A LUNCH PARTY.
The studio of that popular and fortunate young man, Mr. Hector
Anstruthers, was really a most gorgeous and artistic affair. It was
beautifully furnished and wondrously fitted up, and displayed, in all
its arrangements, the fact that its owner was a young man of refined
and luxurious tastes, and was lucky enough to possess the means to
gratify them to their utmost. People admired this studio, and talked
about it almost as much as they talked about Anstruthers himself.
Indeed, it had become a sort of fashion to visit it. The most exclusive
of mammas, ladies who were so secure in their social thrones, that
they were privileged to dictate to fashion, instead of being dictated
to by that fickle goddess--ladies who made much of Anstruthers, and
petted him, often stopped their carriages at his door on fine mornings,
and descended therefrom with their marriageable girls, went up to the
charming room, and loitered through half an hour, or even more, talking
to the young potentate, admiring his pictures, and picturesque odds
and ends, and rarities, and making themselves very agreeable. He was an
extravagant creature, and needed some one to control him, these ladies
told him; but really it was all very pretty, and exquisitely tasteful;
and, upon the whole, they could hardly blame him as much as it was
their duty to do. Anstruthers received these delicate attentions with
quite a grace.
He listened and smiled amiably, replying with friendly deprecation
of their reproaches. Was he not paid a thousand-fold by their kind
approval of his humble efforts? What more could he ask than that they
should grace the little place with their presence, and condescend to
admire his collection? Most men had their hobbies, and art was his--art
and the artistic--a harmless, if extravagant one. And then he would
beg his fair visitors and their escort to honor his small temple,
by partaking of the luncheon his man would bring in. And then the
little luncheon would appear, as if by magic--a marvelous collation,
as much a work of art as everything else; and this being set out upon
some carven wonder of a table, the ladies would deign to partake, and
would admire more than ever, until, in course of time, to visit Mr.
Hector Anstruthers, among his pictures, and carvings, and marbles,
and be invited to enjoy his dandified little feasts, became the most
fashionable thing the most exclusive of people could do. So it was
by no means extraordinary that, one sunny morning in April, my lord,
while chatting with his usual condescending amiability to one party of
visitors, should receive another. There were three in this last party,
an elderly beau, a young lady of uncertain age, and Mrs. Despard.
Anstruthers, who was standing by the side of a pretty girl with bright
eyes, started a little on the entrance of this lady, and the bright
eyes observed it.
“Who is that?” asked their owner. “She is a very _distingué_ sort of
person.” And then she smiled. It was quite certain that he could not be
enamored of such mature charms as these, _distingué_ though they might
be.
“That is Mrs. Despard, Miss Esmond,” answered Anstruthers. “Excuse
me, one moment.” And then he advanced to meet his guests, with the
cordiality of the most graceful of hosts.
This was indeed a pleasure, he said, blandly. He had been half afraid
that Mrs. Despard had forgotten her kind promise.
That lady shook hands with him in a most friendly manner. She rather
shared the universal tendency people had to admire the young man. Were
not all young men extravagant? And at least this one had money enough
to afford to be extravagant honestly, and attractions enough to render
even conceit a legitimate article.
“You must thank Mr. Estabrook and his sister for bringing me,” she
said. “They have been before and knew the way. We met them as they were
coming here, and they asked us to come with them. Lisbeth would not get
out of the carriage. She was either lazy or ill-humored. She was driven
round to the library, and is to call for us in half an hour.”
Her eyes twinkled a little as she told him this. As I have said before,
Lisbeth always interested her, and she was interested now in her mode
of managing this old love affair. It was so plain that it rasped her
to be brought in contact with him and that she would have preferred
very much to keep out of his way, that the fact of her being thrown in
his path against her will could not fail to have its spice, and afford
Mrs. Despard a little malicious amusement. In secret, she was obliged
to confess that, ill-natured as it seemed, she would not have been
very sorry to see Lisbeth at bay. Of Anstruthers’ sentiments she was
not quite sure, as yet, but she was very sure of Lisbeth’s. Lisbeth
knew that she had acted atrociously in the past, and hating herself in
private for her weak wickedness, hated Anstruthers too for his share in
it. It was not Lisbeth’s way to be either very just or very generous.
