THE DINNER.
True to her promise, Reinette drove round to see Margery the next
morning, and carried a pile of dresses which scarcely needed a stitch,
but which she insisted should be changed, as she knew Margery needed
work. She found her friend well and delighted with the cottage, which
suited her in every particular. Mrs. La Rue, too, was very calm and
quiet, and only spoke to Reinette when spoken to, until the latter, in
speaking of Hetherton Place and how lonely she was there at times,
especially in the evening, when Phil was not with her, said:
“I am going to hunt up my old nurse, who was with mother when she died.
She is alive, I am sure, and somewhere in England or France. I shall
have her come to live with me.”
Mrs. La Rue was standing with her back to Reinette, picking the dead
leaves from a pot of carnations, but she turned suddenly, and facing the
girl, said quickly:
“Better leave the nurse where she is; you will be happier without her.”
“I don’t know why you should say that,” Reinette retorted, in a tone
which showed her irritation that Mrs. La Rue should presume to dictate;
“you certainly can know nothing of Christine Bodine.”
“Of course not, but I know that old nurses do not often add to the
happiness of young ladies like you, so leave her alone; do not try to
find her,” Mrs. La Rue replied, and there was a ring in her voice like a
note of fear which Reinette would have detected had she been at all
suspicious.
But she was only resentful and answered proudly, “I shall certainly find
her if I can,” then with a few directions to Margery with regard to the
dresses, she drove away to order some necessary articles for her dinner,
which she meant to make a success. As the new summer-house on the
plateau was not yet completed, the table was laid on the broad piazza
overlooking the river and town beyond, and everything was in readiness
by the time Grandma Ferguson arrived, for true to her promise, she came
early, and in her _sprigged muslin_ and lavender ribbons, was fanning
herself in the large rocking-chair just as the clock was striking four.
She had tried, she said, to bring _Lyddy Ann_ and Anna with her, but
Anna had got some highfalutin’ notions about not goin’ till the last
minit; and so she presumed she wouldn’t come till the last gun was
fired, but if she’s Reinette she wouldn’t wait for her.
Miss Anna was really putting on a great many airs and talking etiquette
to her mother and grandmother until both were nearly crazy. She had been
to the Knoll that morning to call upon her cousins, both of whom were
struck with the accession of dignity and stiffness in her manner, but
never dreamed that the splitting up of the sign had anything to do with
it; they attributed it rather to the new and pretty muslin the young
lady wore and the presence of Major Rossiter, who was presented to her,
and who, with a freak of fancy most accountable, surrendered to her at
once. The major was fifty, and bald and gray, and near-sighted and
peculiar, and though he admired pretty women, he had never been known to
pay one more attention than was required of him as a gentleman. He had
thought his cousins, Ethel and Grace, very attractive and lady-like and
sweet, while Reinette had taken his breath away with her flash and
sparkle, but neither of the three had ever moved him as he was moved by
Anna’s stately manner when she gave him the tips of her fingers and
bowed so ceremoniously to him. The major liked a woman to be quiet and
dignified, and Anna’s stiffness suited him, and he walked home with her
and sat for half an hour in the parlor and talked with her of Europe,
which she hoped one day to see, and sympathized with her when she
deplored most eloquently the fate which tied her down to a little
country place like Merrivale, when she was by nature fitted to enjoy so
much. But poverty was a hard master and ruled its subjects with an iron
rod, she said, and there were tears in the blue eyes which looked up at
the major, who felt a great pity for and interest in this girl so
gifted, so dignified, and so pretty, for he thought her all these, and
said to her at parting that he hoped to see her later in the day at
Hetherton Place, where he was going with the Rossiters.
After the major left her Anna sat down to think, and the result of the
thinking was that though Major Rossiter was old, and tiresome, and
fidgety, and not at all like Mr. Beresford or Phil, he was rich and
evidently pleased with her, and she resolved that nothing should be
lacking on her part to increase his interest in her, and make him
believe that whatever her surroundings were, she was superior to them
and worthy to stand in the high places of the land. She was ashamed of
her father and mother, especially the former, and when at noon he asked
what time the dinner was to come off, she felt a fear lest he might be
intending to go as he was. Reinette’s eyes and manner when she gave the
invitation had done their work with him.
“I really b’lieve the girl wants me to come, odd and homespun as I am,”
he thought, and he made up his mind to do so, and Anna felt a cold sweat
oozing out from her finger tips, as she wondered what Major Lord
Rossiter would think of him.
“Are you sure you will enjoy it?” she said. “You know how long it is
since you have been anywhere, and Reinette is very particular how her
guests comport themselves—foolishly so, perhaps. You cannot eat in your
shirt sleeves there, no matter how warm you may be.”
“Who in thunder said I would eat in my shirt sleeves,” Mr. Ferguson
said, doggedly, feeling intuitively that his daughter did not wish him
to go, and feeling also determined that he would.
And so it happened that simultaneously with the major, in his elegant
dinner costume, with his white neck-tie and button-hole bouquet, came
honest Tom Ferguson, in the suit he had worn to church for at least six
years or more, and which was anything but stylish and fashionable. But
Tom was not a fashionable man, and made no pretense of being other than
he was, but he did not eat in his shirt sleeves or commit any marked
blunders at the dinner table, where six or seven courses were served,
with Pierre as chief waiter and engineer. Reinette was an admirable
hostess, and so managed to make her incongruous guests feel at home,
that the dinner was a great success, and the fastidious major, who was
seated far away from both grandma and Tom, did not think the less of
Anna because of any shortcomings in her father or mother, though he knew
they were not like the people of his world. But the Rossiters were, and
they were Anna’s relations, and she was refined and cultivated, if her
parents were not, he thought, for the glamour of love at first sight was
over and round him, and Anna was very pretty in her white muslin dress,
and very quiet and lady-like, he thought, and when, after the dinner was
over, he walked with her upon one of the finished terraces and saw how
well she carried herself and how small and delicately-shaped were her
hands and feet—for he was one to notice all these things—he began
vaguely to wonder how old she was and what his bachelor friends at the
club would say if he should present her to them as his wife. The major
was unquestionably attacked with a disease, the slightest symptoms of
which he had never before had in his life, and when at last it was time
for the guests to leave, and the Hetherton carriage came round to take
Grandma Ferguson and Mrs. Lydia and Anna home, he suggested to the
latter that she walk with him, as there was a moon and the night was
fine.
If there was anything Anna detested it was walking over a dusty dirt
road in slippers, and she wore that day a dainty pair with heels so high
that her ankles were in danger of turning over with every step. But
slippers and dusty highways weighed as nothing against a walk with Major
Rossiter down the winding hill, between hedges of sweet-brier and alder,
and across the long causeway where the beeches and maples nearly met
overhead, and the river wound like a silver thread through the green
meadows to the westward. Such a walk would be very romantic, and Anna
meant to take it if she spoiled a dozen pairs of slippers. So she
acceded to the major’s proposition, and the two started together for
home, while Phil looked curiously after them and said in an aside to
Queenie: “The old chap is hard hit, and if I’m not mistaken, Anna will
be my Lady Rossiter, and then won’t we second-class mortals catch it.”