And so the night of Old Chester's festivity approached. Miss Lydia's
invitations were delivered the morning of the day, but a rumor of the
party was already in the air. There had been some shakings of the head
and one or two frowns. "It will cost her at least $3," said Martha
King, "and she could get a new bonnet with that."
"It's her way of thanking us for her present," said the doctor, "and a
mighty nice way, too. I'm going. I'll wear my white waistcoat."
Mrs. Drayton said, calmly, that it was dishonest. "The money was given
to her for one purpose. To ask people to tea, and have even only cake
and lemonade, is spending it for another purpose. It will cost her at
least $4.50. Not a large sum, compared with the whole amount donated
in charity. But the principle is the same. I always look for the
principle--it is a Christian's duty. And I could not face my Maker if
I ever failed in duty."
Then Mrs. Dale's comment ran from lip to lip: "Miss Lydia has a right
to do as she pleases with her own; if she invites me to tea, I shall go
with pleasure."
When the rumor reached William Rives's ears he turned pale, but he made
no comment. "But I came to ask you about it, Lydy," he said. This was
Wednesday evening, and William stood at the front door; Miss Lydia was
on the step above him. "I won't ask you to come in, William," she
said, "I'm so busy--if you'll excuse me."
"I am always gratified," said William, "when a female busies herself in
household affairs, so I will not interrupt you. I came for two
purposes: first, to inquire when you intend to begin the improvements
upon your house; and, secondly, to say that I hope I am in error in
regard to this project of a supper that I hear you are to give."
"Why?" said Lydia.
"Because," William said, with his sharp, neat smile, "a supper is not
given without expense. Though I approve of hospitality, and make a
point of accepting it, yet I am always conscious that it costs money.
I cannot but calculate, as I see persons eating and drinking, the
amount of money thus consumed, and I often wonder at my hosts. I say
to myself, as I observe a guest drink a cup of tea, 'Two cents.' Such
thoughts (which must present themselves to every practical man) are
painful. And such a supper as I hear you mean to give would involve
many cups of tea."
"Twenty-seven," said Miss Lydia.
"And is there to be cake also?" said William, breathlessly.
"There is," said Miss Lydia; "a big one, with a castle in
pink-and-white icing on it--beautiful!"
William was stricken into silence; then he said, shaking his head, "Do
you really mean it, Lydy?"
"I do, William."
Mr. Rives sighed.
"Well," he said--"well, I regret it. But, Lydy, we might utilize the
occasion? Refreshment is always considered genteel at a marriage. Why
not combine your supper with our wedding? We can be married to-morrow
night. Dr. Lavendar is coming, I presume? I can get the license in
the morning."
Miss Lydia was silent; the color came into her face, and she put her
hand up to her lips in a frightened way. "Oh, I--don't know," she
faltered. "I--I am not--not ready--"
"Oh," William urged, "never mind about being ready; I should be the
last to wish you to go to any of the foolish expense of dress customary
on such occasions. Yes, Lydy, it is an opportunity. Do agree, my
dear; we will save money by it."
Miss Lydia drew in her breath; she was very pale; then suddenly she
nodded. "Well, yes," she said. "I will, if you want to, William.
Yes, I will."
"I will communicate with Dr. Lavendar," said Mr. Rives, joyfully, "and
ask him to hold himself in readiness, but not to speak of it outside."
Miss Lydia nodded, and, closing the door, went back to her engrossing
affairs. Presents and a party and a wedding--no wonder the poor little
soul was white and dizzy with excitement!
Long will Old Chester remember that occasion: The little house, lighted
from garret to cellar; candles in every possible spot; flowers all
about; the mantel-piece heaped with bundles; William King's bird-cage
hanging in the window; Uncle Davy's fiddle twanging in the kitchen; and
Miss Lydia in front of the smoky fireplace, banked now with larkspurs
and peonies--Miss Lydia in a light, bright blue silk dress trimmed with
lace; Miss Lydia in white kid gloves, buttoned with one button at the
wrist, and so tight that the right glove split across the back when she
began to shake hands. Oh, it was a great moment.... No wonder she was
pale with excitement! ... She was very pale when William Rives
arrived--arrived, and stood dumfounded!--staring at Miss Lydia; staring
at the packages which were now finding their way into astonished hands;
staring at the refreshment-table between the windows, at the great,
frosted cake, at the bottles of Catawba, at Mrs. Barkley's spoons stuck
into tall glasses of wine jelly. Mr. Rives stood staring at these
things, his small eyes starting out upon his purpling cheeks, and as he
stared, Miss Lydia, watching him, grew paler and paler.
[Illustration: "MISS LYDIA, WATCHING HIM, GREW PALER AND PALER"]
Then, suddenly, William, stealthily, step by step, began to back out of
the room. In the doorway he shouldered Mrs. Barkley, and, wheeling,
turned upon her a ferocious face:
"_And I contributed $1.50--_"
But as he retreated and retreated, the color returned to Miss Lydia's
cheek. She had almost stopped breathing as he stood there; but when he
finally disappeared, she broke out into the full joyousness of the
occasion. The opening of each present was like a draught of wine to
her, the astounded or angry thanks went to her head; she rubbed her
hands until the left glove split also; and then Uncle Davy's fiddle
began in good earnest, and she bustled about, running and laughing, and
arranging partners for the reel.
Yes, it was a great occasion. Old Chester talked of it for months; not
even William Rives's most unexpected and unexplainable departure the
next day on the morning stage could divert the appalled, excited,
disapproving interest that lasted the year out. Not even Miss Lydia's
continued faithfulness to the portrait, which had condoned so many
offences in the past, could soften Old Chester's very righteous
indignation. There were, it must be admitted, one or two who professed
that they did not share the disapproval of all right-thinking persons;
one was, if you please, Mr. Smith! (He was one of the new Smiths, so
one might expect anything from him.) He had not been invited to the
party, but when he heard of it he roared with most improper mirth.
"Well done!" he said. "By Jove! what a game old party. Well done!
The money was champagne on an empty stomach; of course, she got drunk.
It would have been cheaper to have bought a bottle of the genuine
article and shut herself up for twenty-four hours. Well, it's worth
the cost of a new chimney. I'll put her repairs through, Dr.
Lavendar--unless you want to get up another present?" And then he
roared again. Very ill-bred man he was.
Dr. Lavendar said that there would not be another present. He said
Miss Lydia had a right, in his opinion, to spend her money as she
chose; but there would not be another present.
And then he walked home, blinking and smiling. "Smith's a good
fellow," he said to himself, "if he is one of the new folks. But what
I'd like to know is: _did Lydia think $100 a low price?_"