"There is a fortune coming
Towards you, dainty, that will take thee thus,
And set thee aloft."
BEN JONSON.
That day was spent by Fleda in the never-failing headache
which was sure to visit her after any extraordinary nervous
agitation, or too great mental or bodily trial. It was severe
this time, not only from the anxiety of the preceding night,
but from the uncertainty that weighed upon her all day long.
The person who could have removed the uncertainty came,
indeed, to the house, but she was too ill to see anybody.
The extremity of pain wore itself off with the day, and at
evening she was able to leave her room and come down stairs.
But she was ill yet, and could do nothing but sit in the
corner of the sofa, with her hair unbound, and Florence gently
bathing her head with cologne. Anxiety as well as pain had, in
some measure, given place to exhaustion, and she looked a
white embodiment of endurance, which gave a shock to her
friends' sympathy. Visitors were denied, and Constance and
Edith devoted their eyes and tongues at least to her service,
if they could do no more.
It happened that Joe Manton was out of the way, holding an
important conference with a brother usher next door, a
conference that he had no notion would be so important when he
began it, when a ring on his own premises summoned one of the
maid-servants to the door. She knew nothing about "not at
home," and unceremoniously desired the gentleman to "walk up,"
"the ladies were in the drawing-room."
The door had been set wide open for the heat, and Fleda was
close in the corner behind it, gratefully permitting
Florence's efforts with the _cologne_, which yet she knew could
avail nothing but the kind feelings of the operator; for
herself patiently waiting her enemy's time. Constance was
sitting on the floor looking at her.
"I can't conceive how you can bear so much," she said, at
length.
Fleda thought how little she knew what was borne!
"Why, you could bear it, I suppose, if you had to," said
Edith, philosophically.
"She knows she looks most beautiful," said Florence, softly
passing her cologned hands down over the smooth hair "she
knows
' Il faut souffrir pour être belle.' "
"La migraine ne se guérit avec les douceurs," said Mr.
Carleton, entering "try something sharp, Miss Evelyn."
"Where are we to get it?" said Constance, springing up, and
adding, in a most lack-a-daisical aside to her mother
"Mamma! the fowling-piece! Our last vinegar hardly comes
under the appellation; and you don't expect to find anything
volatile in this house, Mr. Carleton?"
He smiled.
"Have you none for grave occasions, Miss Constance?"
"I wont retort the question about 'something sharp,' " said
Constance, arching her eyebrows, "because it is against my
principles to make people uncomfortable; but you have
certainly brought in some medicine with you, for Miss
Ringgan's cheeks, a little while ago, were as pure as her mind
from a tinge of any sort and now, you see "
"My dear Constance," said her mother, "Miss Ringgan's cheeks
will stand a much better chance if you come away and leave her
in peace. How can she get well with such a chatter in her
ears?"
"Mr. Carleton and I, Mamma, are conferring upon measures of
relief, and Miss Ringgan gives token of improvement already."
"For which I am very little to be thanked," said Mr. Carleton.
"But I am not a bringer of bad news, that she should look pale
at the sight of me."
"Are you a bringer of any news?" said Constance, "Oh, do let
us have them, Mr. Carleton! I am dying for news I haven't
heard a bit to-day."
"What is the news, Mr. Carleton?" said her mother's voice,
from the more distant region of the fire.
"I believe there are no general news, Mrs. Evelyn."
"Are there any particular news?" said Constance. "I like
particular news infinitely the best."
"I am sorry, Miss Constance, I have none for you. But, will
this headache yield to nothing?"
"Fleda prophesied that it would to time," said Florence; "she
would not let us try much beside."
"And I must confess there has been no volatile agency employed
at all," said Constance; "I never knew time have less of it,
and Fleda seemed to prefer him for her physician."
"He hasn't been a good one to-day," said Edith, nestling
affectionately to her side. "Isn't it better, Fleda?" for she
had covered her eyes with her hand.
"Not just now," said Fleda, softly.
"It is fair to change physicians if the first fails," said Mr.
Carleton. "I have had a slight experience in headache-curing;
if you will permit me, Miss Constance, I will supersede time
and try a different prescription."
