WILFORD CAMERON.
The day succeeding Katy Lennox’s return to Silverton was rainy and cold
for the season, the storm extending as far westward as the city of New
York, and making Wilford Cameron shiver as he stepped from the Hudson
River cars into the carriage waiting for him, first greeting pleasantly
the white-gloved driver, who, closing the carriage door, mounted to his
seat and drove his handsome bays in the direction of No. —— Fifth
Avenue. And Wilford, leaning back among the cushions, thought how
pleasant it was to be home again, feeling glad, as he frequently did,
that the home was in every particular unexceptionable. The Camerons, he
knew, were an old and highly respectable family, while it was his
mother’s pride that, go back as far as one might, on either side there
could not be found a single blemish, or a member of whom to be ashamed.
On the Cameron side there were millionaires, merchant princes, bankers,
and stockholders, professors and scholars, while on hers, the Rossiter
side, there were LL. D.’s and D. D.’s, lawyers and clergymen, authors
and artists, beauties and bells, the whole forming an illustrious line
of ancestry, admirably represented and sustained by the present family
of Camerons, occupying the brown-stone front, corner of —— street and
Fifth Avenue, where the handsome carriage stopped, and a tall figure ran
quickly up the marble steps. There was a soft rustle of silk, an odor of
delicate perfume, and from the luxurious chair before the fire kindled
in the grate, a lady rose and advanced a step or two towards the parlor
door. In another moment she was kissing the young man bending over her
and saluting her as mother, kissing him quietly, properly, as the
Camerons always kissed. She was very glad to have Wilford home again,
for he was her favorite child; and brushing the rain-drops from his coat
she led him to the fire, offering him her own easy-chair, and starting
herself in quest of another. But Wilford held her back, and making her
sit down, he drew an ottoman beside her, and then asked her first how
she had been, then where his sisters were, and if his father had come
home—for there was a father, a quiet, unassuming man, who stayed all day
in Wall street, seldom coming home in time to carve at his own dinner
table, and when he was at home, asking for nothing except to be left by
his fashionable wife and daughters to himself, free to smoke and doze
over his evening paper in the seclusion of his own reading-room.
As Wilford’s question concerning his sire had been the last one asked,
so it was the last one answered, his mother parting his dark hair with
her jeweled hand, and telling him first that, with the exception of a
cold taken at the Park on Saturday afternoon, she was in usual
health—second, that Juno was spending a few days in Orange, and that
Bell had gone to pass the night with her particular friend, Mrs.
Meredith, the most bookish woman in New York.
“Your father,” the lady added, “has not yet returned; but as the dinner
is ready I think we will not wait.”
She touched a silver bell beside her, and ordering dinner to be sent up
at once, went on to ask her son concerning his journey and the people he
had met. But Wilford, though intending to tell her all, would wait till
after dinner. So, offering her his arm, he led her out to where the
table was spread, widely different from the table prepared for Katy
Lennox among the Silverton hills, for where at the farm-house there had
been only the homely wares common to the country, with Aunt Betsy’s
onions served in a bowl, there was here the finest of damask, the
choicest of china, the costliest of cut-glass, and the heaviest of
silver, with the well-trained waiter gliding in and out, himself the
very personification of strict table etiquette, such as the Barlows had
never dreamed about. There was no fricasseed chicken here, or flaky
crust, with pickled beans and apple-sauce; no custard pie with
strawberries and rich, sweet cream, poured from a blue earthen pitcher;
but there were soups, and fish, and roasted meats, and dishes with
French names and taste, and dessert elaborately gotten up, and served
with the utmost precision, and Mrs. Cameron presiding over all with
lady-like decorum, her soft glossy silk of brown, with her rich lace and
diamond pin in perfect keeping with herself and her surroundings. And
opposite to her Wilford sat, a tall, dark, handsome man, of thirty or
thereabouts—a man, whose polished manners betokened at once a perfect
knowledge of the world, and whose face, to a close observer, indicated
how little satisfaction he had as yet found in the world. He had tried
its pleasures, drinking the cup of freedom and happiness to its very
dregs, and though he thought he liked it, he often found himself
dissatisfied and reaching after something which should make life more
