"BETTER LO'ED YE CANNA BE."
After a substantial luncheon, to which they bring good appetites, given
by their exhilarating outing in the frosty air, they cross the hall to
the drawing-room, when Thomas opened the door to Miss Crew and Mr.
Cobbe.
"Ah, here is our truant," said Mrs. Gower.
"Me!" laughed Cobbe, wishing her the compliments of the season.
Mr. Buckingham thought he detected a slight cloud of dissatisfaction
pass over her face, even as she welcomed him.
"I have made fifteen calls already; the fair sex like to be remembered,
Buckingham."
"Man is too selfish to forget what he could not do without, Cobbe."
"Give me an American for a due appreciation of our sex," said Mrs.
Gower, gaily.
"No, no; you are wrong. _You_ ought to know an Irishman to be the most
gallant man that lives," Mr. Cobbe said, sulkily.
"Well, yes, perhaps you are the most gallant," she said, thoughtfully,
"but in the bearing of an American man towards my sex there is a
something more--there is a gentle courtesy, a deference, a grave
tenderness."
"Tut, tut," said Mr. Cobbe, turning over the leaves of an album
impatiently.
"I fear you flatter us," said Buckingham.
"No, I think not; simply because your great Republic is so highly
civilized and progressive, the outcome of which is our enthronement with
you; while, in other countries, we are still midway between our
footstool of the dark ages and our throne with you."
Here Mr. St. Clair, Captain Tremaine, and a young barrister, a Mr.
McCullogh, made their _entree_.
"Your drawing-room is looking very pretty, Mrs. Gower," said Tremaine;
"the holly and mistletoe brings me home again."
"Yes, it looks so well against the blue and tan panels, that I am
tempted to let it stay."
"Where did you get it; it is very fine and healthy?" asked St. Clair,
admiringly.
"Well, thereby hangs a tale; it is a Christmas gift from Santa Claus.
All I know about it is, it came (Thomas thinks) from Slight's."
"It was no slight to you, Elaine," said Cobbe, jokingly.
On the mention, before so many, of her Christian name she made an
expressive _moue_ at Tremaine, unseen by the others, whose attention was
momentarily given to several booklets and cards which lay on a pretty
gilt stand, and while Miss O'Sullivan and McCullogh turned the pages of
"Erminie" for Miss Crew at the piano.
"Wait until Monday, Buckingham. I take the Midland then, in your
direction," said St. Clair.
"Impossible, St. Clair. I should have been as far as Lindsay yesterday."
On the clock striking three, St. Clair started to his feet, buttoning
his coat.
"Good-bye, Mrs. Gower. 'Time and tide,' you know."
"Oh, yes; but Time is not such a churl as to bid you away before I have
had even a look at you."
"But we men come to look at you, to-day, and, as usual, gratify
ourselves. _Au revoir_. I promised Noah to be back at three, to let him
off for a skate."
"'What's in a name?'" said Tremaine. "I wonder what relation he of the
Ark was to that boy."
"But fancy! I heard a clergyman in this city baptize an unoffending
infant Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego."
"Did he throw in the 'and'?" laughed Tremaine.
"Oh, no. Did I give it?"
"Yes. Well, I just call my boy plain Paddy."
"Do you throw in the 'plain'?"
"Oh, come, now; you ladies are having the best of it all through
to-day," he said, making his adieux.
"At the polls too?" she said gaily.
Several callers now came in in rapid succession, Mr. Cobbe rising as the
last made their exit.
"Think of me, Elaine. I shall come in and cheer you up when I get
through," he said, in a loud whisper, as she was having a last quiet
word with Buckingham.
Here Mr. Blair entered, and both men thought they saw a something in her
smile that had not been given them.
"Good-bye has come again, Mrs. Gower," said Buckingham. "One must always
regret leaving Holmnest; but I have only time to catch my train."
"Good-bye, and may all your wishes be granted."
Miss O'Sullivan, saying she must really go, took Miss Crew (who had a
new light in her face), Mr. McCullogh accompanying them.
