THE NEW HOUSE.
It was a cruel thing for Wilford Cameron to try to separate Katy from
the hearts which loved her so much; and, as if he felt reproached, there
was an increased tenderness in his manner towards her, particularly as
he saw how sad she was for a few days after his decision. But Katy could
not be sorry long, and in the excitement of settling the new house her
spirits rallied, and her merry laugh trilled like a bird through the
rooms where the workmen were so busy, and where Mrs. Cameron was the
real superintendent, though there was sometimes a show of consulting
Katy, who nevertheless was a mere cipher in the matter. In everything
the mother had her way, until it came to the room designed for Helen,
and which Mrs. Cameron was for converting into a kind of smoking or
lounging room for Wilford and his associates. Katy must not expect him
to be always as devoted to her as he had been during the winter, she
said. He had a great many bachelor friends, and now that he had a house
of his own, it was natural that he should have some place where they
could spend an hour or so with him without the restraint of ladies’
society, and this was just the room—large, airy, quiet, and so far from
the parlors that the odor of the smoke could not reach them.
Katy had submitted to much without knowing that she was submitting; but
something Bell had dropped that morning had awakened a suspicion that
possibly she was being ignored, and the wicked part of Helen would have
enjoyed the look in her eye as she said, not to Mrs. Cameron, but to
Wilford, “I have from the very first decided this chamber for Helen, and
I cannot give it up for a smoking room. You never had one at home. Why
did you not, if it is so necessary?”
Wilford could not tell her that his mother would as soon have brought
into her house one of Barnum’s shows, as to have had a room set apart
for smoking, which she specially disliked; neither could he at once
reply at all, so astonished was he at this sudden flash of spirit. Mrs.
Cameron was the first to rally, and in her usual quiet tone she said, “I
did not know that your sister was to form a part of your household. When
do you expect her?” and her cold gray eyes rested steadily upon Katy,
who never before so fully realized the distance there was between her
husband’s friends and her own. But as the worm will turn when trampled
on, so Katy, though hitherto powerless to defend herself, roused in
Helen’s behalf, and in a tone as quiet and decided as that of her
mother-in-law, replied, “She will come whenever I write for her. It was
arranged from the first. Wasn’t it, Wilford?” and she turned to her
husband, who, unwilling to decide between a wife he loved and a mother
whose judgment he considered infallible, affected not to hear her, and
stole from the room, followed by Mrs. Cameron, so that Katy was left
mistress of the field.
After that no one interfered in her arrangement of Helen’s room, which,
with far less expense than Mrs. Cameron would have done, she fitted up
so cosily that Wilford pronounced it the pleasantest room in the house,
while Bell went into ecstasies over it, and even Juno might have unbent
enough to praise it, were it not for Mark Ray, who, from being tacitly
claimed by Juno, was frequently admitted to their counsels, and had
asked the privilege of contributing to Helen’s room a handsome volume of
German poetry, such as he fancied she might enjoy. So long as Mark’s
attentions were not bestowed in any other quarter Juno was comparatively
satisfied, but the moment he swerved a hair’s breadth from the line she
had marked out, her anger was aroused; and now, remembering his
commendations of Helen Lennox, she hated her as cordially as one jealous
girl can hate another whom she has not seen, making Katy so
uncomfortable, without knowing what was the matter, that she hailed the
morning of her exit from No.—— as the brightest since her marriage.
It was a very happy day for Katy, and when she first sat down to dinner
in her own home, her face shone with a joy which even the presence of
her mother-in-law could not materially lessen. She would rather have
been alone with Wilford, it is true, but as her choice was not consulted
she submitted cheerfully, proudly taking her rightful place at the
table, and doing the honors so well that Mrs. Cameron, in speaking of it
to her daughters, acknowledged that Wilford had little to fear if Katy
always appeared as much at ease as she did that day. A thought similar
to this passed through the mind of Wilford, who was very observant of
such matters, and that night, after his mother was gone, he warmly
commended Katy, but spoiled the pleasure his commendations would have
given by telling her next, as if one thought suggested the other, that
Sybil Grandon had returned, that he saw her on Broadway, accepting her
invitation to a seat in her carriage which brought him to his door. She
had made many inquiries concerning Katy, expressing a great curiosity to
see her, and saying that as she drove past the house that morning, she
was strongly tempted to waive all ceremony and run in, knowing she
should be pardoned for the sake of Auld Lang Syne, when she was
privileged to take liberties with the Camerons. All this Wilford
repeated to Katy, but he did not tell her how at the words Auld Lang
Syne, Sybil had turned her fine eyes upon him with an expression which
made him color, for he knew she was referring to the time when her name
and his were always coupled together.
