The season was now fairly opened, and Mrs. Gaston kept her young
guest liberally supplied with amusement. There were all sorts of
entertainments for them to go to, some of which Margaret found
very inspiring and delightful, and some extremely dull. Cousin
Eugenia, however, found nothing unprofitable. Every visit and every
entertainment served some purpose, in her abstruse economy, and, if she
failed to derive actual diversion from any, it still fulfilled some
end, and in some manner was turned to account.
She would take Margaret with her on the endless round of afternoon
calls that she made, never doubting that she was conferring an immense
favor on her young country cousin, until the latter begged to be
excused from some of them, confessing that they wearied her. This was a
great surprise to Cousin Eugenia, who cherished the honest conviction
that every opportunity of catching a glimpse of the great world of
fashion must perforce be esteemed a high privilege and delight by this
little Southern cousin, whom she pitied profoundly for her necessary
isolation from such sources of happiness. Margaret was perfectly aware
of this, and secretly much amused at it. That Cousin Eugenia, or any
one, should commiserate her upon her lot in life was something very
strange to her, for she had always known herself to be a very happy and
fortunate girl.
“The Kellers give such stupid parties!” said Cousin Eugenia one
evening, as she and Margaret were returning from a large entertainment.
“I haven’t missed one of them for the past five years, and they are
asphyxiating affairs. I’m glad this one is well over.”
“Why do you go to them, then?”
“Oh, every one does. At least every one who can. You saw how full the
rooms were this evening, and yet every one there was bored.”
“I was, undoubtedly,” said Margaret, “and for that reason I should
certainly not go again.”
“You can afford to be independent, my dear, being here only on a visit,
but if you lived in Washington you’d soon find that it was desirable
for you to be seen at the Kellers’.”
“Why?”
“Oh, because of their position.”
Margaret was silent a moment, and then she said impulsively:
“Do excuse my asking such a thing, Cousin Eugenia, but I really want
to understand. Could it possibly enhance your social value to be seen
anywhere?”
Cousin Eugenia gave a little shrug.
“You put things so oddly, child, with your Southern notions! Of course
our social position is fixed and definite and nobody would dispute
it. But, large as the Kellers’ circle is, their parties are very
_recherché_, and it’s well worth while to be seen there.”
“I thought----” began Margaret.
“Well, go on,” said her cousin, as the girl hesitated. “Out with it.
Let me hear.”
“I was only going to say that I thought a lady, born and reared, never
had to think of anything like that.”
“Like what?”
“Where she is seen and whether her associations will be considered
correct. I thought that it would all come of itself--that a lady would
not be in danger of making mistakes of that sort, because what she did
would be the natural outgrowth of what she was.”
“Those may be the Southern ideas, but you’d not find them to answer
here.”
“I don’t know whether they are Southern ideas or not,” said Margaret;
“I never knew they were ideas at all. Certainly, I have never heard
them formulated before, and I don’t quite know how to express myself.
They simply seem to me instincts.”
“That’s because of the associations you have had,” said Mrs. Gaston.
“I have seen very little of your parents of late years, but they have
lived in my mind as people of thorough refinement. Your father is a
model of a gentleman--the most high-bred man I ever knew, I think.”
A radiant light came into Margaret’s face.
“My darling, dear old father!” she said, fondly. “There is surely no
one like him, and yet if I were to repeat your compliment to him, how
amazed he would be! He has not an idea how fine he is, and has never
once paused to consider whether he is high-bred or not. He would not
hurt the feelings of the lowest wretch on earth--there is no one too
mean for his kindly consideration. May I tell you an idea that has
occurred to me, when I’ve been in society here, surrounded by such
well-dressed, elegant looking, accomplished men, and have compared them
to him? It is that they are all trying to be what he is.”
Mrs. Gaston did not reply at once, but her silence proceeded from no
feeling of intolerance of this sentiment. She was not at all given to
resenting things, partly because of a natural indolence, and partly
because she did not feel enough on any subject to be biassed by impulse.
“I can understand your having that feeling about your father,” she
said, presently, “and it’s quite possible it may be true. We will
submit the point when we find any one wise enough to decide it for us.
But the world is large, and there are many men and many minds, and
manners vary in different places. That line of tactics would not do in
Washington.”
At this point in their conversation they found themselves at home, and
the subject was consequently dropped.