He went out to seek it, and Fleda leaned her head in her hand,
and tried to quiet the throbbing heart, every pulsation of
which was felt so keenly at the seat of pain. She knew, from
Mr. Carleton's voice and manner she _thought_ she knew that
he had exceeding good tidings for her; once assured of that,
she would soon be better; but she was worse now.
"Where is Mr. Carleton gone?" said Mrs. Evelyn.
"I haven't the least idea, Mamma he has ventured upon an
extraordinary undertaking, and has gone off to qualify
himself, I suppose. I can't conceive why he didn't ask Miss
Ringgan's permission to change her physician instead of mine."
"I suppose he knew there was no doubt about that," said Edith,
hitting the precise answer of Fleda's thoughts.
"And what should make him think there was any doubt about
mine?" said Constance, tartly.
"Oh, you know," said her sister, "you are so odd, nobody can
tell what you will take a fancy to."
"You are extremely liberal in your expressions, at least, Miss
Evelyn, I must say," said Constance, with a glance of no
doubtful meaning. "Joe did you let Mr. Carleton in?"
"No, Ma'am."
"Well, let him in next time, and don't let in anybody else."
Whereafter the party relapsed into silent expectation.
It was not many minutes before Mr. Carleton returned.
"Tell your friend, Miss Constance," he said, putting an
exquisite little vinaigrette into her hand, "that I have
nothing worse for her than that."
"Worse than this!" said Constance, examining it. "Mr.
Carleton, I doubt exceedingly whether smelling this will
afford Miss Ringgan any benefit."
"Why, Miss Constance?"
"Because it has made me sick only to look at it!"
"There will be no danger for her," he said, smiling.
"Wont there? Well, Fleda, my dear, here, take it," said the
young lady; "I hope you are differently constituted from me,
for I feel a sudden pain since I saw it; but as you keep your
eyes shut, and so escape the sight of this lovely gold
chasing, perhaps it will do you no mischief."
"It will do her all the more good for that," said Mrs. Evelyn.
The only ears that took the benefit of this speech were
Edith's and Mr. Carleton's; Fleda's were deafened by the rush
of feeling. She very little knew what she was holding. Mr.
Carleton stood with rather significant gravity, watching the
effect of his prescription, while Edith beset her mother to
know why the outside of the vinaigrette, being of gold, should
make it do Fleda any more good; the disposing of which
question effectually occupied Mrs. Evelyn's attention for some
time.
"And, pray, how long is it since you took up the trade of a
physician, Mr. Carleton?" said Constance.
"It is just about nine years, Miss Constance," he answered,
gravely.
But that little reminder, slight as it was, overcame the small
remnant of Fleda's self-command the vinaigrette fell from
her hands, and her face was hid in them; whatever became of
pain, tears must flow.
"Forgive me," said Mr. Carleton, gently, bending down towards
her, "for speaking when I should have been silent Miss
Evelyn, and Miss Constance, will you permit me to order that
my patient be left in quiet."
And he took them away to Mrs. Evelyn's quarter, and kept them
all three engaged in conversation, too busily to trouble Fleda
with any attention, till she had had ample time to try the
effect of the quiet and of the vinegar both. Then he went
himself to look after her.
"Are you better?" said he, bending down, and speaking low.
Fleda opened her eyes and gave him, what a look! of grateful
feeling. She did not know the half that was in it; but he did.
That she was better, was a very small item.
"Ready for the coffee?" said he, smiling.
"Oh, no," whispered Fleda "It don't matter about that
never mind the coffee!"
But he went back with his usual calmness to Mrs. Evelyn, and
begged that she would have the goodness to order a cup of
rather strong coffee to be made.
"But, Mr. Carleton, Sir," said that lady, "I am not at all
sure that it would be the best thing for Miss Ringgan if she
is better I think it would do her far more good to go to
rest, and let sleep finish her cure, before taking something
that will make sleep impossible."
"Did you ever hear of a physician, Mrs. Evelyn," he said,
smiling, "'that allowed his prescriptions to be interfered
with? I must beg you will do me this favour."