real, more worth the living for. He had traveled all over Europe twice,
had visited every spot worth visiting in his own country, had been a
frequenter of every fashionable resort in New York, from the
skating-pond to the theatres, had been admitted as a lawyer, had opened
an office on Broadway, acquiring some reputation in his profession, had
looked at more than twenty girls with the view of making them his wife,
and found them, as he believed, alike fickle, selfish, artificial and
hollow-hearted. In short, while thinking far more of family, and
accomplishments, and style, than he ought, he was yet heartily tired of
the butterflies who flitted so constantly around him, offering to be
caught if he would but stretch out his hand to catch them. This he would
not do, and disgusted with the world as he saw it in New York, he had
gone to the Far West, roaming awhile amid the solitude of the broad
prairies, and finding there much that was soothing to him, but not
discovering the fulfillment of the great want he was craving until
coming back to Canandaigua, he met with Katy Lennox. He had smiled
wearily when asked by Mrs. Woodhull to go with her to the examination
then in progress at the Seminary. There was nothing there to interest
him, he thought, as Euclid and Algebra, French and Rhetoric were bygone
things, while young school-misses, in braided hair and pantalettes, were
shockingly insipid. Still, to be polite to Mrs. Woodhull, a childless,
fashionable woman, who patronized Canandaigua generally and Katy Lennox
in particular, he consented, and soon found himself in the crowded room,
the cynosure of many eyes as the whisper ran round that the fine-looking
man with Mrs. Woodhull was Wilford Cameron, from New York, brother to
the proud, dashing Juno Cameron, who once spent a few weeks in town.
Wilford knew they were talking about him, but he did not care, and
assuming as easy an attitude as possible, he leaned back in his chair,
yawning indolently until the class in Algebra was called, and Katy
Lennox came tripping on the stage, a pale blue ribbon in her golden
hair, and her simple dress of white relieved by no ornament except the
cluster of wild flowers fastened in her belt and at her throat. But Katy
needed no ornaments to make her more beautiful than she was at the
moment when, with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes, she first burst
upon Wilford’s vision, a creature of rare, bewitching beauty, such as he
had never dreamed about.
Wilford had met his destiny, and he felt it in every throb of blood
which went rushing through his veins.
“Who is she?” he asked of Mrs. Woodhull, and that lady knew at once whom
he meant, even though he had not designated her.
An old acquaintance of Mrs. Lennox when she lived in East Bloomfield,
Mrs. Woodhull had petted Katy from the first day of her arrival in
Canandaigua with a letter of introduction to herself from the ambitious
mother, and being rather inclined to match-making, she had had Katy in
her mind when she urged Wilford to accompany her to the Seminary.
Accordingly, she answered him at once, “That is Katy Lennox, daughter of
Judge Lennox, who died in East Bloomfield a few years ago.”
“Pretty, is she not?”
Wilford did not answer her. He had neither eye nor ear for anything save
Katy, acquitting herself with a good deal of credit as she worked out a
rather difficult problem, her dimpled white hand showing to good
advantage against the deep black of the board; and then her voice,
soft-toned and silvery, as a lady’s voice should be, thrilled in
Wilford’s ear, awaking a strange feeling of disquiet, as if the world
would never again be quite the same to him that it was before he met
that fair young girl now passing from the room.
Mrs. Woodhull saw that he was interested. It was time he was settled in
life. With the exception of wealth and family position, he could not
find a better wife than Katy, and she would do what she could to bring
the marriage about. Accordingly, having first gained the preceptress’s
consent, Katy was taken home with her to dinner. And this was how
Wilford Cameron came to know little Katy Lennox, the simple-hearted
child, who blushed so prettily when first presented to him, and blushed
again when he praised her recitations, but who after that forgot the
difference in their social relations, laughing and chatting as merrily
in his presence as if she had been alone with Mrs. Woodhull. This was
the great charm to Wilford. Katy was so wholly unconscious of herself or
what he might think of her, that he could not sit in judgment upon her,
and he watched her eagerly as she sported, and flashed, and sparkled,
filling the room with sunshine, and putting to rout the entire regiment
of blues which had been for months harassing the city-bred young man.