It happened about this time that some of Mrs. Gaston’s wide circle
of Southern connections, who were always cropping up in Washington,
came to the city, and Cousin Eugenia took Margaret and went to call
upon--or, as she did not hesitate to put it, to inspect them. They were
a General and Mrs. Reardon, the former an ex-Confederate officer, who
had been previously in the United States army, and who was distantly
related to both Mrs. Gaston and Margaret, though neither of them had
anything more than a slight acquaintance with him.
Margaret soon perceived that Cousin Eugenia did not consider them up to
the mark socially--a fact which was further evidenced by their being
invited to lunch, and not to dinner, next day. No one was asked to meet
them, and Mrs. Gaston excused the gentlemen on the score of business
hours. Margaret noted the whole proceeding, and saw through it and
beyond it. Cousin Eugenia was perfectly polite and pleasant--extremely
sweet, in fact--and yet there was something in her manner toward these
simple Southern people, of a type so familiar to Margaret Trevennon,
that the girl involuntarily resented. She showed none of this feeling
to Mrs. Gaston, however, for she was beginning to understand that,
although that clever lady in matters of abstract theory appeared to
be most reasonable and open to conviction, she was adamant itself in
carrying out her peculiar designs and purposes, and quite unused to
interference from any one.
The Reardons came next day, according to appointment, and the little
luncheon-party passed off very pleasantly, greatly owing to Margaret’s
efforts to make it do so.
When the guests were taking leave, they asked if Mrs. Gaston and
Margaret would not go with them to an Art Exhibition in the evening.
The proposal came, in a subdued and deprecating sort of way, from Mrs.
Reardon, who was still young and pretty enough to be somewhat eager
for pleasure, and although Mrs. Gaston declined it for herself, on the
score of indisposition, she encouraged Margaret to go, and the latter
very willingly agreed to do so.
She went accordingly, and was pretty well entertained with what
she saw, recognizing some acquaintances, among whom was young Mr.
Leary, who had been sufficiently persevering to call again, with
better success next time, and who had always been especially polite
to Margaret on meeting her in society. Shortly before leaving, an
acquaintance of General Reardon’s came up, to whom Margaret was
presented. He was a Major King, a Southern man, as Margaret somehow
divined at a glance, and a resident of Washington, as it soon appeared.
Before the party separated, he inquired where Miss Trevennon was
staying, and asked her permission to call upon her. Margaret yielded
the permission, of course, but with a strange feeling of reluctance;
she saw that, though a familiar type of Southern man, he was not a
favorable one. There was a sort of aggressive self-confidence in his
bearing, which was unpleasant enough to her, but which she knew would
be positively offensive to the prejudiced minds of the Gastons. He
belonged to a class she knew well--men whose range of vision had been
limited, but who were possessed of a feeling of superiority to others
in general, and an absolute conviction of superiority to the best
Yankee that ever lived. It was an attitude of mind that had always
irritated her, but she had never felt the force of it with such
indignation as now, when she was being hourly impressed with the worth
and superior qualities of these people whom her Southern compatriots
regarded with such scorn. If Major King should come to call, however,
she could feel confident that he would not betray the presence of this
vindictive feeling, for, despite her disapproval of his tone and manner
in general, she felt that she could count upon his possessing a spirit
of courtesy, a hidden germ of which she had rarely found wanting in a
Southern man’s breast.
Margaret mentioned, at breakfast next morning, the fact of her having
met Major King, and inquired of her friends if they knew him. The two
gentlemen were silent, and Mrs. Gaston replied by a simple negative.
She had intended to mention the fact that he had proposed to call upon
her, but some instinct prevented her doing so. Very probably he would
not come; and, besides, she had an indefinable feeling that there was
danger in the topic.
It had become a habit with Margaret to go from the breakfast-table to
the bow-window, on the corner of the house, to watch for the coming
of the postman, and recently Mr. Gaston had fallen into the way of
accompanying her. As the two young people found themselves together in
the richly curtained recess, Margaret turned to her companion, with a
smile, and said:
“Mr. Leary was there last night. He talked to me for quite half an
hour. Ought I to have been elated?”
“Certainly not,” replied the young man, frowning slightly. “Why do you
ask such a thing? The idea is quite absurd.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” said Margaret, smiling. “He has so little sense, and
he talks so much about himself. Here comes the postman!” She broke off
suddenly, running to open the door herself, never divining that it
would have been considered more decorous to wait until Thomas came up
from the lower regions, and, with his usual deliberation, brought in
the letters on his silver tray.