KATY’S FIRST EVENING IN NEW YORK.
The elder Cameron was really better, and more than once he had regretted
recalling his son, who he knew had contemplated a longer stay abroad.
But that could not now be helped. Wilford had arrived in Boston, as his
telegram of yesterday announced—he would be at home to-day; and No.——
Fifth Avenue was all the morning and a portion of the afternoon the
scene of unusual excitement, for both Mrs. Cameron and her daughters
wished to give the six months’ wife a good impression of her new home.
At first they thought of inviting company to dinner, but to this the
father objected. “Katy should not be troubled the first day,” he said;
“it was bad enough for her to meet them all; they could ask Mark if they
chose, but no one else.”
And so only Mark Ray was invited to the dinner, gotten up as elaborately
as if a princess had been expected instead of little Katy, trembling in
every joint when, about four P. M., Wilford awoke her at the depot and
whispered, “Come, darling, we are home at last.”
“Why do you shiver so?” he asked, wrapping her cloak around her, and
almost lifting her from the car.
“I don’t—know. I guess—I’m cold,” and Katy drew a long breath as she
thought of Silverton and the farm-house, wishing that she was going into
its low-walled kitchen, instead of the handsome carriage, where the
cushions were so soft and yielding, and the whole effect so grand.
“What would our folks say?” she kept repeating to herself as she drove
along the streets, where they were beginning to light the street lamps,
for the December day was dark and cloudy. It seemed so like a dream,
that she, who once had picked huckle-berries on the Silverton hills, and
bound coarse heavy shoes to buy herself a pink gingham dress, should now
be riding in her carriage toward the home which she knew was
magnificent; and Katy’s tears fell like rain as, nestling close to
Wilford, who asked what was the matter, she whispered, “I can hardly
believe that it is I—it is so unreal.”
“Please don’t cry,” Wilford rejoined, brushing her tears away. “You know
I don’t like your eyes to be red.”
With a great effort Katy kept her tears back, and was very calm when
they reached the brown-stone front, far enough up town to save it from
the slightest approach to plebeianism. In the hall the chandelier was
burning, and as the carriage stopped a flame of light seemed suddenly to
burst from every window as the gas heads were turned up, so that Katy
caught glimpses of rich silken curtains and costly lace as she went up
the steps, clinging to Wilford and looking ruefully around for Esther,
who had disappeared through the basement door. Another moment and they
stood within the marbled hall, Katy conscious of nothing
definite—nothing but a vague atmosphere of refined elegance, and that a
richly-dressed lady came out to meet them, kissing Wilford quietly and
calling him her son; that the same lady turned to her saying kindly,
“And this is my new daughter?”
Then Katy came to life, and did that, at the very thought of which she
shuddered when a few months’ experience had taught her the temerity of
the act—she wound her arms impulsively around Mrs. Cameron’s neck,
rumpling her point lace collar, and sadly displacing the coiffure of the
astonished lady, who had seldom received so genuine a greeting as that
which Katy gave her, kissing her lips and whispering softly, “I love you
now, because you are Wilford’s mother, but by and by because you are
mine. And you _will_ love me some because I am his wife.”
Wilford was horrified, particularly when he saw how startled his mother
looked as she tried to release herself and adjust her tumbled head-gear.
It was not what he had hoped, nor what his mother had expected, for she
was unaccustomed to such demonstrations; but under the circumstances
Katy could not have done better. There was a tender spot in Mrs.
Cameron’s heart, and Katy touched it, making her feel a throb of
affection for the childish creature suing for her love.
“Yes, darling, I love you now,” she said, removing Katy’s clinging arms
and taking care that they should not enfold her a second time. “You are
tired and cold,” she continued; “and had better go at once to your
rooms. I will send Esther up. There is plenty of time to dress for
dinner,” and with a wave of her hand she dismissed Katy up the stairs,
noticing as she went the exquisite softness of her fur cloak; but
thinking it too heavy a garment for her slight figure, and noticing,
too, the graceful ankle and foot which the little high-heeled gaiter
showed to good advantage. “I did not see her face distinctly, but she
has a well-turned instep and walks easily,” was the report she carried
to her daughters, who, in their own room over Katy’s, were dressing for
dinner.
“She will undoubtedly make a good dancer, then, unless, like Dr. Grant,
she is too blue for that,” Juno said, while Bell shrugged her shoulders,
congratulating herself that she had a mind above such frivolous matters
as dancing and well-turned insteps, and wondering if Katy cared in the
least for books.
“Couldn’t you see her face at all, mother?” Juno asked.
