“FROM GRAVE TO GAY; FROM LIVELY TO SEVERE.”
“Every door is barred with gold,
And opens but to golden keys.”--TENNYSON.
We have left Miss Kingsley out of our pages for some time because more
prominent characters engaged our attention; but let us follow her now
as she daintily wends her way to call on her cousin. It is but seldom
she ventures into that obscure locality, for since Essex has squandered
all his money and moved into “a box with four rooms,” society ignores
both him and his wife, and the Kingsleys in some sort follow its
example. At least she tells Vivian that she would like to come and see
her oftener, but she has so little time for “visiting outside of her
own set.”
To-day Eve treads metaphorically on air. It is a few months after the
death of Judge Leigh, a bright, cool morning in September, and Eve,
in her stylish black silk costume, looks very bright and happy as she
sweeps over little Charlie and his kitten on the narrow threshold of
the open door. Vivian, who is writing at a little desk, rises at her
entrance, pushing some sheets of paper into it, and cordially greets
her cousin.
“How thin you are, Viva. You have broken mightily since you married,”
ejaculates Eve.
“The moral is, never get married, Eve,” Mrs. Essex answers smiling.
“The moral of a story is what no one ever reads,” Eve replies in the
same light tone. “Precedent and example are lost upon humanity. No
one ever believes that he will come to the same doleful end as his
neighbor.”
She pulls off her dark kid glove, and holds up a very white hand
adorned with a flashing diamond, while she adds proudly:
“Your moral comes too late to profit me, for I have come to invite you
to my wedding, _chere cousine_.”
Eve’s look and tone of exquisite self-satisfaction awake a feeling of
mirth even in Viva’s sad heart. She wonders what Charlton will say when
he hears that Eve’s “husband-hunting” has been awarded at last. But she
says sweetly:
“I wish you much happiness, Eve.”
“Thank you, dear. And you will come to my wedding? It is one week from
to-day. And only think, Viva! It seems so odd, but I shall go as a
bride to that very house on Grace street that was once yours. I shall
set up housekeeping in style, I assure you, when my reign begins.”
Vivian gives a start of surprise.
“Do you mean that you are to marry Monsieur Orne? I thought you hated
each other.”
“We did--at first. But I made a dead set at him, all the same. I
couldn’t afford to lose such a catch for the sake of a little personal
aversion. It has been a long siege, as Charlton would say, but I have
won at last. And I shall be rolling in riches--even grander than vain
Diana.”
So she rattles on, and Vivian listens in silent amusement, not unmixed
with scorn.
“I hope Charlton is well, Viva? How does he bear his loss of fortune?”
inquires Eve, with concealed malice.
She hates Charlton Leigh, and is delighted at his poverty.
“He is well--the same indifferent Charlton of old.”
“And your husband, Viva? I hear--is it true--that he has reformed and
signed a temperance pledge.”
“It is true,” Viva replies gladly. She takes it out of her Bible, and
shows it to Eve. “I keep it right here, where I can look at it often
and assure myself of its reality, for it seems almost too good to be
true.”
“I am glad, for your sake, Viva,” Eve cries cordially. “Well, I must be
going back to mother,” rising.
“Don’t hurry. How is Diana now?”
“She seldom writes. Always the laziest and most selfish of mortals,
you know. Her life is spent in dressing and lounging, and drinking a
good deal of old Shelton’s good wine, and in rating him because he
will not buy a town residence. She hasn’t spared snubbing me since she
married old Shelton’s money, but I’ll queen it over her when I set up
housekeeping on Grace street.”
“Eve, I wonder if you are half as bad a girl as you make yourself out
to be,” her cousin says, gravely regarding her. “I thought once when I
had pneumonia, you know, and you nursed me so faithfully, that there
was more good in you than you ever expressed in your talk.”
“My bark is worse than my bite, you mean,” a strange look, half
sadness, half remorse, crosses her face. “You were mistaken, you simple
child, I am worse even then I pretend to be, much worse. Of course I
put the best foot foremost, but secretly I am heartless and selfish. If
any fair flowers ever grew in the garden of my soul they were choked
out long ago by noisome weeds. It might have been different once,
but----” She stops abruptly, and little Charlie, who has been leaning
against her knee, looking up into her face, lisps in his childish voice:
“Once?”
She takes the little expectant face in her white hands, and regards it
intently.
“Yes, once,” she goes on, with a sarcastic laugh; “once I had heart and
soul enough to have made a better girl than I am, but--I fell in love.
Curious wasn’t it, Viva? and I could have easily turned the other way.
Well, the man flirted with me in a lazy, graceful way; then, just as I
began to think it in earnest, he threw me over. That changed me into a
devil. Go away, Charlie, to your mamma. You look at me like Charlton,
and--I hate Charlton.”
She again rises, and stops abruptly before a small photograph of Musa
Van Dysart hanging against the wall.
“Poor, dear Musa! we used to be fond of each other once,” she murmurs
sadly. “Oh, how dreadful it was, that wreck. ‘But it’s an ill wind that
blows nobody good.’ I guess Doctor Verne thinks so.”
“Doctor Verne?” falters Viva.
“Why, yes--Doctor Max Verne. Don’t you know he is sole heir to his
uncle’s property? They say he is coming home directly to step into the
property. A lucky thing for him.”
“I don’t believe Max thinks so,” Vivian breaks out warmly. “He loved
his uncle dearly.”
“Of course. And he ought to love his memory very dearly, now that he
has come into such a fine property,” the visitor answers coolly, and
with a parting admonition not to forget to come to her wedding Eve
sails away, the incarnation of selfishness and gratified pride.