Genuine and genial were the words of sympathy that were expressed
on every side for the young lady who had been transforming the
dull day into one of exceptional jollity. A deputation of ladies
called upon her, but from within her locked door she confirmed the
impression that it was a nervous shock, and that a few hours of
perfect quiet would restore her.
And it would seem that she was right, for she came down to supper
apparently as genial and smiling as ever. Beyond a slight pallor
and a little fulness about her eyes, Van Berg could detect no trace
of her sudden indisposition.
The remainder of the day was passed more quietly by the guests
of the Lake House, but the force of Miss Burton's example did not
spend itself at once, and on the part of some there was developed
quite a marked disposition to make kindly efforts to promote the
enjoyment of others. The unwonted exhilaration with which she
had inspired her fellow guests was something they could scarcely
account for, and yet the means employed had been so simple and were
so plainly within the reach of all, as to suggest that a genial
manner and an unselfish regard for others were the only conditions
required to enable each one to do something to brighten every cloudy
day.
After Miss Burton's departure, the young people had the dance
to themselves, their elders resuming the avocations and soberer
pleasures from which they had been swept by an impulse evoked from
their half-forgotten youth.
When Van Berg joined Miss Mayhew again, he found her mother and
Stanton trying to explain how it all came about.
"There is no use of multiplying words," concluded Stanton; "Miss
Burton is gifted with a mind, and she uses it for the benefit of
others instead of tasking it solely on her own account, which is
the general rule."
At this moment a letter was handed to Mrs. Mayhew, which she read
with a slight frown and passed to her daughter. It was from Mr.
Mayhew, and contained but a brief sentence to the effect that his
absence would probably be a relief, and therefore he would not
spend the coming Sabbath with them.
Ida did not show the superficial vexation that her mother manifested,
and which was more assumed than real. Her cheek paled a little,
and she instinctively glanced at Van Berg as if her sudden sense
of guilt were apparent to his keen eyes. He was looking at he
searchingly, and she turned away with a quick flush, nor did she give
him a chance to speak with her again that day; but his words--"what
a millstone about a man's neck a woman can be!"--haunted her
continually. Still oftener rose before her Miss Burton's flushed
and kindled face, and the artist's emphatic assertion of the power
of mind and character to add to native beauty. Had she not been a
millstone about her father's neck? Was there not a fatal flaw in
the beauty of which she was so proud, that spoiled it for eyes that
were critical and unblinded?
Oppressed by these thoughts and being in no mood for her cousin's
banter, or the artist's society which always seemed to render her
more uncomfortable, she was glad to escape to the solitude of her
own room.
Another "revelation" was slowly dawning upon her mind, namely--just
what she, Ida Mayhew, was. A woman is an "inspiration" or a
"millstone according to what she is," this stranger, this disturber
of her peace, from whom it seemed she could not escape, had not only
asserted but proved by showing her a lady she would have passed as
plain and insignificant, but who nevertheless possessed some sweet
potency that won and cheered all hearts, and who, she was compelled
to admit, was positively beautiful as she sat at the piano, radiant
with her purpose to cause gladness in others. Miss Burton had
created sunshine enough to enliven the dismal day, and had quickened a
hundred pulses with pleasure. She had been a burden even to herself.
Everything, from the artist's first disturbing frown to the present
hour, had been preparing the way for the sharp and painful contrast
that circumstances had forced upon her attention to-day.
But the thought that troubled her most, was that he saw this contrast
more plainly than it was possible for her to see it.
