HILDA BLAND'S PARTY.
THE party given in honour of Hilda's coming of age was an evening party
of the good old-fashioned sort. Mrs. Bland's guests began to arrive
about seven, and they knew that they were expected to retire shortly
after midnight. The dining room was given over to the young people, who
had planned some tableaux vivants for the entertainment of the company.
The older and graver guests gathered in the drawing room. Supper was to
be served in the breakfast room, part of the hall being curtained off
cleverly as an addition to its limited space.
The evening passed brightly away. The tableaux proved a grand success.
Kitty persuaded John Glynne, who was present, to take part in them, and
his perfect self-control and remarkable immobility of feature made him
a valuable addition to the actors. The tableaux in which he appeared
as Charles VII., whilst Kitty made a spirited-looking Joan of Arc, was
the most successful of the series. Sundry amusements succeeded to the
tableaux, and no one looking on the gay, animated scene could have
imagined that care lurked in a single bosom there.
Hilda, the heroine of the occasion, looked charming, attired in white
with a necklace of pearls, her mother's gift, adorning a throat
scarcely less milky in hue. Her slight form, in its snowy drapery, had
a fairylike prettiness, and her mother might be pardoned if her eyes
sometimes rested upon this fair daughter with looks of pride.
Hilda wore, pinned to her gown, a bunch of Christmas roses and azaleas,
and her delight in these flowers, which Guy had sent her with his
congratulations, was unbounded till she saw that a lovely cluster of
Maréchal Niel roses adorned Aldyth's black lace bodice, and knew that
they also were a gift from Guy. The sight of them caused her a throb
of pain, and with it came a dreadful presentiment that the evening to
which she had looked forward with such eager anticipation was to yield
her only pain and disappointment.
As the evening passed on, Aldyth became aware that Guy was paying
but slight attention to Hilda, whilst, rather to her annoyance,
she found him constantly beside herself. What did it mean? Had any
misunderstanding arisen between him and Hilda? If so, it was a pity,
for Aldyth, who had the sympathetic insight of a loving soul, could
see that Hilda, though she did her best to maintain a gay demeanour,
was not really enjoying herself. She felt certain that she should hear
the truth, sooner or later, from Guy, who was to stay the night at
Miss Lorraine's. Meanwhile she made an attempt to rid herself of his
unwelcome attentions.
"Nonsense, Guy," she said, when he came to ask her hand for a dance.
"I am sure you would rather have Hilda for your partner. Why do you
keep aloof from her to-night, of all nights? Surely you two have not
quarrelled?"
Guy coloured and looked confused.
"I have danced once with Hilda," he said. "Politeness does not require
more."
Aldyth was amazed. Then they must have had a quarrel. But she said no
more, knowing that words are worse than useless in such cases.
There could be no doubt that Kitty was having a good time, and Miss
Lorraine, whose capacity for enjoying such gatherings did not wane with
advancing years, entered into the fun with scarcely less zest. She was
an excellent performer of cheerful music, and she sat at the piano
playing one lively air after another, pausing only to instruct the
young folk as to the manner in which the old country dances should be
executed.
Aldyth was conscious of some wonder that she herself did not find the
evening more enjoyable. She was not over fond of dancing, and she soon
wearied of the heat and bustle. Aldyth had rather a poor opinion of
the young men of Woodburn, and this evening's experience did not raise
it. She felt impatient of the vapid talk of some who engaged her in
conversation, whilst John Glynne remained at a distance. She would have
liked to talk with him, but he apparently had nothing to say to her.
Later in the evening, Aldyth, thoroughly wearied, slipped into the
drawing room. Mrs. Bland welcomed her with a smile. Old Captain Clear,
a retired naval officer, and one of the oldest inhabitants of Woodham,
came across the room to ask her if it were possible that she was
already weary.
She saw John Glynne at the further end of the room, playing at
chess with Mr. Greenwood. As she watched them, he made a move which
checkmated his adversary. Then he rose to make way for another player.
