HELEN IN SOCIETY.
It was three days before Christmas, and Katy was talking confidentially
to Mrs. Banker, whom she had asked to see the next time she called.
“I want so much to surprise her,” she said, speaking in a whisper, “and
you have been so kind to us both that I thought it might not trouble you
very much if I asked you to make the selection for me, and see to the
engraving. Wilford gave me fifty dollars, all I needed, as I had fifty
more of my own, and now that I have a baby, I am sure I shall never
again care to go out.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Banker said, thoughtfully, as she rolled up the bills, “you
wish me to get as heavy bracelets as I can find—for the hundred
dollars.”
“Yes,” Katy replied, “I think that will please her, don’t you?”
Mrs. Banker did not reply at once, for she felt certain that the hundred
dollars could be spent in a manner more satisfactory to Helen. Still she
hardly liked to interfere, until Katy, observing her hesitancy, asked
again if she did not think Helen would be pleased.
“Yes, pleased with anything you choose to give her, but—excuse me, dear
Mrs. Cameron, if I speak as openly as if I were the mother of you both.
Bracelets are suitable for you who have everything else, but is there
not something your sister needs more? Now, allowing me to suggest, I
should say, buy her some _furs_, and let the bracelets go. In Silverton
her furs were well enough, but here, as the sister of Mrs. Wilford
Cameron, she is deserving of better.”
Katy understood Mrs. Banker at once, her cheeks reddening as there
flashed upon her the reason _why_ Wilford had never yet been in the
street with Helen, notwithstanding that she had more than once requested
it.
“You are right,” she said. “It was thoughtless in me not to think of
this myself. Helen shall have the furs, and whatever else is necessary.
I am so glad you reminded me of it. You are as kind as my own mother,”
and Katy kissed her friend fondly as she bade her good-bye, charging her
a dozen times not to let Helen know the surprise in store for her.
There was little need of this caution, for Mrs. Banker understood human
nature too well to divulge a matter which might wound one as sensitive
as Helen. Between the latter and herself there was a strong bond of
friendship, and to the kind patronage of this lady Helen owed most of
the attentions she had as yet received from her sister’s friends, while
Mark Ray did much toward lifting her to the place she held in spite of
the common country dress, which Juno unsparingly criticised, and which,
in fact, kept Wilford from taking her out as his wife so often asked him
to do. And Helen, too, keenly felt the difference between herself and
those with whom she came in contact, crying over it more than once, but
never dreaming of the surprise in store for her, when on Christmas
morning she went as usual to Katy’s room, finding her alone, her face
all aglow with excitement, and her bed a perfect show-case of dry goods,
which she bade Helen examine and say how she liked them.
Wilford was no niggard with his money, and when Katy had asked for more
it had been given unsparingly, even though he knew the purpose to which
it was to be applied.
“Oh, Katy, Katy, why did you do it?” Helen cried, her tears falling like
rain through the fingers she clasped over her eyes.
“You are not angry?” Katy said, in some dismay, as Helen continued to
sob without looking at the handsome furs, the stylish hat, the pretty
cloak, and rich patterns of blue and black silk, which Mrs. Banker had
selected.
“No, oh no!” Helen replied. “I know it was all meant well; but there is
something in me which rebels against taking this from Wilford, and
placing myself under so great obligation to him.”
“It was a pleasure for him to do it,” Katy said, trying to reassure her
sister, until she grew calm enough to examine and admire the Christmas
gifts upon which no expense had been spared. Much as we may ignore
dress, and sinful as is an inordinate love for it, there is yet about it
an influence for good, when the heart of the wearer is right, holding it
subservient to all higher, holier affections. At least Helen Lennox
found it so, when clad in her new garments, she drove with Mrs. Banker,
or returned Sybil Grandon’s call, feeling that there was about her
nothing for which Katy need to blush, or even Wilford, who was not
afraid to be seen with her now, and Helen, while knowing the reason of
the change, did not feel like quarreling with him for it, but accepted
with a good-natured grace all that made her life in New York so happy.
