ANNOUNCING MR. BAROLD.
Lady Theobald's invited guests sat in the faded blue drawing-room,
waiting. Everybody had been unusually prompt, perhaps because
everybody wished to be on the ground in time to see Miss Octavia
Bassett make her entrance.
"I should think it would be rather a trial, even to such a girl as she is
said to be," remarked one matron.
"It is but natural that she should feel that Lady Theobald will regard
her rather critically, and that she should know that American manners
will hardly be the thing for a genteel and conservative English country
town."
"We saw her a few days ago," said Lucia, who chanced to hear this
speech, "and she is very pretty. I think I never saw any one so very
pretty before."
"But in quite a theatrical way, I think, my dear," the matron replied, in
a tone of gentle correction.
"I have seen so very few theatrical people," Lucia answered sweetly,
"that I scarcely know what the theatrical way is, dear Mrs. Burnham. Her
dress was very beautiful, and not like what we wear in Slowbridge; but
she seemed to me to be very bright and pretty, in a way quite new to me,
and so just a little odd."
"I have heard that her dress is most extravagant and wasteful," put in
Miss Pilcher, whose educational position entitled her to the
condescending respect of her patronesses. "She has lace on her morning
gowns, which"--
"Miss Bassett and Miss Octavia Bassett," announced Dobson, throwing
open the door.
Lady Theobald rose from her seat. A slight rustle made itself heard
through the company, as the ladies all turned toward the entrance; and,
after they had so turned, there were evidences of a positive thrill.
Before the eyes of all, Belinda Bassett advanced with rich ruffles of
Mechlin at her neck and wrists, with a delicate and distinctly novel cap
upon her head, her niece following her with an unabashed face, twenty
pounds' worth of lace on her dress, and unmistakable diamonds in her
little ears.
"There is not a _shadow_ of timidity about her," cried Mrs. Burnham under
her breath. "This is actual boldness."
But this was a very severe term to use, notwithstanding that it was born
of righteous indignation. It was not boldness at all: it was only the
serenity of a young person who was quite unconscious that there was any
thing to fear in the rather unimposing party before her. Octavia was
accustomed to entering rooms full of strangers. She had spent several
years of her life in hotels, where she had been stared out of countenance
by a few score new people every day. She was even used to being, in some
sort, a young person of note. It was nothing unusual for her to know that
she was being pointed out. "That pretty blonde," she often heard it said,
"is Martin Bassett's daughter: sharp fellow, Bassett,--and lucky fellow
too; more money than he can count."
So she was not at all frightened when she walked in behind Miss Belinda.
She glanced about her cheerfully, and, catching sight of Lucia, smiled at
her as she advanced up the room. The call of state Lady Theobald had made
with her grand-daughter had been a very brief one; but Octavia had taken
a decided fancy to Lucia, and was glad to see her again.
"I am glad to see you, Belinda," said her ladyship, shaking hands. "And
you also, Miss Octavia."
"Thank you," responded Octavia.
"You are very kind," Miss Belinda murmured gratefully.
"I hope you are both well?" said Lady Theobald with majestic
condescension, and in tones to be heard all over the room.
"Quite well, thank you," murmured Miss Belinda again. "_Very_ well
indeed;" rather as if this fortunate state of affairs was the result of
her ladyship's kind intervention with the fates.
She felt terribly conscious of being the centre of observation, and
rather overpowered by the novelty of her attire, which was plainly
creating a sensation. Octavia, however, who was far more looked at, was
entirely oblivious of the painful prominence of her position. She
remained standing in the middle of the room, talking to Lucia, who had
approached to greet her. She was so much taller than Lucia, that she
looked very tall indeed by contrast, and also very wonderfully dressed.
Lucia's white muslin was one of Miss Chickie's fifteen, and was, in a
"genteel" way, very suggestive of Slowbridge. Suspended from Octavia's
waist by a long loop of the embroidered ribbon, was a little round fan,
of downy pale-blue feathers, and with this she played as she talked; but
Lucia, having nothing to play with, could only stand with her little
hands hanging at her sides.
"I have never been to an afternoon tea like this before," Octavia said.
"It is nothing like a kettle-drum."
"I am not sure that I know what a kettle-drum is," Lucia answered. "They
have them in London, I think; but I have never been to London."
"They have them in New York," said Octavia; "and they are a crowded sort
of afternoon parties, where ladies go in carriage-toilet, not evening
dress. People are rushing in and out all the time."
