THE UNWELCOME PROPOSAL.
It was true, Jessie had received the proposal she so much dreaded,
received it exactly as her mother had described the scene. If other and
deeper feelings prevailed with her, they were buried far out of sight
by the delicate reticence of a nature which shrunk from any revelation
of feelings which would, perhaps, never receive a generous response.
Though the most single-hearted and frank creature in the world, Jessie
would have died rather than confess feelings such as I fear occupied her
heart even at this time.
"Well, Aunt Matty, I have obeyed you," she said, with a sorrowful look
of the eyes, the moment we were alone together. "It breaks my heart, but
I have listened to all he could say, poor fellow! and it is over. What a
terrible, terrible thing it must be to love a person who does not care
for you. Oh! Aunt Matty, Aunt Matty! it is--" She hesitated, turned
crimson, and added, "it must be like death, worse than death; for to
crush one's pride is to deprive life of its dignity, and this thing I
have done for him."
"And do you begin to regret it?" I said, sitting down, and drawing her
head to my shoulder.
"Regret it? The thought oppresses me; I am so sorry for him; my heart
aches when I think of the look he gave me. Oh! why is it that love
cannot always be mutual?"
"That would destroy half its romance, I fear," said I, smiling in spite
of my sympathy in her distress.
She gave a little nervous laugh and said, "she supposed so; but it was
very hard to see a good man suffer disappointment and mortification such
as she had just witnessed. Some ladies might glory in these things, but,
for her part, she hoped never to have another offer in her life. It was
hard to give pain, harder by far than to endure it. Poor John Bosworth,
how wretched he must be!"
I strove to comfort her, for there was no affectation in all this. She
really did suffer all her broken speech implied, but she felt the
humiliation she had given too keenly for argument.
"He bowed himself before me as if I were a queen; and to be rejected
after all, it was very cruel!" she exclaimed, excitedly; "but what
could I do? There was Mrs. Dennison--but no matter about her."
Jessie stopped suddenly, and a flame of crimson spread and glowed in her
cheeks.
"You don't like Mrs. Dennison, Aunt Matty?" she said, after a moment's
silence.
"No, I never did like her," was my prompt reply.
"She is a strange woman," said Jessie, thoughtfully; "so brilliant, so
full of attractions, everybody is charmed with her at first sight. I
was."
"And now?" I suggested.
She looked at me a moment, then smiled, a little bitterly, I thought,
and said,--
"Who can help like--admiring her?"
Something was wrong in that quarter; I was sure of it. Two natures so
opposite as those of our Jessie and Mrs. Dennison could not long
harmonize under the same roof.
"Well," I said, smoothing the raven braids of Jessie's hair, "the worst
is over now. Mr. Bosworth will think all the better of you for being
truthful and honest; we shall have him for a friend still, never fear."
Jessie shook her head quite dejectedly.
"No, that can never be; these rides and invitations have been
misunderstood. He really thought I was encouraging him, when you know,
dear Aunt Matty, I hadn't the least idea of what it all meant. He talks
of going to Europe at once, or--or--"
"Or what?" I inquired, with an inclination to smile; "drown himself by
the old mill, perhaps?"
She glanced at me a little roguishly, and said, with a half-sigh, "Yes,
aunt, I believe he almost threatened that."
"So much the better," I said, gravely enough; for she was on the alert
for any signs of ridicule. "The disappointment that takes that form is
not killing."
"Don't!" she said, with a contraction of the forehead, which gave
evidence of real pain, "the very remembrance of his face is a reproach
to me; and there _they_ sat so quietly in the shade of a tree enjoying
the scenery. To them, I dare say, the world contained nothing else to
think of. Mrs. Dennison even pointed at us with her whip, as if we made
up the figures of a picture."
"Well, but she did not know," I suggested.
"Heaven forbid!"
We were interrupted then, and Jessie went to her mother, whose gentle
sympathy was always at command, though the cause of grief might be
unexplained. The presence of that woman was like a calm autumn day--it
saddened while it made you better.