All her pangs of self-reproach were secret ones, of which she had
taught herself to be ashamed, and which she would have died rather than
confess. She let her caprices rule her wholly, and did her best to make
them rule other people. If she was angry, she made vicious speeches;
if she was pleased, she behaved like an angel, or an angelic creature
without a fault. She did not care enough for other people to mold her
moods to their taste. The person of most consequence to her was Lisbeth
Crespigny.
Mrs. Despard found her visit to her young friend’s studio very
entertaining. She saw things to admire, and things to be amused
at. She discovered that his own efforts were really worth looking
at, and that the fixtures he had collected were both valuable and
exquisite. He had bought no costly lots of ugliness, he had bought
beauty. As to the appurtenances of the room, a woman could not have
chosen them better--most women would not have chosen them so well.
Indeed, a touch of effeminate fancifulness in the general arrangement
of things made her smile more than once. He had arranged a sort of
miniature conservatory in a wide, deep bay-window, filled it with tiers
of flowers growing in fanciful vases, and hanging baskets full of
delicate, long vines, and bright bloom.
“What a dandy we are!” she said, smiling, when she drew aside the
sweeping lace curtain which cut this pretty corner off from the rest of
the apartment. “And what fine tastes we display!”
Anstruthers blushed a little. He had accompanied her on her tour of
exploration, and had been secretly flattered by her evident admiration
and surprise.
“Is that a compliment, or is it not?” he answered. “I like to hear that
I have fine taste, but I don’t like to be called a dandy.”
“Isn’t it a trifle dandified to know how to do all these things so
well?” she asked. “It is a man’s province to be clumsy and ignorant
about the small graces.”
“Isn’t it better than doing them ill?” he said. “Pray let me give you
two or three pale rosebuds and a few sweet violets.”
“If you bribe me with violets and rosebuds, I shall say it is better
that you should be æsthetic enough to care to cultivate them, than
that I should not have the pleasure of receiving them as a gift. It is
very pretty of you to do such things.”
There was no denying that they had become excellent friends. There were
not many people to whom his lordship would have offered his rosebuds
and violets, but for some reason or other he had taken a sudden fancy
to Mrs. Despard, and was anxious to show himself to advantage. He
was even ready to answer her questions, and once or twice they were
somewhat close ones, it must be confessed.
“Tell me something about that nice girl,” she said, glancing at Miss
Esmond, who was talking to the rest of the party. “What a pretty
creature she is, and how bright her eyes and her color are! There are
very few girls who look like that in these days.”
“Very few,” answered Anstruthers. “That nice girl is Miss Georgie
Esmond, and she is one of the few really nice girls who have the luck
to take public fancy by storm, as they ought to. She has not been ‘out’
long, and she is considered a belle and a beauty. And yet I assure
you, Mrs. Despard, that I have seen that girl playing with a troop of
little brothers and sisters, as if she was enjoying herself, helping a
snuffy old French governess to correct exercises, and bringing a light
for the old colonel’s pipe, as if she had never seen a ball-room in her
life.”
“Oh!” said Mrs. Despard, “then I suppose you have seen her in the bosom
of her family,” a trifle slyly.
“I know them very well,” replied the young man, with a grave air. “I
have known Georgie Esmond since she wore pinafores. My poor cousin,
who died, has played blindman’s buff with us at Scarsbrook Park, when
we were children, many a time. The fact is, I believe we are distant
relations.”
“I congratulate you on the distance of the relationship,” said Mrs.
Despard. “She is a fresh, bright, charming girl.”
“She is a good girl,” said Anstruthers. “Congratulate her on that, and
congratulate her father, and her mother, and her brothers and sisters,
and the snuffy old governess, whose life she tries to make less of a
burden to her.”