Katy had dreaded the return of Sybil Grandon, of whom she had heard so
much, and now that she had come, she felt for a moment a terror of
meeting her which she tried to shake off, succeeded at last, for perfect
faith in Wilford was to her a strong shield of defence, and her only
trouble was a fear lest she should fall in the scale of comparison which
might be instituted between herself and Mrs. Grandon, who after a few
days ceased to be a bugbear, Wilford never mentioning her again, and
Katy only hearing of her through Juno and Bell, the first of whom went
into raptures over her, while the latter styled her a silly, coquettish
widow, who would appear much better to have worn her weeds a little
longer, and not throw herself quite so soon into the market. That she
should of course meet her some time, Katy knew, but she would not
distress herself till the time arrived, and so she dismissed her fears,
or rather lost them in the excitement of her new dignity as mistress of
a house.
In her girlhood Katy had evinced a taste for housekeeping, which now
developed so rapidly that she won the respect of all the servants, from
the man who answered the bell to the accomplished cook, hired by Mrs.
Cameron, and who, like most accomplished cooks, was sharp and cross and
opinionated, but who did not find it easy to scold the blithe little
woman who every morning came flitting into her dominions, not asking
what they would have for dinner, as she had been led to suppose she
would, but _ordering_ it with a matter of course air, which amused the
usually overbearing Mrs. Phillips. But when the little lady, rolling her
sleeves above her dimpled elbows and donning the clean white apron which
Phillips was reserving for afternoon, announced her intention of
surprising Wilford, with a pudding such as Aunt Betsy used to make,
there were signs of rebellion, Phillips telling her bluntly that she
couldn’t be bothered—that it was not a lady’s place in the kitchen under
foot—that the other Mrs. Cameron never did it, and would not like it in
Mrs. Wilford.
For a moment Katy paused and looked straight at Mrs. Phillips; then
said, quietly, “I have only six eggs here—the recipe is ten. Bring me
four more, please.”
There was something in the blue eyes which compelled obedience, and the
dessert progressed without another word of remonstrance. But when the
door bell rang, and word came down that there were ladies in the
parlor—Juno, with some one else—Phillips would not tell her of the
_flour_ on her hair; and as Katy, after casting aside her apron and
putting down her sleeves, only glanced hastily at herself in the hall
mirror as she passed it, she appeared in the parlor with this mark upon
her curls, and greatly to her astonishment was presented to “Mrs. Sybil
Grandon,” Juno explaining, that as Sybil was anxious to see her, and
they were passing the house, she had presumed upon her privilege as a
sister and brought her in.
For a moment the room turned dark, it was so sudden, so unexpected, and
she so unprepared; but Sybil’s familiar manner quieted her, and she was
able at last to look fully at her visitor, finding her _not_ as handsome
as she expected, nor as young, but in all other respects she had not
perhaps been exaggerated. Cultivated and self-possessed, she was very
pleasing in her manner, making Katy feel wholly at ease by a few
well-timed compliments, which had the merit of seeming genuine, so
perfect was she in the art of deception.
To Katy she was very gracious, admiring her house, admiring herself,
admiring everything, until Katy wondered how she could ever have dreaded
to meet her, laughing and chatting as familiarly as if the fashionable
woman were not criticising every movement, and every act, and every
feature of her face, wondering most at the _flour_ upon her hair!
Juno wondered, too, but knowing Katy’s domestic propensities, suspected
the truth, and feigning some errand with Phillips, she excused herself
for a moment and descended to the kitchen, where she was not long in
hearing about Katy’s “queer ways, coming where she was not needed, and
making country puddings after some heathenish aunt’s rule.”
