When Betty awoke at four o'clock in the afternoon, she discovered with
some surprise that she had slept soundly for eleven hours. Her head was
a trifle heavy, but after her bath she felt so fresh again that the
previous day and night seemed like a very long and very ugly dream. She
reflected that if she had not written to Burleigh before she went to
bed she certainly should do so now. He still seemed the one safeguard
for the future; she had convinced herself that with her capacity for
violent emotion and nervous exaltation, her head was not to be trusted.
She felt calm enough this afternoon, and she opened with no enthusiasm
the note which had arrived from Burleigh. She might have drawn some
from its superabundant amount, but she frowned and threw it in the
fire. Then she went to her mother's room and announced her engagement.
"My dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Madison. "Well!--I am delighted."
Then she looked keenly at Betty and withheld her congratulations. But
she asked no questions, although the edge suddenly left her pleasure
and she began to wonder if Burleigh were to be congratulated.
"He is coming to dinner," Betty continued, "and I want you to promise
me that you will not leave us alone for a moment, and that you will go
with me to New York to-morrow."
"I will do anything you like, of course, and I always enjoy New York."
"I want to get away from Washington, and I want to shop more than
anything in life. I hate the thought of everything serious,--the
country, the war, everybody and everything, and I feel that if I could
spend two weeks with shops and dressmakers I'd be quite happy--almost
my old self again."
"I wish you were," said Mrs. Madison, with a sigh. "I wish this country
never had had any politics."
The instinct of coquetry was deeply rooted in Betty Madison, but that
evening she selected her most unbecoming gown. She was one of those
women who never look well in black, and look their worst in it when
their complexion shows the tear of secret trouble and broken rest. She
had a demi-toilette of black chiffon trimmed with jet and relieved
about the neck with pink roses. She cut off the roses; and when arrayed
had the satisfaction of seeing herself look thirty-five. For a moment
she wavered, and Leontine, with tears, begged to be allowed to remove
the gown; but Betty set her teeth and went downstairs.
She had the further satisfaction of seeing a brief flash of surprise
and disappointment in Burleigh's eyes as he came forward to greet her;
and, indeed, the gown seemed to depress the company for the entire
evening. Betty tried to rattle on gayly, but the painful certainty that
she looked thirty-five (perhaps more), and that Burleigh saw it, and
her mother (who was visibly depressed) saw it, and the butler and the
footman (both of whom, she knew through Leontine, admired her
extravagantly) saw it, dashed her spirits to zero, and she fell into an
unreasoning rage with Senator North.
"I am going to New York to-morrow, and you are not to follow me," she
said with a final effort at playfulness. "I have been at such a nervous
strain over this wretched war that I must be frivolous and feminine for
two whole weeks--and what so serious as being engaged?"
Burleigh sighed. His spirits were unaccountably low. He had forgotten
his country for an entire day, and rushed up to the house ten minutes
before the appointed hour, his spirits as high as a boy's on his way to
the cricket field. But his apple had turned to ashes in a funereal
gown, and there seemed no colour about it anywhere.
"Of course you want a change," he said, "but I hope you will write to
me."
"I'll write you a little note every day," she said with sudden
contrition. "I know I'll feel--and look ever so much better in a few
days."
"There!" she thought with a sigh, "I've made this wretched sacrifice
for nothing, and I'll never forget how I'm looking at the present
moment, to my dying day. I know I'll wear my most distracting gown the
next time he comes. Well, what difference? I've got to marry him,
anyhow."
She shook hands cordially with him when he rose to go, an hour later,
but she did not leave her mother's side. He did not attempt to smile,
but shook hands silently with both and left the room as rapidly as
dignity would permit.
Mrs. Madison put her handkerchief to her eyes and burst into tears.
"Poor dear man!" she exclaimed. "I felt exactly as if we were having
our last dinner together before he went off to the war to get killed. I
never spent such a dismal evening in my life. And what on earth made
you put on that horrid gown? You look a fright--you almost look older
than he does."
"Don't turn the knife round, please. I'm rather sorry, to tell the
truth, but I didn't want him to be too overjoyed. I couldn't have stood
it."
"Are you sorry that you have engaged yourself to him?"
"No, I am glad--very glad." But she said it without enthusiasm. When
she went up to her room, she presented the black gown to Leontine and
sent her to bed. Then she put on a peignoir of pink silk and lace and
examined herself in the mirror. She looked fifteen years younger and
wholly charming; there was no doubt of it.