!”
“Of its grandeur I have my doubts. I shall be better able to judge when you’ve imparted it. You intend doing that, I perceive.”
“I do,” he answered, without taking notice of the sarcasm.
“Let’s hear it, then.”
“Well, Fan, if there’s anything in this world clearer than another, it’s that by getting married we’ve both made a mucker of it.”
“That’s clear as daylight—to me at least.”
“Then you can’t be offended if I take a similar view of the question. We married one another for love. There we did a stupid thing, since neither of us could afford it.”
“I suppose I know all that. Tell me something new.”
“More than stupid,” pursued the worthless husband; “it was an act of absolute madness!”
“Most certainly, on my part.”
“On the part of both of us. Mind you, I don’t say I repent making you my wife. Only in one way, and that is because I’ve spoiled your chances in life. I am aware youcouldhave married richer men.”
“Oh, you admit that, do you?”
“I do. And you must admit I could have married richer women.”
“Lady Scratch, for example.”
“No matter. Lady Scratch could have kept me from this hard scratch for a living, which promises to be still harder. You know there’s no resource left me but the little skill I’ve acquired in manipulating pasteboard. I’ve come over here under the pleasant hallucination I should find plenty of pigeons, and that the hawks only existed on our side of the Atlantic. Well, I’ve been round with my introductions, and what’s the result? To discover that the dullest flat in New York would be a sharp in the saloons of London. I’ve dropped a hundred pounds already, and don’t see much chance of taking them up again.”
“And whatdoyou see, Dick? What’s this grand idea?”
“Are you prepared to listen to a proposal?”
“How condescending of you to ask me! Let me hear it. Whether I may feel inclined to agree to it is another thing.”
“Well, my dear Fan, your own words have suggested it, so you can’t reproach me for originating it.”
“If it be anidea, you needn’t fear that. What words, may I ask?”
“You said you wished Ihadmarried my lady.”
“I did. What is there in that?”
“More than you think for. A whole world of meaning.”
“I meant what I said.”
“In spite only, Fan.”
“In earnest.”
“Ha, ha! I know you too well for that.”
“Do you? You flatter yourself, I think. Perhaps you may some day find your mistake.”
“Not a bit of it. You love me too well. Fan, as I do you. It is just for that I am going to make the proposal.”
“Out with it! I shan’t like you any the better for thus tantalising me. Come, Dick; you want me to grant something? What is it?”
“Give me your permission to—”
“To do what?”
“To get married again!”
The wife of twelve months started, as if struck by a shot. In her glance there was anger and surprise, only subdued by interrogation.
“Are you in earnest, Dick?”
The inquiry was mechanical. She saw that he was.
“Wait till you’ve heard me out,” he rejoined, proceeding to the explanation.
She waited.
“What I propose, then, is this: You leave me free toget married again. More than that, give me your help to accomplish it—for our mutual benefit. It’s the very country for such a scheme; and I flatter myself I’m the very man who may bring it to a satisfactory conclusion. These Yankees have been growing rich. There are now scores—hundreds of heiresses among them. Strange if I can’t pick one of them up! They must either be daintier than you, Fan, or else I’ve lost my attractions.”
The appeal to her vanity, skilful though it was, failed to elicit a rejoinder. She remained silent, permitting her husband to continue his explanation. He continued:
“It’s no use shutting our eyes to the situation. We’ve both been speaking the truth. We’ve made fools of ourselves. Your beauty has been the means of spoilingmychances in life; and my—well, good looks, if I must say it—have done the same foryou. It’s been a mutual love, and a reciprocal ruin—in short, a sell on both sides.”
“True enough. Go on?”
“The prospect before us! I, the son of a poor prebend; you—well, it’s no use to talk of family affairs. We came over here in hopes of bettering our condition. The land of milk and honey turns out to be but gall and bitterness. We’ve but one hundred pounds left. When that’s gone, what next, Fan?”
Fan could not tell.
“We may expect but slight consideration for gentility here,” continued the adventurer. “Our cash once spent, what can I do—or what you? I know of nothing, except to take hold of the delicate ribbons of a street hack; while you must attune your musical ear to the tinkle of a sewing-machine, or the creaking of a mangle. By heaven! there’ll be no help for it?”
Theci-devantbelle of Brompton, appalled by the prospect, started up from the rocking-chair, and once more commenced pacing the room.
Suddenly she stopped, and, turning to her husband, inquired:
“Do you intend to be true to me, Dick?”
The question was put in an eager, earnest tone.
Equally earnest was the answer:
“Of course I do. How can you doubt me, Fan? We’re both alike interested in the speculation. You may trust me as steel!”
“I agree to it, then, Dick. But dread steel if you betray me!”
Dick answered the threat with a light laugh; at the same time imprinting a Judas kiss on the lips that had pronounced it!
Chapter Seven.A Dutiful Daughter.“An officer just returned from Mexico—a captain, or something of the sort, in one of the regiments raised for the war. Of course, a nobody!”It was the storekeeper’s relict who spoke.“Did you hear his name, mamma?” murmured Julia.“Certainly, my dear. The clerk pointed it out on the hotel register—Maynard.”“Maynard! If it be the Captain Maynard spoken of in the papers, he’s not such a nobody. At least the despatches do not say so. Why, it was he who led the forlorn hope at C—, besides being first over the bridge at some other place with an unpronounceable name?”“Stuff about forlorn hopes and bridges! That won’t help him, now that he is out of the service, and his regiment disbanded. Of course he’ll be without either pension or pay, besides asoupçonof his having empty pockets. I got so much out of the servant who waits upon him.”“He is to be pitied for that.”“Pity him as much as you like, my dear; but don’t let it go any further. Heroes are all very well in their way, when they’ve got the dollars to back ’em up. Without these they don’t count for much now-a-days; and rich girls don’t go marrying them any more.”“Ha! ha! ha! Who thinks of marrying him?” Daughter and niece simultaneously asked the question.“No flirtations neither,” gravely rejoined Mrs Girdwood. “I won’t allow them—certainly not with him.”“And why not with him, as much as any one else, most honoured mother?”“Many reasons. We don’t know who or what he may be. He don’t appear to have the slightest acquaintance with any one in the place; and no one is acquainted with him. He’s a stranger in this country, and believed to be Irish.”“Oh, aunt! I should not think any the worse of him for that. My own father was Irish.”“Whatever he may be, he’s a brave man, and a gallant one,” quietly rejoined Julia.“And a handsome one, too!” added Cornelia, with a sly glance towards her cousin.“I should think,” pursued Julia, “that he who has climbed a scaling-ladder—to say nothing about the bridge—and who afterward, at the risk of his life, pulls two not very light young ladies up the face of a perpendicular precipice, might dispense with any farther introduction to society; even to the J.’s, the L.’s, and the B.’s—the ‘cream,’ as they call themselves.”“Pff!” scornfully exclaimed the mother. “Any gentleman would have done the same; and would have done it for any lady. Why, he made no difference between you and Keziah, who is almost as heavy as both of you in a bundle!”The remark caused the two young ladies to break forth into a fit of laughter; for they remembered at the time they had been saved from their peril the ludicrous look of the negress as she was drawn up to the crest of the cliff. Had she not been the last in the ascent, their remembrance of it might have been less vivid.“Well, girls; I’m glad to see that you enjoy it. You may laugh as much as you like; but I’m in earnest. There must be no marrying in such a quarter as that, nor flirting either. I don’t want either of you talked about. As for you, Corneel, I don’t pretend to exercise any control over you. Of course you can act as you please.”“And I cannot?” quickly inquired the imperious Julia.“Yes you can, my dear. Marry Captain Maynard, or any other man who suits your fancy. But if you do so without my consent, you may make up your mind to be contented with your pin-money. Remember that the million left by your father is mine for life.”“Indeed!”“Ay! And if you act against my wishes, I shall live thirty years longer, to spite you—fifty if I can!”“Well, mamma; I can’t say but that you’re candid. A charming prospect, should it please me to disobey you?”