BRIGHT HOPES.
It was June's seventeenth birthday. She stood on the broad veranda
gazing up at the sky. The day was not as bright as June wished it to
be, for the sun would peep out now and then to stay but a moment, then
hide behind a cloud, which seemed to waft a breeze softly down on
June's bright, happy face.
"I hope it will be a pleasant evening," she said, half aloud, "for it
is so much nicer to have a party when the weather is fine, and I shall
almost be out of patience if it rains."
Scott and Paul were just coming up the shady walk.
"Will you not take the time to visit me a little while this morning?"
she asked. "You know I shall never be seventeen years old again, and I
would like to speak to you of the party I shall give to-night."
"Here is your first guest, then," said Paul, as he accepted the seat
June offered him. "I present him to you with my sincere wish that
every birthday may be as bright as this your seventeenth."
"Thank you, Paul! Many thanks for so lovely a present," June said, as
she lifted the bright cage containing a parrot, which Paul offered
her.
"What is your name, sir?" she asked.
"Bob!" croaked the bird. "Pretty Bob."
"I shall cherish him in remembrance of you, Paul," said June, "and how
nice he will be to amuse poor Papa. He is obliged to keep his room so
much of late."
"Is he no better to-day?" Scott asked, with an anxious look.
"Yes, much better, and is out riding with mama."
"Sit down here, little one," Scott said, drawing a chair near his own.
"I have brought you a little present to start the day with. I wish you
to look at it."
June seated herself by Scott and took from his hand a beautifully
bound book of poems.
"It is by some new author--at least new to me; but it is a beautiful
poem. I took the liberty to read it before presenting it to you."
"'A Gift from the Sea,'" said June, looking at the title. "I
wonder----"
"What?"
"I was thinking that perhaps it might be Rene who wrote this."
"I hardly think so," said Scott, "although she does considerable
writing, I do not think she ever wrote that."
"Why?"
"One reason is that I do not think she would ever have the patience.
This work is prepared with a great deal of care. I thought perhaps you
might be interested, as well as to gain some valuable information
from it, for there are some rare gems of thought contained in its
pages."
"I know I shall enjoy it," said June.
"You will find, by careful perusal, that it is like a fine edifice,
each stone of which is laid by a master workman. The inborn talent is
the cornerstone, and each rock is carefully hewn and placed in its
proper niche, making the foundation solid as well as beautiful."
"Do you think, then," Paul asked, "that the poet who wrote that worked
hard to construct it?"
"Poets are born, not made; but careful study and patience serve to
smooth the rough edges, as the edges are natural to the unhewn marble.
The finest quality wears not its glassy surface until the sculptor's
hand has chiselled and polished it to his will, and while the edifice
may be beautiful to look upon for a time, without the solid foundation
it may be broken by the first touch of the critic's hand. The poet who
wrote that little book never did so without work, although he may have
felt the inspiration of poetic zeal while he worked."
"It is strange," said June, "that we have such different qualifications.
I can see great beauty in some poems, but I never could put the
beauty there."
"I can see much beauty in that poem. I can feel its loveliness, but I
could never put the poem together as that poet did, any more than I
could trim a lady's bonnet," said Scott.
"Then you believe that every person is born with a taste for a certain
occupation?" said June.
"Yes," said Scott, "everyone must have a talent, either small or
great, and each one must work to cultivate it, if he would have it
increase, or he may let it die for want of proper training."
"I guess my talent must have died, then," said June, "for I shall
never make a mark in the world at anything."
"Every true, good, pure-minded woman makes a mark, my dear sister, and
it is not always the great in name who are really the most worthy of
note, although I honor the labor of a grand achievement. The private
soldier who is foremost in battle is far more a hero than the most
noted general, though he wears not the sword and plume."
"I am afraid it would be the hardest work of all for me to be a hero
in goodness," said Paul.
"Why?" asked June.
"Because it is so natural to be wicked and selfish."
"I think all your selfishness lies in your desire for knowledge," said
June.
"That is no doubt uncontrollable," said Scott, looking at Paul and
wondering how June or any one else could resist the charm of his great
dreamy eyes. But he supposed that June had hardly thought of love, and
Paul was only a boy. He thought of it being her birthday, but could
hardly realize that she was seventeen. He knew that she had plenty of
admirers, but he hoped that she had not thought of marrying one of
them.
She spoke to Scott of the number of invitations sent out, and among
them was the name of Colonel Brunswick.