It was at this moment that the carriage in which Lisbeth had driven
away returned. It drove by the window, and drew up at the door,
and Mrs. Despard saw her young friend’s face alter its expression
when he caught sight of it, with its prancing bays and faultless
accompaniments, and Lisbeth Crespigny leaning back upon the
dove-colored cushions, with a book in her little dove-colored hand.
She saw Mrs. Despard among the flowers, but did not see her companion;
and being in an amiable humor, she gave her a smile and a nice little
gesture of greeting. Her eyes looked like midnight in the sunshine,
and with a marvel of a cream-colored rose in her hat, and in perfect
toilet, she was like a bit of a picture, dark, and delicate, and fine;
she struck Anstruthers in an instant, just as anything else artistic
would have struck him, and held his attention.
“I wonder if she would come up,” Mrs. Despard said. “I wish she would.
She ought to see this. It would suit her exactly.”
“Allow me to go down and ask her if she will do us the honor,” said
Anstruthers. “Colonel Esmond and his daughter have promised to take
luncheon, and I was in hopes that I could persuade your party to join
us. It will be brought on almost immediately.”
“That is as novel as the rest,” said Mrs. Despard, by no means
displeased. “However, if you can induce Lisbeth to come up, I am not
sure that I shall refuse.”
“I wonder what he will say to her,” was her mental comment, when he
left the room, and she looked out of her window with no small degree of
interest.
She saw him standing upon the pavement, by the carriage, a moment or so
later, his face slightly upturned, as he spoke to the girl, the spring
wind playing softly with his loose, fair hair, and the spring sunshine
brightening it; and something in his manner, she scarcely knew what,
brought back to her a sudden memory of the frank, boyish young fellow
he had been when Lisbeth first amused herself, with her cool contempt
for his youth and impetuousness, at Pen’yllan. And just as suddenly it
occurred to her, what a wide difference she found in him now. How ready
he was to say caustic things, to take worldly views, and indulge in
worldly sneers; and she recollected the stories she had drifted upon;
stories which proved him a life’s journey from the boy whose record had
been pure, whose heart had been fresh, whose greatest transgression
might have been easily forgiven; and remembering all this, she felt a
sharp anger against Lisbeth, an anger sharper than she had ever felt
toward her in the whole of her experience.
When Anstruthers appeared upon the pavement, and advanced toward the
carriage side, Lisbeth turned toward him with a feeling of no slight
displeasure. Since she had made an effort to keep out of his way, must
he follow her up?
“Is not Mrs. Despard coming?” she asked, somewhat abruptly.
“Mrs. Despard was so kind as to say, that if I could induce you to
leave the carriage and join our little party, she would not refuse to
take luncheon with us.” And then he stood and waited for her reply.
“I was not aware that she thought of staying,” said Lisbeth. “If I had
known----”
Then she checked herself. “If I refuse,” she said, in secret, “he will
think I am afraid of him.” And she regarded him keenly. But he was
quite immovable, and merely appeared politely interested.
“If you will be so good as to let me help you down,” he said, opening
the low door himself, and extending his hand courteously, “we shall be
delighted to have such an addition to our number,” he added.
“You are very kind,” answered Lisbeth, rising. He should not think his
presence could influence her one way or the other. She made up her mind
to face this position, since it was unavoidable, as if it had been
the most ordinary one in the world. She entered the room up stairs
as if she had expected to lunch there. Miss Esmond, who was always
good-naturedly ready to be enthusiastic, turned to look at her with a
smile of pleasure.
“What an unusual type!” she said, to her father. “Do look, papa! She
is actually exquisite!” And being introduced to her, her frank, bright
eyes became brighter than ever. She was one of those lovable, trusting
young creatures, who are ready to fall in love with pleasant people
or objects on the shortest notice; and she was captivated at once by
Lisbeth’s friendly air. Her age and Lisbeth’s were about the same, but
by nature and experience they were very wide apart, Miss Crespigny
being very much the older and more worldly-wise of the two. If it had
come to a matter of combat between them, Miss Georgie would have had no
chance whatever.