"I doubt very much whether it will be a favour to Miss
Ringgan," said Mrs. Evelyn "however "
And she rang the bell, and gave the desired order, with a
somewhat disconcerted face. But Mr. Carleton again left Fleda
to herself, and devoted his attention to the other ladies,
with so much success, though with his usual absence of effort
that good humour was served long before the coffee.
Then, indeed, he played the physician's part again made the
coffee himself, and saw it taken, according to his own
pleasure skilfully, however, seeming all the while, except
to Fleda, to be occupied with everything else. The group
gathered round her anew; she was well enough to bear their
talk by this time by the time the coffee was drunk, quite
well.
"Is it quite gone?" asked Edith.
"The headache? yes."
"You will owe your physician a great many thanks, my dear
Fleda," said Mrs. Evelyn.
Fleda's only answer to this, however, was by a very slight
smile; and she presently left the room, to go up stairs and
arrange her yet disarranged hair.
"That is a very fine girl," remarked Mrs. Evelyn, preparing
half a cup of coffee for herself in a kind of amused
abstraction. "My friend Mr. Thorn will have an excellent wife
of her."
"Provided she marries him," said Constance, somewhat shortly.
"I am sure I hope she wont," said Edith; "and I don't believe
she will."
"What do you think of his chances of success, Mr. Carleton?"
"Your manner of speech would seem to imply that they are very
good, Mrs. Evelyn," he answered, coolly.
"Well, don't you think so?" said Mrs. Evelyn, coming back to
her seat with her coffee-cup, and apparently dividing her
attention between it and her subject. "It's a great chance for
her most girls in her circumstances would not refuse it _I_
think he's pretty sure of his ground."
"So I think," said Florence.
"It don't prove anything, if he is," said Constance, drily. "I
hate people who are always sure of their ground."
"What do you think, Mr. Carleton?" said Mrs. Evelyn, taking
little satisfied sips of her coffee.
"May I ask, first, what is meant by the 'chance,' and what by
the 'circumstances.' "
"Why, Mr. Thorn has a fine fortune, you know, and he is of an
excellent family there is not a better family in the city
and very few young men of such pretensions would think of a
girl that has no name nor standing."
"Unless she had qualities that would command them," said Mr.
Carleton.
"But, Mr. Carleton, Sir," said the lady, "Do you think that
can be? do you think a woman can fill, gracefully, a high
place in society, if she has had disadvantages in early life
to contend with, that were calculated to unfit her for it?"
"But, mamma," said Constance, "Fleda don't show any such
thing."
"No, she don't show it," said Mrs. Evelyn, "but I am not
talking of Fleda I am talking of the effect of early
disadvantages. What do you think, Mr. Carleton?"
"Disadvantages of what kind, Mrs. Evelyn?"
"Why, for instance the strange habits of intercourse, on
familiar terms, with rough and uncultivated people such
intercourse, for years in all sorts of ways in the field
and in the house mingling with them as one of them it
seems to me, it must leave its traces on the mind, and on the
habits of acting and thinking."
"There is no doubt it does," he answered, with an extremely
unconcerned face.
"And then, there's the actual want of cultivation," said Mrs.
Evelyn, warming "time taken up with other things, you know
usefully and properly, but still taken up so as to make much
intellectual acquirement and accomplishments impossible; it
can't be otherwise, you know neither opportunity nor
instructors; and I don't think anything can supply the want in
after life. It isn't the mere things themselves which may be
acquired the mind should grow up in the atmosphere of them
don't you think so, Mr. Carleton?"
He bowed.
"Music, for instance, and languages, and converse with
society, and a great many things, are put completely beyond
reach Edith, my dear, you are not to touch the coffee nor
Constance either no, I will not let you And there could
not be even much reading, for want of books, if for nothing
else. Perhaps I am wrong, but I confess I don't see how it is
possible in such a case"
She checked herself suddenly, for Fleda, with the slow,
noiseless step that weakness imposed, had come in again, and
stood by the centre-table.
"We are discussing a knotty question, Miss Ringgan," said Mr.
Carleton, with a smile, as he brought a _bergère_ for her; "I
should like to have your voice on it."