"Did you invite Brunswick?" he asked.
"Rene sent him the invitation," said June.
Scott's hazel eyes grew darker with the fire that shone in them. Paul,
with his keenly perceptive powers, knew that there was a fierce
struggle going on in his breast, and never did he pity the most
miserable slave more than he pitied him at that moment. He was aware
of Scott's wonderful self-control, and he sent up a silent prayer that
he might become like him, and that the noble man might yet see happier
hours. Of Irene's true character Paul already knew more than did
Scott, and he feared that instead of his life clouds dispersing, they
would continue to grow blacker; but he had a hope, slight though it
was, that the scene which had been enacted on that dismal night would
not be repeated.
"It looks cloudy," said June. "I want my birthday of all the year to
be a pleasant one."
"I hope they will all be cloudless," said Scott, "but, June, I can
hardly realize that you are seventeen. Many a young lady is married at
that age."
"Many are very silly, then. I have not the least idea of giving up the
best of my life by getting married."
"You are looking as sweet as a rose, June," Irene said as she entered
June's room, faultlessly dressed, on the evening of that day. "I know
mama will be delighted with your dress; it fits to perfection. I hope
you will make the most of your opportunities. Mr. Linton will be
captivated, I know."
"Mr. Linton!" June repeated, as her lip curled scornfully.
"Oh, I know what that means. It is a very good sign," Rene said
laughing.
"It is a sign that I care very little for Mr. Linton's opinion. His
dress will no doubt be faultless."
"And he be perfectly irresistible."
"Not so much so as Mr. Horton," June said, looking archly at Rene.
"Who is this Mr. Horton that you have invited?"
"Guy Horton and sister have both been invited. They live out West, and
are visiting the Egglestons, where I met them some time ago. They are
relatives of Mrs. Platts' of this city."
"Country people, are they? Why, what will Mr. Linton think?"
"What do I care what he thinks? He is not superintending this affair.
Perhaps I had better try the power of this new dress on Colonel
Brunswick."
A jealous pang shot through Irene's heart, but she dare not reveal it,
but June looked up just in time to catch the strange look that passed
over her sister's face, for she had been suspicious of Rene's
admiration for the colonel, and June never forgot the look which Irene
gave her. Her eyes grew strangely large and dark, and her face flushed
and paled alternately, but June was wise enough not to betray her
suspicion, though she decided from that moment to find, if possible,
what Irene really did think of him. Max Brunswick was a very handsome
man, but she wondered that Rene could not see at once that he never
would, or ever could, reach the standard of true greatness that Scott
occupied. She would not accuse her sister, even in thought, if she
were guiltless, so she determined to satisfy herself if she could.
Irene calmed her enraged feelings enough to speak, and turning her
face that the light might not fall full upon it, she said:
"Oh, as to Max Brunswick, I would not waste my time on him, when there
are golden fish floating so near, and all you have to do is to bait
with a smile."
"But Brunswick is very handsome," June said, as she arose and walked
carelessly past Rene toward the mirror, and glancing at her face to
note the effect of her words, "and since so many of the girls are half
crazy about him, I should follow the fashion, although none of them
know the first word of his pedigree. And really it is not only the
young, but the married ladies as well."
"Of course the married ones have no idea of falling in love with him,
but he is such a society man, and of course it is nothing more than
belongs to fashionable society to accept the attention of such men. It
is very pleasant to entertain them."
"If I ever marry I shall never accept or even wish to accept
attentions from any but the man I marry."
"Suppose that you marry a man entirely unsuited to your tastes, what
then? Suppose that he is so taken up with his books or his business
that he has no time or desire for pleasure of any kind, what would you
do?"
The question went like an arrow to June's heart, for she knew that
Rene's mind dwelt on her own choice, though she uttered the words not
thinking how they would sound to June.
"Rene," June said in a sober tone, "I have made up my mind to one
thing, and that is that I shall never be married without first
studying the character of the man I intend to marry."
"Oh, dear," said Rene with a laugh, "you will have a great job on your
hands if you set out to find what sort of a husband you are getting."
"I will undertake the job."
"I think, then, you will be an old maid."
"That would be preferable to living an inharmonious life."
"I think you will find Mr. Linton quite to your taste."
"I think the colonel might suit me better," said June, looking again
at Irene.
"Silly, like a great many other girls," said Rene with a forced laugh,
thinking at the time that she would spoil her little game. "But," said
she, turning around before the mirror, "you have not told me how you
like my costume."
