A MORNING CALL.
Sir Robert Dorset and his daughter called, as in duty bound, upon their
relation two days after her ball. "You had better come with us, Ursula,"
said Miss Dorset. "Sophy does not care about visits, and Mrs. Copperhead
asked a great many questions about you. She is very tender-hearted to
the ---- young." Anne had almost said to the poor, for it is difficult
to remember always that the qualifications by which we distinguish our
friends when they are not present, are not always satisfactory to their
own ears. "She was like you once, you know," she added, half
apologetically. Ursula, who was not in the least disposed to take
offence, did not ask how, but assented, as she would have assented had
Cousin Anne told her to get ready to go to the moon. She went upstairs
and put on her little felt hat, which had been made handsome by the long
drooping feather bestowed upon her by Sophy, and the blue serge jacket
which corresponded with her dress. She had not any great opinion of her
own good looks, but she hoped that she was "lady-like," notwithstanding
the simplicity of her costume. This was her only aspiration. In her
heart she admired the tall straight angular kind of beauty possessed by
her cousins, and did not think much of her own roundness and softness,
which seemed to Ursula a very inferior "style;" but yet if she looked
lady-like that was always something, and both Sir Robert and his
daughter looked at her approvingly as she stood buttoning her gloves,
waiting for them.
"If there are other city gentlemen there mind you make yourself very
agreeable, Ursula," said Cousin Sophy, which vexed the girl a little.
Whether the people were city gentlemen or not, of course, she said to
herself, she would try to be _nice_--was not that a girl's first duty?
She tried for her part to be _nice_ to everybody, to talk when she
could, and receive the recompense of pleased looks. To walk with her
friends up the long line of Regent Street, with many a sidelong glance
into the shop-windows, was very pleasant to Ursula. Sometimes even
Cousin Anne would be tempted to stop and look, and point things out to
her father. Unfortunately, the things Miss Dorset remarked were chiefly
handsome pieces of furniture, beautiful carpets, and the like, which
were totally out of Ursula's way.
"There is just the kind of carpet I want for the drawing-room," Anne
said, looking at something so splendid that Ursula thought it was good
enough for the Queen. But Sir Robert shook his head.
"The drawing-room carpet will do very well," he said. "It will last out
my day, and your brother will prefer to please himself."
This brought a little cloud upon Anne Dorset's placid face, for she too,
like Mr. Beecham, had a brother whose wife it was not agreeable to think
of as mistress in the old house. She went on quickly after that looking
in at no more shops. Perhaps she who could buy everything she wanted (as
Ursula thought) had on the whole more painful feelings in looking at
them, than had the little girl beside her, whose whole thoughts were
occupied by the question whether she would have enough money left to buy
her sister Janey one of those new neckties which were "the fashion."
Janey did not often get anything that was the fashion. But at any rate
Ursula made notes and laid up a great many things in her mind to tell
Janey of--which would be next best.
Mrs. Copperhead was seated in a corner of her vast drawing-room when her
visitors arrived, and her pale little countenance brightened at sight of
them. They were the nearest approach to "her own people" that the poor
soul possessed. She received their compliments upon her ball with
deprecating looks.
"I am sure you are very good--very good to say so. I am afraid it was
not much amusement to you. They were not the kind of people--"
"I scarcely knew a soul," said Sir Robert; "it was a curious sensation.
It does one good now and then to have a sensation like that. It shows
you that after all you are not such a fine fellow as you thought
yourself. Once before I experienced something of the same feeling. It
was at a ball at the Tuileries--but even then, after a while, I found
English people I knew, though I didn't know the French grandees; but, by
Jove! except yourself and Mr. Copperhead, Clara, I knew nobody here."
Mrs. Copperhead felt the implied censure more than she was intended to
feel it.
"Mr. Copperhead does not care about cultivating fashionable people," she
said, with a little spirit. "He prefers his old friends."
"That is very nice of him," cried Anne, "so much the kindest way. I
liked it so much. At most balls we go to, people come and ask me to
dance for duty, pretending not to see that my dancing days are over."
"She talks nonsense," said Sir Robert. "Clara, I must trust to you to
put this notion out of Anne's head. Why should her dancing days be over?
I am not a Methuselah, I hope. She has no right to shelve herself so
early, has she? I hope to see her make a good match before I die."
"So long as she is happy--" said Mrs. Copperhead, faltering. She was not
any advocate for good matches. "Oh, there is Mr. Copperhead!" she added,
with a little start, as a resounding knock was heard. "He does not often
come home so early; he will be very glad to see you, Sir Robert. Are you
going to stay long in town, Miss May?"
"Not long, only till the children arrive," said Anne, looking
compassionately at the rich man's nervous wife. She had been quiet
enough, so long as she was alone. Now a little fever seemed to be
awakened in her. She turned to Ursula and began to talk to her quickly--
"Do you like being in town? It is not a good time of the year. It is
nicer in May, when everything looks cheerful; but I always live in
London. You will come back for the season, I suppose?"