“But you won’t, Julia?” said Mrs Girdwood, coaxingly, “you won’t. You know better than that: else your dear mother’s teaching has been so much waste time and trouble. But talking of time,” continued the “dear mother,” as she drew a jewelled watch from her belt, “in two hours the ball will begin. Go to your room, and get dressed.”Cornelia, obedient to the command, tripped out into the corridor, and, gliding along it, turned into the apartment occupied by herself and cousin.Julia, on the contrary, walked on to the balcony outside.“Plague take the ball!” said she, raising her arms in a yawn. “I’d a thousand times rather go to bed?”“And why, you silly child?” inquired her mother, who had followed her out.“Mother, you know why! It will be just the same as at the last one—all alone among those impertinent people. I hate them! How I should like to humiliate them!”“To-night you shall do that, my dear.”“How, mamma?”“By wearing my diamond head-dress. The last present your dear father gave me. It cost him a twenty thousand dollar cheque! If we could only ticket the price upon the diamonds, how they would glitter in their envious eyes. Never mind; I should think they’ll be sharp enough to guess it. Now, my girl, that will humiliate them!”“Not much.”“Not much! Twenty thousand dollars worth of diamonds! There isn’t such a tiara in the States. There won’t be anything like it at the ball. As diamonds are in full fashion now, it will give you no end of a triumph; at all events, enough to satisfy you for the present. Perhaps when we come back here again, we may have the diamonds set in a still more attractive shape.”“How?”“In a coronet!” replied the mother, whispering the words in her daughter’s ear.Julia Girdwood started, as if the speech had been an interpretation of her own thought. Brought up amid boundless wealth, she had been indulged in every luxury for which gold may be exchanged; but there was one which even gold could not purchase—anentréeinto that mystic circle called “society”—a mingling with thecrême de la crême.Even in the free-and-easy atmosphere of a watering-place, she felt that she was excluded. She had discovered, as had also her mother, that Newport was too fashionable for the family of a New York retail storekeeper, however successful he may have been in disposing of his commodities. What her mother had just said was like the realisation of a vague vision already floating in her fancy; and the word “coronet” had more effect in spoiling the chances of Captain Maynard, than would have been the longest maternal lecture on any other text.The mother well knew this. She had not trained her dear Julia to romantic disobedience. But at that moment it occurred to her that the nail wanted clinching; and she proceeded to hammer it home.“A coronet, my love; and why not? There are lords in England, and counts in France, scores of them, glad to grasp at such expectations as yours. A million of dollars, and beauty besides—you needn’t blush, daughter—two things not often tacked together, nor to be picked up every day in the streets—either of London or Paris. A prize for a prince! And now, Julia, one word more. I shall be candid, and tell you the truth. It is for this purpose, and this only, I intend taking you to Europe. Promise to keep your heart free, and give your hand to the man I select for you, and on your wedding-day I shall make over one-half of the estate left by your late father!”The girl hesitated. Perhaps she was thinking of her late rescuer? But if Maynard was in her mind, the interest he had gained there could only have been slight—certainly not strong enough to hold its place against the tempting terms thus held out to her. Besides, Maynard might not care for her. She had no reason to suppose that he did. And under this doubt, she had less difficulty in shaping her reply.“I am serious upon this matter,” urged the ambitious mother. “Quite as much as you am I disgusted with the position we hold here. To think that the most worthless descendants of one of ‘the old signers’ should deem it a condescension to marry my daughter! Ach! not one of themshall—with my consent.”“Without that, mother, I shall not marry.”“Good girl! you shall have the wedding gift I promised you. And to-night you shall not only wear my diamonds, but I make you free to call them your own. Go in—get them on?”
“An officer just returned from Mexico—a captain, or something of the sort, in one of the regiments raised for the war. Of course, a nobody!”
It was the storekeeper’s relict who spoke.
“Did you hear his name, mamma?” murmured Julia.
“Certainly, my dear. The clerk pointed it out on the hotel register—Maynard.”
“Maynard! If it be the Captain Maynard spoken of in the papers, he’s not such a nobody. At least the despatches do not say so. Why, it was he who led the forlorn hope at C—, besides being first over the bridge at some other place with an unpronounceable name?”
“Stuff about forlorn hopes and bridges! That won’t help him, now that he is out of the service, and his regiment disbanded. Of course he’ll be without either pension or pay, besides asoupçonof his having empty pockets. I got so much out of the servant who waits upon him.”
“He is to be pitied for that.”
“Pity him as much as you like, my dear; but don’t let it go any further. Heroes are all very well in their way, when they’ve got the dollars to back ’em up. Without these they don’t count for much now-a-days; and rich girls don’t go marrying them any more.”
“Ha! ha! ha! Who thinks of marrying him?” Daughter and niece simultaneously asked the question.
“No flirtations neither,” gravely rejoined Mrs Girdwood. “I won’t allow them—certainly not with him.”
“And why not with him, as much as any one else, most honoured mother?”
“Many reasons. We don’t know who or what he may be. He don’t appear to have the slightest acquaintance with any one in the place; and no one is acquainted with him. He’s a stranger in this country, and believed to be Irish.”
“Oh, aunt! I should not think any the worse of him for that. My own father was Irish.”
“Whatever he may be, he’s a brave man, and a gallant one,” quietly rejoined Julia.
“And a handsome one, too!” added Cornelia, with a sly glance towards her cousin.
“I should think,” pursued Julia, “that he who has climbed a scaling-ladder—to say nothing about the bridge—and who afterward, at the risk of his life, pulls two not very light young ladies up the face of a perpendicular precipice, might dispense with any farther introduction to society; even to the J.’s, the L.’s, and the B.’s—the ‘cream,’ as they call themselves.”
“Pff!” scornfully exclaimed the mother. “Any gentleman would have done the same; and would have done it for any lady. Why, he made no difference between you and Keziah, who is almost as heavy as both of you in a bundle!”
The remark caused the two young ladies to break forth into a fit of laughter; for they remembered at the time they had been saved from their peril the ludicrous look of the negress as she was drawn up to the crest of the cliff. Had she not been the last in the ascent, their remembrance of it might have been less vivid.
“Well, girls; I’m glad to see that you enjoy it. You may laugh as much as you like; but I’m in earnest. There must be no marrying in such a quarter as that, nor flirting either. I don’t want either of you talked about. As for you, Corneel, I don’t pretend to exercise any control over you. Of course you can act as you please.”
“And I cannot?” quickly inquired the imperious Julia.
“Yes you can, my dear. Marry Captain Maynard, or any other man who suits your fancy. But if you do so without my consent, you may make up your mind to be contented with your pin-money. Remember that the million left by your father is mine for life.”
“Indeed!”
“Ay! And if you act against my wishes, I shall live thirty years longer, to spite you—fifty if I can!”
“Well, mamma; I can’t say but that you’re candid. A charming prospect, should it please me to disobey you?”
“But you won’t, Julia?” said Mrs Girdwood, coaxingly, “you won’t. You know better than that: else your dear mother’s teaching has been so much waste time and trouble. But talking of time,” continued the “dear mother,” as she drew a jewelled watch from her belt, “in two hours the ball will begin. Go to your room, and get dressed.”
Cornelia, obedient to the command, tripped out into the corridor, and, gliding along it, turned into the apartment occupied by herself and cousin.
Julia, on the contrary, walked on to the balcony outside.
“Plague take the ball!” said she, raising her arms in a yawn. “I’d a thousand times rather go to bed?”
“And why, you silly child?” inquired her mother, who had followed her out.
“Mother, you know why! It will be just the same as at the last one—all alone among those impertinent people. I hate them! How I should like to humiliate them!”