“Scarcely; but the glimpse I did get was satisfactory. I think she is
pretty.”
And this was all the sisters could ascertain until their toilets were
finished, and they went down into the library, where their brother
waited for them, kissing them both affectionately, and complimenting
them on their good looks.
“I wish we could say the same of you,” Juno answered, playfully pulling
his moustache; “but upon my word, Will, you are fast settling down into
an oldish married man, even turning gray,” and she ran her fingers
through his dark hair, where there was now and then a thread of silver.
“Disappointed in your domestic relations, eh?” she continued, looking
him archly in the face.
Wilford was rather proud of his good looks, and during his sojourn
aboard, Katy had not helped him any in overcoming this weakness, but on
the contrary, had fed his vanity by constant flattery. And still he was
himself conscious of not looking quite as well as usual just now, for
the sea voyage had tired him as well as Katy, but he did not care to be
told of it, and Juno’s ill-timed remarks roused him at once,
particularly as they reflected somewhat on Katy.
“I assure you I am not disappointed,” he answered, “and the six months
of my married life have been the happiest I ever knew. Katy is more than
I expected her to be.”
Juno elevated her eyebrows slightly, but made no direct reply, while
Bell began to ask about Paris and the places he had visited.
Meanwhile Katy had been ushered into her room, which was directly over
the library, and separated from Mrs. Cameron’s only by a range of
closets and presses, a portion of which were to be appropriated to her
own use. Great pains had been taken to make her rooms attractive, and as
the large bay window in the library below extended to the third story,
it was really the pleasantest chamber in the house. To Katy it was
perfect, and her first exclamation was one of delight.
“Oh, how pleasant, how beautiful!” she cried, skipping across the soft
carpet to the warm fire blazing in the grate. “A bay window, too, when I
like them so much. I shall be happy here.”
But happy as she was, Katy could not help feeling tired, and she sank
into one of the luxurious easy-chairs, wishing she could stay there all
the evening instead of going down to that formidable dinner with her new
relations. How she dreaded it, especially when she remembered that Mrs.
Cameron had said there would be plenty of time to _dress_—a thing which
Katy hated, the process was so tiresome, particularly to-night. Surely
her handsome traveling dress, made in Paris, was good enough, and she
was about settling in her own mind to venture upon wearing it, when
Esther demolished her castle at once.
“Wear your traveling habit!” she exclaimed, “when the young ladies,
especially Miss Juno, are so particular about their dinner costume.
There would be no end to the scolding I should get for suffering it,”
and she began good-naturedly to remove her mistress’s collar and pin,
while Katy, standing up, sighed as she said, “I wish I was in Silverton
to-night. I could wear anything there. What must I put on? How I dread
it!” and she began to shiver again.
Fortunately for Katy, Esther had been in the family long enough to know
just what they regarded proper, as by this means the dress selected was
sure to please. It was very becoming to Katy, and having been made in
Paris was not open to criticism.
“Very pretty indeed,” was Mrs. Cameron’s verdict, when at half-past five
she came in to see her daughter, kissing her cheek and stroking her
head, wholly unadorned except by the short, silken curls which could not
be coaxed to grow faster than they chose, and which had sometimes
annoyed Wilford, they made his wife seem so young beside him. Mrs.
Cameron was annoyed, too, for she had no idea of a head except as it was
connected with a hair-dresser, and her annoyance showed itself as she
asked,
“Did you have your hair cut on purpose?”
But when Katy explained, she answered pleasantly,
“Never mind, it is a fault which will mend every day, only it makes you
look like a child.”
“I am eighteen and a half,” Katy said, feeling a lump rising in her
throat, for she guessed that her mother-in-law was not quite pleased
with her hair.
For herself, she liked it, it was so easy to brush and fix. She should
go wild if she had to submit to all Esther had told her of hair-dressing
and what it involved.
Mrs. Cameron had asked if she would not like to see Mr. Cameron, the
elder, before going down to dinner, and Katy had answered that she
would; so as soon as Esther had smoothed a refractory fold and brought
her handkerchief, she followed to the room where Wilford’s father was
sitting. He might not have felt complimented could he have known that
something in his appearance reminded Katy of Uncle Ephraim. He was not
nearly as old or as tall, nor was his hair as white, but the
resemblance, if there were any, lay in the smile with which he greeted
Katy, calling her his youngest child, and drawing her closely to him.
