It was the great anniversary. On that day Sir Richard Raby had lost for
the Stuarts all the head he possessed. His faithful descendent seized
the present opportunity to celebrate the event with more pomp than ever.
A month before the fatal day he came in from Hillsborough with sixty
yards of violet-colored velvet, the richest that could be got from
Lyons; he put this down on a table, and told his sister that was for her
and Jael to wear on the coming anniversary. “Don't tell me there's not
enough,” said he; “for I inquired how much it would take to carpet two
small rooms, and bought it; now what will carpet two little libraries
will clothe two large ladies; and you are neither of you shrimps.”
While he was thus doing the cynical, nobody heeded him; quick and
skillful fingers were undoing the parcel, and the ladies' cheeks flushed
and their eyes glistened, and their fingers felt the stuff inside and
out: in which occupation Raby left them, saying, “Full dress, mind! We
Rabys are not beheaded every day.”
Mrs. Little undertook to cut both dresses, and Jael was to help sew
them.
But, when they came to be tried on, Jael was dismayed. “Why, I shall be
half naked,” said she. “Oh, Mrs. Little, I couldn't: I should sink with
shame.”
Mrs. Little pooh-poohed that, and an amusing dialogue followed between
these two women, both of them equally modest, but one hardened, and
perhaps a little blinded, by custom.
Neither could convince the other, but Mrs. Little overpowered Jael by
saying, “I shall wear mine low, and you will mortally offend my brother
if you don't.”
Then Jael succumbed, but looked forward to the day with a simple
terror one would hardly have expected from the general strength of her
character.
Little arrived, and saw his mother for a minute or two before dinner.
She seemed happy and excited, and said, “Cheer up, darling; we will find
a way to make you happy. Mark my words, a new era in your life dates
from to-day: I mean to open your eyes tonight. There, don't question me,
but give me one kiss, and let us go and make ourselves splendid for poor
Sir Richard.”
When Little came down-stairs he found his uncle and a
distinguished-looking young gentleman standing before the fire; both
were in full dress. Raby had the Stuart orders on his breast and looked
a prince. He introduced Little to Mr. Richard Raby with high formality;
but, before they had time to make acquaintance, two ladies glided into
the room, and literally dazzled the young men, especially Dissolute
Dick, who knew neither of them.
Mrs. Little, with her oval face, black brow and hair, and stately
but supple form, was a picture of matronly beauty and grace; her rich
brunette skin, still glossy and firm, showed no signs of age, but under
her glorious eyes were the marks of trouble; and though her face was
still striking and lovely, yet it revealed what her person
concealed, that she was no longer young. That night she looked about
eight-and-thirty.
The other lady was blonde, and had a face less perfect in contour, but
beautiful in its way, and exquisite in color and peach-like bloom; but
the marvel was her form; her comely head, dignified on this occasion
with a coronet of pearls, perched on a throat long yet white and
massive, and smooth as alabaster; and that majestic throat sat enthroned
on a snowy bust and shoulders of magnificent breadth, depth, grandeur,
and beauty. Altogether it approached the gigantic; but so lovely was the
swell of the broad white bosom, and so exquisite the white and polished
skin of the mighty shoulders adorned with two deep dimples, that the awe
this grand physique excited was mingled with profound admiration.
Raby and Henry Little both started at the sudden grandeur and brilliance
of the woman they thought they knew, but in reality had never seen; and
Raby, dazzled himself, presented her, quite respectfully, to Dissolute
Dick.
“This is Miss Dence, a lady descended, like the rest of us, from poor
Sir Richard; Miss Dence; Mr. Richard Raby.”
Jael blushed more deeply than ladies with white and antique busts are in
the habit of doing, and it was curious to see the rosy tint come on her
white neck, and then die quietly away again. Yet she courtesied with
grace and composure. (Mrs. Little had trained her at all points; and
grace comes pretty readily, where nature has given perfect symmetry.)
Dinner was announced, and Raby placed the Dissolute between his sister
and the magnificent Beauty dead Sir Richard had developed. He even gave
a reason for this arrangement.
“All you ladies like a rake: you PRAISE sober fellows like me; but what
you PREFER is a Rake.”
As they were rustling into their places, Mrs. Little said to Dick, with
a delicious air of indifference, “ARE you a rake, Mr. Raby?”
“I am anything you like,” replied the shameless fellow.
All the old plate was out, and blazing in the light of candles
innumerable.
There was one vacant chair.
Dick asked if there was anybody expected.
“Not much,” said Raby dryly. “That is Sir Richard's chair, on these
occasions. However, he may be sitting in it now, for aught I know. I
sincerely hope he is.”
“If I thought that, I'd soon leave mine,” said Jael, in a tremulous
whisper.
“Then stay where you are, Sir Richard,” said the Rake, making an
affected motion with his handkerchief, as if to keep the good Knight
down.
In short, this personage, being young, audacious, witty, and animated
by the vicinity of the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, soon
deprived the anniversary of that solemn character Mr. Raby desired to
give it. Yet his volubility, his gayety, and his chaff were combined
with a certain gentlemanlike tact and dexterity; and he made Raby laugh
in spite of himself, and often made the ladies smile. But Henry Little
sat opposite, and wondered at them all, and his sad heart became very
bitter.
When they joined the ladies in the drawing-room, Henry made an effort to
speak to Jael Dence. He was most anxious to know whether she had heard
from Grace Carden. But Jael did not meet him very promptly, and while
he was faltering out his inquiries, up came Richard Raby and resumed his
attentions to her--attentions that very soon took the form of downright
love-making. In fact he stayed an hour after his carriage was announced,
and being a young man of great resolution, and accustomed to please
himself, he fell over head and ears in love with Miss Dence, and showed
it then and thereafter.
It did not disturb her composure. She had often been made love to, and
could parry as well as Dick could fence.
She behaved with admirable good sense; treated it all as a polite jest,
but not a disagreeable one.
Mrs. Little lost patience with them both. She drew Henry aside, and
asked him why he allowed Mr. Richard Raby to monopolize her.
“How can I help it?” said Henry. “He is in love with her; and no wonder:
see how beautiful she is, and her skin like white satin. She is ever
so much bigger than I thought. But her heart is bigger than all. Who'd
think she had ever condescended to grind saws with me?”
“Who indeed? And with those superb arms!”
“Why, that is it, mother; they are up to anything; it was one of those
superb arms she flung round a blackguard's neck for me, and threw him
like a sack, or I should not be here. Poor girl! Do you think that
chatterbox would make her happy?”
“Heaven forbid! He is not worthy of her. No man is worthy of her, except
the one I mean her to have, and that is yourself.”
“Me, mother! are you mad?”
“No; you are mad, if you reject her. Where can you hope to find her
equal? In what does she fail? In face? why it is comeliness, goodness,
and modesty personified. In person? why she is the only perfect figure I
ever saw. Such an arm, hand, foot, neck, and bust I never saw all in the
same woman. Is it sense? why she is wise beyond her years, and beyond
her sex. Think of her great self-denial; she always loved you, yet
aided you, and advised you to get that mad young thing you preferred to
her--men are so blind in choosing women! Then think of her saving your
life: and then how nearly she lost her own, through her love for you.
Oh, Henry, if you cling to a married woman, and still turn away from
that angelic creature there, and disappoint your poor mother again,
whose life has been one long disappointment, I shall begin to fear you
were born without a heart.”