“To-night you shall do that, my dear.”
“How, mamma?”
“By wearing my diamond head-dress. The last present your dear father gave me. It cost him a twenty thousand dollar cheque! If we could only ticket the price upon the diamonds, how they would glitter in their envious eyes. Never mind; I should think they’ll be sharp enough to guess it. Now, my girl, that will humiliate them!”
“Not much.”
“Not much! Twenty thousand dollars worth of diamonds! There isn’t such a tiara in the States. There won’t be anything like it at the ball. As diamonds are in full fashion now, it will give you no end of a triumph; at all events, enough to satisfy you for the present. Perhaps when we come back here again, we may have the diamonds set in a still more attractive shape.”
“How?”
“In a coronet!” replied the mother, whispering the words in her daughter’s ear.
Julia Girdwood started, as if the speech had been an interpretation of her own thought. Brought up amid boundless wealth, she had been indulged in every luxury for which gold may be exchanged; but there was one which even gold could not purchase—anentréeinto that mystic circle called “society”—a mingling with thecrême de la crême.
Even in the free-and-easy atmosphere of a watering-place, she felt that she was excluded. She had discovered, as had also her mother, that Newport was too fashionable for the family of a New York retail storekeeper, however successful he may have been in disposing of his commodities. What her mother had just said was like the realisation of a vague vision already floating in her fancy; and the word “coronet” had more effect in spoiling the chances of Captain Maynard, than would have been the longest maternal lecture on any other text.
The mother well knew this. She had not trained her dear Julia to romantic disobedience. But at that moment it occurred to her that the nail wanted clinching; and she proceeded to hammer it home.
“A coronet, my love; and why not? There are lords in England, and counts in France, scores of them, glad to grasp at such expectations as yours. A million of dollars, and beauty besides—you needn’t blush, daughter—two things not often tacked together, nor to be picked up every day in the streets—either of London or Paris. A prize for a prince! And now, Julia, one word more. I shall be candid, and tell you the truth. It is for this purpose, and this only, I intend taking you to Europe. Promise to keep your heart free, and give your hand to the man I select for you, and on your wedding-day I shall make over one-half of the estate left by your late father!”
The girl hesitated. Perhaps she was thinking of her late rescuer? But if Maynard was in her mind, the interest he had gained there could only have been slight—certainly not strong enough to hold its place against the tempting terms thus held out to her. Besides, Maynard might not care for her. She had no reason to suppose that he did. And under this doubt, she had less difficulty in shaping her reply.
“I am serious upon this matter,” urged the ambitious mother. “Quite as much as you am I disgusted with the position we hold here. To think that the most worthless descendants of one of ‘the old signers’ should deem it a condescension to marry my daughter! Ach! not one of themshall—with my consent.”
“Without that, mother, I shall not marry.”
“Good girl! you shall have the wedding gift I promised you. And to-night you shall not only wear my diamonds, but I make you free to call them your own. Go in—get them on?”
Chapter Eight.A Nobleman Incog.The strange dialogue thus terminated took place in front of the window of Mrs Girdwood’s apartment. It was in the night; a night starless and calm, and of course favourable to the eavesdroppers.There was one.In the room right above was a gentleman who had that day taken possession.He had come by the night-boat from New York, and entered his name on the register as “Swinton,” with the modest prefix of Mr Attached were the words “and servant”—the latter represented by a dark-haired, dark-complexioned youth, dressed after the fashion of a footman, orvalet du voyage.To Newport, Mr Swinton appeared to be a stranger; and had spent most of that day in exploring the little city founded by Coddington, and full of historic recollections.Though conversing with nearly everybody he met, he evidently knew no one; and as evidently no one knew him.Want of politeness to a stranger would not comport with the character of Newport people; especially when that stranger had all the appearance of an accomplished gentleman, followed at respectful distance by a well-dressed and obsequious servant.Those with whom he came in contact had but one thought:“A distinguished visitor.”There was nothing in the appearance of Mr Swinton to contradict the supposition. He was a man who had seen some thirty summers, with no signs to show that they had been unpleasantly spent. Amidst his glossy curls of dark auburn colour, the eye could not detect a single strand of grey; and if the crow had set its claw upon his face, the track could not be observed. Under a well-cultivated whisker uniting to the moustache upon his lips—in short the facial tonsure which distinguishes thehabituéof the Horse Guards. There could be no mistaking him for any other than a “Britisher”; and as such was he set down, both by the citizens of the town, and the guests at the hotel.The meal called “tea-supper” being over, and the stranger, having nothing better to do, was leaning out of the window of his sleeping room, on the fourth storey—tranquilly smoking a cigar.A conversation that occurred between himself and his servant—exhibiting on the one side condescension, on the other a strange familiarity—need not be repeated. It had ended; and the servant had thrown himself,sans façon, on a sofa; while the master, with arms resting on the window-sill, continued to inspire the perfume of the nicotian weed, along with the iodised air that came up from thealgaeof the ocean.The tranquil scene was favourable to reflection, and thus Mr Swinton reflected:“Deuced nice place! Devilish pretty girls! Hope I’ll find one of them who’s got money, and command of it as well. Sure to be some old hag here with a well-filled stocking, though it may take time to discover it. Let me get a glance at her cornucopia, and if I don’t turn the small end upward, then—then I shall believe what I have heard of these Yankee dames: that they hold their purse-strings tighter than do their simple cousins of England. Several heiresses about, I’ve heard. One or two with something like a million a piece—dollars, of course. Five dollars to the pound. Let me see! A million of dollars makes two hundred thousand pounds. Well! that would do, or even the half of it. I wonder if that good-looking girl, with the maternal parent attached to her, has got any blunt? A little love mixed with the play would make my game all the more agreeable. Ah! What’s below? The shadows of women from an open window, the occupants of the apartment underneath. Talking they are. If they would only come out on the balcony, there would be some chance of my hearing them. I’m just in the humour for listening to a little scandal; and if they’re anything like their sex on the other side of the Atlantic, that’s sure to be the theme. By Jove! they’re coming out! Just to oblige me.”It was just at this moment that Cornelia retired to her room, and Mrs Girdwood, following her daughter, took stand upon the balcony to continue the conversation which had been carried on inside.Favoured by the calm night, and the natural law of acoustics, Mr Swinton heard every word that was said—even to the softest whisper.In order to secure himself against being seen, he had withdrawn behind the Venetian shutter of his own window, and stood with his ear against the open lath-work, listening with all the intentness of a spy.When the dialogue came to an end, he craned out, and saw that the young lady had gone inside, but that the mother still remained standing in the balcony.Once more quietly drawing back, and summoning the valet to his side, he talked for some minutes in a low, hurried tone—as if giving the servant some instructions of an important nature.Then putting on his hat, and throwing a light surtout over his shoulders, he hastened out of the room.The servant followed; but not until an interval had elapsed.In a few seconds after, the Englishman might have been seen sauntering out upon the balcony with a careless air, and taking his stand within a few feet of where the rich widow stood leaning over the rail.He made no attempt to address her. Without introduction, there would have been a certain rudeness in it. Nor was his face toward her, but to the sea, as if he had stopped to contemplate the light upon the Cormorant Rock, gleaming all the more brilliantly from the contrasted darkness of the night.At that moment a figure of short stature appeared behind him, giving a slight cough, as if to attract his attention. It was the servant.“My lord,” said the latter, speaking in a low tone—though loud enough to be heard by Mrs Girdwood.“Aw—Fwank—what is it?”