His eyes fell on Aldyth, and he came down the room, as it seemed to
her, with the intention of addressing her. But ere he reached her
side, he suddenly halted, and began to study a Swiss view hanging
on the wall, and at the same moment Aldyth, not without some secret
irritation, heard Guy's voice beside her.
"So here you are at last, Aldyth. I have been hunting for you
everywhere. What made you come in here?"
"I was tired, Guy. I do not wish to be there any longer: All right;
then we'll stay here," he said, and seated himself by her side with an
air of proprietorship which was not lost upon one person present.
Guy thought he was acting his part well that evening. It cost him
something to keep away from Hilda, and he took credit to himself for
thus sacrificing his inclinations. He had received some powerful hints
from his uncle with respect to this party.
Old Stephen Lorraine had suggested that it was Guy's duty to provide
some choice flowers for Aldyth to wear. He was not responsible for the
fact that his suggestion had also conveyed to Guy's mind the idea of a
birthday bouquet for Hilda, for of that he knew nothing.
Guy had been given to understand that his courtship was proceeding too
slowly, and that his uncle would expect to hear something decisive
by the beginning of the New Year. So he was trying to bring himself
to make the necessary sacrifice of his happiness; and, strange to
say, it never occurred to him that he had no right to sacrifice also
the happiness of another, and that the action he contemplated might
possibly have that result.
At midnight the guests began to depart. Mr. Glynne and the Greenwoods
were amongst the first to go; Miss Lorraine, and consequently Aldyth,
stayed to the very end. The elder lady was fresh as a flower and full
of talk to the last. She stood on the doorstep saying good-night to
friends, and Aldyth, just within the hall, was hastily fastening her
fur-lined cloak when Guy detained her.
He had caught a rosebud falling from her gown.
"See, Aldyth, I shall keep this," he said; "it is precious to me since
you have worn it."
"Oh, please don't be ridiculous," said Aldyth, conscious, as he was
not, that Hilda stood within hearing, half-screened by the heavy
curtain that had been drawn across the hall.
But Guy had his back towards the curtain. Having secured the flower, he
laid his hand on Aldyth's cloak, saying, with an air of solicitude, as
he drew it more closely about her, "Are you sure this is enough? It is
a very cold night."
"Oh, really, Guy!" cried Aldyth, making a dash at the door, and then
turning to utter a general "good-night" to those who yet lingered in
the hall. As she did so, she caught sight of Hilda peeping round the
curtain, her face white as her gown, her eyes full of trouble.
"Evidently they have fallen out," she thought; "and Guy, silly fellow,
is trying to make her jealous by devoting himself to me. But how absurd
of Hilda to let it trouble her for a moment!"
And Aldyth walked on quickly, feeling out of humour with Guy.
"Don't be in such a hurry, Aldyth," he said, and made an attempt to
draw her hand within his arm; but Aldyth found that she required both
hands for the management of her gown. "I scarcely ever get you to
myself now."
Aldyth laughed in a way most suitors would have found discouraging.
"We see as much of each other as most cousins do," she said, the next
minute, in the most matter-of-fact tone.
"Do you never think of me except as a cousin?" he asked.
"Why, no," said Aldyth, in as cold a tone as before. "I cannot say that
I do. Why should I?"
"Aldyth," he said, quickly, "it is unkind to answer me so. You must
know that I care very much how you think of me."
She looked at him in amazement; but the light of the clear frosty night
did not enable her to read his face.
"Really, Guy," she said, "don't you think you have carried this
nonsense far enough? Hilda is not here to be piqued by your pretended
devotion to me."
"Pretended devotion! What can make you say that?" said Guy. "I do
not know why you should bring in Hilda's name; it is you I desire to
please. My happiness depends on my winning your love."
"Guy!"
"Why should you be so surprised, Aldyth? You must know that I love you,
and that uncle and every one believes that we shall be married."
"Indeed!" said Aldyth, in a strange hard tone. "How long has it been
so, I wonder? Was it uncle suggested the idea to you, Guy?"