Vaguely, and yet with some approach to the truth, her intuition
began to reveal to her the attitude of his mind towards her. She
believed that he was attracted, but also saw that he was not blinded
by her beauty. She was already beginning to revise her first impression
that he was shutting his eyes to every other consideration, as she
had seen so many do in their brief infatuation. His manner was not
that of one who is taking counsel of passion only. Those ominous
words--"according to what she is"--indicated that he was looking
into her mind, her character. With a sense of dismay, she was
awakening to a knowledge of the dwarfed ugliness her beauty but
partially concealed, and she felt that he, from the first, had been
discovering those defects of which she had been scarcely conscious
herself. She began to fear that her cousin's words would prove true,
and that he would not fall helplessly in love with her. Therefore
the opportunity to retaliate and to punish him for all the
mortifications that he had occasioned her, would never come. On
the contrary, he might inflict upon her, any day, the crowning
humiliation of declaring, be indifference of manner, that he had
found her out so thoroughly, as to entertain for her only feelings
of disgust and repugnance.
"Well," she concluded, recklessly, "why should I care what
he thinks? I have lived thus far without his good opinion, and I
can live a little longer, I imagine. I have had a good time for
eighteen years after my own fashion, and I will just ignore him
and have a good time still. Indeed I'll shock him to-night and
to-morrow so thoroughly, that he won't come near me again; for
I'm sick of his superior airs. I'm sick of his learned talk about
books, pictures, and politics, as if a young society girl were
expected to know about these things; and as for his small talk, it
reminded me of an elephant trying to dance a jig;" and she sprang
up with a snatch of song from the "opera bouffe," and began her
toilet for dinner.
In a few moments, however, she dropped her hairbrush absently, and
forgot to look at her fair face in the mirror.
"I wonder," she mused, "if he and Miss Burton ever met before they
came here? It has been a strange coincidence that she should have
felt such a sudden indisposition in each instance at the same moment
that his name was casually mentioned. True, on both occasions,
events occurred that might account for the sudden giving way of her
nerves, but I cannot help thinking that she has some association
with him that the rest of us know nothing about. She certainly
seems more interested in him than in any one else in the house, for
I have several times noticed peculiar and furtive glances towards
him; besides, they are evidently growing to be very good friends. As
for Ik, he seems quite inclined to enter upon a serious flirtation
with her. But what do I care for either of them! Mr. Sibley
will be here to-night, and I'll enable this artist to bring his
investigations to a close at once. I am what I am, and that's the
end of it, and I won't mope and have a stupid time for anybody, and
certainly not for him. Let him marry the school-ma'am. She can
talk books, art, and all the 'isms' going, to his heart's content.
I, as well as Miss Burton, have my opinion of flirting, and know
from some little experience that it is jolly good fun.
"He can go his way, I'll go mine;
E'en though he frowns, the sun will shine."
And with a careless gesture she affected to dismiss him from her
thoughts.
To judge from her manner that evening and the following day,
one might suppose that she succeeded very fully. Sibley, with an
unwonted venturesomeness, did risk his one immaculate possession,
his clothes, and came from the city through the storm. Ida and
himself, between them, brought about the nearest approach to a
"ball" possible in the circumstances.
The dancing, under their auspices, differed from that of the morning,
not merely in name and form, but in its subtle character. In the
one instance it had been an innocent pastime, occasioned by childlike
and joyous impulses. The people's manner might have reminded one
of a bit of darkened landscape that had been rapidly filled with
light, and almost ecstatic life by the advent of a May morning.
In the evening, however, everything was artificial and in keeping
with the gaslight. The ladies were conscious of their toilets,
conscious of themselves, looking for admiration rather than hearty
enjoyment. Even the older boys and girls, who had been joyous
children in the morning, were now small parodies of fashionable men
and women! A band of hired performers twanged out the hackneyed
dancing music then in vogue, going over their small "repertoire"
with wearisome repetition. People danced at first because it was
the thing to do, and not from any inspiration from the melody. As
the evening wore on, Sibley, who had been drinking quite freely,
tried to introduce, as far as possible, the excitement of a revel,
calling chiefly for swift waltzes and gallops through which he and
Ida whirled in a way that made people's heads dizzy.
Miss Burton, after going through a quadrille with Stanton early
in the evening, had declined to dance any more. She did not feel
very well, she explained to Van Berg as he sought her for the
next form; but he imagined that she early foresaw that Sibley and
others, and among them even Stanton, were inclined to give the
evening a character that was not to her taste.