“What dress will your lordship wear at the ball?”“Aw—aw—plain bwack, of cawse. A white chawker.”“What gloves, your lordship? White or straw?”“Stwaw—stwaw.”The servant, touching his hat, retired.“His lordship,” as Mr Swinton appeared to be, returned to his tranquil contemplation of the light upon Cormorant Rock.There was no longer tranquillity for the relict of the retail storekeeper. Those magic words, “my lord,” had set her soul in a flutter. A live lord within six feet of her. Gracious me!It is the lady’s privilege to speak first, as also to break through the boundaries of reserve. And of this Mrs Girdwood was not slow to avail herself.“You are a stranger, sir, I presume—to our country, as well as to Newport?”“Aw—yes, madam—indeed, yes. I came to yaw beautiful country by the last steemaw. I arrived at Noopawt this morning, by bawt from Nooyawk.”“I hope your lordship will like Newport. It is our most fashionable watering-place.”“Aw; sawtingly I shall—sawtingly. But, madam, you adwess me as yaw ludship. May I ask why I have the honaw to be so entitled?”“Oh, sir; how could I avoid giving you the title, after hearing your servant so address you?”“Aw, Fwank, stoopid fellaw! doose take him! Pawdon me, madam, faw seeming woodness. I vewy much wegwet the occurrence. I am twavellingincognito. You, madam, will understand what a baw it is—especially in yaw fwee land of libawty, to have one’s self pawpetwally pointed out? A howed baw, I assure yaw?”“No doubt it is. I can easily understand that, my lord.”“Thanks, madam! I am vewy much indebted to yaw intelligence. But I must ask a still greater fayvaw at your hands. By the stoopidity of my fellaw, I am completely in yaw power. I pwesume I am talking to a lady. In fact I am shaw of it.”“I hope so, my lord.”“Then, madam, the fayvaw I would ask is, that yaw keep this little secwet abawt ma title. Pway am I asking too much?”“Not at all, sir; not at all.”“Yaw pwomise me?”“I promise you, my lord.”“How vewy kind! A hundwed thousand thanks, madam! I shall be fawever gwateful. P’waps yaw are going to the bawl to-night?”“I intend so, my lord. I go with my daughter and niece.”“Aw—aw. I hope I shall have the plesyaw of seeing yaw. As I am a stwanger here, of cawse I know naw one. I go out of meaw quyuosity, or rather I should say, to observe yaw national cawactewistics.”“Oh, sir;youneed be no stranger. If you wish to dance, and will accept as partners my niece and daughter, I can promise that both will be most happy.”“Madam, yaw ovawwhelm me with yaw genewosity.”The dialogue here came to an end. It was time to dress for the ball; and, with a low bow on the part of the lord, and an obsequious courtesy on the side of the lady, they separated—expecting to come together again under the sheen of the chandeliers.
The strange dialogue thus terminated took place in front of the window of Mrs Girdwood’s apartment. It was in the night; a night starless and calm, and of course favourable to the eavesdroppers.
There was one.
In the room right above was a gentleman who had that day taken possession.
He had come by the night-boat from New York, and entered his name on the register as “Swinton,” with the modest prefix of Mr Attached were the words “and servant”—the latter represented by a dark-haired, dark-complexioned youth, dressed after the fashion of a footman, orvalet du voyage.
To Newport, Mr Swinton appeared to be a stranger; and had spent most of that day in exploring the little city founded by Coddington, and full of historic recollections.
Though conversing with nearly everybody he met, he evidently knew no one; and as evidently no one knew him.
Want of politeness to a stranger would not comport with the character of Newport people; especially when that stranger had all the appearance of an accomplished gentleman, followed at respectful distance by a well-dressed and obsequious servant.
Those with whom he came in contact had but one thought:
“A distinguished visitor.”
There was nothing in the appearance of Mr Swinton to contradict the supposition. He was a man who had seen some thirty summers, with no signs to show that they had been unpleasantly spent. Amidst his glossy curls of dark auburn colour, the eye could not detect a single strand of grey; and if the crow had set its claw upon his face, the track could not be observed. Under a well-cultivated whisker uniting to the moustache upon his lips—in short the facial tonsure which distinguishes thehabituéof the Horse Guards. There could be no mistaking him for any other than a “Britisher”; and as such was he set down, both by the citizens of the town, and the guests at the hotel.
The meal called “tea-supper” being over, and the stranger, having nothing better to do, was leaning out of the window of his sleeping room, on the fourth storey—tranquilly smoking a cigar.
A conversation that occurred between himself and his servant—exhibiting on the one side condescension, on the other a strange familiarity—need not be repeated. It had ended; and the servant had thrown himself,sans façon, on a sofa; while the master, with arms resting on the window-sill, continued to inspire the perfume of the nicotian weed, along with the iodised air that came up from thealgaeof the ocean.
The tranquil scene was favourable to reflection, and thus Mr Swinton reflected:
“Deuced nice place! Devilish pretty girls! Hope I’ll find one of them who’s got money, and command of it as well. Sure to be some old hag here with a well-filled stocking, though it may take time to discover it. Let me get a glance at her cornucopia, and if I don’t turn the small end upward, then—then I shall believe what I have heard of these Yankee dames: that they hold their purse-strings tighter than do their simple cousins of England. Several heiresses about, I’ve heard. One or two with something like a million a piece—dollars, of course. Five dollars to the pound. Let me see! A million of dollars makes two hundred thousand pounds. Well! that would do, or even the half of it. I wonder if that good-looking girl, with the maternal parent attached to her, has got any blunt? A little love mixed with the play would make my game all the more agreeable. Ah! What’s below? The shadows of women from an open window, the occupants of the apartment underneath. Talking they are. If they would only come out on the balcony, there would be some chance of my hearing them. I’m just in the humour for listening to a little scandal; and if they’re anything like their sex on the other side of the Atlantic, that’s sure to be the theme. By Jove! they’re coming out! Just to oblige me.”
It was just at this moment that Cornelia retired to her room, and Mrs Girdwood, following her daughter, took stand upon the balcony to continue the conversation which had been carried on inside.
Favoured by the calm night, and the natural law of acoustics, Mr Swinton heard every word that was said—even to the softest whisper.
In order to secure himself against being seen, he had withdrawn behind the Venetian shutter of his own window, and stood with his ear against the open lath-work, listening with all the intentness of a spy.
When the dialogue came to an end, he craned out, and saw that the young lady had gone inside, but that the mother still remained standing in the balcony.
Once more quietly drawing back, and summoning the valet to his side, he talked for some minutes in a low, hurried tone—as if giving the servant some instructions of an important nature.
Then putting on his hat, and throwing a light surtout over his shoulders, he hastened out of the room.
The servant followed; but not until an interval had elapsed.
In a few seconds after, the Englishman might have been seen sauntering out upon the balcony with a careless air, and taking his stand within a few feet of where the rich widow stood leaning over the rail.
He made no attempt to address her. Without introduction, there would have been a certain rudeness in it. Nor was his face toward her, but to the sea, as if he had stopped to contemplate the light upon the Cormorant Rock, gleaming all the more brilliantly from the contrasted darkness of the night.
At that moment a figure of short stature appeared behind him, giving a slight cough, as if to attract his attention. It was the servant.
“My lord,” said the latter, speaking in a low tone—though loud enough to be heard by Mrs Girdwood.
“Aw—Fwank—what is it?”
“What dress will your lordship wear at the ball?”
“Aw—aw—plain bwack, of cawse. A white chawker.”
“What gloves, your lordship? White or straw?”
“Stwaw—stwaw.”
The servant, touching his hat, retired.
“His lordship,” as Mr Swinton appeared to be, returned to his tranquil contemplation of the light upon Cormorant Rock.
There was no longer tranquillity for the relict of the retail storekeeper. Those magic words, “my lord,” had set her soul in a flutter. A live lord within six feet of her. Gracious me!
It is the lady’s privilege to speak first, as also to break through the boundaries of reserve. And of this Mrs Girdwood was not slow to avail herself.
“You are a stranger, sir, I presume—to our country, as well as to Newport?”