"I am fortunate," said Mr. Blair, as the _portiere_ hangings closed
after them; Mrs. Gower smiled.
"Rest, after running about; though I think the fashion of New Year's
calls is fast dying out."
"It is, undoubtedly; this is my third and last. You are looking well
after your frosty drive," he said, seating himself at the gilt stand
beside her.
"Don't you think my friends have good taste?" she said, directing his
attention to the cards and booklets; "this white ivory card is pretty,
with its golden edge, white roses, and snowdrops, and gold bells, as
they ring,
"May every Christmas chime awaken in your heart
Each bliss of by-gone years in which your life had part."
"Yes," he said, thoughtfully, "if one could only drink a good bumper of
the waters of Lethe, and forget the pain, remembering only the bliss."
"But 'tis the memory of the bliss that brings the pain; at least I have
found it so," she said gravely.
"Yes, you are right; I have not thought of putting it to myself in that
way; but I must not give you a sad train of thought. Ah, this is
original," he said, picking up a large card, on which was painted a
bunch of scarlet poppies, with the lines:
"O! sleep; O! gentle sleep, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more will weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?"
"All the way from Ottawa; he evidently sees your eyes, which keep his
open," he said, trying to read her.
"You are fanciful, Mr. Blair;" but her color deepens under his gaze;
"but, be it as you say, he should close his eyes, possess his soul with
honor, and clasp the hand of duty."
"You give him a hard task, still I would lay any wager on your
kindliness of heart, on your strong sense of honor. I don't think you
would fool with a man's affections," he said, earnestly.
In spite of herself she trembles, for she feels that he is more to her
than any living man; and as he sits, his elbows on the table, his
fingers ran through his iron-grey hair, looking at her, her eyes droop,
her hands nervously play with the cards, her sensitive lips showing her
emotion, as she thinks of Mr. St. Clair's words to her the evening of
their introduction, of the nobility of this man's character, of his
devotion to his late wife, of his clean record among men as to his truth
and honor in all business transactions; and now she knows, intuitively,
in fact, did at their first meeting, that his heart is seeking hers.
"I am right, you would not play with a man's affections; you have had
sorrow yourself; tell me."
In spite of herself, a tear glistened in her eyes as she looked into his
face, as she thought of her oath.
"No; do I look so faulty, frivolous and foolishly wicked?"
"No, you have a sweet, kind, womanly face," he said, smiling gravely;
"and were I to tell you of my lonely life, and how I long for just such
a womanly presence, just such companionship to gladden a home, to make
my broken life complete, with a sweet sense of peace and rest, would you
send me from you desolate?" and his voice thrilled with intense feeling.
"If so, and that my act left me also desolate, would you not forgive
me?" she said, brokenly.
"I would forgive you, yes; for I could not live with enmity in my heart
towards you; but, why do you speak so?" he said, earnestly, her words
giving him the key to her heart, as he came over beside her, and with an
arm around her, drew her head to his chest. "Don't resist me; you know I
love you, and you will be my ain bonnie wife." He felt her tremble,
though she yielded to him. "Better lo'ed ye canna be," and stooping, he
kissed her on the lips: "those lips, a thread of scarlet," and he looked
at her tenderly.
At this her color deepened, and, with a sigh, she said, her voice
trembling with emotion: "Release me, dear, it can never be; I am
promised to another. Go now, and leave me to my fate," she said,
tearfully.
"Never! You _shall_ be my wife, and that before the next moon wanes.
Whoever this man is, he has not won your heart. Yes, _my_ heart twin,
_my_ own companion every day for our journey through life, _my_ Elaine,
not his;" and, again and again, for a few blissful moments that she is
strained to his heart, do his kisses come to her lips. "Look up, dear
wife, and tell me by one look that I am in your heart. Yes, love, your
eyes tell me that our lives will be again worth living, again complete.
No, I will not let you go; and I just want to see this man who thinks he
will rob me of you."
