Kate Henderson sat alone in her room reading a letter from her father,
her thoughtful brow a shade more serious perhaps than its wont, and at
times a faint, half-sickly smile moving her dimpled cheek. The interests
of our story have no concern with that letter, save passingly, nor do
we regret it. Enough, if we say it was in reply to one of her own,
requesting permission to return home, until, as she phrased it, she
could “obtain another service.” That the request had met scant favor was
easy to see, as, folding up the letter, she laid it down beside her with
a sigh and a muttered “I thought as much!--'So long as her Ladyship
is pleased to accept of your services,'” said she, repeating aloud an
expression of the writer. “Well, I suppose he's right; such is the true
reading of the compact, as it is of every compact where there is wealth
on one side, dependence on the other! Nor should I complain,” said
she, still more resolutely, “if these same services could be rendered
toilfully, but costing nothing of self-sacrifice in honorable feeling. I
could be a drudge--a slave--to-morrow; I could stoop to any labor; but I
cannot--no, I cannot--descend to companionship! They who hire us,” cried
she, rising, and pacing the room in slow and measured tread, “have a
right to our capacity. We are here to do their bidding; but they can
lay no claim to that over which we ourselves have no control--our
sympathies, our affections--we cannot sell these; we cannot always give
them, even as a gift.” She paused, and opening the letter, read it for
some seconds, and then flinging it down with a haughty gesture, said,
“'Nothing menial--nothing to complain of in my station!' Can he not see
that there is no such servitude as that which drags out existence, by
subjecting, not head and hands, but heart and soul, to the dictates of
another? The menial--the menial has the best of it. Some stipulate that
they are not to wear a livery; but what livery exacts such degradation
as this?” And she shook the rich folds of her heavy silk dress as she
spoke. The tears rose up and dimmed her eyes, but they were tears of
offended pride, and as they stole slowly along her cheeks, her features
acquired an expression of intense haughtiness. “They who train their
children to this career are but sorry calculators!--educating them but
to feel the bitter smart of their station, to see more clearly the wide
gulf that separates them from what they live amongst!” said she, in a
voice of deep emotion.
“Her Ladyship, Miss Henderson,” said a servant, throwing wide the door,
and closing it after the entrance of Lady Dorothea, who swept into
the room in her haughtiest of moods, and seated herself with all that
preparation that betokened a visit of importance.
“Take a seat, Miss Henderson,” said she. And Kate obeyed in silence.
“If in the course of what I shall have to say to you,” resumed her
Ladyship,--“if in what I shall feel it my _duty_ to say to you, I may
be betrayed into any expression stronger than in a calmer moment would
occur to me,--stronger in fact, than strict justice might warrant--”
“I beg your Ladyship's pardon if I interrupt, but I would beg to
remark--”
“What?” said Lady Dorothea, proudly.
“That simply your Ladyship's present caution is the best security for
future propriety. I ask no other.”
“You presume too far, young lady. I cannot answer that _my_ temper may
not reveal sentiments that my judgment or my breeding might prefer to
keep in abeyance.”
“If the sentiments be there, my Lady, I should certainly say, better to
avow them,” said Kate, with an air of most impassive coldness.
“I 'm not aware that I have asked your advice on that head, Miss
Henderson,” said she, almost insolently. “At the same time, your habits
of late in this family may have suggested the delusion.”
“Will your Ladyship pardon me if I confess I do not understand you?”
“You shall have little to complain of on that score, Miss Henderson;
I shall not speak in riddles, depend upon it. Nor should that be an
obstacle if your intelligence were only the equal of your ambition.”
“Now, indeed, is your Ladyship completely beyond me.”
“Had you felt that I was as much 'above' you, Miss Henderson, it were
more to the purpose.”