“Aw—yes, madam—indeed, yes. I came to yaw beautiful country by the last steemaw. I arrived at Noopawt this morning, by bawt from Nooyawk.”
“I hope your lordship will like Newport. It is our most fashionable watering-place.”
“Aw; sawtingly I shall—sawtingly. But, madam, you adwess me as yaw ludship. May I ask why I have the honaw to be so entitled?”
“Oh, sir; how could I avoid giving you the title, after hearing your servant so address you?”
“Aw, Fwank, stoopid fellaw! doose take him! Pawdon me, madam, faw seeming woodness. I vewy much wegwet the occurrence. I am twavellingincognito. You, madam, will understand what a baw it is—especially in yaw fwee land of libawty, to have one’s self pawpetwally pointed out? A howed baw, I assure yaw?”
“No doubt it is. I can easily understand that, my lord.”
“Thanks, madam! I am vewy much indebted to yaw intelligence. But I must ask a still greater fayvaw at your hands. By the stoopidity of my fellaw, I am completely in yaw power. I pwesume I am talking to a lady. In fact I am shaw of it.”
“I hope so, my lord.”
“Then, madam, the fayvaw I would ask is, that yaw keep this little secwet abawt ma title. Pway am I asking too much?”
“Not at all, sir; not at all.”
“Yaw pwomise me?”
“I promise you, my lord.”
“How vewy kind! A hundwed thousand thanks, madam! I shall be fawever gwateful. P’waps yaw are going to the bawl to-night?”
“I intend so, my lord. I go with my daughter and niece.”
“Aw—aw. I hope I shall have the plesyaw of seeing yaw. As I am a stwanger here, of cawse I know naw one. I go out of meaw quyuosity, or rather I should say, to observe yaw national cawactewistics.”
“Oh, sir;youneed be no stranger. If you wish to dance, and will accept as partners my niece and daughter, I can promise that both will be most happy.”
“Madam, yaw ovawwhelm me with yaw genewosity.”
The dialogue here came to an end. It was time to dress for the ball; and, with a low bow on the part of the lord, and an obsequious courtesy on the side of the lady, they separated—expecting to come together again under the sheen of the chandeliers.
Chapter Nine.Avant le Bal.Terpsichore, at a fashionable watering-place in the New World, affects pretty much the same airs as in the Old.In a ball-room, where all are not supposed to bebest people, the solitary gentlemen-stranger finds but little opportunity of taking exercise—especially in the “square-dances.” As the coteries make the sets, and monopolise the choicest portions of the floor, when the room is crowded and everybody determined to dance, the unlucky wight, without acquaintances, finds himself sadly overlooked. The stewards are usually too much occupied with themselves, to remember those honorary duties represented by rosette or ribbon in the buttonhole.When it comes to the “round,” the stranger stands a better chance. It is only a matter of mutual consent between two individuals; and he must be a very insignificant personage, indeed, who cannot then find some neglected wallflower willing to accommodate him.Something of this frigidity might have been felt in the atmosphere of a Newport ball-room; even in those days,ante bellum, when shoddy was a thing unheard-of, and “ile” lay “unstruck” in the dark underground.Something of itwasfelt by the young officer lately returned from Mexico, and who was in fact a greater stranger to the “society” of the country for which he had been fighting, than to that against which he had fought!In both he was but a traveller—half-wandering waif, half-adventurer—guided in his peregrinations less by interest than inclination.To go dancing among unknown people is about the dullest occupation to which a traveller can betake himself; unless the dance be one of the free kind, where introductions are easy—morris, masque, or fandango.Maynard knew, or conjectured, this to be true of Newport, as elsewhere. But for all that, he had determined on going to the ball.It was partly out of curiosity; partly to kill time; and perhaps not a little for the chance of again meeting the two girls with whom he had been so romantically made acquainted.He had seen them several times since—at the dinner-table, and elsewhere; but only at a distance, and without claiming the privilege of hisoutréintroduction.He was too proud to throw himself in their way. Besides, it was for them to make the advance, and say whether the acquaintance was to be kept up.They did not! Two days had passed, and they did not—either by speech, epistle, bow, or courtesy!“What am I to make of these people?” soliloquised he.“They must be the veriest—” He was going to say “snobs,” when checked by the thought that they were ladies.Besides, such an epithet to Julia Girdwood! (He had taken pains to make himself acquainted with her name.) Not more inappropriate than if applied to a countess or a queen!With all his gallantry he could not help some spasms of chagrin; the keener, that, go where he would, Julia Girdwood seemed to go along with him. Her splendid face and figure appeared ever before him.To what was he to attribute this indifference—it might be called ingratitude on her part?Could it be explained by the promise exacted from him upon the cliff?This might make it in some way excusable. He had since seen the girls only with their maternal guardian—a dame of severe aspect. Had the secret to be kept fromher! And was this the reason why they were preserving distance?It was probable. He had some pleasure in thinking so; but more, when once or twice, he detected Julia’s dark eyes strangely gazing upon him, and instantly withdrawn, as his became turned upon her.“The play’s the thing, wherewith to touch the conscience of the king,” Hamlet declared.The ball! It promised a clearing up of this little mystery, with perhaps some others. He would be sure to meet them there—mother, daughter, niece—all three! It would be strange if he could not introduce himself; but if not, he must trust to the stewards.And to the ball he went; dressed with as much taste as the laws of fashion would allow—in those days liberal enough to permit of a white waistcoat.With only an occasional interval—transient as the scintillation of a meteor—it has been black ever since!The ball-room was declared open.Carriages were setting down by the piazza of the Ocean House, and silks rustling along the corridors of that most select of caravanserais.From the grand dining-saloon, cleared for the occasion (and when cleared, making a dancing-room worthy of Terpsichore herself), came those not very harmonious sounds that tell of the tuning of fiddles, and clearing out the throats of trombones.The Girdwood party entered with considerableéclat—the mother dressed like a grand-duchess, though without her diamonds. These blazed upon the brow of Julia, and sparkled on her snow white bosom—for the set comprised a necklace with pendants.She was otherwise splendidly attired; and, in truth, looked superb. The cousin of more modest grace and means, though pretty, seemed as nothing beside her.Mrs Girdwood had made a mistake—in coming in too early. It is true there were fashionable people already in the room. But these were the “organisers” of the entertainment; who, backed by a sort of semi-official authority, had gathered in little groups over the floor, scanning across fans, or through eye-glasses, the dancers as they came in.Through these the Girdwoods had to run the gauntlet—as they made their way to the upper end of the room.They did so with success, though not without being aware of some supercilious glances, accompanied by whispered words that, if heard, might have somewhat disconcerted them.It was the second Newport ball—“hops” count for nothing—at which Mrs Girdwood and her girls had shown themselves.The first had not given great satisfaction—more especially to Julia.But there was a better prospect now. Mrs Girdwood had entered, with a confidence based on the conversation she had just held with the distinguishedincognito, Mr Swinton.She had seen this gentleman during the day: for, as already known, he had not shut himself up in his room. She was sufficiently discerning to see that he was possessed of a fine face and figure. His hair, too—of the most aristocratic kind! How could it be otherwise? She alone knew the reason—she and her daughter; to whom she had, of course, communicated the secret of her discovery. A bit of broken promise that need not be severely criticised.She knew of my lord’s late arrival—from Canada he had told her—though he had paid a flying visit to New York.She hoped no one in the ball-room would recognise him—at least not till after she had paraded him with her own party, and could assume the seeming of his introducer.She had still stronger reason for this. Storekeeper’s widow, as she was, she possessed the true tact of the match-making mother. It belongs to no clime exclusively; no country. It can be as well acquired in New York as in London, Vienna, or Paris. She was a believer in first impressions—with the “compromises” that often spring from them; and in this theory—with the view of putting it into practice—she had instructed her dear Julia while dressing her for the ball.The daughter had promised compliance. Who wouldn’t, with the prospect of earning twenty thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds?
