A GARDEN PARTY.
The summer had come to its end, to its very last day. Mrs. Hazard
Smatter still lingered at Yellowcoats, notwithstanding the defective
sanitary arrangements and the absence of stimulating mental contact.
Miss Varian had felt considerable mortification that her friend should
know she lived in such an atmosphere, and was always speaking of it
apologetically and as temporarily stagnant. She had however given Mrs.
Varian no rest till she had consented to see that it was her duty to
provide some social entertainment for Mrs. Smatter, something, of
course, inadequate to the mental needs of that lady, but something that
would show her that she was still in the midst of civilized life. A lady
who used familiarly the names that Mrs. Smatter did, could not of course
be dazzled by the doctor or the rector. But she could be made to see
that they had a good many young women who dressed well and several men
who were good style. And there were two painters, and a stray architect
or so, and a composer, staying in the place. These were not much, to
make a show against the minds to which Mrs. Smatter was accustomed, but
they were better than nothing. Therefore, Mrs. Varian must have at least
two headaches, and Missy at least three days' work writing her
invitations and getting up her garden party.
Now, a garden party is a charming thing, when everything is favorable.
All the neighborhood was delighted at the prospect, for invitations to
garden parties were not rife in Yellowcoats, and the Varians' place was
unusually nice for such a thing.
The weather had been close and warm for several days, and the deep shade
of the trees upon the lawn and the cooling ripple of the water beyond
had entered into the picture everyone had drawn of the projected garden
party. But on the morning of that day, a cold east wind set in, and
dashes of rain fell about noon--then the sky grew leaden from having
been gusty and mottled, and though no more rain fell, the wind was as
raw as November, and the chill was something that ate to one's very
marrow. A garden party! the very idea became grotesque. A warming-pan
party, a chimney-corner party, a range, a furnace-party, would all have
been more to the purpose.
But people came, and shivered and looked blue. They huddled together in
the house, where fires were lighted, and gazed out of windows at the
cold water and the dreary lawn. A few daring spirits braved the blast,
and went out to play lawn-tennis and a little feeble archery. But their
courage did not keep them long at it in gauze de Chambery and India
mull. One by one they dropped away and came shaking back into the house.
Mrs. Smatter was quite above being affected by the weather. She expected
to hold high carnival with the painters and the architect, who were of
course presented to her at once. The composer, a grim, dark man, looking
like a Mexican cut-throat, held off. He preferred young women, and did
not care to talk about Wagner out of office hours. The architect was a
mild young person, not at all used to society, and he very soon broke
down. Mrs. Smatter was a little agitated by this, and did not
discriminate between her painters; she talked about the surface muscles
to the landscape man, and about cloud effects to the figure painter.
This confused everybody, and they severally bowed themselves away as
soon as they could, and Mrs. Smatter ever after spoke with great
contempt of the culture of Yellowcoats. She was obliged to content
herself with the doctor and the rector, who did not dare to go away
while she was asking them questions and giving them information, which
she never ceased doing till the entertainment ended.
As to Missy, the whole thing was such a vexation and disappointment she
scarcely knew how to bear it. The bright fires and the flowers, and the
well-ordered entertainment redeemed it somewhat, but it remained a
burlesque upon a garden party, and would never be what it was meant to
be. The people from next door had come--Miss Flora in a new gown, and
the mother all beaming in a bonnet crowned with buttercups; Mr. Andrews
very silent and a trifle awkward. There were too many people to make it
necessary to say many words to them when they came in, and they were
presently scattered among the crowd.
An hour later, Missy, with her cheeks flushed from the talking and the
warm rooms, went out of the summer parlor and across the lawn to a pair
of young people who had been silly enough to stay there till there was
danger of their being made ill by the cold. She had promised an anxious
mamma by the fire to see that her daughter had a shawl or came in, and
had just delivered the message and the shawl and turned away from the
obdurate little idiot, who would not give up her flirtation even to
escape pneumonia, when she saw that Mr. Andrews had followed her.
"It is a very unlucky day for my garden party," she said, as he joined
her. "The sky and the water like ink, and a wind that actually howls."
"I wanted to speak to you a moment," he said, as if he had not noticed
what she was saying. "Will you take cold here for a moment?"
"No," she answered, feeling her cheeks burn.
"This has been an unlucky summer in some ways, Miss Rothermel, but now
it's over; and before we part, I want to say a few words to you."
"Certainly," said Missy, distantly. "I hope you're not going away soon?"