“I sincerely hope that I have never forgotten all the deference I owe
your Ladyship,” said Kate. Nor could humble words have taken a more
humble accent; and yet they availed little to conciliate her to whom
they were addressed; nay, this very humility seemed to irritate and
provoke her to a greater show of temper, as with an insolent laugh she
said,--“This mockery of respect never imposed on we, young lady. I have
been bred and born in a rank where real deference is so invariable that
the fictitious article is soon detected, had there been any hardy enough
to attempt it.”
Kate made no other answer to this speech than a deep inclination of her
head. It might mean assent, submission, anything.
“You may remember, Miss Henderson,” said her Ladyship, with all the
formality of a charge in her manner,--“you may remember that on the day
I engaged your services you were obliging enough to furnish me with a
brief summary of your acquirements.” She paused, as if expecting some
intimation of assent, and after an interval of a few seconds, Kate
smiled, and said,--“It must have been a very meagre catalogue, my Lady.”
“Quite the reverse. It was a perfect marvel to me how you ever
found time to store your mind with such varied information; and yet,
notwithstanding that imposing array of accomplishments, I now find that
your modesty--perhaps out of deference to my ignorance--withheld fully
as many more.”
Kate's look of bewilderment at this speech was the only reply she made.
“Oh, of course you do not understand me,” said Lady Dorothea,
sneeringly; “but I mean to be most explicit. Have you any recollection
of the circumstance I allude to?”
“I remember perfectly the day, madam, I waited on you for the first
time.”
“That's exactly what I mean. Now, pray, has any portion of our discourse
dwelt upon your mind?”
“Yes, my Lady; a remark of your Ladyship's made a considerable
impression upon me at the moment, and has continued frequently to rise
to my recollection since that.”
“May I ask what it was?”
“It was with reference to the treatment I had been so long accustomed
to in the family of the Duchesse de Luygnes, and which your Ladyship
characterized by an epithet I have never forgotten. At the time I
thought it severe; I have learned to see it just. You called it an
'irreparable mischief.' Your Ladyship said most truly.”
“I was never more convinced of the fact than at this very moment,” said
Lady Dorothea, as a flush of anger covered her cheek. “The ill-judging
condescension of your first protectors has left a very troublesome
legacy for their successors. Your youth and inexperience--I do not
desire to attribute it to anything more reprehensible--led you,
probably, into an error regarding the privileges you thus enjoyed, and
you fancied that you owed to your own claims what you were entirely
indebted to from the favor of others.”
“I have no doubt that the observation of your Ladyship is quite
correct,” said Kate, calmly.
“I sincerely wish that the conviction had impressed itself upon your
conduct then,” said Lady Dorothea, whose temper was never so outraged
as by the other's self-possession. “Had such been the case, I might have
spared myself the unpleasantness of my present task.” Her passion
was now fully roused, and with redoubled energy she continued:
“Your ambition has taken a high flight, young lady, and, from the
condescension by which I accorded you a certain degree of influence
in this family, you have aspired to become its head. Do not
affect any misconception of my meaning. My son has told me
everything--everything--from your invaluable aid to him in his pecuniary
difficulties, to your sage counsels on his betting-book; from the
admirable advice you gave him as to his studies, to the disinterested
offer of your own tuition. Be assured if _he_ has not understood all the
advantages so generously presented to him, I, at least, appreciate them
fully. I must acknowledge you have played your game cleverly, and you
have made the mock independence of your character the mask of your
designs. With another than myself you might have succeeded, too,”
said her Ladyship, with a smile of bitter irony; “but _I_ have few
self-delusions, Miss Henderson, nor is there amongst the number that of
believing that any one serves me, in any capacity, from any devotion
to my own person. I natter myself, at least, that I have so much of
humility.”
“If I understand your Ladyship aright, I am charged with some designs on
Captain Martin?” said Kate, calmly.
“Yes; precisely so,” said Lady Dorothea, haughtily.
“I can only protest that I am innocent of all such, my Lady,” said she,
with an expression of great deference. “It is a charge that does not
admit of any other refutation, since, if I appeal to my conduct, your
Ladyship's suspicions would not exculpate me.”
“Certainly not.”