Lucia glanced around the room and smiled.
"That is very unlike this," she remarked.
"Well," said Octavia, "I should think that, after all, this might be
nicer."
Which was very civil.
Lucia glanced around again--this time rather stealthily--at Lady
Theobald. Then she glanced back at Octavia.
"But it isn't," she said, in an undertone.
Octavia began to laugh. They were on a new and familiar footing from
that moment.
"I said 'it might,'" she answered.
She was not afraid, any longer, of finding the evening stupid. If there
were no young men, there was at least a young woman who was in sympathy
with her. She said,--
"I hope that I shall behave myself pretty well, and do the things I am
expected to do."
"Oh!" said Lucia, with a rather alarmed expression, "I hope so. I--I am
afraid you would not be comfortable if you didn't."
Octavia opened her eyes, as she often did at Miss Belinda's remarks, and
then suddenly she began to laugh again.
"What would they do?" she said disrespectfully. "Would they turn me out,
without giving me any tea?"
Lucia looked still more frightened.
"Don't let them see you laughing," she said. "They--they will say you
are giddy."
"Giddy!" replied Octavia. "I don't think there is any thing to make me
giddy here."
"If they say you are giddy," said Lucia, "your fate will be sealed; and,
if you are to stay here, it really will be better to try to please them
a little."
Octavia reflected a moment.
"I don't mean to _dis_please them," she said, "unless they are very
easily displeased. I suppose I don't think very much about what people
are saying of me. I don't seem to notice."
"Will you come now and let me introduce Miss Egerton and her sister?"
suggested Lucia hurriedly. "Grandmamma is looking at us."
In the innocence of her heart Octavia glanced at Lady Theobald, and
saw that she was looking at them, and with a disapproving air. "I
wonder what that's for?" she said to herself; but she followed Lucia
across the room.
She made the acquaintance of the Misses Egerton, who seemed rather
fluttered, and, after the first exchange of civilities, subsided into
monosyllables and attentive stares. They were, indeed, very anxious to
hear Octavia converse, but had not the courage to attempt to draw her
out, unless a sudden query of Miss Lydia's could be considered such an
attempt.
"Do you like England?" she asked.
"Is this England?" inquired Octavia.
"It is a part of England, of course," replied the young lady, with calm
literalness.
"Then, of course, I like it very much," said Octavia, slightly waving her
fan and smiling.
Miss Lydia Egerton and Miss Violet Egerton each regarded her in dubious
silence for a moment. They did not think she looked as if she were
"clever;" but the speech sounded to both as if she were, and as if she
meant to be clever a little at their expense.
Naturally, after that they felt slightly uncomfortable, and said less
than before; and conversation lagged to such an extent that Octavia was
not sorry when tea was announced.
And it so happened that tea was not the only thing announced. The ladies
had all just risen from their seats with a gentle rustle, and Lady
Theobald was moving forward to marshal her procession into the
dining-room, when Dobson appeared at the door again.
"Mr. Barold, my lady," he said, "and Mr. Burmistone."
Everybody glanced first at the door, and then at Lady Theobald. Mr.
Francis Barold crossed the threshold, followed by the tall,
square-shouldered builder of mills, who was a strong, handsome man, and
bore himself very well, not seeming to mind at all the numerous eyes
fixed upon him.
"I did not know," said Barold, "that we should find you had guests. Beg
pardon, I'm sure, and so does Burmistone, whom I had the pleasure of
meeting at Broadoaks, and who was good enough to invite me to return with
him." Lady Theobald extended her hand to the gentleman specified.
"I am glad," she said rigidly, "to see Mr. Burmistone."
Then she turned to Barold.
"This is very fortunate," she announced. "We are just going in to take
tea, in which I hope you will join us. Lucia"--
Mr. Francis Barold naturally turned, as her ladyship uttered her
granddaughter's name in a tone of command. It may be supposed that his
first intention in turning was to look at Lucia; but he had scarcely done
so, when his attention was attracted by the figure nearest to her,--the
figure of a young lady, who was playing with a little blue fan, and
smiling at him brilliantly and unmistakably.
The next moment he was standing at Octavia Bassett's side, looking rather
pleased, and the blood of Slowbridge was congealing, as the significance
of the situation was realized.
One instant of breathless--of awful--suspense, and her ladyship
recovered herself.
"We will go in to tea," she said. "May I ask you, Mr. Burmistone, to
accompany Miss Pilcher?"