"Oh no," said Ursula. "I never was in London before. Cousin Anne brought
me for a great pleasure. I have been twice to the theatre, and at the
ball here."
"Oh yes, I forgot, you were at the ball--and you danced, did you dance?
I cannot remember. There were so many people. Oh yes, I recollect. I
spoke to Clarence--"
"I danced three times," said Ursula. "I never was at a ball before. It
was very nice. Mr. Copperhead was so kind--"
"What is that about Mr. Copperhead being kind? Was I kind? I am always
kind--ask my wife, she will give me a good character," said the master
of the house, coming up to them. "Ah, the Baronet! how do you do, Sir
Robert? I don't often see you in my house."
"You saw us the other evening," said Sir Robert, courteously, "and we
have just come, Anne and I, to let Clara know how much we enjoyed
it. It was really splendid. I don't know when I have seen so
much--um--luxury--so great a display of--of--beautiful things--and--and
wealth."
"Glad to hear you were pleased," said Mr. Copperhead, "no expense was
spared at least. I don't often throw away my money in that way, but when
I do I like things to be regardless of expense. That is our way in the
city; other people have to make a deal of gentility go a long way, but
with us, who don't stand on our gentility--"
"It is not much to stand upon, certainly, in the way of giving balls,"
said Sir Robert. "I quite agree with you that money should not be spared
when a good effect is to be produced. Anne, my dear, if you have said
all you have to say to Clara, you must recollect that we have a great
deal to do--"
"You are not going the moment I come in," said Mr. Copperhead. "Come, we
must have some tea or something. Not that I care very much for tea, but
I suppose you'll be shocked if I offer you anything else in the
afternoon. Haven't you ordered tea, Mrs. Copperhead? I can't teach my
wife hospitality, Sir Robert--not as I understand it. She'd see you come
and go a dozen times, I'll be bound, without once thinking of offering
anything. That ain't my way. Tea! and directly, do you hear."
"Yes," said Mrs. Copperhead, in a nervous tremor; "bring tea, Burton,
please. It is rather early, but I do so hope you will stay." She gave
Miss Dorset an appealing glance, and Anne was too kind to resist the
appeal.
"To be sure they'll stay," said Mr. Copperhead. "Ladies never say no to
a cup of tea, and ours ought to be good if there's any virtue in money.
Come and look at my Turner, Sir Robert. I ain't a judge of art, but it
cost a precious lot, if that is any test. They tell me it's one of the
best specimens going. Come this way."
"You won't mind?" said poor Mrs. Copperhead. "He is very hospitable, he
cannot bear that any one should go without taking something. It is
old-fashioned, but then Mr. Copperhead--"
"It is a most kind fashion, I think," said Anne Dorset, who had a
superstitious regard for other people's feelings, "and Mr. Copperhead is
quite right, I never say no to a cup of tea."
Just then Clarence came in with his hands in his pockets, so curiously
like his father in his large somewhat loose figure, as unlike him in
aspect and expression, that even the gentle Anne could scarcely help
smiling. When he had shaken hands with Miss Dorset he dropped naturally
into a seat beside Ursula, who, dazzled by his position as son of the
house, and flattered by what she called his "kindness," was as much
pleased by this sign of preference as if Clarence Copperhead had been a
hero.
"I hope you have recovered my father's ball," he said.
"Recovered! Mr. Copperhead."
"Yes, you think it uncivil; but I myself have scarcely recovered yet.
The sort of people he chose to collect--people whom nobody knew."
"But, Mr. Copperhead," said Ursula, "if it was his old friends, as your
mother says, how much more noble of him than if they had been fine
people he did not care for! As for me, I don't know any one anywhere. It
was all the same to me."
"That was very lucky for you," said the young man. "My good cousins did
not take it so easily. They are your cousins, too?"
"Oh, yes--they are so good," cried Ursula. "Cousin Sophy laughs at me
sometimes, but Cousin Anne is as kind as an angel. They have always been
good to us all our lives."
"You live near them, perhaps? Sir Robert has been kind enough to ask me
to the Hall."
"No, not near. We live at Carlingford. It is not a place like the
Dorsets'; it is a poor little town where papa is one of the clergymen.
We are not county people like them," said Ursula, with anxious honesty,
that he might not have a false idea of her pretensions. "I have never
been anywhere all my life, and that is why they brought me here. It was
by far the most beautiful party I ever saw," she added, with a little
enthusiasm. "I never was at a real dance before."
"I am glad you thought it pretty," said Clarence. "I suppose it was
pretty; when the rooms are nice," and he looked round the handsome room,
not without a little complacency, "and when there is plenty of light and
flowers, and well-dressed people, I suppose no dance can help being a
pretty sight. That was about all. There was no one worth pointing out."