"I've taken passage for the 6th, that is a week from to-day, and I don't
know when we shall return--very possibly not for several years."
There was a pause, while Missy got her voice steady and staggered up
from under the blow.
"I've been unlucky this summer, as I said, and seem to have managed to
give you offense by everything I did."
Now, no woman likes to be told she's not sweet-tempered, even if she
knows she is a spitfire, and this nettled Missy sharply, and steadied
her voice considerably.
"I am sorry," she said, "that you think me so unamiable, but I don't
exactly know why you should think it well to tell me of it."
"I haven't told you that you were unamiable; I have told you that I
hadn't been able to do the thing that pleased you, though Heaven knows
I've tried hard enough."
"It's a pity that I'm such a dragon. Poor little Jay, even, is afraid of
me by this time, isn't he?"
"I don't know about Jay. I'm rather stupid about things, I'm afraid.
Women perplex me very much."
Missy drew the scarf that she had picked up in the hall as she came out,
about her shoulders, and beat her foot upon the gravel as if she were
cold and a trifle tired of Mr. Andrews' sources of perplexity.
"What I wanted to say," he went on, "is, that I thank you always for
what you've been to the children."
"Ah, please," she cried, with a gesture of impatience.
"And that I shall always regret the misstep that I took in bringing my
cousins here. I did it in the hope that it would make it possible for
you to come familiarly to my house and remove all the annoyances from
which you had suffered. I made a mistake, it has all gone wrong. As I
said before, I don't understand your sex, and it is best, I suppose,
that I should give up trying to. Only there are some things that I
should think you might express to a woman as you would to a man. I
desire to say I am sorry to have given pain and annoyance to you all the
time, as I and mine seem to have been the means of doing. I have great
cause to feel grateful to you, and nothing can ever change the high
esteem in which I hold you."
"Thank you very much," said Missy; "not even the opinion of the ladies
of your household?"
Mr. Andrews turned his head away, with a stolid look towards the
lead-colored bay.
"I don't suppose anything will be gained by discussing them," he said.
"No, Mr. Andrews, for I don't like them, and you know when women don't
like each other they are apt to be unreasonable."
Mr. Andrews was silent, and his silence roused a fire of jealousy in his
companion's mind. Why did he not say to her that he despised them, that
he saw through them, that he did not think her prejudice against them in
the least unreasonable?
"We shall get cold if we stay here any longer I'm afraid," she said,
moving slowly forward up the path.
Mr. Andrews walked beside her for a moment without speaking, then he
said very deliberately:
"You have given me much pain, at various times, Miss Rothermel, and a
heavy disappointment, but nothing can ever alter my regard for you. A
man, I suppose, has no right to blame a woman for disliking him; he can
only blame her for misleading him--"
The path from the beach-gate to the house was too short--too short, ah,
by how much! they were already at the steps. Missy glanced up and saw
more than one eager and curious pair of eyes gazing down upon the
tête-à-tête. It was over, it was ended, and Missy, as in a dream, walked
up the steps and into the chattering groups that stood about the summer
parlor. She knew all now--what she had thrown away, what her folly of
jealousy had cost her. The mists of suspicion and passion rolled away,
and she saw all. Many a woman, younger and older, has seen the same, the
miserable, inevitable sight--jealousy dead, and hope along with it.
The cold wind had not taken the flush out of her cheeks; she walked
about the parlors and talked to the guests, and, to her own surprise,
knew their names and what they said to her. Since she had gone out upon
the lawn to take the shawl to the foolish virgin there, the world had
undergone a revolution that made her stagger. Such a strong tide had
borne her chance of happiness away from her, already almost out of
sight, she wondered that she could stand firm and watch it go. What a
babble of voices! How wiry and shrill and imbecile the clanging of
tongues! It was all like a dream. The woman whom she had dreaded,
unmasked and harmless walked before her, a trifler among triflers, a
poor rival indeed. The man whom she had lost stood there silent in a
group of flippant talkers, more worthy and more manly now that he was
beyond her reach. What was the use of regretting? No use. What was the
use of anything? No use.
Miss Rothermel looked uncommonly well, they said to each other driving
home, almost pretty, really, and so young. What could that tête-à-tête
have signified between her and Mr. Andrews? He was evidently out of
spirits. What an odd thing it would be after all if he had really liked
her. There was something queer about it all. Going abroad with his
cousins, however, didn't much look like it. It was a puzzle, and they
gave it up.