At this juncture the hall-bell rings, just as the clock was striking
seven, the hour Mrs. Gower had ordered dinner; and, as quick as her
hastened heart-beats would allow, donning society's mask, she is playing
Chopin's music, while Mr. Blair is intent on "The Miniature Golden
Floral Series;" when Mr. Cobbe enters, evidently by his manner having
done more than "look upon the wine when it is red."
"Well, Elaine, don't scold me, I could not come back any sooner," he
said, with a jovial air; "but, hang it, I never see you alone these
days."
"Can it be possible, she has promised herself to this swaggering fool!"
thought Blair.
"What's the matter, Elaine?" he continued, leaning on the piano, and
looking into her face, "you have a tragedy face."
"Sometimes I seem to be taking part in one," she said, gravely; hoping
he would remember the woman.
"Oh, I see; you have been playing 'Faust;' if you want something
devilish, try French opera; German is horns and hoof, and no fun."
Seeing his mood, she abandoned all hope of fixing his attention on any
quieting thought, glancing at Mr. Blair for sympathy; one look told her
his opinion of her friend. "How he must despise me," she thought,
introducing them. "And now, you must both dine with a lone woman."
"It will give me great pleasure to begin the year so," said Mr. Blair,
with the determined air of a man who could and would hold his ground, as
he put her hand through his arm, whispering, "Courage!"
"You look very much like a lone woman, I must say," said Cobbe, sulkily.
"I told you before, Elaine, that I don't think it's right of you," he
said, recklessly.
As they crossed the hall to dine, the geraniums dropped from her gown.
"Oh, my poor flowers," Mr. Blair picking them up. Mr. Cobbe said,
jealously, "Poor flowers, indeed; I should just like to know who gave
them you."
Fearing he would think it had been Mr. Blair, and not feeling equal to a
scene, she said, hurriedly:
"A friend who has left town; but you are too sensible to allow such a
trifle to spoil your dinner."
From the moment of their passing through the _portiere_ hangings into
the hall, Blair had seen the face of a woman peering through the
vestibule door, Thomas having neglected fastening the outer door on
letting in Mr. Cobbe. On entering the dining-room, Mrs. Gower, in
looking over her shoulder in making the above remark, saw the face. Not
so Cobbe, who was wholly absorbed in rage at the present state of
affairs.
Mr. Blair felt his companion tremble as she said to herself, "That
woman!" At that, pressing her closely to his side, he again whispered,
"Courage!"
"Thomas, go quickly to the vestibule door."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Why, what's the matter now, Elaine; do you expect another gentleman?"
"Go and see." "No, no; if he comes I'll see him soon enough, and the
soup smells too tempting."
Thomas returned and waited, when Mrs. Gower said, nervously, "Are both
doors securely fastened, Thomas?"
"They are, ma'am."
"Queer time for a visitor to call, just at dinner hour," said Cobbe, in
aggrieved tones.
This was more than Thomas could stand, who had more than once confided
to the kitchen his opinion of Mr. Cobbe for doing likewise, so he said,
respectfully:
"Beg pardon, sir; but it was _that_ lady for you, sir."
"Hang it! you told her I wasn't here, I hope."
"No, sir; I said you was at dinner, and I couldn't disturb you, sir; so
she said she would wait outside."
"It's very cold for her," faltered Mrs. Gower.
Here the merry sleigh-bells jingled and stopped at the gate; voices are
nearing; and now the hall-bell again rings, when Mr. and Mrs. Dale are
heard in the hall stamping the snow off their boots, and divesting
themselves of their wraps.
"Thomas, get plates, etc."
They enter looking as if Jack Frost has given them a chilly embrace, for
they have had a cold drive from town.
"Welcome! this is a glad surprise, though I half expected you yesterday.
Mrs. Dale, allow me to introduce Mr. Blair; Mr. Dale, Mr. Blair; and now
be seated; I am so glad to have you back again, Ella; I have missed you
much."