“Was it Aunt Betsy?” Juno asked, her face betokening its disgust when
told that she was right, and her manner on her return to the parlor was
very frigid towards Katy, who had discovered the flour on her hair, and
was laughing merrily over it, telling Sybil how it happened—how cross
Phillips was—and lastly, how “our folks” often made the pudding, and
that was why she wished to surprise Wilford with it.
There was a sarcastic smile upon Sybil’s lip as she wished Mrs. Cameron
success and then departed, leaving Katy to finish the dessert, which,
when ready for the table, was certainly very inviting, and would have
tempted the appetite of any man who had not been listening to gossip not
wholly conducive to his peace of mind.
On his way home Wilford had stopped at his fathers, where Juno was
relating the particulars of her call upon his wife, and as she did not
think it necessary to stop for him, he heard of Katy’s misdoings, and
her general appearance in the presence of Sybil Grandon, whom she
entertained with a description of “our folks’” favorite dishes, together
with Aunt Betsy’s recipes. This was the straw too many, and since his
marriage Wilford had not been as angry as he was while listening to
Juno, who reported Sybil’s verdict on his wife, “A domestic little body
and very pretty.”
Wilford did not care to have his wife domestic; he did not marry her for
that, and in a mood anything but favorable to the light, delicate
dessert Katy had prepared with so much care, he went to his luxurious
home, where Katy ran as usual to meet him, her face brimming with the
surprise she had in store for him, and herself so much excited that she
did not at first observe the cloud upon his brow, as he moodily answered
her rapid questions. When the important moment arrived, and the dessert
was brought on, he promptly declined it, even after her explanation that
she made it herself, urging him to try it for the sake of pleasing her,
if nothing more. But Wilford was not hungry then, and even had he been,
he would have chosen anything before a pudding made from a recipe of
Betsy Barlow, so the dessert was untasted even by Katy herself, who,
knowing now that something had gone wrong, sat fighting back her tears
until the servant left the room, when she timidly asked, “What is it,
Wilford? What makes you seem so——” She would not say _cross_, and so
substituted “queer,” while Wilford plunged at once into the matter by
saying, “Juno tells me she called here this afternoon with Mrs.
Grandon.”
“Yes, I forgot to mention it,” Katy answered, feeling puzzled to know
why that should annoy her husband; but his next remarks disclosed the
whole, and Katy’s tears flowed fast as Wilford asked what she supposed
Mrs. Grandon thought, to see his wife looking as if fresh from the flour
barrel, and to hear her talk about Aunt Betsy’s recipes and “_our
folks_.” “That is a bad habit of yours, Katy,” he continued, “one of
which I wish you to break yourself, if possible. I have never spoken to
you directly on the subject before, but it annoys me exceedingly,
inasmuch as it is an indication of low breeding.”
There was no answer from Katy, whose heart was too full to speak, and so
Wilford went on, “Our servants were selected by mother with a direct
reference to your youth and inexperience, and it is not necessary for
you to frequent the kitchen, or, indeed, to go there oftener than once a
week. Let them come to you for orders, not you go to them. Neither need
you speak quite so familiarly to them, treating them almost as if they
were your equals. Try to remember your true position—that whatever you
may have been you are now Mrs. Wilford Cameron, equal to any lady in New
York.”
They were in the library now, and the soft May breeze came stealing
through the open window, stirring the fleecy curtains and blowing across
the tasteful bouquet which Katy had arranged; but Katy was too wretched
to care for her surroundings. It was the first time Wilford had ever
spoken to her in just this way, and his manner hurt her more than his
words, making her feel as if she were an ignorant, ill-bred creature,
whom he had raised to a position she did not know how to fill. It was
cruel thus to repay her attempts to please, and so, perhaps, Wilford
thought, as with folded arms he sat looking at her weeping so bitterly
upon the sofa; but he was too indignant to make any concession then, and
he suffered her to weep in silence until he remembered that his mother
had requested him to bring her round that evening, as they were
expecting a few of Juno’s friends, and among them Sybil Grandon. If Katy
went he wished her to look her best, and he unbent so far as to try to
check her tears. But Katy could not stop, and she wept so passionately
that Wilford’s anger subsided, leaving only tenderness and pity for the
wife he soothed and caressed, until the sobbing ceased, and Katy lay
passively in his arms, her face so white, and the dark rings about her
eyes showing so distinctly that Wilford did not press her when she
declined his mother’s invitation. He could go, she said, urging so many
reasons why he should that, for the first time since their marriage, he
left her alone, and went where Sybil Grandon smiled her sunniest smile,
and put forth her most persuasive powers to keep him at her side,
expressing so much regret that he did not bring “his charming little
wife, who completely won her heart, she was so child-like and
simple-hearted, laughing so merrily when she discovered the flour on her
hair, but not seeming to mind it in the least. Really, she did not see
how it happened that he was fortunate enough to win such a domestic
treasure. Where did he find her?”
