Two days after Mrs. Amory's arrival, I was seated in Madame R----'s
cosey parlor. Beside me in an easy-chair, and dressed in his fatigue
uniform, was Mars. On the table beside him were two bunches of violets
in their respective tumblers. One fresh and fragrant, the other faded
and droopy. It was late in the afternoon; Mrs. Amory had gone with Mr.
Parker in search of a little fresh air and exercise, and Mars had
dropped his newspaper to give me a pleasant welcome. He was a little
languid and tired, he said; "had to write a long letter that morning."
And here he looked very strangely at me, "but felt better now that 'twas
gone." I could not but fancy that there was a constraint, a vaguely
injured tone, in his quiet talk. There was a lack of the old, cordial
ring in his voice, though he was every bit as courteous, even as
friendly as ever. It was something that puzzled me, and I wanted to get
at once at the why and wherefore, yet shrunk from questioning.
Somehow or other my psychological investigations and inquiries had not
been crowned with brilliant success of late, and distrust had taken the
place of the serene confidence with which I used to encounter such
problems. "Mother has taken the letter to post," he said, "but will be
back very soon. I expect her any moment." As we were talking there came
a ring at the bell. A servant passed the doorway, and in an instant
reappeared ushering two ladies, Miss Summers followed by Kitty
Carrington.
"Why, Frank Amory! How glad I am to see you up again!" was the delighted
exclamation of the former, as she quickly stepped forward to take his
hand; "and here's Kitty," she added, with faintly tremulous tone.
"We--Kitty hoped to see your mother, and they said she was here."
"Mother will be back in a moment. How do you do, Miss Carrington?" said
Mars, looking around Pauline in unmistakable eagerness, and with
coloring cheeks and brow, as he strove to rise and hold out his hand.
"Don't try to get up, Mr. Amory," said Kitty, timidly, half imploringly,
as with downcast eyes, and cheeks far more flushed than his own, she
quickly stepped to his side; just touched his hand, and then dropped
back to the sofa without so much as a word or glance for miserable me.
For several minutes Pauline chatted gayly, as though striving to give
every one time to regain composure. Kitty sat silently by; once in
awhile stealing timid, startled glances around; and listening
nervously, as though for the coming footsteps of some one she dreaded to
meet. Pauline watched her with furtive uneasiness, and occasionally
looked imploringly at me.
To my masculine impenetrability there was only one point in the
situation. Mrs. Amory had arrived here in town--a stranger. Miss Summers
and Miss Carrington were not exactly old residents, but were "to the
manner born," and it behooved them both to call upon the older lady. Why
should there be any cause for embarrassment? Why should Kitty look ill
at ease, nervous, distressed? Why should Mars be so unusually excited
and flighty? What was there about the whole proceeding to upset any
one's equanimity? What incomprehensible mysteries women were, anyhow!
Bella Grayson especially! What dolts they made men appear in trying to
conform to their whims and vagaries! What a labor of Hercules it was to
attempt to fathom their moods! What----The door opened and in came Mrs.
Amory and Parker. All rose to greet them, and I could see that Kitty,
pale as a sheet, was trembling from head to foot.
At least I had sense enough to appreciate and admire once more the grace
and tact and genuine kindliness that seemed to illumine every act and
word of this gracious lady. Mrs. Amory went at once to Kitty; greeted
her in the same low-toned yet cordial voice that had already become the
subject of our admiring talk; then, after a brief word with each of us,
had taken her seat with Kitty upon the sofa, and in five minutes had so
completely won the trust and confidence of that nervous little body that
her color had returned in all its brilliancy; her lovely dark eyes were
sparkling with animation and interest; and though she talked but little,
we could all see that she was charmed with Mrs. Amory's manner, and that
she drank in every word with unflagging pleasure.
