A YACHTING PARTY.
"Broken friendship may be soldered, but never made sound."
--German Proverb.
Out over the clear blue waters come floating sweetly the music of the
band on board of Her Majesty's flag ship, the "Keepsake." Since five
o'clock the war ship's dainty boats had been plying to and fro between
the shore and the steamer, laden with gaily attired guests, for there
was a dance being given on board by the officers. The little luxurious
yacht, belonging to the Hon. Jeremiah Hopkins, anchored not many yards
from the steamer, was left to itself, save for the crew and servants,
for the Hon. Jeremiah and his guests were all over attending the
gorgeous entertainment provided by the "Keepsake." A bright-hued awning
covered the deck where dancing was enjoyed. The whole vessel had a gay
holiday appearance; then everything was so spotlessly clean, why one
could eat one's dinner off the very decks.
Mrs. St. James is here, looking superb. Her husband never accompanies
his clever wife; she was much younger than he. Another thing, he was too
much engrossed with his busy business life to care for gaieties; so he
left her to go her own way, enjoy herself after her own fashion, nor
ever complained if his dream of having a cosy home, with a bright
pleasant companion to discuss his affairs with, and be his household
fairy, had vanished. It certainly was nonsense to fancy such a life for
Arial. Why, she was a mere child when he married her; she was of the
world, worldly. So Mr. St. James kept his own counsel, his temper and
his tongue. She is now standing by the railing, watching the little
waves lapping against the ship's side. She is laughing too, in that lazy
fashion so peculiarly her own, while the pretty boyish looking fellow at
her side thinks that if ever he had a friend in the world, to whom he
would confide his secrets, that woman is Mrs. St. James. No one knew
exactly who Ned Crane was; he had no friends or relatives; at least no
one knew if he had any. He was a young bank clerk. Mrs. St. James was
very proud of him, made a pet of him, while Mr. St. James liked the boy,
and said "the lad would make a fine man if he lived." Every one liked
him, for he was a jolly good fellow, beloved by one and all, as all
sunny-dispositioned persons are, welcomed everywhere for the pleasant
brightness their presence throws around.
"Do introduce me, Mrs. St. James. I will do any thing for you if you
will. Come, before the next band."
Mrs. St. James does not reply, but the lazy smile leaves her perfect
face, as she looks into the boy's dark, earnest eyes. Arial has good
places in her character. She pities the young man at her side; it will
not be without an effort, to save him further pain, that she refuses to
do as he asks.
"Look here, Ned," she says gently, "why do you wish to know this Miss
Litchfield? There are lots of the girls here whom you know; it is more
than probable were you to ask for a dance she would refuse you, on the
ground that all her dances are promised; so it would only be another
case of the 'moth and the candle.' See, there is Florrie Silverstone
just over there, waiting for you to ask her. Ah! Gordon, you promised to
show me over the vessel; shall we go?" and Mrs. St. James places her
dainty hand on Gordon Aubrey's arm, calls Rea to join them, and turns
away.
"Well! of all the cool acts I ever heard of, that was done the neatest."
Ned looks after the retreating trio with a comical mixture of amusement
and vexation. Then he sees Jerry Hopkins, and when Mrs. St. James
returns to dance her promised waltz with a lieutenant of the flagship,
who had gone down without a struggle before her charms, she glances
across the deck, while a look--is it displeasure, or what?--crosses her
face, for what she sees is Ned Crane pacing to and fro, and beside him,
in a marvel of a white lace dress, is Dolores Litchfield. She has
removed her white lace and satin hat, and Ned, looking too utterly happy
for anything, is carefully holding a huge white lace parasol above her
pretty dark head. Arial St. James never loses her temper at trifles; if
Ned will be so headstrong, to get himself into scrapes, he will have to
get out again the best way he can. However, she goes over, with her
prettiest smile, and taps Dolores on the shoulder with her fan.
"Can it be possible, Miss Litchfield, that you have forgotten me?"
Dolores starts, turns pale, then a hot, burning blush dyes her smooth
young cheek. It is very evident Mrs. St. James and Miss Litchfield are
not entire strangers to each other. Ned Crane, standing there, never
remembers having felt so guilty ever in his life before; not that there
was any reason for feeling so, but it was decidedly annoying to have
Mrs. St. James lift her large blue eyes to his face, with a look that
said so plainly, "You know her in spite of me, don't you?" Then the pink
flush leaves Dolores' pretty face, and she looks Arial straight in the
eyes.
