WHAT THE GIRLS SAID.
Kate's little party, out on the dry, bright yellow leaves, gay with
early flowers, under the grand old maples, elms and beeches, in the
warm sun, came and went, with laughter and light hearts. If it could
be reproduced with its lights, and colors, and voices, what a bright
little picture and resting-place it would be, in this sombre-colored
annal! I am sad for poor Bart, and I cannot sketch it.
The young lawyers had been there, seen, talked to, got acquainted
with, were looked up to, deferred to, admired and flirted with, and
had gone, leaving themselves to be talked about.
Two young girls, amid the fading light, with the rich warm blood of
young womanhood in their cheeks, and its latent emotions sending a
softened light into their eyes, with their arms about each other's
waists, were pensively walking out of the dusky woods to the open
fields, with a little ripple and murmur of voices, like the liquid
pearls of a brook.
They had been speaking of the young lawyers. "And these two," said
Julia, "are some of those who are to go out and shape and mould and
govern. I am glad to have seen them, and hear them talk."
"Do you think these are to be leading men?" asked Flora Walters.
"I presume so. It is generally conceded that Henry Ridgeley is a young
man of ability; and I don't think any one could be long in the company
of Mr. Ranney without feeling that he is no ordinary man. Indeed,
Henry said that he was destined to a distinguished career."
"Well, now to me they were both a little heavy and commonplace.
Mr. Ridgeley was easy and gentlemanly; Mr. Ranney a little shy and
awkward. I've no doubt one would come to like either of them, when one
came to know him."
"Oh, Flora! the beauty of a man is strength and courage, and power and
will and ability. When one comes to see these, the outside passes out
of sight."
"Do you think that absolute ugliness could be overcome in that way?"
"Yes, even deformity. I should be taken even by beauty, in a man,
and should expect conforming beauty of heart and soul. Do you know, I
sometimes half feel that I would like to be a man?"
"You, Julia! with your wealth, beauty and friends, who may, where you
will, look and choose?"
"Yes, I, as much as you flatter me. I can feel the ambition of a
young man; and were I one, how gladly would I put the world and its
emptiness from me, and nurse and feed my soul and brain with the
thoughts and souls of other men, till I was strong and great; and
then, from my obscurity, I would come forth and take my place in the
lead;" and her great eyes flashed.
"If you are ambitious, you have but to wait until the leading spirit
comes. What a help you would be to him!"
"He might never come, or I might not know him when--"
"Or you would not love him, if you did know him."
"He might not love me; or, if he did, I might drive him away. But that
is not what was in my mind, although a woman must be ambitious through
another. To be one of these young men, to know their minds, to feel
their hopes and ambitions, and struggle with and against them, for the
places, the honors and leaderships!"
"And would you never love and wed, woo and marry?"
"Yes; and I would like to see the woman who would scorn me. I would
take her as mine, and she should not choose but love me!"
"Why, Julia! who would think that you, sweet and deep as you are,
could say such things! Would you like to be wooed in that way?"
"I never came to that. I am only a woman without aim in life. I am
only to float along between flowery banks, until somebody fishes me
out, I suppose!"
"I am sure, were I you, I could well float on until the right man
came; and you, Julia, it is your own fault if you do not marry for
love. You will not be obliged to consult anything else."
"And you?" said Julia, laughing.
"I? oh! I am dependent on my brother, you know."
"Yes, and there comes in the hardship; were you a man, you could go
out and make and choose. Now, a daughter remains where her father and
mother leave her. The sons may rise, the daughters stay below, and if
sought for, it is usually in the same channels in which the parents
move, and that is the hardship of those who, unlike you, are on a
lower plane, or who, like you, have no father and mother to sustain
them in their proper place. If you could win wealth, you would only
marry for love; and I am sure you will do so now."
"A woman who wins fortune usually loses the capacity to win love, I
fear," said Flora.
"And the woman who wins nothing deserves nothing," said Julia. "I am
a little like my mother, I presume; but who would win you, and how, I
wonder?"
"Oh," answered Flora, "I suppose the man who really and truly loved
me. I would like to have him come, as the breeze comes, with the odor
of flowers, as the spring comes, with music and song, with all sweet
and gentle influences, with beauty and grace; but he must not be
effeminate."
"He would have to be a good waltzer, I presume?"
"Would that be an objection?" asked Flora.
"No; but a man who excels in these light accomplishments may fail in
the stronger qualities. I admit that beauty and grace would go a great
way, if one could have them also."
"Julia, were I you, I would have them all."
"Girls, what are you loitering along there for? Talking over the young
lawyers, I'll bet; who takes which?" called back Kate, impetuously; "I
don't want either."
* * * * *
All the afternoon long, Bart was sad and silent, and spite of himself,
his thoughts would hover about that bright place in the maple woods,
sweet with one face of indescribable beauty; one form, one low,
many-toned voice which haunted--would haunt him.
He came in to a latish supper, with a grave face. The spring was not
in his step; the ring was not in his voice, or the sparkle in his
words.
The two guests were in high spirits, and talked gushingly of the young
ladies they had met, and they wondered that it did not provoke even a
sarcasm from him.
"It would compensate you for not going," said Ranney, kindly, "if we
were to tell you what was said of you in your absence."
"And who said it," added Henry. Not a word, nor a look even.
"One might be willing to be called a genius, for such words, and from
such a young lady," ventured Ranney.
"I am not sure but that I would even venture upon poetry, under such
inspiration," said Henry.
To the youth these remarks sounded like sarcasm, and he felt too poor
even to retort.
"Oh, boys!" finally said Bart, "it is good exercise for us all;
_persiflage_ is not your 'best holt,' as the wrestlers would say,
and you need practice, while I want to accustom myself to irony and
sarcasm without replying. If by any possibility you can, between
you, get off a good thing at my expense, it would confer a lasting
obligation; but I don't expect it."
"Upon my word--" began Ranney.
"We all speak kindly of our own dead," said Bart, "and should hardly
expect the dead to hear what we said. Mother said you had determined
to leave us in the morning;" to Ranney--"Our brother the Major will be
home in the morning, and would be glad to make your acquaintance, and
show you some attention." And so he escaped.
When Ranney took leave the next morning, he kindly remarked to Bart
that he would at any time find a place in his office, and should have
his best endeavor to advance his studies. It was sincere, and that was
one of the charms of his character. Bart was pleased with it, and it
almost compensated for the unintentional wounds of the night before.