Mars, though keeping up a desultory talk with Miss Summers and Parker,
managed to cast frequent glances at the pair on the sofa, and it was a
comfort to watch the joy that kindled in his young eyes. Pauline seemed
to divine his wish to watch them, and frequently took the load of
conversation from his shoulders by absorbing the attention of the
aide-de-camp and myself, and this gave him the longed-for opportunity to
listen once in a while to the talk between his mother and Kitty. Once,
glancing furtively towards his chair, Kitty's eyes had encountered his
fixed intently upon her, whereat the color flashed again to the roots of
her hair, and the long lashes and white lids dropped instantly over her
betraying orbs. From that marvellous and intricate encyclopaedia of
family history, a Southern woman's brain, Mrs. Amory had brought forth
an array of facts regarding Kitty's relatives that fairly delighted
that little damsel with its interest. Somewhere in the distant past a
North Carolina Ward had married a Kentucky Carrington; and while she
herself had married an officer of the army, her sister had married a
Ward; and so it went. Mrs. Amory could tell Kitty just where and whom
her people had married from the days of Daniel Boone. The chat went
blithely on, and so, when Miss Summers smilingly rose and said that it
was time to go, Kitty looked startled and incredulous,--the dreaded
interview had been a genuine pleasure to her. Mars arose and stood erect
as the ladies were saying their adieux. Pauline was saying to Mrs. Amory
that by the next day Major Vinton would hope to be able to drive out for
the air, and as soon as possible would come to see her; and this left
Kitty for an instant unoccupied. Her eyes would not wander in his
direction, however; and after an instant's irresolute pause he stepped
beside her, so that, as they turned to go, she _had_ to see his
outstretched hand. I wanted to see what was to follow, but Parker and I
had sidled towards the door to escort the ladies to their carriage. Miss
Summers caught my eyes; seemed instantly to read my vile curiosity, for,
with a smile that was absolutely mischievous, she placed herself between
me and Kitty, who was last to leave the room. I only saw him bend low
over her hand; could not catch a word he said, and was calmly surged
out into the hall with ungratified and baffled spirit. It was cruel in
Pauline. She ought to have known that I was even more interested in the
affair than any woman could have been.
"What do you think of Mrs. Amory?" I delicately and appropriately asked
Miss Kitty as we drove down-town. She was in a revery, and not disposed
to talk; and Miss Summers, who had invited me to take a seat in their
carriage, had given me no opportunity of breaking in upon her
meditations until this moment. Kitty started from her dream; flashed one
quick glance at me, as she answered,--
"Mrs. Amory? I think she's _lovely_," then as quickly relapsed into her
fit of abstraction. Evidently Mr. Brandon's well-meant interruptions
were not especially welcome there; then, as we reached the house on
Royal Street, Major Vinton, seated at the window, waved us (_us_
indeed!) a joyous greeting, and, despite Miss Summers' most courteous
invitation to come in a while, Mr. Brandon felt that he had been
interloping long enough, and having thus partially come to his senses,
the narrator walked dolefully away.
In the week that followed, there were almost daily visits between the
ladies of the Royal and Camp Street households. Vinton had sufficiently
improved to be able to drive out every day and to take very short walks,
accompanied by his radiant _fiancee_. Much mysterious shopping was
going on, Mrs. Amory and Kitty being occupied for some hours each bright
morning in accompanying Miss Summers on her Canal Street researches.
Mars had returned to duty with his troop, and almost every evening could
be seen riding down to Royal Street to report to his captain how matters
were progressing. I was struck by the regularity and precision with
which those reports seemed to be necessary, and the absolute brevity of
their rendition. Having nothing better to do, as I fancied, I was
frequently there at Royal Street when Mars would come trotting down the
block pavement. Each evening seemed to add to the spring and activity
with which he would vault from the saddle; toss the reins to his
attendant orderly, and come leaping up the steps to the second floor.
"All serene" was the customary extent of his report to Vinton, who was
almost invariably playing backgammon with Miss Summers at that hour;
while the judge, Harrod, and I would be discussing the affairs of the
day in a distant corner. This left Kitty the only unoccupied creature in
the room, unless the listless interest bestowed upon the book she held
in her lap could be termed occupation. What more natural, therefore,
than that Mr. Amory should turn to her for conversation and
entertainment on his arrival? And then Kitty had improved so in health
and spirits of late. She was so blithe and gay; humming little snatches
of song; dancing about the old house like a sprite; striving very hard
to settle down and be demure when I came to see the judge; and never
entirely succeeding until Amory appeared, when she was the
personification of maidenly reserve and propriety. Occasionally Mars
would escort his mother down, and then there would be a joyous
gathering, for we had all learned to love her by this time; and as for
Vinton--Miss Summers once impetuously declared that she was with good
reason becoming jealous. When _she_ came, Kitty would quit her customary
post on the sofa; take a low chair, and actually hang about Mrs. Amory's
knees; and all Mars' chances for a _tete-a-tete_ were gone.