Terpsichore, at a fashionable watering-place in the New World, affects pretty much the same airs as in the Old.
In a ball-room, where all are not supposed to bebest people, the solitary gentlemen-stranger finds but little opportunity of taking exercise—especially in the “square-dances.” As the coteries make the sets, and monopolise the choicest portions of the floor, when the room is crowded and everybody determined to dance, the unlucky wight, without acquaintances, finds himself sadly overlooked. The stewards are usually too much occupied with themselves, to remember those honorary duties represented by rosette or ribbon in the buttonhole.
When it comes to the “round,” the stranger stands a better chance. It is only a matter of mutual consent between two individuals; and he must be a very insignificant personage, indeed, who cannot then find some neglected wallflower willing to accommodate him.
Something of this frigidity might have been felt in the atmosphere of a Newport ball-room; even in those days,ante bellum, when shoddy was a thing unheard-of, and “ile” lay “unstruck” in the dark underground.
Something of itwasfelt by the young officer lately returned from Mexico, and who was in fact a greater stranger to the “society” of the country for which he had been fighting, than to that against which he had fought!
In both he was but a traveller—half-wandering waif, half-adventurer—guided in his peregrinations less by interest than inclination.
To go dancing among unknown people is about the dullest occupation to which a traveller can betake himself; unless the dance be one of the free kind, where introductions are easy—morris, masque, or fandango.
Maynard knew, or conjectured, this to be true of Newport, as elsewhere. But for all that, he had determined on going to the ball.
It was partly out of curiosity; partly to kill time; and perhaps not a little for the chance of again meeting the two girls with whom he had been so romantically made acquainted.
He had seen them several times since—at the dinner-table, and elsewhere; but only at a distance, and without claiming the privilege of hisoutréintroduction.
He was too proud to throw himself in their way. Besides, it was for them to make the advance, and say whether the acquaintance was to be kept up.
They did not! Two days had passed, and they did not—either by speech, epistle, bow, or courtesy!
“What am I to make of these people?” soliloquised he.
“They must be the veriest—” He was going to say “snobs,” when checked by the thought that they were ladies.
Besides, such an epithet to Julia Girdwood! (He had taken pains to make himself acquainted with her name.) Not more inappropriate than if applied to a countess or a queen!
With all his gallantry he could not help some spasms of chagrin; the keener, that, go where he would, Julia Girdwood seemed to go along with him. Her splendid face and figure appeared ever before him.
To what was he to attribute this indifference—it might be called ingratitude on her part?
Could it be explained by the promise exacted from him upon the cliff?
This might make it in some way excusable. He had since seen the girls only with their maternal guardian—a dame of severe aspect. Had the secret to be kept fromher! And was this the reason why they were preserving distance?
It was probable. He had some pleasure in thinking so; but more, when once or twice, he detected Julia’s dark eyes strangely gazing upon him, and instantly withdrawn, as his became turned upon her.
“The play’s the thing, wherewith to touch the conscience of the king,” Hamlet declared.
The ball! It promised a clearing up of this little mystery, with perhaps some others. He would be sure to meet them there—mother, daughter, niece—all three! It would be strange if he could not introduce himself; but if not, he must trust to the stewards.
And to the ball he went; dressed with as much taste as the laws of fashion would allow—in those days liberal enough to permit of a white waistcoat.
With only an occasional interval—transient as the scintillation of a meteor—it has been black ever since!
The ball-room was declared open.
Carriages were setting down by the piazza of the Ocean House, and silks rustling along the corridors of that most select of caravanserais.
From the grand dining-saloon, cleared for the occasion (and when cleared, making a dancing-room worthy of Terpsichore herself), came those not very harmonious sounds that tell of the tuning of fiddles, and clearing out the throats of trombones.
The Girdwood party entered with considerableéclat—the mother dressed like a grand-duchess, though without her diamonds. These blazed upon the brow of Julia, and sparkled on her snow white bosom—for the set comprised a necklace with pendants.
She was otherwise splendidly attired; and, in truth, looked superb. The cousin of more modest grace and means, though pretty, seemed as nothing beside her.
Mrs Girdwood had made a mistake—in coming in too early. It is true there were fashionable people already in the room. But these were the “organisers” of the entertainment; who, backed by a sort of semi-official authority, had gathered in little groups over the floor, scanning across fans, or through eye-glasses, the dancers as they came in.
Through these the Girdwoods had to run the gauntlet—as they made their way to the upper end of the room.
They did so with success, though not without being aware of some supercilious glances, accompanied by whispered words that, if heard, might have somewhat disconcerted them.
It was the second Newport ball—“hops” count for nothing—at which Mrs Girdwood and her girls had shown themselves.
The first had not given great satisfaction—more especially to Julia.
But there was a better prospect now. Mrs Girdwood had entered, with a confidence based on the conversation she had just held with the distinguishedincognito, Mr Swinton.
She had seen this gentleman during the day: for, as already known, he had not shut himself up in his room. She was sufficiently discerning to see that he was possessed of a fine face and figure. His hair, too—of the most aristocratic kind! How could it be otherwise? She alone knew the reason—she and her daughter; to whom she had, of course, communicated the secret of her discovery. A bit of broken promise that need not be severely criticised.
She knew of my lord’s late arrival—from Canada he had told her—though he had paid a flying visit to New York.
She hoped no one in the ball-room would recognise him—at least not till after she had paraded him with her own party, and could assume the seeming of his introducer.
She had still stronger reason for this. Storekeeper’s widow, as she was, she possessed the true tact of the match-making mother. It belongs to no clime exclusively; no country. It can be as well acquired in New York as in London, Vienna, or Paris. She was a believer in first impressions—with the “compromises” that often spring from them; and in this theory—with the view of putting it into practice—she had instructed her dear Julia while dressing her for the ball.
The daughter had promised compliance. Who wouldn’t, with the prospect of earning twenty thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds?