As Ida had made herself somewhat prominent in inaugurating the
"ball," as Sibley took pains to term it on all occasions, Van Berg,
as a part of his tactics to win the beauty's good-will, tried at
first to make the affair successful. He danced with others, and
twice sought her hand; but in each case she rather indifferently
told him that she was engaged. He would not have sought her as a
partner after his first rebuff had he not imagined, from occasional
and furtive glances, that she was not as indifferent as she seemed.
Early in the evening it occurred to him that her slightly reckless
manner was assumed, but he saw that she was abandoning herself to
the growing excitement of the dance, as Sibley, her most frequent
partner, and others, were to the stronger excitement of liquor.
Observant mothers called away their daughters. Ladies, in whom the
instincts of true refined womanhood were in the ascendancy, looked
significantly at each other, and declined further invitations.
Van Berg had also withdrawn, but with his disposition to watch
manifestations of character in general, and of one present in
particular, he still stood at a parlor window looking on. The band
had just struck up a livelier waltz than usual, and Ida and Sibley
were whirling through the wide apartment as if treading on air;
but when, a few moments later, they circled near where he stood,
he saw upon the young man's face an expression of earthiness and
grossness that was anything but ethereal. Indeed so unmistakably
wanton was the look which Sibley bent upon his companion, whose
heaving bosom he clasped against his won, that the artist frowned
darkly at him, and felt his hand tingling to strike the fellow a
blow.
She, looking up, caught his frown, and in her egotism and excitement,
thought it meant only jealousy of the man she had so favored during
the evening.
"Perhaps he is more deeply smitten than I imagined, and I can punish
him yet," was the hope that entered her mind; and this prospect
added to the elation and excitement which had mastered her.
"Can she know how that scoundrel is looking at her? If I believed
it I'd leave her marvellous features to their fate," was the thought
that passed through his mind.
In his perturbation he walked down the long piazza. Happening to
glance into one of the small private parlors, he witnessed a scene
that made a very sharp contrast with the one he had just left.
An old white-haired, white-bearded man, a well-known guest of the
house, reclined in an easy-chair with an expression of real enjoyment
on his face. His aged wife sat near, knitting away as tranquilly
as if at home, while under the gas-jet was Miss Burton, reading a
newspaper, with two or three others upon her lap. She had evidently
found the old gentleman trying to glean, with his feeble sight,
the evening journals that had been brought from the city, and
was lending him her young eyes and mellow voice for an hour. The
picture struck him so pleasantly that he took out his notebook and
indicated the fortunate grouping within, for a future sketch.
"It would make some difference in a man's future," he muttered,
"whether this maiden or the one in yonder roue's embrace were
installed as the mistress of his home."
Going back into the main hallway he met Stanton coming down the
stairs with his face unusually flushed.
"Oh, Van," he cried, "where have you been keeping yourself? Come
with me and have some of the best brandy you ever tasted."
"Where is it?"
"In Sibley's room. He brought up a couple of bottles of the prime
old article, and has invited all his friends to make free with it."
"I'm not one of his friends."
"Oh well, you're my friend! What's the odds? A swig of such brandy
will do you good, so come along."
"Come out on the piazza, Stanton. I want to show you something."
"Can't you wait a few moments? I want to have a whirl in this
jolly waltz before it's over."
"No; then it will be too late. I won't keep you long," and Stanton
reluctantly followed him.
Van Berg understood his friend sufficiently well to know that
any ordinary remonstrance would have no influence in his present
condition, and so sought to use a little strategy. Taking him to
the window of the small private parlor, he showed and explained to
him the pretty and quiet scene within.
Stanton's manner changed instantly, and he seemed in no haste to
return to the waltz.
"I thought it would strike you as a pretty picture, as it did me,"
remarked Van Berg, quietly; "and I also thought that after seeing
it you would not want any more of Sibley's brandy. It would choke
me."