Nevertheless, he was losing much of the old shyness, and apparently
learning to lose himself in her society, and to be profoundly
discontented when she was away; and one lovely evening a funny thing
happened. There was to be a procession of some kind on Canal Street,--no
city in the world can compete with New Orleans in the number and variety
of its processions,--and as the bands were playing brilliantly over
towards the St. Charles, Vinton proposed that we should stroll thither
and hear the music. The judge offered his arm with his old-fashioned,
courtly grace to Mrs. Amory; Vinton, of course, claimed Pauline; Harrod
and I fell back together; and Amory and Kitty paired off both by force
of circumstances and his own evident inclination. Once on the
_banquette_, Amory showed a disposition to linger behind and take the
rear with his sweet companion, but Miss Kit would none of it. With
feminine inconsistency and coquettishness she fairly took the lead, and
so it resulted that she and Amory headed instead of followed the party.
Plainly Mars was a little miffed; but he bore up gallantly, and had a
most unexpected and delightful revenge.
At the very first crossing, something of a crowd had gathered about the
cigar store, and so it resulted for a moment that our party was brought
to a stand, all in a bunch, right by the old Dago's orange counter to
which Harrod had made disdainful allusion in connection with Kitty's
mysterious mission of the previous week; and now, close beside the
counter, there was seated a chatty old negress with a great basket
before her heaped with violets: some in tiny knots, others in loose
fragrant pyramids. The instant she caught sight of Kitty her face beamed
with delight. She eagerly held forward her basket; Kitty struggled as
though to push ahead through the throng on the narrow pavement, but all
to no purpose. She could not move an inch; and there, imprisoned, the
little beauty, bewildered with confusion and dismay, was forced to hear
what we all heard, the half-laughing, half-reproachful appeal of the
darky flower-vender.
"Ah, lady! you doan' come to me no mo' for vi'lets now de captain's up
agin." And there was no help for it; one and all we burst into a peal of
merry laughter; even poor Kitty, though she stamped her foot with
vexation and turned away in vehement wrath. And oh! how proud, wild with
delight Frank Amory looked as he bent over her and strove to make some
diversion in her favor by boring a way through the crowd and hurrying
her along! We could see him all the rest of the evening striving hard to
make her forget that which he _never_ could. But Kitty had only one
feminine method of revenging herself, and that was on him. Womanlike,
she was cold and distant to him all the evening; left him at every
possible opportunity to lavish attentions on anybody else,--even me; and
after all Mars went home that night looking far from happy.
No sooner was he out of the house than Harrod turned to me with an
expression of inspired idiocy on his face and said, "What was it you
were all laughing at up there at the corner,--something about violets
and captains?"
Whereat Kitty flounced indignantly out of the room, and we saw her no
more that night.
But all this time not another word had I heard from Bella Grayson. In
fact, not a word had I written to her. She had parried the verbal
thrusts in my letter with such consummate ease and skill that it
occurred to me I was no match for her in that sort of diplomacy. Now
the question that was agitating my mind was, how was Mars to get out of
that entanglement if it really existed? My efforts in his behalf did not
seem to be rewarded with the brilliant and immediate success that such
depth of tact had deserved; and, my intervention being of no avail, what
could he expect?
Fancy the surprise, therefore, with which I received on the following
day a visit from Mars himself. It was late in the afternoon; I was alone
in the office and hard at work finishing some long neglected business,
when the door opened and my young cavalryman appeared.
He shook my hand cordially; said that he had come to see me on personal
business; and asked if I could give him half an hour. I gladly said yes,
and, noting his heightened color and his evident embarrassment, bade him
pull up a chair and talk to me as he would to an old chum. I can best
give his story in nearly his own words.
"Mother says I owe it to you, Mr. Brandon, to tell you what has been on
my mind so long. You have been very kind and very indulgent, and I wish
I had told you my trouble long ago. I'll make it short as I can." And
with many a painful blush--but with manful purpose and earnestness--Mars
pushed ahead.