Chapter Ten.A Previous Engagement.In all the gradations of the thermal line, is there any atmosphere more unbearable than that of a ball-room before the dancing commences?It is the very essence of discomfort.What a relief when the baton of the conductor is seen elevated over his acolytes, and those strains, proverbially soothing to the savage, resound through the glittering saloon!It was a relief to Mrs Girdwood and her girls. They had begun to fancy themselvestoo much observed. At least Julia had, half suspecting herself of being the subject of a cynical criticism, which she did not think of attributing to her diamonds.She was burning with an ill-repressed spleen, by no means diminished as the sets commenced forming, and no one came forward to claim either herself or her cousin.At that moment appeared a man whose presence changed the current of her thoughts. It was Maynard.In spite of her mother’s precautionary counsels, Miss Girdwood could not look upon this gentleman with indifference. To say nothing of what had passed between them, a glance satisfied her that there was no handsomer man in the room, or likely to come into it.He was approaching from the entrance, apparently making his way toward the Girdwood group.Julia wondered whether he was going to join them. She hoped that he would.“I suppose I may dance with him, mother—that is, if he asks me?”“Not yet, my dear, not yet. Wait a little longer. His lordship—Mr Swinton—may come in at any moment. Youmusthave the first with him. I wonder why he’s not here,” pursued the impatient parent, for the tenth time raising her eye-glass and taking a survey of the saloon. “I suppose it’s not fashionable for men of rank to come in early. No matter, Julia; you must reserve yourself till the last moment.”But the last moment had now arrived. The introductory piece had been played and was succeeded by the hum of half-whispered voices, and the rustling of silk dresses—by that movement which precedes the taking of places—gentlemen gliding in short stages across the slippery floor, formally bending in front of expanded skirts, and mincing out the well-known speech, “May I have the pleasure?” Then a momentary show of irresolution on the part of the lady, perhaps the consulting of a slip of cardboard, an inclination of the head so slight as to be scarce observable, a rising to the feet, with the greatest apparent reluctance, and lastly the acceptance of the offered arm, as if conferring the supremest of favours!Neither of the young ladies under Mrs Girdwood’s care had been yet called upon to take part in this pantomime. Certainly the stewards were not doing their duty. There were no finer-looking girls in the room, and there were scores of gentlemen who would have been delighted to dance with them. Their standing neglected could be only an accidental oversight.The storekeeper’s widow began to find it disagreeable. She felt inclined to be less exacting about the description of partners. As there was no lord in sight, the ex-officer would not be much longer objected to.“Does he intend coming at all?” she reflected, thinking of Swinton.“Does he intend coming to us?” was the reflection of Julia, her thoughts dwelling upon Maynard.Her eyes, too, were on him. He was still approaching, though slowly. He was hindered by the hurrying couples as they took position on the floor. But she could see that he was looking toward them—herself and cousin—where they stood.He evidently approached with an air of indecision, his glance appearing to interrogate them.It must have been met by one of encouragement, for his demeanour became suddenly changed and stepping up to the two young ladies, he saluted them with a bow.By both the salutation was returned, perhaps more cordially than he had been expecting.Both appeared to be still unengaged. To which ought he to offer himself? He knew which he would have chosen, but there was a question of etiquette.As it turned out, there was no question of choice.“Julia, my dear,” said Mrs Girdwood, presenting a very stylishly-dressed individual, who had just been given in charge to her by one of the stewards. “I hope you have not engaged yourself for the quadrille? I’ve promised you to this gentleman. Mr Smithson—my daughter.”Julia glanced at Smithson, and then looked as if she wished him far enough.But she had not engaged herself, and was therefore compelled to accept.Lest a second Mr Smithson should be trotted up, Maynard hastened to secure Cornelia, and led her off to form “opposite couple.”Seemingly satisfied with the disposal thus made, Mrs Girdwood retired to a seat.Her contentment was of short continuance. She had scarce touched the cushion, when she saw coming towards her a gentleman of distinguished appearance, in straw kids. It was his lordshipincog.She started back to her feet, and glanced across the room toward the square that contained her girls. She looked interrogatively, then despairingly. It was too late. The quadrille had commenced. Mr Smithson was doing “right and left” with her daughter. Confound Mr Smithson!“Aw, madam! How’d do, again? Ball begun, I pawceive; and I’m cut out of the kadwille.”“It is true, Mr Swinton; you’ve come in a little late, sir.”“What a baw! I pwesume yaw young ladies are disposed of?”“Yes; they are dancing over yonder.”Mrs Girdwood pointed them out. Adjusting his eye-glass, Mr Swinton looked across the room. His eye wandered in search of Mrs Girdwood’s daughter. He did not think of the niece. And his inquiry was directed more to Julia’s partner than herself.A single look seemed to satisfy him. Mr Smithson was not the man to make him uneasy.“I hope, madam,” he said, turning to the mother, “I hope Miss Girdwood has not filled up her cawd for the evening?”“Oh, certainly not, sir!”“Pewaps for the next—I pawceive by the pawgwam a valz—pwaps I might have the honour of valzing with her? May I bespeak yaw influence in my behalf; that is, if there be no pwevious engagement?”“I know there is none. I can promise you that, sir; my daughter will no doubt be most happy to waltz with you.”“Thanks, madam! A thousand thanks?”And, this point settled, the amiable nobleman continued to talk to the relict of the retail storekeeper with as much amiability as if she had been his equal in rank.Mrs Girdwood was delighted with him. How much superior this sprig of true British nobility to the upstart bloods of New York or Boston! Neither the Old Dominion, nor South Carolina itself, could produce such a charming creature! What a rare stroke of good fortune to have chanced so timeously across him! Blessings upon the head of that “Stoopid fellaw, Fwank!” as his lordship had styled the little valet.Frank was entitled to a present, which some day Mrs Girdwood had mentally determined upon giving him.Julia engaged for the next! Certainly not! Nor the next, nor the next. She should dance with him all night long if he desired it. And if it were to be so, how she would like to be released from that promise, and let all Newport know that Mr Swinton was—a lord!So ran Mrs Girdwood’s thoughts—kept, of course, to herself.In a quadrille, the opportunities of thevis-à-visare only inferior to those of the partner. Maynard had improved his by engaging Julia Girdwood for the waltz! With this understanding they had separated upon the floor.In less than ten minutes after a group might have, been observed on one side of the ball-room, consisting of two ladies and two gentlemen, who seemed to have some crooked question between them—a scene.The ladies were Mrs Girdwood and her daughter; the gentlemen, Messrs Maynard and Swinton.All four had just come together; the two last without exchanging speech or bow, but exhibiting in the exchanged glances sufficient sign of mutual recognition—sign, too, of some old antipathy.In the confusion of the moment, Mrs Girdwood did not observe this. Her daughter did.What was the trouble among them?The conversation will explain it.“Julia, my dear”—it was Mrs Girdwood who spoke—“I’ve engaged you for the first waltz—to Mr Swinton here. Mr Swinton—my daughter.”The introduction had just ended as Maynard, coming forward to claim his promised partner, formed the fourth corner in the quartette. The music was commencing.The hostile “stare” exchanged between the two gentlemen lasted only a second, when the young officer, recomposing his countenance, turned toward Miss Girdwood, at the same time offering his arm.Yielding obedience to an authoritative look from her mother the lady appeared to hesitate about accepting it.“You will excuse my daughter, sir,” said Mrs Girdwood, “she is already engaged.”“Indeed!” exclaimed the ex-captain, looking grandly astonished at the mother, and turning to the daughter for an explanation.“I think not, mamma?” answered Julia, with an air of indecision.“But you have, my child! You know I had promised you to Mr Swinton here, before the ball began. It is very awkward! I hope, sir, you will excuse her?”The last speech was addressed to Maynard.He glanced once more toward Julia. She seemed still undecided. But her look might be translated, “Excuse me.”So interpreting it, he said:“If it be Miss Girdwood’s wish, I release her.”Again he fixed his eyes upon her face, watching for the movement of her lips.There was none!Silence appeared to give consent. Forcibly the old adage came before Maynard’s mind—so forcibly, that with a bow, which comprehended the trio, he turned upon his heel, and disappeared among the dancers.In six seconds after, Julia Girdwood was whirling around the room, her flushed cheek resting upon the shoulder of a man known to nobody, but whose dancing everybody admired.“Who is the distinguished stranger?” was the inquiry on every lip. It was even put—lispingly of course—by the J.’s and the L.’s and the B.’s.Mrs Girdwood would have given a thousand dollars to have satisfied their curiosity—to have spited them with the knowledge that her daughter was dancing with alord!
In all the gradations of the thermal line, is there any atmosphere more unbearable than that of a ball-room before the dancing commences?
It is the very essence of discomfort.
What a relief when the baton of the conductor is seen elevated over his acolytes, and those strains, proverbially soothing to the savage, resound through the glittering saloon!
It was a relief to Mrs Girdwood and her girls. They had begun to fancy themselvestoo much observed. At least Julia had, half suspecting herself of being the subject of a cynical criticism, which she did not think of attributing to her diamonds.
She was burning with an ill-repressed spleen, by no means diminished as the sets commenced forming, and no one came forward to claim either herself or her cousin.
At that moment appeared a man whose presence changed the current of her thoughts. It was Maynard.
In spite of her mother’s precautionary counsels, Miss Girdwood could not look upon this gentleman with indifference. To say nothing of what had passed between them, a glance satisfied her that there was no handsomer man in the room, or likely to come into it.
