A LOVER QUENCHED.
Bel followed her friend to their room, full of irritable reproaches.
But Lottie puzzled her again, as she had done before that day.
Gayety vanished from the face as light from a clouded landscape,
and with an expression that was even scowling and sullen she sat
brooding before the fire, heeding Bel's complaining words no more
than she would the patter of rain against the window.
Then Bel changed the tune; retaining the same minor key, however.
"I suppose now that you will give up your shameful plot against
Mr. Hemstead, as a matter of course."
"I don't know what I'll do," snapped Lottie.
"Don't know what you'll do! Why, he about the same as saved our
lives this evening."
"He saved his own at the same time."
"Well," said Bel, exasperatingly, "I wish Mr. Hemstead and all who
heard the fine speeches about your 'kind, generous heart' could
hear you now."
"I wish they could," said Lottie, recklessly. "They couldn't have
a worse opinion of me than I have of myself."
"But what do you intend to do about Mr. Hemstead."
"I don't intend to do anything about him. I half wish I had never
seen him."
"That you can trifle with him after what has happened to-night is
something that I did not think, even of you, Lottie Marsden."
"I haven't said I was going to 'trifle with him.' He's a man you
can't trifle with. The best thing I can do is to let him alone."
"That is just what I think."
"Very well then, go to sleep and be quiet."
"How long are you going to sit 'mooning' there?"
"Till morning, if I wish. Don't bother me."
"After coming so near having your neck broken, you ought to be in
a better frame of mind."
"So had you. Neither breaking my neck nor coming near it will
convert me."
"Well, I hope you will get through your moods and tenses to-day.
You have had more than I ever remember within so short a time."
With this comforting statement Bel left her friend to herself,
who sat staring into the fire in the most discontented manner.
"'Capable of the noblest things,' indeed," she thought. "I would
like to know who is capable of meaner things. And now what do you
intend to do, Lottie Marsden? Going on with your foolish, childish
jest, after the fun has all faded out of it? If you do, you will
make a fool of yourself instead of him. He is not the man you thought
he was, at all. He is your superior in every respect, save merely
in the ease which comes from living in public instead of seclusion,
and in all his diffidence there has been nothing so rude and
ill-bred as Julian's treatment of Mrs. Dlimm. Julian indeed! He's
but a well-dressed little manikin beside this large-minded man";
and she scowled more darkly than ever at the fire.
"But what shall I do? I can't be such a Christian as Bel is. I would
rather not be one at all. What's more, I cannot bring my mind to
decide to be such a Christian as Mr. Hemstead is. I should have
to change completely, and give up my old self-pleasing and wayward
life, and that seems like giving up life itself. Religion is a
bitter medicine that I must take some time or other. But the idea
of sobering down at my time of life!"
"But you may not live to see age, Think what a risk you ran to-night,"
urged conscience.
"Well, I must take my chances. A plague on that Hemstead! I can't
be with him ten minutes but he makes me uncomfortable in doing
wrong. All was going smoothly till he came, and life was one long
frolic. Now he has got my conscience all stirred up so that between
them both I shall have little comfort. I won't go with him to Mrs.
Dlimm's to-morrow. He will talk religion to me all the time, and
I, like a big baby, shall cry, and he will think I am on the eve of
conversion, and perhaps will offer to take me out among the border
ruffians as an inducement. If I want to live my old life, and have
a good time, the less I see of Frank Hemstead the better, for,
somehow or other, when I am with him I can't help seeing that he
is right, and feeling mean in my wrong. I will just carry out my
old resolution, and act as badly as I can. He will then see what
I am, and let me alone."
Having formed this resolution, Lottie slept as sweetly as innocence
itself.
To Hemstead, with his quiet and regular habits, the day had been
long and exciting, and he was exceedingly weary; and yet thoughts
of the brilliant and beautiful girl, who bewildered and fascinated
him, awaking his sympathy at the same time, kept him sleepless till
late. Every scene in which they had been together was lived over
in all its minutiae, and his conclusions were favorable. As he had
said to her, she seemed "capable of the noblest things."
"She never has had a chance," he thought. "She never has given truth
a fair hearing, probably having had slight opportunity to do so.
From the little I have seen and heard, it seems to me that the
rich and fashionable are as neglected--indeed it would appear more
difficult to bring before them the simple and searching gospel of
Christ, than before the very poor."