“I thought so. What, then, can I adduce? I'm sure your Ladyship's
own delicacy will see that this is not a case where testimony can be
invoked. I cannot--you would not ask me to--require an acquittal from
the lips of Captain Martin himself; humble as I stand here, my Lady, you
never could mean to expose me to this humiliation.” For the first time
did her voice falter, and a sickly paleness came over her as she uttered
the last words.
“The humiliation which you had intended for this family, Miss Henderson,
is alone what demands consideration from _me_. If what you call your
exculpation requires Captain Martin's presence, I confess I see no
objection to it.”
“It is only, then, because your Ladyship is angry with me that you could
bring yourself to think so, especially since another and much easier
solution of the difficulty offers itself.”
“How so? What do you mean?”
“To send me home, madam.”
“I understand you, young lady. I am to send you back to your father's
house as one whose presence here was too dangerous, whose attractions
could only be resisted by means of absence and distance. A very
interesting martyrdom might have been made of it, I 've no doubt, and
even some speculation as to the conduct of a young gentleman so suddenly
bereaved of the object of his affections. But all this is much too
dignified for me. _My_ son shall be taught to respect himself without
the intervention of any contrivance.”
[Illustration: 256]
As she uttered the last words, she arose and approached the bell.
“Your Ladyship surely is not going--”
“I am going to send for Captain Martin, Miss Henderson.”
“Do not, I entreat of you,--I implore your Ladyship,” cried Kate, with
her clasped hands trembling as she spoke.
“This agitation is not without a cause, and would alone decide me to
call for my son.”
“If I have ever deserved well at your hands, my Lady,--if I have served
you faithfully in anything,--if my devotion has lightened you of one
care, or aided you through one difficulty,--spare me, oh, spare me, I
beseech you, this--degradation!”
“I have a higher consideration to consult here, Miss Henderson, than
any which can have reference to you.” She pulled the bell violently, and
while her hand still held the cord, the servant entered. “Tell Captain
Martin to come here,” said she, and sat down.
Kate leaned her arm upon the chimney-piece, and, resting her head on it,
never uttered a word.
For several minutes the silence was unbroken on either side. At last
Lady Dorothea started suddenly, and said,--“We cannot receive Captain
Martin here.”
“Your Ladyship is full of consideration,” said Kate, bitterly. “For a
moment I had thought it was only an additional humiliation to which you
had destined me.”
“Follow me into the drawing-room, Miss Henderson,” said Lady Dorothea,
proudly, as she left the room. And with slow, submissive mien Kate
quitted the chamber, and walked after her.
Scarcely had the door of the drawing-room been closed upon them than it
was re-opened to admit Captain Martin. He was booted and spurred for
his afternoon canter, and seemed in no wise pleased at the sudden
interruption to his project.
“They said you wanted me,” cried he; “and here have I been searching for
you in your dressing-room, and all over the house.”
“I desire to speak with you,” said she, proudly; and she motioned to a
chair.
“I trust the _séance_ is to be a brief one, otherwise I 'll beg a
postponement,” said he, half laughingly. Then turning his glance towards
Kate, he remarked for the first time the deathlike color of her face,
and an expression of repressed suffering that all her self-control
could not conceal. “Has anything happened? What is it?” said he, in a
half-whisper.
But she never replied, nor even seemed to heed his question.
“Tell me, I beseech you,” cried he, turning to Lady Dorothea,--“tell me,
has anything gone wrong?”
“It is precisely on that account I have sent for you, Captain Martin,”
said her Ladyship, as she assigned to him a seat with a motion of her
hand. “It is because a great deal has gone wrong here--and were it not
for my vigilance, much more still likely to follow it--I have sent for
you, sir, that you should hear from this young lady's lips a denial
which, I own, has not satisfied _me_; nor shall it, till it be made
in your presence and meet with your corroboration. Your looks, Miss
Henderson,” said she, addressing her, “would imply that all the
suffering of the present moment falls to _your_ share; but I would beg
you to bear in mind what a person in _my_ sphere must endure at the bare
possibility of the event which now demands investigation.”