It was remarked of Mr. Cameron that since their babyhood he had never
kissed one of his own children; but when Katy, who looked upon such a
salutation as a matter of course, put up her rosy lips, making the first
advance, he kissed her twice. Hearty, honest kisses they were, for the
man was strongly drawn towards the young girl, who said to him timidly,
“I am glad to have a father—mine died before I could remember him. May I
call you so?”
“Yes, yes; God bless you, my child,” and Mr. Cameron’s voice shook as he
said it, for neither Bell nor Juno were wont to address him just as Katy
did—Katy, standing close to him, with her hand upon his shoulder and her
kiss fresh upon his lips.
She had already crept a long way into his heart, and he took her hand
from his shoulder and holding it between his own, said to her,
“I did not think you were so small or young. You are my little daughter,
my baby, instead of my son’s wife. How do you ever expect to fulfill the
duties of Mrs. Wilford Cameron?
“It’s my short hair, sir. I am not so young,” Katy answered, her eyes
filling with tears as she began to wish back the thick curls Helen cut
away when the fever was at its height.
“Never mind, child,” Mr. Cameron rejoined playfully. “Youth is no
reproach; there’s many a one would give their right hand to be young
like you. Juno for instance, who is—”
“Hus-band!” came reprovingly from Mrs. Cameron, spoken as only she could
speak it, with a prolonged buzzing sound on the first syllable, and
warning the husband that he was venturing too far.
“It is time to go down if Mrs. Cameron sees the young ladies before
dinner,” she said, a little stiffly; whereupon her better half startled
Katy with the exclamation,
“Mrs. Cameron! Thunder and lightning! wife, call her Katy, and don’t go
into any nonsense of that kind.”
The lady reddened, but said nothing until she reached the hall, when she
whispered to Katy, apologetically,
“Don’t mind it. He is rather irritable since his illness, and sometimes
makes use of coarse language.”
Katy had been a little frightened at the outburst, but she liked Mr.
Cameron notwithstanding, and her heart was lighter as she went down to
the library, where Wilford met her at the door, and taking her on his
arm led her in to his sisters, holding her back as he presented her,
lest she should assault them as she had his mother. But Katy felt no
desire to hug the tall, queenly girl whom Wilford introduced as Juno,
and whose black eyes seemed to read her through as she offered her hand
and very daintily kissed her forehead, murmuring something about a
welcome to New York. Bell came next, broad-faced, plainer-looking Bell,
who yet had many pretentions to beauty, but whose manner, if possible,
was frostier, cooler than her sister’s. Of the two Katy liked Juno best,
for there was about her a flash and sparkle very fascinating to one who
had never seen anything of the kind, and did not know that much of this
vivacity was the result of patient study and practice. Katy would have
known they were high bred, as the world defines high breeding, and
something in their manner reminded her of the ladies she had seen
abroad, ladies in whose veins lordly blood was flowing. She could not
help feeling uncomfortable in their presence, especially as she felt
that Juno’s black eyes were on her constantly. Not that she could ever
meet them looking at her, for they darted away the instant hers were
raised, but she knew just when they returned to her again, and how
closely they were scanning her.
“Your wife looks tired, Will. Let her sit down,” Bell said, herself
wheeling the easy-chair nearer to the fire, while Wilford placed Katy in
it; then, thinking she would get on better if he were not there, he left
the room, and Katy was alone with her new sisters.
Juno had examined her dress and found no fault with it, simply because
it was Parisian made; while Bell had examined her head, deciding that
there might be something in it, though she doubted it, but that at all
events short hair was very becoming to it, showing all its fine
proportions, and half deciding to have her own locks cut away. Juno had
a similar thought, wondering if it were the Paris fashion, and if she
would look as young in proportion as Katy did were her hair worn on her
neck.
With their brother’s departure the tongues of both the girls were
loosened, and standing near to Katy they began to question her of what
she had seen, Juno asking if she did not hate to leave Italy, and did
not wish herself back again. Wholly truthful, Katy answered, “Oh, yes, I
would rather be there than home.”
“Complimentary to us, very,” Bell murmured audibly in French, blushing
as Katy’s eyes were lifted quickly to hers, and she knew she was
understood.
If there was anything which Katy liked more than another in the way of
study, it was French. She had excelled in it at Canandaigua, and while
abroad had taken great pains to acquire a pure pronunciation, so that
she spoke it with a good deal of fluency, and readily comprehended Bell.
“I did not mean to be rude,” she said, earnestly. “I liked Italy so
much, and we expected to stay longer; but that does not hinder my liking
to be here. I hope I did not offend you.”
“Certainly not; you are an honest little puss,” Bell replied, placing
her hand caressingly upon the curly head laying back so wearily on the
chair. “Here in New York we have a bad way of not telling the whole
truth, but you will soon be used to it.”
