CHAPTER XXIX.MISS SPICER.
A card was brought into the dainty boudoir in which Mrs. Lambert was conversing with her son. This was followed so quickly by Miss Lucy Spicer, that there was no possibility of refusing her admission, even if the occupants of the room had desired it. But her presence was welcome to the lady, for she arose promptly to receive her guest, glad to escape a subject which was hateful to her.
“Looking younger and more lovely than ever!” exclaimed Miss Spicer, after kissing the lady with enthusiasm. “I wonder if it will be possible for me to grow handsomer as I grow older? Of course not. It’s only one or two women in a generation that can do that.”
Here Miss Spicer seemed to become suddenly aware of Ivon’s presence, and addressed him.
“Now this is a treat, Mr. Lambert; one never expects to find you at home; but here, with mamma, in this bijou ofa room, is a surprise. Come, now, let us make up before the maternal ancestor. It wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t, for the life of me, help seeing you, and that abominably handsome shop-girl. Why didn’t you take a back street?”
“Then it was Miss Spicer. I could not imagine who had done me the honor of reporting my movements,” said the young man, bowing low.
“Angry, ha! Don’t like people to make a note of his little escapades. Well, it isn’t quite fair. But when one overleaps all the barriers of society so bravely, of course, he must expect it to be known.”
“And, of course, young ladies who have nothing else to do, must be expected to magnify and multiply the news.”
Miss Spicer threw up her hands.
“Nothing else to do! Now I like that; as if there ever was seen a creature so hard-working as a young lady in society. Only think of the notes one has to write; putting off disagreeable people, and enticing the other set on; the shopping; the walks down town just as business breaks up, when crowds of us turn southward as steadily as sunflowers keep with the sun; hunting down dress-makers, tormenting milliners, reading all the French novels, little flirtations with one’s music-master, learning love phrases with one’s Italian teacher. I tell you, Mr. Lambert, one has to crowd life even to get in gossip and scandal enough to spice it respectably. Don’t talk to me about having nothing else to do.”
“I never will again. The occupations you enumerate are too grand and noble for dispute. Hereafter I shall set down a fashionable young lady as the busiest and most useful creature on earth.”
“Of course we are. Eternally on the go, scarcely time to breathe from morning till night.”
“Perhaps that is why so many of them are called ‘fast,’” said Lambert, demurely.
“Oh, you abominable creature!” cried the young lady,shaking her cane-parasol at Lambert. “That’s intended for me; but I don’t accept it. You are to consider me as among the prudes and conservatives, remember. Did I not come here to rebuke your own fast conduct? Don’t expect to get rid of the shop-girl by attacking me.”
“I have no wish to get rid of her in any way, Miss Spicer,” said Lambert, gravely. “Nor do I care to make her the subject of this conversation. Mother, have you any commands?”
Mrs. Lambert, who had been quietly listening to this war of words, shook her head.
“Oh! if you are going down the Avenue, I don’t mind walking a block or two,” said the irrepressible Miss Spicer, pulling down her lace mask, and grasping the coral-mounted handle of her parasol, as if it had, in fact, been a cane.
“It will require something of that kind to set you right, after your promenade with the lady we don’t care to mention. But, wait one moment, I had forgotten what brought me here. Mrs. Lambert, do give me your advice. I have a card for that Mrs. Carter’s party. What shall I do about it?”
Mrs. Lambert looked up quickly, and a flush of unusual color came into her face.
“I—I beg pardon; what did you say, Miss Spicer?”
“Only if I can venture on accepting. She is so awful shoddy, it will be great fun.”
“I have received cards,” answered Mrs. Lambert, quietly, “and it is probable that I may accept.”
Miss Spicer let her parasol drop to the floor, and clapped both hands.
“That is splendid! Then we can all accept. They tell me her house was like a curiosity-shop, when her brother, a great artist, came from abroad, and pitched all the trash she had been collecting, into the stable. He’s splendid, every one says! Awfully handsome, and so aristocratic. Iknow half a dozen girls that are dying to go on his account. The wall-flowers are all in a flutter, I can tell you, for he isn’t young.”
Mrs. Lambert arose hastily, walked across the room, and re-arranged the folds of an amber-satin curtain, that fell over a broad window of the boudoir. In her nervous haste, she loosened the heavy cords that held it, flooding the window with silken drapery, and the room with mellow, golden light.
Miss Spicer laughed, lifted her parasol from the floor, and began gathering up the folds of silk with it, thus throwing Mrs. Lambert’s face into full light.
“Why, how strangely you look!” she said, in her reckless way. “Pale as a ghost! Wanted air, and going to open the window. I’ll do it for you.”
A gush of fresh air swept through the open sash, and brought some color to Mrs. Lambert’s face.
“Are you better, dear madam?” said Ivon, approaching the window with tender anxiety.
“Better! No, indeed! I’ve not been ill. It was only the shadows thrown from this yellow drapery. Help me draw the cords. No, no! leave the lace down, a softened light is pleasanter. Now, Ivon, I will not detain you or Miss Spicer from your walk.”
“That is giving us both a polite dismissal,” cried the young lady, laughing. “Well, come along, Mr. Lambert, your maternal ancestor gives permission. I won’t take your arm unless you insist. No one will have a right to think us engaged, if I walk along demurely by myself, not even the pretty——What, frowning! Well, I never will say she’s pretty again—never! never! never!”