“Good heavens! will not you tell me what it is?” exclaimed Martin, in
the last extremity of impatience.
“I have sent for you, sir,” resumed she, “that you should hear Miss
Henderson declare that no attentions on your part--no assiduities, I
should perhaps call them--have ever been addressed to her; that, in
fact”--here her Ladyship became embarrassed in her explanation,--“that,
in fact, those counsels--those very admirable aids to your conduct
which she on so many occasions has vouchsafed to afford you--have had
no object--no ulterior object, I should perhaps call it--and that
your--your intercourse has ever been such as beseems the heir of Cro'
Martin, and the daughter of the steward on that property!”
“By Jove, I can make nothing of all this!” cried the Captain, whose
bewildered looks fully corroborated the assertion.
“Lady Dorothea, sir, requires you to assure her that I have never
made love to you,” said Kate Henderson, with a look of scorn that her
Ladyship did not dare to reply to. “_I_,” added she, “have already given
my pledge on this subject. I trust that your testimony will not gainsay
me.”
“Confound me if I can fathom it at all!” said he, more distracted than
ever. “If you are alluding to the offer I made you--”
“The offer you made,” cried Lady Dorothea. “When?--how?--in what wise?”
“No, no, I will speak out,” said he, addressing Kate. “I am certain
_you_ never divulged it; but I cannot accept that all the honorable
dealing should be on one side only. Yes, my Lady, however you learned
it, I cannot guess, but it is perfectly true; I asked Miss Henderson to
be my wife, and she refused me.”
A low, faint sigh broke from Lady Dorothea, and she fell back into her
chair.
“She would have it,--it's not my fault,--you are witness it's not,”
muttered he to Kate. But she motioned him in silence to the door, and
then opening the window, that the fresh air might enter, stood silently
beside the chair.
A slight shivering shook her; and Lady Dorothea--her cheeks almost
lividly pale--raised her eyes and fixed them on Kate Henderson.
“You have had your triumph!” said she, in a low but firm voice.
“I do not feel it such, madam,” said Kate, calmly. “Nor is it in a
moment of humiliation like this that a thought of triumph can enter.”
“Hear me,--stoop down lower. You can leave this--tomorrow, if you wish
it.”
Kate bowed slowly in acquiescence.
“I have no need to ask you that what has occurred here should never be
mentioned.”
“You may trust me, madam.”
“I feel that I may. There--I am better--quite well, now! You may leave
me.” Kate courtesied deeply, and moved towards the door. “One word
before you go. Will you answer me one question? I'll ask but one; but
your answer must be full, or not at all.”
“So it shall be, madam. What is it?”
“I want to know the reason--on what grounds--you declined the proposal
of my son?”
“For the same good reason, madam, that should have prevented his ever
making it.”
“Disparity--inequality of station, you mean?”
“Something like it, madam. Our union would have been both a blunder
and a paradox. Each would have married beneath him!” And once more
courtesying, and with an air of haughty dignity, Kate withdrew, and left
her Ladyship to her own thoughts.
Strange and conflicting were the same thoughts; at one moment
stimulating her to projects of passionate vengeance, at the next
suggesting the warmest measures of reconciliation and affection. These
indeed predominated, for in her heart pride seemed the emblem of all
that was great, noble, or exalted; and when she saw that sentiment,
not fostered by the accidents of fortune, not associated with birth,
lineage, and high station, but actually rising superior to the absence
of all these, she almost felt a species of worship for one so gloriously
endowed.
“She might be a duchess!” was the only speech she uttered, and the words
revealed a whole volume of her meditations. It was curious enough
how completely all recollection of her son was merged and lost in the
greater interest Kate's character supplied. But so is it frequently in
life. The traits which most resemble our own are those we alone attach
importance to, and what we fancy admiration of another is very often
nothing more than the gratified contemplation of ourselves.