If there was any one thing in which Katy excelled, it was music, both
vocal and instrumental, a taste for which had been developed very early,
and fostered by Morris Grant, who had seen that his cousin had every
advantage which Silverton could afford. Great pains had been given to
her style of playing while in Canandaigua, so that as a performer upon
the piano she had few rivals in the seminary, while her bird-like voice
filled every nook and corner of the room, where, on the night after her
visit to Mrs. Woodhull, a select exhibition was held, Katy shining as
the one bright star, and winning golden laurels for beauty, grace, and
perfect self-possession, from others than Wilford Cameron, who was one
of the invited auditors.
Juno herself could not equal that, he thought, as Katy’s fingers flew
over the keys, executing a brilliant and difficult piece without a
single mistake, and receiving the applause of the spectators easily,
naturally, as if it were an every day occurrence. But when by request
she sang “Comin’ through the Rye,” Wilford’s heart, if he had any
before, was wholly gone, and he dreamed of Katy Lennox that night,
wondering all the ensuing day how his haughty mother would receive that
young school-girl as her daughter, wife of the son whose bride she
fancied must be equal to the first lady in the land. And if Katy were
not now equal she could be made so, Wilford thought, wondering if
Canandaigua were the best place for her, and if she would consent to
receive a year or two years’ tuition from _him_, provided her family
were poor. He did not know as they were, but he would ask, and he did,
feeling a pang of regret when he heard to some extent how Katy was
circumstanced. Mrs. Woodhull had never been to Silverton, and so she did
not know of Uncle Ephraim, and his old-fashioned sister; but she knew
that they were poor—that some relation sent Katy to school; and she
frankly told Wilford so, adding, as she detected the shadow on his face,
that one could not expect everything, and that a girl like Katy was not
found every day. Wilford admitted all this, growing more and more
infatuated, until at last he consented to join the traveling party,
provided Katy joined it too, and when on the morning of their departure
for the Falls he seated himself beside her in the car, he could not well
have been happier, unless she had really been his wife, as he so much
wished she was.
It was a most delightful trip, and Wilford was better satisfied with
himself than he had been before in years. His past life was not all free
from error, and there were many sad memories haunting him, but with Katy
at his side, seeing what he saw, admiring what he admired, and doing
what he bade her do, he gave the bygones to the wind, feeling only an
intense desire to clasp the young girl in his arms and bear her away to
some spot where with her pure fresh life all his own he could begin the
world anew, and retrieve the past which he had lost. This was when he
was with Katy. Away from her he could remember the difference in their
position, and prudential motives began to make themselves heard. Never
but once had he taken an important step without consulting his mother,
and the trouble in which that had involved him warned him to be more
cautious a second time. And this was why Katy came back to Silverton
unengaged, leaving her heart with Wilford Cameron, who would first seek
advice from his mother ere committing himself by word. He had seen the
white-haired man waiting for her when the train stopped at Silverton,
but standing there as he did, with his silvery locks parted in the
centre, and shading his honest, open face, Uncle Ephraim looked like
some patriarch of old rather than a man to be despised, and Wilford felt
only respect for him until he saw Katy’s arms wound so lovingly around
his neck as she called him Uncle Eph. That sight grated harshly, and
Wilford felt glad that he was not bound to her by any pledge. Very
curiously he looked after the couple, witnessing the meeting between
Katy and old Whiting, and guessing rightly that the corn-colored vehicle
was the one sent to transport Katy home. He was very moody for the
remainder of the route between Silverton and Albany, where he parted
with his Canandaigua friends, they going on to the westward, while he
stopped all night in Albany, where he had some business to transact for
his father.
He was intending to tell his mother everything, except that he paid
Katy’s bills. He would rather keep that to himself, as it might shock
his mother’s sense of propriety and make her think less of Katy; so
after dinner was over, and they had returned to the parlor, he opened
the subject by asking her to guess what took him off so suddenly with
Mrs. Woodhull.
The mother did not know—unless—and a strange light gleamed in her eye,
as she asked if it were some girl.
“Yes, mother, it was,” and without any reservation Wilford frankly told
the story of his interest in Katy Lennox.
He admitted that she was poor and unaccustomed to society, but he loved
her more than words could express.