Hemstead determined that he would be faithful, and would bring
the truth to her attention in every possible way, feeling that if
during this holiday visit he could win such a trophy for the cause
to which he had devoted himself, it would be an event that would
shed a cheering light down to the very end of his life.
It was a rather significant fact, which did not occur to him, however,
that his zeal and interest were almost entirely concentrated on
Lottie. His cousin Addie, and indeed all the others, seemed equally
in need.
It must be confessed that some sinners are much more interesting
than others, and Hemstead had never met one half so interesting as
Lottie.
And yet his interest in her was natural. He had not reached that
lofty plane from which he could look down with equal sympathy for
all. Do any reach it, in this world?
Lottie had seemed kind to him when others had been cold and slightly
scornful. He had come to see clearly that she was not a Christian,
and that she was not by any means faultless through the graces of
nature. But she had given ample proof that she had a heart which
could be touched, and a mind capable of appreciating and being roused
by the truth. That her kindness to him was only hollow acting he
never dreamed, and it was well for her that he did not suspect her
falseness, for with all her beauty he would have revolted from her
at once. He could forgive anything sooner than the meanness of
deception. If he discovered the practical joke, it would be a sorry
jest for Lottie, for she would have lost a friend who appeared
able to help her; and he, in his honest indignation, would have
given her a portrait of herself that would have humiliated her
proud spirit in a way that could never be forgotten.
But with the unquenchable hope of youth in his heart, and his
boundless faith in God, he expected that, at no distant day, Lottie's
remarkable beauty would be the index of a truer spiritual loveliness.
But, as is often the case, the morning dispelled the dreams of
the night, to a degree that quite perplexed and disheartened him.
Lottie's greeting in the breakfast-room was not very cordial, and
she seemed to treat him with cool indifference throughout the whole
meal. There was nothing that the others would note, but something
that he missed himself. Occasionally, she would make a remark that
would cause him to turn toward her with a look of pained surprise,
which both vexed and amused her; but he gave no expression to his
feelings, save that he became grave and silent.
After breakfast Lottie said nothing to him about their visit to
Mrs. Dlimn, from which he expected so much. Having waited some
time in the parlor, he approached her timidly as she was passing
through the hall, and said, "When would you like to start upon our
proposed visit?"
"O, I forgot to say to you, Mr. Hemstead," she replied rather
carelessly, "that I've changed my mind. It's a very long drive,
and, after all, Mrs. Dlimm is such an utter Stranger to me that I
scarcely care to go."
But, under her indifferent seeming, she was watching keenly to
see how he would take this rebuff. He flushed deeply, but to her
surprise only bowed acquiescence, and turned to the parlor. She
expected that he would remonstrate, and endeavor to persuade her
to carry out her agreement. She was accustomed to pleading and
coaxing on the part of young men, to whom, however, she granted
her favors according to her moods and wishes. While she saw that
he was deeply hurt and disappointed, his slightly cold and silent
brow was a different expression of his feeling from what she desired.
She wanted to take the ride, and might have been persuaded into
going, in spite of her purpose to keep aloof, and she was vexed
with him that he did not urge her as De Forrest would have done.
Therefore the spoiled and capricious beauty went up to her room
more "out of sorts" than ever, and sulkily resolved that she would
not appear till dinner.
In the mean time Hemstead went to his aunt and informed her that
he would take the morning train for New York, and would not return
till the following evening.
"Very well, Frank," she replied; "act your pleasure. Come and go
as you like."
The good lady was entertaining her nephew more from a sense of
duty than anything else. From their difference in tastes he added
little to her enjoyment, and was sometimes a source of discomfort;
and so would not be missed.
Lottie had a desperately long and dismal time of it. Either the
book she tried to read was stupid, or there was something wrong
with her. At last she impatiently sent it flying across the room,
and went to the window. The beautiful winter morning exasperated
her still more.
"Suppose he had talked religion to me," she thought, "he at least
makes it interesting, and anything would have been better than moping
here. What a fool I was, not to go! What a fool I am, anyway! He is
the only one I ever did act towards as a woman might and ought,--even
in jest. He is the only one that ever made me wish I were a true
woman, instead of a vain flirt; and the best thing my wisdom could
devise, after I found out his beneficent power, was to give him a
slap in the face, and shut myself up with a stupid novel. 'Capable
of noble things!' I imagine he has changed his mind this morning.