With Bell Cameron she was on the best of terms; while Sybil Grandon,
always going with the tide, professed for her an admiration, which,
whether fancied or real, did much toward making her popular; and when,
as the mistress of her brother’s house, she issued cards of invitation
for a large party, she took especial pains to insist upon Helen’s
attending, even if Katy was not able. But from this Helen shrank. She
could not meet so many strangers alone, she said, and so the matter was
dropped, until Mrs. Banker offered to chaperone her, when Helen began to
waver, changing her mind at last and promising to go.
Never since the days of _her_ first party had Katy been so wild with
excitement as she was in helping to dress Helen, who scarcely knew
herself when, before the mirror, with the blaze of the chandelier
falling upon her, she saw the picture of a young girl arrayed in rich
pink silk, with an overskirt of lace, and the light pretty cloak, just
thrown upon her uncovered neck, where Katy’s pearls were shining.
“What would they say at home if they could only see you?” Katy
exclaimed, throwing back the handsome cloak so as to show more of the
well-shaped neck, gleaming so white beneath it.
“Aunt Betsy would say I had forgotten half my dress,” Helen replied,
blushing as she glanced at the arms, which never since her childhood had
been thus exposed to view, except at such times as her household duties
had required it.
Even this exception would not apply to the low neck, at which Helen had
long demurred, yielding finally to Katy’s entreaties, but often
wondering what Mark Ray would think, and if he would not be shocked.
Mark Ray had been strangely blended with all Helen’s thoughts as she
submitted herself to Esther’s practiced hands, and when the
hair-dresser, summoned to her aid, asked what flowers she would wear, it
was a thought of him which led her to select a single water lily, which
looked as natural as if its bed had really been the bosom of Fairy Pond.
“Nothing else? Surely mademoiselle will have these few green leaves?”
Celine had said, but Helen would have nothing save the lily, which was
twined tastefully amid the heavy braids of the brown hair, whose length
and luxuriance had thrown the hair-dresser into ecstasies of delight,
and made Esther lament that in these days of false tresses no one would
give Miss Lennox credit for what was wholly her own.
“You will be the belle of the evening,” Katy said as she kissed her
sister good night and then ran back to her baby, while Wilford, yielding
to her importunities that he should not remain with her, followed Mrs.
Banker’s carriage in his own private conveyance, and was soon set down
at Sybil Grandon’s door.
Meanwhile, at the elder Cameron’s there had been a discussion touching
the propriety of their taking Helen under their protection, instead of
leaving her for Mrs. Banker to chaperone, Bell insisting that it ought
to be done, while the father swore roundly at Juno, who would not “be
bothered with that country girl.”
“You would rather leave her wholly to Mark Ray and his mother, I
suppose,” Bell said, adding, as she saw the flush on Juno’s face, “You
know you are dying of jealousy, and nothing annoys you so much as to
hear people talk of Mark’s attentions to _Miss Lennox_.”
“Do they talk?” Mrs. Cameron asked quickly, while in her gray eyes there
gleamed a light far more dangerous and threatening to Helen than Juno’s
open scorn.
Mrs. Cameron had long intended Mark Ray for her daughter, and accustomed
to have everything bend to her wishes, she had come to consider the
matter as certain, even though he had never proposed in words. He had
done everything else, she thought, attending Juno constantly, and
frequenting their house so much that it was a standing joke for his
friends to seek him there when he was not at home or at his office.
Latterly, however, there had been a change, and the ambitious mother
could not deny that since Helen’s arrival in New York Mark had visited
them less frequently and stayed a shorter time, while she had more than
once heard of him at her son’s in company with Helen. Very rapidly a
train of thought passed through her mind; but it did not manifest itself
upon her face, which was composed and quiet as she decided with Juno
that Helen should not trouble them. With the utmost care Juno arrayed
herself for the party, thinking with a great deal of complacency how
impossible it was for Helen Lennox to compete with her in point of
dress.
“She is such a prude, I dare say she will go in that blue silk, with the
long sleeves and high neck, looking like a Dutch doll,” she said to
Bell, as she shook back the folds of her rich crimson, and turned her
head to see the effect of her wide braids of hair.
“I am not certain that a high dress is worse than bones,” Bell retorted,
playfully touching Juno’s neck, which, though white and gracefully
formed, was shockingly guiltless of flesh.