There was no seconding of his motion. He waited till she had
seated herself, and then went on.
"What, in your opinion, is the best preparation for wearing
prosperity well?"
A glance at Mrs. Evelyn's face, which was opposite her, and at
one or two others, which had, undeniably, the air of being
_arrested_, was enough for Fleda's quick apprehension. She knew
they had been talking of her. Her eye stopped short of Mr.
Carleton's, and she coloured, and hesitated. No one spoke.
"By prosperity, you mean "
"Rank and fortune," said Florence, without looking up.
"Marrying a rich man, for instance," said Edith, "and having
one's hands full."
This peculiar statement of the case occasioned a laugh all
round, but the silence which followed seemed still to wait
upon Fleda's reply.
"Am I expected to give a serious answer to that question?" she
said, a little doubtfully.
"Expectations are not stringent things," said her first
questioner, smiling. "That waits upon your choice."
"They are horridly stringent, _I_ think," said Constance.
"We shall all be disappointed, if you don't, Fleda, my dear."
"By wearing it 'well,' you mean making a good use of it?"
"And gracefully," said Mrs. Evelyn.
"I think I should say, then," said Fleda, after some little.
Hesitation, and speaking with evident difficulty "such an a
experience as might teach one both the worth and the
worthlessness of money."
Mr. Carleton's smile was a sufficiently satisfied one; but
Mrs. Evelyn retorted
"The _worth_ and the _worthlessness!_ Fleda, my dear, I don't
understand "
"And what experience teaches one the worth, and what the
worthlessness of money?" said Constance; "mamma is morbidly
persuaded that I do not understand the first of the second I
have an indefinite idea, from never being able to do more than
half that I want with it."
Fleda smiled and hesitated again, in a way that showed she
would willingly be excused, but the silence left her no choice
but to speak.
"I think,'' she said, modestly, "that a person can hardly
understand the true worth of money the ends it can best
subserve that has not been taught it by his own experience
of the want; and"
"What follows?" said Mr. Carleton.
"I was going to say, Sir, that there is danger, especially
when people have not been accustomed to it, that they will
greatly overvalue and misplace the real worth of prosperity;
unless the mind has been steadied by another kind of
experience, and has learnt to measure things by a higher
scale."
"And how when they _have_ been accustomed to it?" said Florence.
"The same danger, without the 'especially,' " said Fleda, with
a look that disclaimed any assuming.
"One thing is certain," said Constance, "you hardly ever see
_les nouveaux riches_ make a graceful use of anything. Fleda, my
dear, I am seconding all of your last speech that I
understand. Mamma, I perceive, is at work upon the rest."
"I think we ought all to be at work upon it," said Mrs.
Evelyn, "for Miss Ringgan has made it out that there is hardly
anybody here that is qualified to wear prosperity well."
"I was just thinking so," said Florence.
Fleda said nothing, and perhaps her colour rose a little.
"I will take lessons of her," said Constance, with eyebrows
just raised enough to neutralize the composed gravity of the
other features, "as soon as I have an amount of prosperity
that will make it worth while."
"But I don't think," said Florence, "that a graceful use of
things is consistent with such a careful valuation and
considering of the exact worth of everything it's not my
idea of grace."
"Yet _propriety_ is an essential element of gracefulness, Miss
Evelyn."
"Well," said Florence, "certainly; but what then?"
"Is it attainable, in the use of means, without a nice
knowledge of their true value?"
"But, Mr. Carleton, I am sure I have seen improper things
things improper in a way gracefully done?"
"No doubt; but, Miss Evelyn," said he, smiling, "the
impropriety did not in those cases, I presume, attach itself
to the other quality. The graceful _manner_ was strictly proper
to its ends, was it not, however the ends might be false?"
"I don't know," said Florence, "you have gone too deep for me.
But do you think that close calculation, and all that sort of
thing, is likely to make people use money, or anything else,
gracefully? I never thought it did."
"Not close calculation alone," said Mr. Carleton.
"But do you think it is _consistent_ with gracefulness?"