"Thank you, Elaine; we both wished you were with us; Henry's English
friends, the Elliotts, are delightful, and were charmed with your
description of river life on the St. Lawrence."
"They will think I have scarcely done it justice, on their revelling in
it themselves."
"We have Ella Wheeler Wilcox and Rose Elizabeth Cleveland, at New York,
this winter, Mrs. Gower," said Dale, in gratified tones.
"What a treat it would be to meet them; they will give new life to the
women's literary circles."
"Oh, where is Miss Crew?" asked Mrs. Dale.
"Out spending the day at the O'Sullivans."
"I am glad of that," said Dale, kindly. "Miss O'Sullivan has the
brightness our little friend lacks, and will, perhaps, win her
confidence, which we have been unable to do."
"That is very true," said Mrs. Gower, who now related the incident of
the morning, regarding the couple they had met while out sleigh-driving;
at which Mrs. Dale was all eyes and ears, her pretty little face aglow
with excitement.
"How strange! and she persisted in seeing them alone! did she seem
glad?"
"Oh, yes; for such a quiet, self-contained little creature, very much
so."
"And did she tell you nothing on her return?"
"No; she had no opportunity; we had callers, and Miss O'Sullivan was
here; but she looked happier, poor, lonely, wee lassie."
"She is likely to remain lonely, too," said Cobbe; "a man does not want
to marry a girl as stiff as his beaver, and as prim as its band."
"Poor girl; one cannot expect her to show that careless joy in living
our girls show, who have happy homes and ties of kin."
"In my opinion," said Dale, "the women and girls who take life easiest,
and seem to feel that the good things of life are their heritage, are
the American women."
"I don't go with you, Dale," said Mr. Cobbe; "I'll back up some of our
own women against them for monopoly of that sort."
"I am at one with you, Mr. Dale," said Mrs. Gower, "for this reason:
from the time an American woman can lisp, she is taught the cardinal
ideas of the country, viz., liberty and equality."
"From your standpoint, Mrs. Gower, your sex should be all Republicans,"
said Mr. Dale. "What countryman are you, Mr. Blair?"
"A pure and unadulterated Scotchman; and I hope you like the land o'
bagpipes, heather and oatcakes sufficiently as to like me none the
less."
"No; for was I not English, I would be Scotch."
"And I," said Mrs. Dale, "would have liked you better were you
Irish-American."
"You are candid, at all events," he said, smiling.
"You had better live as near perfection as possible, by remaining in
Canada, Mr. Blair," said his hostess, rising from the table. "Come,
Ella, we shall leave them to their cigarettes and the subjects nearest
their hearts."
"You are one of the most thoughtful women I have ever met," said Dale,
drawing the hangings for their exit; "but our smoke will be but a
passing cloud; we shall soon sun ourselves in your presence."
"Listen to him," said his wife, merrily; "don't I bring him up well."
As the two friends sipped their coffee from dainty Japanese china, the
red silk gown of Mrs. Dale contrasting prettily with the brown and old
gold in the dress of her friend, they made a sweet, home-like picture,
in this tasteful little drawing-room, with its gaily painted walls,
hangings in artistic blending, its softly padded furniture, not
extravagant--for Mrs. Gower's income is but $600 per annum--now that
house and furniture are paid for, but Roger's bill was very reasonable,
for all is in good taste; and with two or three good pictures, a
handsome bronze or two, with a few bits of choice bric-a-brac, all the
latter gifts from friends; with the glowing grate, the colored lights,
the holly and mistletoe, all make an attractive scene.
"And now about yourself, Elaine; I hoped on my return to have found your
mercurial friend out in the cold."
"No, Ella; I can do nothing with him," she said, gravely.
"Can't he get it into his head that no woman would marry a man with
another woman dangling after him. I have no patience with him. Does she
haunt your place still?"
"Yes; she is certainly most constant. Did I tell you of a fright she
gave me at two public meetings?"
"No; you wrote me that you must do so on my return."
