COFFEE AND CHIT-CHAT.
"What a lovely little home you have, Mrs. Gower," said her friend, Mrs.
Smyth, seating herself near her hostess, the pale blue plush of the
padded chair contrasting well with her fair hair, pink cheeks and pretty
grey eyes.
"That chair becomes you at all events, dear," said her hostess, seeing
that a maid deftly passed coffee bright as decanted wine, afterwards
small bouquets of beautiful pansies and clematis among her guests, from
huge glass and Japanese bowls.
"I could scarcely believe Will, when he wrote me of your good fortune,
you know, the children and I were at Muskoka."
"Yes, I knew you would be glad. I bought this pretty little place the
week you left, it seemed after years of waiting, my money (what is left
of it) all came right in a day; you do not know how glad I am to at last
see you in a home of my own--and in a chair pretty enough to become you,
dear," she added more brightly.
"Oh, you always make the most of small kindnesses shown you, we were
only too glad to have you."
"Be that as it may, I shall always remember the bright hours with
yourselves in the dark days of my life," she said, warmly.
"When did you see Charlie?" asked Mrs. Smyth, in an undertone, for there
are other ears.
"This afternoon."
"This afternoon!"
"Yes; and you will be surprised to learn he takes the rail for the
seaboard to-night."
"To-night! Why, and whither, it must be a sudden move, for he was up for
a smoke with Will the other night and said nothing of it; but," she
added, laughingly, "he prefers a lady confidant when it's Mrs. Gower.
"Don't you think, Lilian, that the opposite sex is usually chosen to
lend an ear?" she said, carelessly, to conceal a feeling of sadness at
the out-going of her friend; for she is aware that the old friendly
intercourse is broken, now that he has gone to his wedding.
"He has gone to be married; I suppose, he said something to us a long
time ago about it, but he told it in a clouded kind of way; I wish he
had confided in me, for Will would not care a fig, but every woman
doesn't draw such a prize as I. Perhaps when you get number two he will
not allow the opposite sex to confide; but talking of the green-eyed
monster, reminds me of two scandals on our street." As she now raised
her voice, the other ladies pricked up their ears. Mrs. Dale exclaiming:
"Scandals! sounds like Bertha Clay's novels. May poor Mrs. Tremaine and
self come in. We have been on sermons, servants, and the latest infants;
a scandal will be as refreshing as Mrs. Gower's coffee."
"I guarantee you an appreciative audience, Mrs. Smyth," laughed her
hostess, "curtain rises over 'another mud-hole for us to play in.'"
"What a case you are, Mrs. Gower, but I must cut them short, for I would
not for worlds Will and the other gentlemen come in while they are on."
"No fear of scandals in your home, Mrs. Smyth," said Mrs. Tremaine,
"with Will always first."
"That's so; well, to begin, before I went to Muskoka, a lady and
daughter came to reside near us. As they went to our church, Will said
call; I did. Since my return, I heard from Mr. Cobbe," here turning
suddenly to Mrs. St. Clair, to whom Mrs. Gower had overlooked
introducing her, said: "I beg pardon, I should not name names."
Continuing, "Mr. Cobbe told me the young lady had been married, and
divorced. Some young fellow, in a good position down East, hearing she
had some ready cash, wed and deserted her at close of honeymoon. Well,
the other evening she was married again! at the house quite privately,
and to whom do you think? to none other than, as the newspapers state,
Norman Ferguson MacIntyre!"
"To Norman MacIntyre! oh, what a pity," cried Mrs. Tremaine, in dismay,
"his mother and sisters are such pleasant people, and had very different
hopes for him; it is simply dreadful."
"But he can throw her overboard, I am sure," cried Mrs. Dale. "If he
only have his wits about him, the first marriage likely took place in
Canada, the divorce across the line, don't you see; she is the precious
prize of the gay deceiver, your friend is free."
"But, even if this be so, Mrs. Dale," said Mrs. Smyth, excitedly, "no
girl will care to marry poor Norman afterwards."
"I am willing to stake our Pittsburg foundry on his chances," said Mrs.