“Used to not telling the truth! Oh, I hope not!” and this time the blue
eyes lifted so wonderingly to Bell’s face had in them a startled look.
“Simpleton!” was Juno’s mental comment, while Bell’s was, “I like the
child,” as she continued to smooth the golden curls and wind them round
her finger, wondering if Katy had a taste for metaphysics, that being
the last branch of science which she had taken up.
“I suppose you find Will a pattern husband,” Juno said after a moment’s
pause, and Katy replied, “There never could be a better, I am sure, and
I have been very happy.”
“Has he never said one cross word to you in all these six months?” was
Juno’s next question, to which Katy answered truthfully, “Never.”
“And lets you do as you please?”
“Yes, just as I please,” Katy replied, while Juno continued, “He must
have changed greatly then from what he used to be; but marriage has
probably improved him. He tells you all his _secrets_, too, I presume?”
Anxious that Wilford should appear well in every light, Katy replied at
random, “Yes, if he has any.”
“Well, then,” and in Juno’s black eyes there was a wicked look, “perhaps
you will tell me who was or is the original of that picture he guards so
carefully.”
“What picture?” and Katy looked up inquiringly, while Juno, with a
little sarcastic laugh, continued: “Oh, he has not told you then. I
thought he would not, he was so angry when he saw me with it three or
four years ago. I found it in his room where he had accidentally left
it, and was looking at it when he came in. It was the picture of a young
girl who must have been very beautiful, and I did not blame Will for
loving her if he ever did, but he need not have been so indignant at me
for wishing to know who it was. I never saw him so angry or so much
disturbed. I hope you will ferret the secret out and tell me, for I have
a great deal of curiosity, fancying that picture had something to do
with his remaining so long a bachelor. I do not mean that he does not
love you,” she added, as she saw how white Katy grew. “It is not to be
expected that a man can live to be thirty without loving more than one.
There was Sybil Grey, a famous belle, whom I thought at one time he
would marry; but when Judge Grandon offered she accepted, and Will was
left in the lurch. I do not really believe he cared though, for Sybil
was too much of a flirt to suit his jealous lordship, and I will do him
the justice to say that however many fancies he may have had, he likes
you the best of all;” and this Juno felt constrained to say because of
the look in Katy’s face, which warned her that in her thoughtlessness
she had gone too far and pierced the young wife’s heart with a pang as
cruel as it was unnecessary.
Bell had tried to stop her, but she had rattled on until now it was too
late, and she could not recall her words, however much she might wish to
do so. “Don’t tell Will,” she was about to say, when Will himself
appeared, to take Katy out to dinner. Very beautiful and sad were the
blue eyes which looked up at him so wistfully, and nothing but the
remembrance of Juno’s words, “He likes you best of all,” kept Katy from
crying outright, when he took her hand, and asked if she was tired.
“Let us try what dinner will do for you,” he said, and in silence Katy
went with him to the dining-room, where the glare and the ceremony
bewildered her, bringing a homesick feeling as she thought of Silverton,
and the plain tea-table, graced with the mulberry set instead of the
costly china before her.
Never had Katy felt so embarrassed as she did when seated for the first
time at dinner in her husband’s home, with all those criticising eyes
upon her. She had been very hungry, but her appetite was gone and she
almost loathed the rich food offered her, feeling so glad when the
dinner was ended, and Wilford took her to the parlor, where she found
Mark Ray waiting for her. He had been obliged to decline Mrs. Cameron’s
invitation to dinner, but had come as early as possible after it, and
Katy was delighted to see him, for she remembered how he had helped her
during that week of gayety in Boston, when society was so new to her. As
he had been then, so he was now, and his friendly manner put Katy as
much at her ease as it was possible for her to be in the presence of
Wilford’s mother and sisters.
“I suppose you have not seen your sister Helen? You know I called
there,” Mark said to Katy; but before she could reply, a pair of black
eyes shot a keen glance at luckless Mark, and Juno’s sharp voice said
quickly, “I did not know you had the honor of Miss Lennox’s
acquaintance.”
Mark was in a dilemma. He had kept his call at Silverton to himself, as
he did not care to be questioned about Katy’s family; and now, when it
accidentally came out, he tried to make some evasive reply, pretending
that he had spoken of it, and Juno had forgotten. But Juno knew better,
and from that night dated a strong feeling of dislike for Helen Lennox,
whom she affected to despise, even though she could be jealous of her.