He was approaching from the entrance, apparently making his way toward the Girdwood group.
Julia wondered whether he was going to join them. She hoped that he would.
“I suppose I may dance with him, mother—that is, if he asks me?”
“Not yet, my dear, not yet. Wait a little longer. His lordship—Mr Swinton—may come in at any moment. Youmusthave the first with him. I wonder why he’s not here,” pursued the impatient parent, for the tenth time raising her eye-glass and taking a survey of the saloon. “I suppose it’s not fashionable for men of rank to come in early. No matter, Julia; you must reserve yourself till the last moment.”
But the last moment had now arrived. The introductory piece had been played and was succeeded by the hum of half-whispered voices, and the rustling of silk dresses—by that movement which precedes the taking of places—gentlemen gliding in short stages across the slippery floor, formally bending in front of expanded skirts, and mincing out the well-known speech, “May I have the pleasure?” Then a momentary show of irresolution on the part of the lady, perhaps the consulting of a slip of cardboard, an inclination of the head so slight as to be scarce observable, a rising to the feet, with the greatest apparent reluctance, and lastly the acceptance of the offered arm, as if conferring the supremest of favours!
Neither of the young ladies under Mrs Girdwood’s care had been yet called upon to take part in this pantomime. Certainly the stewards were not doing their duty. There were no finer-looking girls in the room, and there were scores of gentlemen who would have been delighted to dance with them. Their standing neglected could be only an accidental oversight.
The storekeeper’s widow began to find it disagreeable. She felt inclined to be less exacting about the description of partners. As there was no lord in sight, the ex-officer would not be much longer objected to.
“Does he intend coming at all?” she reflected, thinking of Swinton.
“Does he intend coming to us?” was the reflection of Julia, her thoughts dwelling upon Maynard.
Her eyes, too, were on him. He was still approaching, though slowly. He was hindered by the hurrying couples as they took position on the floor. But she could see that he was looking toward them—herself and cousin—where they stood.
He evidently approached with an air of indecision, his glance appearing to interrogate them.
It must have been met by one of encouragement, for his demeanour became suddenly changed and stepping up to the two young ladies, he saluted them with a bow.
By both the salutation was returned, perhaps more cordially than he had been expecting.
Both appeared to be still unengaged. To which ought he to offer himself? He knew which he would have chosen, but there was a question of etiquette.
As it turned out, there was no question of choice.
“Julia, my dear,” said Mrs Girdwood, presenting a very stylishly-dressed individual, who had just been given in charge to her by one of the stewards. “I hope you have not engaged yourself for the quadrille? I’ve promised you to this gentleman. Mr Smithson—my daughter.”
Julia glanced at Smithson, and then looked as if she wished him far enough.
But she had not engaged herself, and was therefore compelled to accept.
Lest a second Mr Smithson should be trotted up, Maynard hastened to secure Cornelia, and led her off to form “opposite couple.”
Seemingly satisfied with the disposal thus made, Mrs Girdwood retired to a seat.
Her contentment was of short continuance. She had scarce touched the cushion, when she saw coming towards her a gentleman of distinguished appearance, in straw kids. It was his lordshipincog.
She started back to her feet, and glanced across the room toward the square that contained her girls. She looked interrogatively, then despairingly. It was too late. The quadrille had commenced. Mr Smithson was doing “right and left” with her daughter. Confound Mr Smithson!
“Aw, madam! How’d do, again? Ball begun, I pawceive; and I’m cut out of the kadwille.”
“It is true, Mr Swinton; you’ve come in a little late, sir.”
“What a baw! I pwesume yaw young ladies are disposed of?”
“Yes; they are dancing over yonder.”
Mrs Girdwood pointed them out. Adjusting his eye-glass, Mr Swinton looked across the room. His eye wandered in search of Mrs Girdwood’s daughter. He did not think of the niece. And his inquiry was directed more to Julia’s partner than herself.
A single look seemed to satisfy him. Mr Smithson was not the man to make him uneasy.
“I hope, madam,” he said, turning to the mother, “I hope Miss Girdwood has not filled up her cawd for the evening?”
“Oh, certainly not, sir!”
“Pewaps for the next—I pawceive by the pawgwam a valz—pwaps I might have the honour of valzing with her? May I bespeak yaw influence in my behalf; that is, if there be no pwevious engagement?”
“I know there is none. I can promise you that, sir; my daughter will no doubt be most happy to waltz with you.”
“Thanks, madam! A thousand thanks?”
And, this point settled, the amiable nobleman continued to talk to the relict of the retail storekeeper with as much amiability as if she had been his equal in rank.
Mrs Girdwood was delighted with him. How much superior this sprig of true British nobility to the upstart bloods of New York or Boston! Neither the Old Dominion, nor South Carolina itself, could produce such a charming creature! What a rare stroke of good fortune to have chanced so timeously across him! Blessings upon the head of that “Stoopid fellaw, Fwank!” as his lordship had styled the little valet.
Frank was entitled to a present, which some day Mrs Girdwood had mentally determined upon giving him.
Julia engaged for the next! Certainly not! Nor the next, nor the next. She should dance with him all night long if he desired it. And if it were to be so, how she would like to be released from that promise, and let all Newport know that Mr Swinton was—a lord!
So ran Mrs Girdwood’s thoughts—kept, of course, to herself.
In a quadrille, the opportunities of thevis-à-visare only inferior to those of the partner. Maynard had improved his by engaging Julia Girdwood for the waltz! With this understanding they had separated upon the floor.
In less than ten minutes after a group might have, been observed on one side of the ball-room, consisting of two ladies and two gentlemen, who seemed to have some crooked question between them—a scene.
The ladies were Mrs Girdwood and her daughter; the gentlemen, Messrs Maynard and Swinton.
All four had just come together; the two last without exchanging speech or bow, but exhibiting in the exchanged glances sufficient sign of mutual recognition—sign, too, of some old antipathy.
In the confusion of the moment, Mrs Girdwood did not observe this. Her daughter did.
What was the trouble among them?
The conversation will explain it.
“Julia, my dear”—it was Mrs Girdwood who spoke—“I’ve engaged you for the first waltz—to Mr Swinton here. Mr Swinton—my daughter.”
The introduction had just ended as Maynard, coming forward to claim his promised partner, formed the fourth corner in the quartette. The music was commencing.
The hostile “stare” exchanged between the two gentlemen lasted only a second, when the young officer, recomposing his countenance, turned toward Miss Girdwood, at the same time offering his arm.
Yielding obedience to an authoritative look from her mother the lady appeared to hesitate about accepting it.
“You will excuse my daughter, sir,” said Mrs Girdwood, “she is already engaged.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the ex-captain, looking grandly astonished at the mother, and turning to the daughter for an explanation.
“I think not, mamma?” answered Julia, with an air of indecision.
“But you have, my child! You know I had promised you to Mr Swinton here, before the ball began. It is very awkward! I hope, sir, you will excuse her?”
The last speech was addressed to Maynard.
He glanced once more toward Julia. She seemed still undecided. But her look might be translated, “Excuse me.”
So interpreting it, he said:
“If it be Miss Girdwood’s wish, I release her.”
Again he fixed his eyes upon her face, watching for the movement of her lips.
There was none!
Silence appeared to give consent. Forcibly the old adage came before Maynard’s mind—so forcibly, that with a bow, which comprehended the trio, he turned upon his heel, and disappeared among the dancers.
In six seconds after, Julia Girdwood was whirling around the room, her flushed cheek resting upon the shoulder of a man known to nobody, but whose dancing everybody admired.
“Who is the distinguished stranger?” was the inquiry on every lip. It was even put—lispingly of course—by the J.’s and the L.’s and the B.’s.
Mrs Girdwood would have given a thousand dollars to have satisfied their curiosity—to have spited them with the knowledge that her daughter was dancing with alord!