"Oh, there were some very pretty people," said Ursula; "there was a
young lady in black. She was always dancing. I should have liked to know
her. You danced with her a great many times, Mr. Copperhead."
"Ah!" said Clarence. He was not more foolish than his neighbours, but it
flattered him that his dancing with one person should have been noticed,
especially by a pretty creature, who herself had attracted him and
shared the privilege. "That was Miss Beecham. I did not dance with her
above three or four times. Of course," he said, apologetically, "we are
old friends."
Ursula did not know why he should apologize. She did not intend to
flirt, not having any knowledge of that pastime as yet. She was quite
simple in her mention of the other girl, who had attracted her
attention. Now having said all she could remember to say, she stopped
talking, and her eyes turned to the elder Mr. Copperhead, who came back,
followed by Sir Robert. There was a largeness about the rich man, which
Ursula, not used to rich men, gazed at with surprise. He seemed to
expand himself upon the air, and spread out his large person, as she had
never known any one else do. And Sir Robert, following him, looked so
strangely different. He was very reluctant to be so led about, and, as
it were, patronized by the master of the house, and his repugnance took
a curious form. His nose was slightly drawn up, as if an odour of
something disagreeable had reached him. Ursula, in her innocence,
wondered what it was.
"Here's the Baronet, Clarence," said Mr. Copperhead, who was slightly
flushed; "and he doubts the Turner being genuine. My Turner! Go off at
once to those picture people, Christie, whatever you call them, and tell
them I want proofs that it's genuine. I am not the sort of man, by
George! to be cheated, and they ought to know that. They have had many a
hundred pounds of my money, but they shall never have another penny if I
don't get proofs. It ain't pleasant, I can tell you, to hear the
Baronet, or any one else for that matter, running down my pictures."
"I did not run it down," said Sir Robert, with another little curl of
his nostrils. (What could there be in this grand big house that could
make a disagreeable smell?) "I only said that I had seen copies that
were so wonderfully good that none but an expert could tell the
difference; that was all. I don't say that yours is one of them."
"No; nor no one shall!" cried Mr. Copperhead. "We shall have the
experts, as you call them, and settle it. By George! there shall be
nothing uncertain in my house. You can tell the men it is Sir Robert
Dorset who suggested it. There's nothing like a title (even when it
isn't much of a title) to keep people up to their work. Not meaning any
disrespect to Sir Robert, I could buy him and his up five times over.
But I ain't Sir Robert, and never will be. Say Sir Robert, Clarence, my
boy; that'll bear weight."
"It was an unfortunate observation on my part," said Sir Robert,
stiffly. "I have a picture myself, which I bought for a Correggio, and
which is a mere copy, I believe, though a very nice one. I hold my
tongue on the subject, and nobody is the wiser. Anne, my dear, I think
we must go now."
"That would never suit me," said the rich man; "holding my tongue ain't
my way, is it, Mrs. Copperhead? What! going, after all, without your
tea? I am afraid, ma'am, the Baronet is touchy, and doesn't like what I
said. But nobody minds me, I assure you. I say what I think, but I don't
mean any harm."
"Oh, no," said Anne, drawing herself up, while her father took leave of
poor little tremulous Mrs. Copperhead. "We really must go; we have
stayed longer than we meant to stay. Ursula--"
"Your little companion?" said Mr. Copperhead. "Ah; you should take care,
Miss Dorset, of these little persons. They stand in the way of the young
ladies themselves often enough, I can tell you. And so can Mrs.
Copperhead; she knows."
He laughed, and both Anne and Ursula became aware that something
offensive was meant; but what it was, neither of them could make out.
Mrs. Copperhead, whose intelligence had been quickened on that point,
perceived it, and trembled more and more.
"Good-bye, dear," she said to Ursula in an agony. "Though we are not
cousins, we are connections, through your kind Cousin Anne; for she lets
me call her my Cousin Anne too. Perhaps you will come and pay me a visit
sometimes, if--if you can be spared."
"Oh, yes; I should be very glad," said Ursula, confused.
She did not understand why Sir Robert should be in such a hurry, when
both young Mr. Copperhead and his mother were so kind. As for the other
Mr. Copperhead, he did not interest Ursula. But he went down to the door
with them in an excess of civility, offering Anne his arm, which she was
obliged to take, much against her will; and even Ursula felt a passing
pang of humiliation when the footman threw open the great door before
them, and no carriage was visible.
"Oh, you are walking!" said Mr. Copperhead, with one of his big laughs.
After all, a laugh could hurt nobody. Why was it that they all felt
irritated and injured? Even Sir Robert grew scarlet, and when they were
outside on the broad pavement turned almost angrily upon his daughter.
"I tell you what, Anne," he said; "not if it was to save my life, shall
I ever enter that brute's doors again."
"Oh, papa; poor Mrs. Copperhead!" cried kind Anne, with a wail in her
voice. That was all the reply she made.