Wisely changing the conversation, Mark asked Katy to play, and as she
seldom refused, she went at once to the piano, astonishing both Mrs.
Cameron and her daughters with the brilliancy of her performance. Even
Juno complimented her, saying she must have taken lessons very young.
“When I was ten,” Katy answered. “Cousin Morris gave me my first
exercise himself. He plays sometimes.”
“Yes, I knew that,” Juno replied. “Does your sister play as well as
you?”
Katy knew that Helen did not, and she answered frankly, “Morris thinks
she does not. She is not as fond of it as I am.” Then feeling that she
must in some way make amends for Helen, she added, “But she knows a
great deal more than I do about _books_. Helen is very smart.”
There was a smile on every lip at this ingenuous remark, but only Mark
and Bell liked Katy the better for it. Wilford did not care to have her
talking of her friends, and he kept her at the piano, until she said her
fingers were tired and begged leave to stop.
It was late ere Mark bade them good night; so late that Katy began to
wonder if he would never go, yawning once so perceptibly that Wilford
gave her a reproving glance, which sent the hot blood to her face and
drove from her every feeling of drowsiness. Even after he had gone the
family were in no haste to retire, but sat chatting with Wilford until
the city clock struck twelve and Katy was nodding in her chair.
“Poor child, she is very tired,” Wilford said, apologetically, gently
waking Katy, who begged them to excuse her, and followed her husband to
her room, where she was free to ask him what she must ask before she
could ever be quite as happy as she had been before.
Going up to the chair where Wilford was sitting before the fire, and
standing partly behind him, she said timidly, “Will you answer me one
thing truly?”
Alone with Katy, Wilford felt all his old tenderness returning, and
drawing her into his lap he asked her what it was she wished to know.
“_Did_ you love anybody three or four years ago, or ever—that is, love
them well enough to wish to make them your wife?”
Katy could feel how Wilford started, as he said, “What put that idea
into your head? Who has been talking to you?”
“Juno,” Katy answered. “She told me she believed that it was some other
love which kept you a bachelor so long. Was it, Wilford?” and Katy’s
lips quivered in a grieved kind of way as she put the question.
“Juno be——”
Wilford did not say what, for he seldom swore, and never in a lady’s
presence. So he said instead,
“It was very unkind in Juno to distress you with matters about which she
knew nothing.”
“But did you?” Katy asked again. “Was there not a Sybil Grey, or some
one of that name?”
At the mention of Sybil Grey, Wilford looked relieved, and answered her
at once.
“Yes, there was a Sybil Grey, Mrs. Judge Grandon now, and a dashing
widow. Don’t sigh so wearily,” he continued, as Katy drew a gasping
breath. “Knowing she was a widow I chose you, thus showing which I
preferred. Few men live to be thirty without more or less fancies, which
under some circumstances might ripen into something stronger, and I am
not an exception. I never loved Sybil Grey, nor wished to make her my
wife. I admired her very much. I admire her yet, and among all my
acquaintances there is not one upon whom I would care to have you make
so good an impression as upon her, nor one whose manner you could better
imitate.”
“Oh, will she call? Shall I see her?” Katy asked, beginning to feel
alarmed at the very thought of Sybil Grey, with all her polish and
manner.
“She is spending the winter in New Orleans with her late husband’s
relatives. She will not return till spring,” Wilford replied. “But do
not look so distressed, for I tell you solemnly that I never loved
another as I love you. Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” and Katy’s head drooped upon his shoulder.
She was satisfied with regard to Sybil Grandon, only hoping she would
not have to meet her when she came home. But the picture. Whose was
that? Not Sybil’s certainly, else Juno would have known. The picture
troubled her, but she dared not speak of it, Wilford had seemed so angry
at Juno. Still she would probe him a little further, and so she
continued,
“I do believe you, and if I ever see this Sybil I will try to imitate
her; but tell me, if after her, there was among your friends _one_
better than the rest, one almost as dear as I am, one whom you sometimes
remember even now—is she living, or is she dead?”
Wilford thought of that humble grave far off in St. Mary’s churchyard,
and he answered quickly,
“If there ever was such an one, she certainly is _not_ living. Are you
satisfied?”
Katy answered that she was, but perfect confidence in her husband’s
affection had been terribly shaken, and Katy’s heart was too full to
sleep even after she had retired. Visions of Sybil Grey, blended with
visions of another whom she called the “dead fancy,” flitted before her
mind, as she lay awake, while hour after hour went by, until tired
nature could endure no longer, and just as the great city was waking up
and the rattle of wheels was beginning to be heard upon the pavements,
she fell away to sleep.