"You look very pretty, Rene, and that cream silk is wonderfully
becoming. I am sure Scott will be pleased with your choice. You dress
with exquisite taste."
"Thank you for the compliment, but as regards Scott, I do not think he
ever knows what I wear. Why, the night that I attended the party with
the colonel, you remember I wore pale pink satin, and he just went
into ecstacies over it, and said I was the most beautiful and the
most tastily dressed woman there. But Scott never even told me I
looked pretty."
"He may have thought so, though; you know Scott is not at all given to
flattery, and he thinks much more than he says."
"I would rather he would do more talking and less thinking, then.
There is some satisfaction in knowing whether you please one or not."
"I should be quite satisfied to know that I did not displease."
"You are more easily satisfied than I am; but, June, I cannot get over
the idea of your inviting those country people. I hope they will not
look real shabby."
"Oh, I guess they will at least have clean faces," said June,
significantly.
"The guests are already beginning to arrive," said Paul, as he stepped
to the door.
"Is it not too bad? I asked Paul to take part in some of the dances,
and he very politely but decidedly refused. He said that he might look
in occasionally, but the greater part of the evening he should devote
to papa's amusement."
"That is quite proper, and it is well for you that he refused. It
would have looked extremely out of place for your brother's valet to
appear with your guests."
"I suppose it would have been the means of our losing caste," said
June, a little sarcastically.
At that moment Scott appeared.
He stopped a moment, feasting his eyes on June's bright face and
beautiful dress, then an admiring glance rested on his wife, but he
said nothing, only politely offering himself as their escort.
It seemed a wonder to Irene that Scott could not see how sweetly June
was dressed. Her dress of pale blue satin, cut just low enough to
reveal the lovely white neck, the delicate sprays of forget-me-not and
sapphire jewels were wondrously becoming to her fair complexion and
sunny hair, and Irene, although possessed of an envious nature, could
not help acknowledging that June looked lovely indeed.
"June," said Irene, as later in the evening they were standing
together, "who is that sweet looking girl you introduced me to--the
one in that rich garnet silk? I did not quite understand her name."
"Why, that is Miss Horton, the country girl," said June, biting her
under lip.
"Why, what little dimpled hands she has."
"Yes; they are very pretty. That fine, intelligent young man talking
to Scott is her brother Guy."
"Is it possible? There _is_ something fine looking about him."
"Oh, yes; they say he is quite an orator, as well as a literary
person, and is talking of starting a publishing house somewhere. Mr.
Eggleston tells me he is very ambitious."
"You must introduce me when he and Scott have finished that very
earnest conversation. You know I am partial to literary people, and
don't forget to mention that I write."
"You have forgotten that he is from the country."
"Oh, of course I did not mean anything by that remark."
June was left alone, and ere long she noticed Irene seated near the
young lady in the garnet silk, with Max Brunswick leaning over her and
speaking in a low voice. Guy's eyes rested on the couple, and as was
natural to any one present, could not fail to notice their fine
appearance.
"Who is the gentleman leaning over that beautiful woman in the cream
colored silk?" Guy asked.
"His name is Brunswick."
"Colonel Max Brunswick?" Guy asked, suddenly.
"Yes," said Scott, "do you know him?"
"He must be the gentleman who wrote me in regard to taking an interest
in my business. I gave him no encouragement, as I do not think it
policy to hurry matters of that kind. He may be all right, though. He
seems to have his mind just at present concentrated on that beautiful
young lady before him."
Scott tried to say that the young lady was his wife, and looking at
her as Guy did, he thought that the attentions which she was receiving
were not at all unpleasant to her. He tried to speak ere Guy had a
chance to wound him further and tell him that she was his wife, and
Brunswick only her friend, but even with all his ready tact and easy
flow of language he was unable to speak the words.
"He is extremely devoted, is he not?" continued Guy. "I suppose all
the angels in heaven cannot compare with her. Well, she is a lovely
woman. I must request you to introduce me, if that gentleman will
allow me the privilege."
Scott could not bear to have Guy speak again in this manner, and he
said in a hurried manner:
"That lady is my wife."
Guy looked the surprise he felt. He had not thought of her being a
wife at all, much less the wife of Scott Wilmer, and he would have
recalled the words if he could--words which he knew must have wounded
Scott, for he was well aware that there was nothing in his nature that
savored of frivolity. He could offer no apology, but was quite careful
not to speak of Colonel Brunswick again.