“Not as I loved Genevra,” he said, and there came a look of intense pain
into his eyes as he continued. “That was the passion of a boy of
nineteen, stimulated by secrecy, but this is the love of a mature man of
thirty, who feels that he is capable of judging for himself.”
In Wilford’s voice there was a tone warning the mother that opposition
would only feed the flame, and so she offered none directly, but heard
him patiently to the end, and then quietly questioned him of Katy and
her family, especially the last. What did he know of it? Was it one to
detract from the Cameron line, kept untarnished so long? Were the
relatives such as he never need blush to own even if they came there
into their drawing-rooms as they would come if Katy did?
Wilford thought of Uncle Ephraim as he had seen him upon the platform at
Silverton, and could scarcely repress a smile as he pictured to himself
his mother’s consternation at beholding that man in her drawing-room.
But he did not mention the deacon, though he acknowledged that Katy’s
family friends were not exactly the Cameron style. But Katy was young:
Katy could be easily moulded, and once away from her old associates, his
mother and sisters could make of her what they pleased.
“I understand, then, that if you marry her you do not marry the family,”
and in the handsome matronly face there was an expression from which
Katy would have shrunk, could she have seen it and understood its
meaning.
“No, I do not marry the family,” Wilford rejoined emphatically, but the
expression of his face was different from his mother’s, for where she
thought only of herself, not hesitating to trample on all Katy’s love of
home and friends, Wilford remembered Katy, thinking how he would make
amends for separating her wholly from her home as he surely meant to do
if he should win her. “Did I tell you,” he continued, “that her father
was a judge? She must be well connected on that side. And now, what
shall I do?” he asked playfully. “Shall I propose to Katy Lennox, or
shall I try to forget her?”
“I should not do either,” was Mrs. Cameron’s reply, for she knew that
trying to forget her was the surest way of keeping her in mind, and she
dared not confess to him how determined she was that Katy Lennox should
never be her daughter if she could prevent it.
If she could not, then as a lady and a woman of policy, she should make
the most of it, receiving Katy kindly and doing her best to educate her
up to the Cameron ideas of style and manner.
“Let matters take their course for awhile,” she said, “and see how you
feel after a little. We are going to Newport the first of August, and
perhaps you may find somebody there infinitely superior to this Katy
Lennox. That’s your father’s ring. He is earlier than usual to-night. I
would not tell him yet, till you are more decided,” and the lady went
hastily out into the hall to meet her husband.
A moment more and the elder Cameron appeared—a short, square-built man,
with a face seamed with lines of care and eyes much like Wilford’s, save
that the shaggy eyebrows gave them a different expression. He was very
glad to see his son, though he merely shook his hand, asking what
nonsense took him off around the Lakes with Mrs. Woodhull, and wondering
if women were never happy unless they were chasing after fashion. The
elder Cameron was evidently not of his wife’s way of thinking, but she
let him go on until he was through, and then, with the most unruffled
mien, suggested that his dinner would be cold. He was accustomed to that
and so he did not mind, but he hurried through his lonely meal to-night,
for Wilford was home, and the father was always happier when he knew his
son was in the house. Contrary to his usual custom, he spent the short
summer evening in the parlor, talking with Wilford on various items of
business, and thus preventing any further conversation concerning Katy
Lennox. It took but a short time for Wilford to fall back into his old
way of living, passing a few hours of each day in his office, driving
with his mother, sparring with his imperious sister Juno, and teasing
his blue sister Bell, but never after that first night breathing a word
to any one of Katy Lennox. And still Katy was not forgotten, as his
mother sometimes believed. On the contrary, the very silence he kept
concerning her increased his passion, until he began seriously to
contemplate a trip to Silverton. The family’s removal to Newport,
however, diverted his attention for a little, making him decide to wait
and see what Newport might have in store for him. But Newport was dull
this season, though Juno and Bell both found ample scope for their
different powers of attraction, and his mother was always happy when
showing off her children and knowing that they were appreciated, but
with Wilford it was different. Listless and taciturn, he went through
with the daily routine, wondering how he had ever found happiness there,
and finally, at the close of the season, casting all policy and prudence
aside, he wrote to Katy Lennox that he was coming to Silverton on his
way home, and that he presumed he should have no difficulty in finding
his way to the farm-house.