There was an angry reply, and then, wrapping her cloak about her, Juno
went out to their carriage, and was ere long one of the gay crowd
thronging Sybil Grandon’s parlors. Helen had not yet arrived, and Juno
was hoping she would not come, when there was a stir at the door and
Mrs. Banker appeared, and with her Helen Lennox, but so transformed that
Juno hardly knew her, looking twice ere sure that the beautiful young
lady, so wholly self-possessed, was the country girl she affected to
despise.
“Who is she?” was asked by many, who at once acknowledged her claims to
their attention, and as soon as practicable sought her acquaintance, so
that Helen suddenly found herself the centre of a little court of which
she was the queen and Mark her sworn knight.
Presuming upon his mother’s chaperonage, he claimed the right of
attending her, and Juno’s glory waned as effectually as it had done when
Katy was the leading star to which New York paid homage.
Juno had been annoyed then, but now fierce jealousy took possession of
her heart as she watched the girl whom all seemed to admire, even
Wilford feeling a thrill of pride that the possession of so attractive a
sister-in-law reflected credit upon himself.
He was not ashamed of her now, nor did he retain a single thought of the
farm-house or Uncle Ephraim as he made his way to her side, standing
protectingly at her left, just as Mark was standing at her right, and at
last asking her to dance.
With a heightened color Helen declined, saying frankly,
“I have never learned.”
“You miss a great deal,” Wilford rejoined, appealing to Mark for a
confirmation of his words.
But Mark did not heartily respond. He, too, had solicited Helen as a
partner when the dancing first commenced, and her quiet refusal had
disappointed him a little, for Mark was fond of dancing, and though as a
general thing he disapproved of waltzes and polkas when he was the
looker-on, he felt that there would be something vastly agreeable and
exhilarating in clasping Helen in his arms and whirling her about the
room just as Juno was being whirled by a young cadet, a friend of
Lieutenant Bob’s. But when he reflected that not his arm alone would
encircle her waist, or his breath touch her neck, he was glad she did
not dance, and professing a weariness he did not feel, he declined to
join the dancers on the floor, but kept with Helen, enjoying what she
enjoyed, and putting her so perfectly at her ease that no one would ever
have dreamed of the curdy cheeses she had made, or the pounds of butter
she had churned. But Mark thought of it as he secretly admired the neck
and arms, seen once before, on that memorable day when he assisted Helen
in the labors of the dairy. If nothing else had done so, the lily in her
hair would have brought that morning to his mind, and once as they
walked up and down the hall he spoke of the ornament she had chosen, and
how well it became her.
“Pond lilies are my pets,” he said, “and I have kept one of those I
gathered when at Silverton. Do you remember them?” and his eyes rested
upon Helen with a look which made her blush as she answered yes; but she
did not tell him of a little box at home, made of cones and acorns,
where was hidden a withered water lily, which she could not throw away,
even after its beauty and fragrance had departed.
Had she told him this, it might have put to flight the doubts troubling
Mark so much, and making him wonder if Dr. Grant had really a claim upon
the girl stealing his heart so fast.
“I mean to sound her,” he thought, and as Lieutenant Bob passed by,
making some jocose remark about his offending all the fair ones by the
course he was taking, Mark said to Helen, who suggested returning to the
parlor,
“As you like, though it cannot matter; a person known to be engaged is
above Bob Reynolds’s jokes.”
Quiet as thought the blood stained Helen’s face and neck, for Mark had
made a most egregious blunder giving her the impression that _he_ was
the engaged one referred to, not herself, and for a moment she forgot
the gay scene around her in the sharpness of the pang with which she
recognized all that Mark Ray was to her.
“It was kind in him to warn me. I wish it had been sooner,” she thought,
and then with a bitter feeling of shame she wondered how much he had
guessed of her real feelings, and who the betrothed one was. “Not Juno
Cameron,” she hoped, as after a few moments Mrs. Cameron came up and,
adroitly detaching Mark from her side, took his place while he sauntered
to a group of ladies and was ere long dancing merrily with Juno.
“They are a well-matched pair,” Mrs. Cameron said, assuming a very
confidential manner towards Helen, who assented to the remark, while the
lady continued, “There is but one thing wrong about Mark Ray. He is a
most unscrupulous flirt, pleased with every new face, and this of course
annoys _Juno_.”
“Are they engaged?” came involuntarily from Helen’s lips, while Mrs.