"Well, what if he has? A plague upon him! I wish he had never come,
or I had stayed in New York. I foresee that I am going to have an
awfully stupid time here in the country."
Thus she irritably chafed through the long hours. She would not
go downstairs as she wished to, because she had resolved that she
would not. But she half purposed to try and bring about the visit
to Mrs. Dlimm in the afternoon, if possible, and would now go
willingly, if asked.
At the first welcome sound of the dinner-bell she sped downstairs,
and glanced into the parlor, hoping that he might be there, and
that in some way she might still bring about the ride. But she
found only De Forrest yawning over a newspaper, and had to endure
his sentimental reproaches that she had absented herself so long
from him.
"Come to dinner," was her only and rather prosaic response.
But De Forrest went cheerfully, for dinner was something that he
could enjoy under any circumstances.
To Lottie's disappointment, Mr. Dimmerly mumbled grace, and still
Hemstead did not appear. For some reason she did not like to ask
where he was, and was provoked at herself because of her hesitancy.
The others, who knew of his departure, supposed she was aware of
it also. At last her curiosity gained the mastery, and she asked
her aunt with an indifference, not so well assumed but that her
color heightened a little, "Where is Mr. Hemstead?"
"He went down to the city," replied Mrs. Marchmont, carelessly.
The impulsive girl's face showed her disappointment and vexation,
but she saw that quick-eyed Bel was watching her. She wished her
friend back in New York; and, with partial success, sought to appear
as usual.
"O dear!" she thought; "what shall I do with myself this afternoon?
I can't endure Julian's mooning. I wish Mr. Harcourt was here, so
we could get up some excitement."
Without excitement Lottie was as dull and wretched as all victims
of stimulants, left to their own resources.
But the fates were against her. Harcourt would not be back till
evening, and she did not know when Hemstead would return. Addie and
Bel vanished after dinner, and De Forrest offered to read to her.
She assented, having no better prospect.
She ensconced herself luxuriously under an afghan upon the sofa,
while the persistent lover, feeling that this would be his favored
opportunity, determined to lay close siege to her heart, and win a
definite promise, if possible. For this purpose he chose a romantic
poem, which, at a certain point, had a very tender and love-infused
character. Here he purposed to throw down the book in a melodramatic
manner, and pass from the abstract to reality, and from the third
person to the first. He was more familiar with stage effects than
anything else, and had planned a pretty little scene. As Lottie
reclined upon the sofa, he could very nicely and comfortably kneel,
take her hand, and gracefully explain the condition of his heart;
and she was certainly in a comfortable position to hear.
A man less vain than De Forrest would not have gathered much
encouragement from Lottie's face, for it had a very weary and bored
expression as he commenced the rather stilted and very sentimental
introduction to the "gush" that was to follow.
She divined his purpose as she saw him summoning to his aid all
his rather limited elocutionary powers, and noted how he gave to
every line that verged toward love the tenderest accent.
But the satirical side-gleam from her eyes, as she watched him, was
anything but responsive or conducive to sentiment; and finally, as
she became satisfied of his object, the smile that flitted across
her face would have quenched the most impetuous declaration as
effectually as a mill-pond might quench a meteor.
But Julian, oblivious of all this, was growing pathetic and emotional;
and if she escaped the scene at all, she must act promptly.
She did so, for in five minutes, to all appearance, she was asleep.
At first, when he glanced up to emphasize a peculiarly touching
line, he thought she had closed her eyes to hide her feelings; but
at last, when he reached the particular and soul-melting climax
that was to prepare the way for his own long-desired crisis, having
given the final lines in a tone that he thought would move a marble
heart, he laid the book down to prepare for action, and the dreadful
truth dawned upon him. She was asleep!
What could he do? To awaken her, and then go forward, would not
answer. People were generally cross when disturbed in their sleep;
and he knew Lottie was no exception. He was deeply mortified and
disappointed.
He got up and stalked tragically and frowningly to the hearth-rug,
and stared at the apparently peaceful sleeper, and then flung
himself out of the room, very much as he was accustomed to when a
spoiled and petulant boy.
After he was gone, Lottie quivered with laughter for a few moments;
then stole away to her room, where she blotted out the weary hour
with sleep unfeigned, until aroused by the supper-bell.