If Sybil Grandon meant this to be complimentary, it was not received as
such. Wilford, almost grating his teeth with vexation as he listened to
it, and feeling doubly mortified with Katy, whom he found waiting for
him, when at a late hour he left the society of Sybil Grandon and
repaired to his home.
To Katy the time of his absence had seemed an age, for her thoughts had
been busy with the past, gathering up every incident connected with her
married life since she came to New York, and deducing from them the
conclusion that “Wilford’s folks” were ashamed of her, and that Wilford
himself might perhaps become so if he were not already. That would be
worse than death itself, and the darkest hours she had ever known were
those she spent alone that night, sobbing so violently as to bring on a
racking headache, which showed itself upon her face and touched Wilford
at once.
Sybil Grandon was forgotten in those moments of contrition, when he
ministered so tenderly to his suffering wife, whom he felt that he had
wronged. But he could not tell her so then. It was not natural for him
to confess his errors. There had always been a struggle between his duty
and his pride when he had done so, and now the latter conquered,
especially as Katy, grown more calm, began to take the censure to
herself, lamenting her short-comings, and promising to do better, even
to the imitating of Sybil Grandon, if that would make him forget the
past and love her as before.
Wilford could accord forgiveness far more graciously than he could ask
it, and so peace was restored, and Katy’s face next day looked bright
and happy when seen in her new carriage, which took her down Broadway to
Stewart’s, where she encountered Sybil Grandon, and with her Juno
Cameron.
From the latter Katy instinctively shrank, but she could not resist the
former, who greeted her so familiarly that Katy readily forgave her the
pain of which she had been the cause, and spoke of her to Wilford
without a pang when he came home to dinner. Still she could not overcome
her dread of meeting her, and she grew more and more averse to mingling
in society, where she might do many things to mortify her husband or his
family, and thus provoke a scene she hoped never again to pass through.
“Oh, if Helen were only here!” she thought, as she began to experience a
sensation of loneliness she had never felt before.
But Helen was not there, nor coming there at present. One word from
Wilford had settled that, convincing Katy that it was better to wait
until the autumn, inasmuch as they were going so soon to Saratoga and
Newport, places which Katy dreaded, after she knew that Mrs. Cameron and
Juno were to be of the party, and probably Sybil Grandon. Katy did not
dislike the latter, but she was never easy in her presence, while she
could not deny to herself that since Sybil’s return Wilford had not been
quite the same as before. In company he was more attentive than ever,
but at home he was sometimes moody and silent, while Katy strove in vain
to ascertain the cause.
They were not as happy in the new home as she had expected to be, but
the fault did not lie with Katy. She performed her part and more, taking
upon her young shoulders the whole of the burden which her husband
should have helped her to bear. The easy, indolent life Wilford had led
so long as a petted son of a partial mother unfitted him for care, and
he was as much a boarder in his own home as he had even been in the
hotels in Paris, thoughtlessly requiring of Katy more than he should
have required, so that Bell was not far from right when in her journal
she described her sister-in-law as “a little servant whose feet were
never supposed to be tired, and whose wishes were never consulted.” It
is true Bell had put it rather strongly, but the spirit of what she said
was right, Wilford seldom considering Katy, or allowing her wishes to
interfere with his own plans; while accustomed to every possible
attention from his mother, he exacted the same from his wife, whose life
was not one of unmixed happiness, notwithstanding that every letter home
bore assurances to the contrary.