"The largest and grandest views of material things that man
has ever taken, Miss Evelyn, stand upon a basis of the closest
calculation."
Florence worked at her worsted, and looked very dissatisfied.
"Oh, Mr. Carleton," said Constance, as he was going, "don't
leave your vinaigrette there it is on the table."
He made no motion to take it up.
"Don't you know, Miss Constance, that physicians seldom like
to have anything to do with their own prescriptions."
"It's very suspicious of them," said Constance; "but you must
take it Mr. Carleton, if you please, for I shouldn't like the
responsibility of its being left here; and I am afraid it
would be dangerous to our peace of mind, besides."
"I shall risk that," he said, laughing. "Its work is not
done."
"And then, Mr. Carleton," said Mrs. Evelyn, and Fleda knew
with what a look, "you know physicians are accustomed to be
paid when their prescriptions are taken."
But the answer to this was only a bow, so expressive in its
air of haughty coldness, that any further efforts of Mrs.
Evelyn's wit were chilled for some minutes after he had gone.
Fleda had not seen this. She had taken up the vinaigrette, and
was thinking with acute pleasure that Mr. Carleton's manner
last night and to-night had returned to all the familiar
kindness of old times. Not as it had been during the rest of
her stay in the city. She could be quite contented now to have
him go back to England, with this pleasant remembrance left
her. She sat turning over the vinaigrette, which to her fancy
was covered with hieroglyphics that no one else could read; of
her uncle's affair, of Charlton's danger, of her own distress,
and the kindness which had wrought its relief, more
penetrating and pleasant than even the fine aromatic scent
which fairly typified it. Constance's voice broke in upon her
musings.
"Isn't it awkward?" she said, as she saw Fleda handling and
looking at the pretty toy "Isn't it awkward? I sha'n't have
a bit of rest now for fear something will happen to that. I
hate to have people do such things."
"Fleda, my dear," said Mrs. Evelyn, "I wouldn't handle it, my
love; you may depend there is some charm in it some
mischievous, hidden influence and if you have much to do
with it, I am afraid you will find a gradual coldness stealing
over you, and a strange forgetfulness of Queechy, and you will
perhaps lose your desire ever to go back there any more."
The vinaigrette dropped from Fleda's fingers, but beyond a
heightened colour and a little tremulous gravity about the
lip, she gave no other sign of emotion.
"Mamma," said Florence, laughing, "you are too bad !"
"Mamma," said Constance, "I wonder how any tender sentiment
for you can continue to exist in Fleda's breast! By the way,
Fleda, my dear, do you know that we have heard of two escorts
for you? but I only tell you because I know you'll not be fit
to travel this age."
"I should not be able to travel to-morrow," said Fleda.
"They are not going to-morrow," said Mrs. Evelyn, quietly.
"Who are they ?"
"Excellent ones," said Mrs. Evelyn. "One of them is your old
friend, Mr. Olmney."
"Mr. Olmney!" said Fleda. "What has brought him to New York?"
"Really," said Mrs. Evelyn, laughing, "I do not know. What
should keep him away? I was very glad to see him, for my part.
Maybe he has come to take you home."
"Who is the other?" said Fleda.
"That's another old friend of yours Mrs. Renney."
"Mrs. Renney? who is she?" said Fleda.
"Why, don't you know? Mrs. Renney she used to live with your
aunt Lucy, in some capacity years ago, when she was in New
York housekeeper, I think; don't you remember her?"
"Perfectly now," said Fleda. "Mrs. Renney!"
"She has been housekeeper for Mrs. Schenck these several
years, and she is going somewhere out West to some relation,
her brother, I believe, to take care of his family; and her
road leads her your way."
"When do they go, Mrs. Evelyn?"
"Both the same day, and both the day after to-morrow. Mr.
Olmney takes the morning train, he says, unless you would
prefer some other. I told him you were very anxious to go; and
Mrs. Renney goes in the afternoon. So there's a choice for
you."
"Mamma," said Constance, "Fleda is not fit to go at all,
either time."
"I don't think she is," said Mrs. Evelyn. "But she knows best
what she likes to do."