Cameron’s foot beat the carpet with a very becoming hesitancy, as she
replied, “That was settled in our family a long time ago. Wilford and
Mark have always been like brothers.”
Mrs. Cameron could not quite bring herself to a deliberate falsehood,
which, if detected, would reflect upon her character as a lady, but she
could mislead Helen, and she continued, “It is not like us to bruit our
affairs abroad, and were my daughters ten times engaged the world would
be none the wiser. I doubt if even Katy suspects what I have admitted;
but knowing how fascinating Mark can be, and that just at present he
seems to be pleased with you, I have acted as I should wish a friend to
act toward my own child. I have warned you in time. Were it not that you
are one of _our family_, I might not have interfered, and I trust you
not to repeat even to Katy what I have said.”
Helen nodded assent, while in her heart was a wild tumult of
feelings—flattered pride, disappointment, indignation, and mortification
all struggling for the mastery—mortification to feel that she who had
quietly ignored such a passion as love when connected with herself, had,
nevertheless, been pleased with the attentions of one who was only
amusing himself with her, as a child amuses itself with some new toy
soon to be thrown aside—indignation at him for vexing Juno at her
expense—disappointment that he should care for such as Juno, and
flattered pride that Mrs. Cameron should include her in “our family.”
Helen had as few weak points as most young ladies, but she was not free
from them all, and the fact that Mrs. Cameron had taken her into a
confidence which even Katy did not share, was soothing to her ruffled
spirits, particularly as after that confidence, Mrs. Cameron was
excessively gracious to her, introducing her to many whom she did not
know before, and paying her numberless little attentions, which made
Juno stare, while the clear-seeing Bell arched her eyebrows, and
wondered for what Helen was to be made a _cat’s paw_ by her clever
mother. Whatever it was it did not appear, save as it showed itself in
Helen’s slightly changed demeanor when Mark again sought her society,
and tried to bring back to her face the look he had left there. But
something had come between them, and the young man racked his brain to
find the cause of this sudden indifference in one who had been pleased
with him only a short half hour before.
“It’s that confounded waltzing which disgusted her,” he said, “and no
wonder, for if ever a man looks like an idiot, it is when he is kicking
up his heels to the sound of a fiddle, and whirling some woman whose
skirts sweep everything within the circle of a rod, and whose face wears
that die-away expression I have so often noticed. I’ve half a mind to
swear I’ll never dance again.”
But Mark was too fond of dancing to quit it at once, and finding Helen
still indifferent, he yielded to circumstances, and the last she saw of
him, as at a comparative early hour she left the gay scene, he was
dancing again with Juno. It was a heavy blow to Helen, for she had
become greatly interested in Mark Ray, whose attentions had made her
stay in New York so pleasant. But these were over now;—at least the
excitement they brought was over, and Helen, as she sat in her
dressing-room at home, and thought of the future as well as the past,
felt stealing over her a sense of desolation and loneliness such as she
had experienced but once before, and that on the night when leaning from
her window at the farm-house where Mark Ray was stopping she had
shuddered and shrank from living all her days among the rugged hills of
Silverton. New York had opened an entirely new world to her, showing her
much that was vain and frivolous, with much too that was desirable and
good; and if there had crept into her heart the thought that a life with
such people as Mrs. Banker and those who frequented her house would be
preferable to a life in Silverton, where only Morris understood her, it
was but the natural result of daily intercourse with one who had studied
to please and interest as Mark Ray had done. But Helen had too much good
sense and strength of will, long to indulge in what she would have
called “love-sick regrets” in others, and she began to devise the best
course for her to adopt hereafter, concluding finally to treat him much
as she had done, lest he should suspect how deeply she had been wounded.
Now that she knew of his engagement, it would be an easy matter so to
demean herself as neither to annoy Juno nor vex him. Thoroughly now she
understood why Juno Cameron had seemed to dislike her so much.
“It is natural,” she said, “and yet I honestly believe I like her better
for knowing what I do. There must be some good beneath that proud
exterior, or Mark would never seek her.”
Still, look at it from any point she chose, it seemed a strange,
unsuitable match, and Helen’s heart ached sadly as she finally retired
to rest, thinking what _might have been_ had Juno Cameron found some
other lover more like herself than Mark could ever be.