"I met Miss Grayson, your niece, during my first class summer at West
Point, and got to admire her, as everybody else did. I got to more than
admire her. She absolutely fascinated me. I don't mean that she tried to
in the least,--she just couldn't help it. Before camp was half over I
was just beside myself about her; couldn't be content if I didn't see
her every day; take her to the hops, and devote myself generally. Every
man in the class thought I was dead in love with her. Mr. Brandon, I--I
did myself. I never ceased to think so--until last--until after that
Ku-Klux fight at Sandbrook. I _made_ her think so. She really tried to
talk me out of it at first,--she did indeed. She said that it was simply
a fancy that I would soon outgrow; and she never for once could be
induced to say that she cared anything for me. She was always lovely and
ladylike, always perfect, it seemed to me. She even went so far as to
remind me that she was as old as I was, and far older in the ways of the
world, and cadets especially. She never encouraged me one bit, and I
just went on getting more and more in love with her all that year; used
to write to her three or four times a week; dozens of letters that she
only occasionally answered. Then she came up in June, and I was
incessantly at her side. She might not care for me, but she did not seem
to care for anybody else, and so it went on. She would not take my class
ring when I begged her to that summer. She wore it a few days, but made
me take it back the day we graduates went away; but I went back that
summer to see her twice, and when I came away I swore that after I'd
been in service a year I would return to New York to offer myself again;
and we used to write to each other that winter, only her letters were
not like mine. They were nice and friendly and all that,--still, I knew
she had my promise. I thought she would expect me to come back. I felt
engaged so far as I was concerned; then when I got wounded her letters
grew far more interested, you know (Mr. Brandon nodded appreciatively);
and then they began to come often; and, whether it was that she thought
our life was very hazardous, or that the climate was going to be a bad
thing for me, or that I would not recover rapidly there, her letters
began to urge me to come North. I got two at Sandbrook--one the very day
you were there at the tent--and two since we came here; and then--then I
found only too surely that it was not love I felt for her; indeed, that
I had grown to love--you know well enough (almost defiantly)--Miss
Carrington. I felt in honor bound to carry out my promise to Miss
Grayson, and to avoid--to--well, to be true to my promise in every way.
But I was utterly miserable. Mother detected it in my letters, and at
last I broke down and told her the truth. She said there was only one
honorable course for me to pursue, and that was to write to Miss
Grayson and tell her the same, tell her the whole truth; and it was an
awful wrench, but I did it that day you were at the house. It came hard
too, for only the day before a letter came from her full of all sorts of
queer things. A little bird had whispered that, like all the rest, I had
found my cadet attachment something to be forgotten with the gray coat
and bell buttons. She had heard this, that, and the other thing; she
would not reproach. It was only what she had predicted all along, etc.,
and it cut me up like blazes; but mother smiled quietly when I told her,
said that I must expect to be handled without gloves, and warned me that
I must look for very _just_ comments on my conduct; and then somehow I
decided that you had written to her about me. You said nothing to make
me think so, and altogether I was in an awful stew until this morning."
"And what now?" I asked, eagerly.
"Her answer came. Brandon, she's a trump; she's a gem; and so's her
letter. Mother's got it, and is writing to her herself. I'm
inexpressibly humbled, but somehow or other happier than I've ever
been." And the boy and I shook hands warmly, and Mr. Brandon bethought
himself that that blessed Bella should have the loveliest Easter present
the avuncular purse could buy.
"What did Bella say?" he asked.
"Oh! I can't quite tell you. It was all just so sweet and warm-hearted
and congratulatory (though that is possibly premature), and just as
lovely a letter as ever was written."
"And we may look for two weddings in the --th Cavalry, then?"
But Mars' features clouded. "Vinton and Miss Summers will be married
next month; for Vinton says we may expect to be ordered to the plains
with the coming of summer, but no such luck for me. I have precious
little hope just now."
"And has Miss Carrington heard of our Bella?" I asked, mischievously.
"Good heavens! I hope not. That would be the death-blow to everything."
Yes, it struck me that _there_ would be a weapon that Miss Kit would use
with merciless power.