"Yes, Mrs. St. James, I remember you perfectly. Our past knowledge of
each other could scarcely allow of my forgetting you. As for your
recognizing me, to be candid, I never dreamed you would do so."
For once Mrs. St. James almost loses her presence of mind. She looks as
if it would do her good to shake the girl standing before her, looking
so beautiful and defiant.
"Why should I not recognise you, Dolores? You will allow me to call you
so still, will you not?"
Dolores' heart beats under the pretty lace dress almost to suffocation,
the deeply hidden fiery blood inherited from her Southern mother, up to
this moment had slumbered; now it broke forth.
"Mrs. St. James, I allow no one, only my friends, to call me by my
Christian name. If you consider yourself my friend, I think otherwise.
Had I treated you as basely as you have done me, who never harmed you
knowingly, would you consider me other than the deadliest enemy? No! you
shall not call me Dolores, never, never again."
Dolores stamps her little slippered foot with decision; she is trembling
with passion. Surely something has touched quiet, lazy, languid, sweet
Dolores very deeply, to arouse such a tirade of passion and feeling.
Mrs. St. James laughs lightly.
"Ah, you have not forgiven me yet? Well you know, dear," she goes on,
not heeding Dolores' averted face, "you know, dear, what I said was
true. I meant you no harm when I spoke of your mother's nationality. You
would not listen to any explana--"
But Dolores interrupted her.
"You called my mother a negress. You said a man in my father's position
was worse than a fool to marry a penniless negress. Some one said you
were mistaken, that Mr. Litchfield's wife was a Creole; and I heard you,
with my own ears, say there was not a shadow of difference; one was the
same as the other. But," and Dolores comes down from her towering rage
to a wonderfully quiet tone, "I forgive you for all the pain you may
have caused me--you know for whose sake, and the reason why I do
forgive, even though I shall never forget. Will you shake hands with
me?"
Of course no human mortal could bear to refuse to take the girl's
outstretched hand. But Ned Crane was perfectly dumbfounded to see proud,
haughty Arial St. James eagerly clasp Dolores' hand in both her own,
and, can it be possible? yes, there are tears in the large blue eyes
that people say look as if the owner had no feeling.
"Ah, Dolores, you are and have been an angel. My pride makes me forget
sometimes; but I should never quarrel with you, should I, Dolores,
should I?" Mrs. St. James passes her white handkerchief across her eyes.
"We won't talk about it any more," the eldest Miss Litchfield replies.
"Pray don't make yourself miserable; your secret is safe with me."
Then Dolores turns to Ned with a grave, earnest look in her pretty dark
eyes. "I trust you will pardon my unhappy interview with the lady who
has just left us."
And Ned declares that of course he never thought anything about it; then
immediately condemned himself by saying Mrs. St. James was a fiend.
Dolores laughs softly.
"You should never take up the cudgels for other people, Mr. Crane. I did
the same thing myself one time, and found it would not work."
The gong sounds for luncheon, and Gordon Aubrey comes up hurriedly.
"You promised I should take you down, Miss Litchfield. I hope you have
not forgotten."
Gordon forgets, in the excitement of the moment, to adjust the gold
eye-glass, to stare at Mr. Crane as he reluctantly furled Dolores' white
parasol and placed it carefully in her hand.
The dance was a grand success; the officers did all that lay in their
power to make it so; and as the party from the yacht took their
departure, floating dreamily across the smooth moonlit waters, all felt
perfectly contented with the day's pleasure. All but pretty, restless
Rea Severn; her peace of mind was sadly disturbed, and why? Well,
perhaps Dolores Litchfield, sitting there, leaning over the side of the
pretty little row-boat, idly trailing her white fingers in the cool
water, with Gordon Aubrey apparently utterly unconscious of everything
else, sitting beside her, trying to be as entertaining as possible.
Perhaps that had something to do with Rea's coldness to Jerry Hopkins,
who is talking to her now, and who, chatty people say, is not
indifferent to Miss Severn's good looks, or her forty thousand pounds.