VERY GOOD LUCK.
Mieux vaut une once de fortune qu'une livre de sagesse.
At last (on the day on which Richard had advertised me she was coming,)
the door was opened, and some one was taken to the parlor. Then old
Peter rang a bell which stood on the hall table, and called out to Ann
Coddle (once my nurse, now the seamstress, chambermaid, and general
lightener of his toils), to tell Miss Pauline a lady wanted her.
This bell was to save his old bones; he never went up-stairs, and he
resented every visitor as an innovation. They were so few, his temper
was not much tried. I was leaning over the stairs when the bell rang,
and did not need a second message. Ann, who continued to feel a care for
my personal appearance, followed me to the landing-place and gave my
sash a last pull.
When I found myself in the parlor I began to experience a little
embarrassment. Mrs. Hollenbeck was so pretty and her dress was so
dainty, the dingy, stiff, old parlor filled me with dismay. Fortunately,
I did not think much of myself or my own dress. But after a little, she
put me at ease, that is, drew me out and made me feel like talking
to her.
I admired her very much, but I did not feel any of the affection and
quick cordiality with which Richard had inspired me. I could tell that
she was curious about me, and was watching me attentively, and though
she was so charming that I felt flattered by her interest, I was not
pleased when I remembered my interview with her.
"You are not at all like your brother," I said, glancing in her face
with frankness.
"No?" she said smilingly, and looking attentively at me with an
expression which I did not understand.
And then she drew me on to speak of all his features, which I did with
the utmost candor, showing great knowledge of the subject.
"And you," she said, "you do not look at all as I supposed. You are not
nearly so young--Richard told me you were quite a child. I was not
prepared for this grace; this young ladyhood--'cette taille de
palmier,'" she added, with a little sweep of the hand.
Somehow I was not pleased to feel that Richard had talked of me to her,
though I liked it that he had talked of her to me. No doubt she saw it,
for I was lamentably transparent. "Do you lead a quiet life, or have you
many friends?" she said, as if she did not know exactly the kind of
life I led, and as if she had not come for the express purpose of
helping me out of it, at the instance of her kindly brother. Then, of
course, I told her all about my dull days, and she pitied me, and said
lightly it must not be, and I must see more of the world, and she, for
her part, must know me better, etc., etc. And then she went away.
In a few days, I went with Ann Coddle, in a carriage, to return the
visit. The house was small, but in a beautiful, bright street, and the
one window near the door was full of ferns and ivies. I did not get in,
which was a disappointment to me, particularly as I had no printed card,
and realized keenly all the ignominy of leaving one in writing. This was
in April, and I saw no more of my new friend. Richard was away, on some
business of the firm, and the days were very dull indeed.
In May he came back, and resumed the dinners, and the evenings in the
parlor, though not quite with the frequency of the past winter,--and I
think there was the least shade of constraint in his manner. It was on
one of these May days that he came and took me to the Park. It was a
great occasion; I had never been so happy before in my life. I was in
great doubt about taking Ann Coddle; never having been out of the house
without a person of that description in attendance before. But Ann got
a suspicion of my doubt and settled it, to go--of course. I think
Richard was rather chagrined when she followed us out to get into the
carriage; she was so dried-up and shrewish-looking, and wore such an
Irish bonnet. But she preserved a discreet silence, and looked
steadfastly out of the carriage window, so we soon forgot that she was
there, though she was directly opposite to us. It was Saturday; the day
was fresh and lovely, and there were crowds of people driving in the
Park. Once we left the carriage with Ann Coddle in it, and went to hear
the music. It was while we were sitting for a few moments under the
vines to listen to it, and watch the gay groups of people around us,
that a carriage passed within a dozen feet, and a lady leaned out and
bowed with smiles.
"Why, see--it is your sister!" I exclaimed, with the vivacity of a
person of a very limited acquaintance.
"Ah," he said, and raised his hat carelessly. But I saw he was not
pleased; he pushed the end of his moustache into his mouth, and bit it,
as he always did when out of humor, and very soon proposed we should go
back and find the carriage. It was not long, however, before he
recovered from this annoyance, as he had from the unexpected pleasure of
Ann's company; and, I am sure, was as sorry as I when it was time to go
home to dinner.
He stayed and dined with us; another gentleman had come home with my
uncle, who talked well and amused us very much. I was excited and in
high spirits; altogether, it was a very happy day.
It was more than a week after this, that the invitation came which
turned the world upside down at once, and made me most extravagantly
happy. It was from Mrs. Hollenbeck, and I was asked to spend part of
June and all of July and August, with them at R----.
At R---- was their old family home, a place of very little pretension,
but to which they were much attached. When the father died, five years
before, the two sons had bought the place, or rather had taken it as
their share, turning over the more productive property to their sister.
They had been very reluctant to close the house, and it was decided that
Sophie should go there every summer, and take her servants from the
city; the expenses of the place being borne by the two young men. They
were very well able to do it, as both were successful in business, and
keeping open the old home, with no diminution of the hospitality of
their father's time, was perhaps the greatest pleasure that they had.
It was an arrangement which suited Sophie admirably. It gave her the
opportunity to entertain pleasantly and informally; it was a capital
summer-home for her two boys; it was in the centre of an agreeable
neighborhood; and above all, it gave her yearly-exhausted purse time to
recuperate and swell again before the winter's drain. Of course she
loved the place, too, but not with the simple affection that her two
brothers did. The young men invited their friends there without
restriction, as was to be supposed; and Sophie was a gay and agreeable
hostess. No one could have made the house pleasanter than she did; and
she left nothing undone to gratify her brothers' tastes and wishes, like
a wise and prudent woman as she was.
I did not know all this then, or my invitation might not have
overwhelmed me with such gratitude to her. I reproached myself for not
having loved her the first time I saw her.
Three months! Three happy months in the country! I could hardly believe
it possible such a thing had happened to me. I took the note to my uncle
without much fear of his opposition, for he rarely opposed anything that
I had the courage to ask him, except going in the street alone. (I
believe my mother had made a runaway match, and I think he had faith in
inherited traits; his one resolution regarding me must have been, not to
give me a chance.) He read the note carefully, and then looked me over
with more interest than usual, and told me I might go. Afterward he gave
me a roll of bills, and told me to come to him for more money, if I
needed it.
I was much excited about my clothes. I could not think that anything was
good enough to go to R----; and I am afraid I spent a good deal of my
uncle's money. Ann Coddle and the cook thought that my dresses were
magnificent, and old Peter groaned over the coming of the packages. I
had indeed a wardrobe fit for a young princess, and in very good taste
besides, because I was born with that. An inheritance, no doubt. And my
uncle never complained at all about the bills. I seemed to have become,
in some way, a person of considerable importance in the house. Ann
Coddle no more fretted at me, but waited on me with alacrity. The cook
ceased to bully me, and on the contrary, flattered me outrageously. I
remembered the long years of bullying, and put no faith in her
assurances. I did not know exactly why this change had happened, but
supposed it might be the result of having become a young lady, and being
invited to pay visits.