Dale, cooly.
"And I, Holmnest," echoed Mrs. Gower, "_poor_ Norman has but to stand in
the market-place."
"I think they have both lowered their social standing; don't you, Mrs.
Tremaine?" said Mrs. Smyth.
"I do, indeed."
"It altogether depends upon their bank account," said their hostess,
sententiously; "and now for your next, for your mouth is still full of
news, dear."
"Oh, yes; but my next is a _bona fide_ married couple."
"But are they according to the Church Prayer Book?" said Mrs. Dale, with
her innocent air.
"Oh, yes, certainly; and some say she is like a china doll, and the
husband, a great big, ugly, black-looking tyrant; but the gentlemen are
coming, and I must cut it short, and only say that a man handsome as
Lucifer."
"Before the fall, I suppose," said her hostess.
"Yes, yes, you naughty woman. Well, they say this handsome fellow is
there whenever the husband is out, and a pock-marked red-headed boy
(some say their son) is there to watch the pretty wife, and their name
is St. Clair." Sensation!
At this moment a pin is ran into the arm of the breathless narrator.
"Oh, mercy!" she cried, looking around discovering the boy Noah St.
Clair, whom every one had forgotten seated on a footstool behind her,
who said vengefully, indicating by a gesture Mrs. St. Clair and himself,
"That's _our_ name; it's _us_."
"Gracious, Mrs. Gower, what have I done? Pardon me, I was under the
impression that this lady's name was Cobbe. I don't know how I got
things muddled; I thought she was some relative of our Mr. Cobbe."
"Never mind, dear; I should have introduced you; don't apologize; there
are other St. Clairs in Toronto than my friends."
"I don't mind it in the least," purred the pretty doll; "some one is
always talking about me. Women are jealous of my complexion and all my
admirers; but I think my name is prettier than Cobbe."
"Yet 'tell my name again to me,' am always here at beauty's call," said
Mr. Cobbe, hearing his name on entering with the other gentlemen.
"You, as a Bona Dea, have been our toast, Mrs. Gower," said Buckingham,
quietly, as he sank into a chair near her own.
"And my inclinations, I hope," she said, laughingly, "with no saving
clause as to their being virtuous."
"I appeal to your memory of the 'Antiquary,' Mrs. Gower; could any man
living toast you as the Rev. Mr. Battergowl did Miss Grisel Monkbarns?"
"I don't know; perhaps some would desire to make a proviso."
"Then they would err; I should give a woman of your stamp any length of
line."
"Thank you; your confidence would not be misplaced, when in honor bound
I have ever felt as though I did not belong to myself."
"I should judge so; underlying your gaiety conscientiousness holds you
to an extent few would dream of; you have frequently sacrificed yourself
to a mistaken sense of duty. Am I not right?"
"Yes; I have been a slave to what I used to think the voice of
conscience, but which I am now sure was extreme sensitiveness, and a
sort of moral cowardice; but how strange you should read me so truly."
"Not at all, I am a phrenologist; if you will allow me the very great
privilege, I shall read your character to you in some quiet hour."
"With very great pleasure. And now will you do me another favor? Make my
piano sing and speak to us."
"Thank you; I should like to try your instrument. It is from Mason &
Risch, I see."
Having arranged a table at whist and euchre, Mrs. Gower seated herself
to enjoy the entrancing music, while looking over some photographs to
amuse the boy Noah St. Clair, but it was not to be, for the voice of Mr.
Cobbe said in her ear:
"This won't do; you _must_ come to the library with me; I have not had a
single word with you all evening, and am, as you are aware, an uninvited
guest."
"Why invite you, Philip? Alas! there is invariably discord with your
presence," she says sadly, in the lowest of tones, moving away from the
curious gaze of the boy.
"Sit here, Elaine, if you positively refuse to leave the room with me,"
he said excitedly, indicating a tete-a-tete sofa not within ear-shot of
her guests, managing to detain her until, the hours creeping on apace,
freighted with the music of soft laughter, and ravishing songs without
words by the skilled performer, Mr. Buckingham, when pretty Mrs. Dale's
sweet voice is heard, as she rises from the table, saying triumphantly:
"Win! of course we won. Why, Mr. Dale will tell you, Mr. Smyth, that in
our card circle at New York, mine is dubbed 'the winning hand.'"