"What do you mean, Aldyth? Of course it is my own wish."
"Oh, it is satisfactory to know that," replied Aldyth in a cold tone,
not without a touch of sarcasm. "But uncle has spoken to you on the
subject?"
"Why, yes, he has," answered Guy, at a loss what to say. "He told me
how much he wished it."
"And it is at his dictation that you honour me with this expression of
his and your wish?" persisted Aldyth.
"Well, yes—no—I should not put it in that way," faltered Guy; "I wish
it very much indeed, Aldyth."
"I dare say," replied his cousin, coldly. "Uncle has a way of making
other people's wishes concur with his own. But, Guy, I should have
thought you would have been too manly to yield to him in such a matter
as this. Perhaps you think there is no harm in asking a woman to marry
you whom you do not love; but I can tell you, I look on the words you
have spoken to me to-night as little less than an insult."
"An insult! Aldyth, what a word to use! And I do love you; you know I
do."
"As a cousin, perhaps; but not as a husband should love his wife. Guy,
do you think I have been blind to all that has been going on between
you and Hilda Bland? Do you suppose I cannot see that her society has
more attraction for you than mine?"
For a moment Guy was at a loss how to reply. He was confused and
irritated under the consciousness that Aldyth understood him too well.
He had hoped that she would reject him, yet now that she did so, he was
vividly conscious of the annoying consequences that must ensue for him,
and felt an obstinate desire to change her mind.
"You need not be jealous of Hilda," he began, but Aldyth checked him
indignantly.
"How can you say such a thing? I 'jealous of Hilda,' indeed! You
mistake me utterly if you think I could entertain such a feeling for a
moment."
"Then I hope you will believe how much I care for you, and say that you
will be my wife. Nothing would please uncle more; he told me to tell
you so."
"As if that could make any difference," said Aldyth, impatiently.
"But you have always been anxious to please uncle," remarked Guy,
feebly. "You gave up the lectures at his wish."
"Do you think the cases are parallel?" asked Aldyth, with scorn in her
tone. "I will endeavour to please uncle in all that is right; but I
will not do wrong for the sake of him or any one, and I should be doing
a great wrong if I consented to marry you, feeling towards you as I do."
"You cannot love me?"
"Not in that way, certainly," replied Aldyth. "Please say no more about
it, Guy. It is quite out of the question."
"Uncle will be very angry," said Guy.
"Let him be angry," said Aldyth, warmly. "And, Guy whatever you do,
never try to make love to me again."
They were at the gate. Miss Lorraine stood at the open door looking for
them. They hurried up the path and went inside. Guy lingered in the
hall, divesting himself of his overcoat. Aldyth lighted her bedroom
candle at once.
"You must be tired, auntie," she said; "we will talk it over
to-morrow—good-night, Guy."
And she went up stairs without saying snore.
A bright little fire had been kindled in her room. Aldyth threw off
her cloak and sat down before the fire. Her mind was in a confusion
of shame and indignation, and a pain she could not understand. It was
horrid of Guy to say what he had. He might have known better. Her face
burned as she thought of the indignity she had received. She felt
keenly annoyed both with Guy and with her great-uncle.
"But it can never be," she said to herself. "Uncle cannot settle that
for me. Thank God, no one can force me into a marriage. Marry Guy!
Never! I would rather die! Nothing shall make me marry a man I cannot
love and reverence. I will content myself with no union that falls
short of my ideal of what marriage should be. Rather than that I will
remain single all my life. I am not afraid of being an old maid like
auntie. Hers is by no means an unhappy life."
Here Aldyth's eyes, looking upwards, met the glance of her mother
looking down on her from the portrait on the mantelshelf. The next
minute a mist of tears dimmed Aldyth's vision.
"If only she were here, I could tell her," she murmured. "I shrink from
speaking of it to auntie, but to mother it would be so different. I
know she would feel as I do about it. One can always be sure of one's
mother."