"Just fancy coming from the Rodgers' mass meeting, before the mayoralty
election. I went with Philip, and she must have followed us, for she
managed to get near us, and in the crush making our exit, took hold of
his arm, and _would not let him see me home_; picture me in that crowd,
having to fight my way through, and alone! I think I shall never forget
that night; fortunately the cars were running; so taking the Carlton,
College and Spadina Avenue car, I managed to reach home. Ella, it was
awful, the lonely home-coming," she said tearfully; "the cowardly (I
suppose it was) fear of meeting acquaintances; but the feeling that I
was engaged, nay, under oath to marry a man who could allow this, was
worse than had I met dozens of acquaintances; the late hour; then after
I had left the Spadina Avenue terminus, the lonely walk up here--all
together made me so nervous I was not myself for a day or two."
"I should say you would be; it was dreadful; and as you say, dear, the
feeling that you were engaged to such," she said, contemptuously, "added
bitterness to the act; oath or no oath, he must release you."
"He won't."
"He _shall;_ and I am determined to stay with you until I can interview
that woman. What a horrid man he is, any way."
Here the gentlemen entered, and a truce to confidentials.
"Has my little wife told you, Mrs. Gower, that I have tickets for
'Faust,' and we hope you will care to accompany us?"
"No; she had not told me, though we were speaking tragedy."
"Well, yours was the prologue; now for 'Faust;' you will come?"
"Yes, with pleasure," she said, feeling that her _tete-a-tete_ with Mr.
Blair is over, for Mr. Cobbe would remain; feeling also that such
_tete-a-tete_ was too full of quiet content for her to indulge in,
engaged as she is to another.
Mr. Blair very reluctantly rises to depart, seeing that the evening he
has promised himself, in dual solitude with the woman he determines
shall be his wife, is broken in upon.
"Good-night, Mrs. Gower; the walk to town will seem doubly cold by
contrast with the warmth of your hospitalities," he said, holding her
hand, a look of regret in his blue eyes.
"Button up well, then, to ensure my being remembered for so long," she
said, quietly.
"Good-night, Elaine; expect me to-morrow, at five p.m.," said Mr. Cobbe,
with an important air.
Outside, to Mr. Blair, he said, "Fine woman, Mrs. Gower; I am in luck,
but she has too much freedom," he said, pointedly.
"How do you mean?" asked Blair, by an effort controlling himself to
speak quietly.
"Oh, too many gentlemen coming and going; I must arrange for our
marriage at once."
"You are honored by a promise from her to marry you, then?"
"Yes; but by more than a promise; by an oath," he said, flightily; "and
she is not the only woman who is infatuated with me," he added,
chuckling at his companion's discomfiture.
"You are fortunate," said the canny Scotchman, hating him for his words;
but aware that there is some mystery in the case, knowing Mrs. Gower to
shrink from fulfilling her engagement; having recognized the face of the
woman at the vestibule as the woman he has seen prowling about Holmnest
at night-fall, he affects a friendly air to draw his companion out,
trusting that his intense vanity will lead him to commit himself
insomuch as to give him a hold upon him, which he will use as a means of
freeing Mrs. Gower.
Hearing steps behind them, he looks, and lo! the light of the street
lamp shows the face of the woman of the vestibule.
"By George, you are a lucky fellow; here is this poor little woman at
your heels; you are too gallant to allow her to walk alone; step back
and introduce me," he said, with the vague hope that he might in this
way find the hold she has on Cobbe; but _l'homme propose, Dieu dispose_,
for he said importantly:
"So she is; between you and I, the more faithless I am, the tighter she
hugs;" and, turning on his heel, the woman with him, they go at a run
down Major Street, leaving Blair, in blank dismay, standing in the cold
of the snow-mantled night.
After seeing talented Modjeska at the Grand, in "Faust," Mrs. Gower,
having wished her friends a warm good-night, as she sleeps, dreams of a
manly, handsome face bending over her, while the light in his eyes give
point to his words of "Better lo'ed ye canna be."