"You are right, Van. I fear I've taken too much of it already.
I'm glad you showed me this quiet picture--it makes me wish I were
a better man."
"I like that, Ik; I always knew you had plenty of good metal in you.
Now I don't want to be officious, but I would not let a cousin of
mine dance with Sibley any longer if I could prevent it without
attracting attention. However generous he may have been with his
brandy, he has had more than his share himself."
"Thank you, Van; I understand you. By Jove, I'll try the same
tactics with her that you have with me. I'll bring her here and
show her a scene that has been to me like a quieting and restraining
hand."
A few moments later the waltz ceased, and Miss Mayhew came out on
the cool, dusky piazza, leaning on Sibley's arm. Stanton joined
her and said:
"Ida, come with me; I wish to speak with you a moment. Mr. Sibley,
please excuse us."
"Indeed, Mr. Stanton," said Sibley in tones of maudlin sentiment,
"you are cruel to deprive me of your cousin's society even for a
moment. I'll forgive you this once, but never again." And then
he availed himself of the opportunity to pay another visit to his
brandy.
"Ida," said Stanton, "I want to show you a little picture that has
done me good."
But the young lady was in no mood for pictures or moralizing. Her
blood was coursing feverishly through her veins, her spirit had
been made reckless by the wilful violence that she was doing her
conscience, and also by her deep and growing dissatisfaction with
herself, that was like an irritating wound. She was therefore
prepared to resent any interruption to the whirl of excitement,
which gave her a kind of pleasure in the place of the happiness
that was impossible to one in her condition.
"You call that a pretty picture!" she said disdainfully; "Miss
Burton reading a newspaper to two stupid old people who ought to be
abed! A more humdrum scene I never saw. Truly, both your breath
and your words show that you have been drinking too much. But
you need not expect me to share in your tipsy sentiment over Miss
Burton. Did Mr. Van Berg ask you to show me this matter-of-fact
group which, in his artistic jargon, you call a picture?"
"If he had, he showed you a greater kindness than you deserved."
"Yes, and a greater one than I asked or wished from him."
"Then you are going back to dance with Sibley?"
"Yes, I am."
"The prospects are, that you and Mrs. Chints and a couple of
half-tipsy men will soon have it all to yourselves. I suppose the
old adage about 'birds of a feather' swill still hold good. I was
in hopes, however, that even if you had no appreciation of what
was beautiful, refined, and unselfish in another woman's action,
you still had some self-respect, or at least some fear of ridicule,
left. Since you won't listen to me, I shall warn your mother.
If Sibley and two or three others drink much more, Burleigh will
interfere for the credit of his house."
"You have been drinking as well as Mr. Sibley."
"Well, thanks to Van Berg, I stopped before I lost my head."
"From your maudlin sentiment over Miss Burton, I think you have
lost your head and heart both."
"Go; dance with Sibley, then," he said in sudden irritation; "dance
with him till you and Mrs. Chints between you have to hold him on
his feet. Dance with him till Burleigh sends a couple of colored
waiters to take him from your embrace and carry him off to bed."
She made a gesture of rage and disgust, and went straight to her
room.
Sibley, in the mean time, paid a lengthened visit to his brandy,
and having already passed the point of discretion, drank recklessly.
When he descended the stairs again to look for his partner, his
step was uncertain and his utterance thick.
Stanton gave Mr. Burleigh a hint that the young man needed looking
after, and the adroit host, skilled in managing all kinds of people
and in every condition, induced him to return to his room, under
the pretence of wishing to taste his fine old brandy, and then kept
him there until the lethargic stage set in as the result of his
excess. And so an affair, which might have created much scandal,
was smuggled out of sight and knowledge as far as possible. Mrs.
Mayhew had been so occupied with whist that she had not observed
that anything was amiss, and merely remarked that "Mr. Sibley's
ball had ended earlier than usual."