Thoughts and resolutions come swiftly one after another into
Fleda's mind, and were decided upon in as quick succession.
First, that she must go the day after to-morrow at all events;
second, that it should not be with Mr. Olmney; third, that to
prevent that, she must not see him in the meantime and,
therefore yes, no help for it must refuse to see any one
that called the next day; there was to be a party in the
evening, so then she would be safe. No doubt Mr. Carleton
would come, to give her a more particular account of what he
had done, and she wished unspeakably to hear it; but it was
not possible that she should make an exception in his favour
and admit him alone. That could not be. If friends would only
be simple, and straightforward, and kind, one could afford to
be straightforward too; but as it was, she must not do what
she longed to do, and they would be sure to misunderstand.
There was, indeed, the morning of the day following left her,
if Mr. Olmney did not take it into his head to stay. And it
might issue in her not seeing Mr. Carleton at all, to bid
good-bye and thank him? He would not think her ungrateful, he
knew better than that, but still Well! so much for kindness!
"What _are_ you looking so grave about? said Constance.
"Considering ways and means," Fleda said, with a slight smile.
"Ways and means of what?"
"Going."
"You don't mean to go the day after to-morrow?"
"Yes."
"It's too absurd for anything! You sha'n't do it."
"I must, indeed."
"Mamma," said Constance, "if you permit such a thing, I shall
hope that memory will be a fingerboard of remorse to you,"
pointing to Miss Ringgan's pale cheeks.
"I shall charge it entirely upon Miss Ringgan's own
fingerboard," said Mrs. Evelyn, with her complacently amused
face. "Fleda, my dear, shall I request Mr. Olmney to delay his
journey for a day or two, my love, till you are stronger?"
"Not at all, Mrs. Evelyn! I shall go then; if I am not ready
in the morning, I will take Mrs. Renney in the afternoon I
would quite as lief go with her."
"Then I will make Mr. Olmney keep to his first purpose," said
Mrs. Evelyn.
Poor Fleda, though with a very sorrowful heart, kept her
resolutions, and for very forlornness and weariness, slept
away a great part of the next day. Neither would she appear in
the evening, for fear of more people than one. It was
impossible to tell whether Mrs. Evelyn's love of mischief
would not bring Mr. Olmney there, and the Thorns, she knew,
were invited. Mr. Lewis would probably absent himself, but
Fleda could not endure even the chance of seeing his mother.
She wanted to know, but dared not ask, whether Mr. Carleton
had been to see her. What if to-morrow morning should pass
without her seeing him? Fleda pondered this uncertainty a
little, and then jumped out of bed, and wrote him the
heartiest little note of thanks and remembrance that tears
would let her write; sealed it, and carried it herself to the
nearest branch of the despatch post the first thing next
morning.
She took a long look that same morning at the little
vinaigrette, which still lay on the centre-table, wishing very
much to take it up stairs and pack it away among her things.
It was meant for her, she knew, and she wanted it as a very
pleasant relic from the kind hands that had given it; and
besides, he might think it odd, if she should slight his
intention. But how odd it would seem to him if he knew that
the Evelyns had half appropriated it. And appropriate it anew,
in another direction, she could not. She could not, without
their knowledge, and they would put their own absurd
construction on what was a simple matter of kindness; she
could not brave it.
The morning a long one it was had passed away; Fleda had
just finished packing her trunk, and was sitting with a faint-
hearted feeling of body and mind, trying to rest before being
called to her early dinner, when Florence came to tell her it
was ready.
"Mr. Carleton was here a while ago," she said, "and he asked
for you; but mamma said you were busy; she knew you had enough
to tire you without coming down stairs to see him. He asked
when you thought of going."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him, 'Oh, you were not gone yet!' it's such a plague
to be bidding people good-bye _I_ always want to get rid of
it. Was I right?"
Fleda said nothing, but in her heart she wondered what
possible concern it could be of her friends if Mr. Carleton
wanted to see her before she went away. She felt it was unkind
they did not know how unkind, for they did not understand
that he was a very particular friend, and an old friend they
could not tell what reason there was for her wishing to bid
him good-bye. She thought she should have liked to do it, very
much.