"Indeed! no wonder at our good fortune. Congratulate us, Mrs. Gower; we
won three straight games, all by reason of the admirable forethought of
my partner," cried Smyth, exultantly.
"Forethought always comes in a head's length, Mr. Smyth. Now, if you
could only gain a pocket edition of the winning hand, your surveys would
yield you a gold mine," said his hostess, gaily.
"Instead of as now, a few promissory notes," laughed Smyth.
"The gentlemen have been envying you your monopoly of Mrs. Gower, Mr.
Cobbe," said lively Mrs. Smyth, in an undertone; "she is an awful flirt,
you had better take care of yourself," she added, mischievously.
"I mean to," he said savagely, and with latent meaning, adding, "she is
as fickle as her clime; I hope," he said, endeavoring to control
himself, "all you ladies are not so heartless."
"Oh, no; we are as constant as the sun, compared to her," she said, half
jokingly.
"Would you be so to me," he said thickly, and coming near her.
"Go away, Mr. Cobbe; don't look at me like that, you awful man," she
whispered, laughingly.
"When may I call, you are the right sort of woman," he continued,
persistently.
"Will says so, any way," she said, archly.
"Say to-morrow," he persisted.
"Will!" she cried, mischievously, "Mr. Cobbe's compliments, and desires
to know when he will find you in your sanctum, he wishes to smoke the
pipe of peace with you."
"Hang it," thought Cobbe, "she has no ambition beyond Will; give me the
Australian women after all."
"Almost any evening, Cobbe, I am always good for a smoke; but my wife
says I'd better retrench, the house of Smyth is increasing so rapidly;
good-night."
"May I see you home, Mrs. St. Clair?" asked Mr. Cobbe, fervidly.
"It would be too sweet--but oh!" and her arm above the elbow is rubbed,
for the boy Noah has pinched her severely, saying,
"I'll tell papa."
At this juncture Thomas appeared, saying, a coupe had arrived for Mrs.
St. Clair and Master Noah.
"I must see you to-morrow, Mrs. Gower, after office hours," said Cobbe,
adding, on meeting the sharp eye of Mrs. Dale, "I have something very
particular to tell you."
"Say the day after, Mr. Cobbe, please; I shall endeavor to restrain my
curiosity so long, even though I am a woman."
"No, no, I must see you to-morrow at five p.m.," he said, impulsively.
"The yeas have it this time, Mr. Cobbe. Mrs. Gower belongs to us for
to-morrow," said Mrs. Dale, drawing her wrap about her, over her
cream-silk robe, slashed with blue velvet, and laced amid innumerable
buttonholes, her innocent look only apparent while, in reality, she is
dissecting him, "our kind hostess does some of the lions with us
to-morrow afternoon; the evening, she spends with us at the Queen's."
"Yes, we have no end of a bill for to-morrow," said Mr. Dale; "the
Normal School, Mount Pleasant Cemetery, office of the _Mail_, and the
University of Toronto."
At this there was a transformation scene, the face of Mr. Cobbe changing
like a flash from inane sulkiness to jubilant triumph.
"To the University! then Mrs. Gower will tell you what a paradise we
enjoyed, when I alone was her companion there," he said, with
excitement; and having previously made his adieu, he departed, chuckling
inwardly at his parting shot, and thinking for once she is nonplussed.
"She is too high-spirited to sleep comfortably to-night, if so, she'll
dream of me in spite of herself."
"What a funny man!" exclaimed Mrs. Dale, "reminds me of a Jack on wires.
If I were in your place, Mrs. Gower, I'd hand him over to his mother to
bring up over again; till to-morrow, farewell."
"_Au revoir_, dear."
"Good night, Mrs. Gower," said Buckingham, with a firm hand-clasp; "your
evenings leave one nothing to wish for, save for their continuance."
"If your words have life, prove them by coming again; good night."