MRS. ARNOLD CONFIDES IN HUBERT TRACY.
Mrs. Arnold's beauty was commented upon by the fashionable throng
with whom she daily mingled. She was sought after and courted by her
many admirers; yet among them all there was none who thought her the
most charming of her set.
The wily beauty had adopted a line of policy that was not the most
discreet. She showed a spiteful spirit towards any of her sex who
laid claim to personal charms, and often said many bitter things in
a way that was neither dignified nor ladylike.
It was in such a spirit that Mrs. Arnold returned from a grand ball
where she had seen Lord Melrose pay marked attention to the pretty
Mrs. Maitland. With anger in her bosom she strode the elegant
boudoir with measured beat and vowed vengeance upon her more
fortunate rival.
"Why does any one envy me the charms I possess?
"Ah, me!" she cried, looking at herself in the mirror with her hands
poised in the attitude of a Caryatid. "It is all I have. Happiness I
shall never know; but one thing I do know--that I will laugh, dance
and sing and have a merry life while I am young, and then when my
charms have fled to a younger form I will bury myself in some remote
convent and try to make atonement for my gay and worldly life."
It were strange, indeed, that Mrs. Arnold had this sense of wrong.
She did, indeed, realize that her actions were not what any sensible
woman would justify, yet she took refuge in the thought that when
she grew old there was time enough for discretion.
Another trait of her disposition: It grieved her to see others
happy. Like the arch fiend who turned aside with envy when he beheld
the happy pair in the Garden of Eden and from that hour plotted
their ruin, so Mrs. Arnold from, sheer envy was determined that the
innocent and pure-minded Marguerite should be associated with the
coarse side of humanity--in short, that she should become familiar
with the fashionable miseries of a fashionable woman.
But Mrs. Arnold reckoned without her host. She met with more
opposition than she expected, and the lesson she yet had to learn
cost her a bitter experience!
Mrs. Verne's vascillating nature was a source of much annoyance to
her first-born.
"It is so provoking," murmured Mrs. Arnold, as she noted the
infatuation her mother possessed for a certain baronet of a
distinguished Yorkshire family.
"I've set my mind upon Hubert, and mamma must yield. As for Madge,
she is out of the matter entirely."
As if in answer to her thoughts the young man was soon at her side
looking quite interesting.
"You naughty boy; I am inclined to be angry with you--not one dance
have you sought."
"From the very fact that I cannot have one. Ah, Mrs. Arnold, you
well know how to amuse yourself at the expense of us poor
unfortunates," said Mr. Tracy, glancing at the tablet already filled
for every dance.
"I have a mind to cancel this," said he, pointing to that of the
Yorkshire baronet.
"No, indeed, Mr. Tracy; that would be pleasure at too great a
sacrifice. I have a motive for entertaining the baronet."
Mrs. Arnold smiled one of her peculiarly attractive smiles,
significant of the part she was to enact.
She whispered a few well-directed, words into the young man's ear,
and taking his arm led him to the conservatory.
"I can only stay a couple of minutes at the least, so I wish you to
be all attention."
Hubert Tracy seated himself beside Mrs. Arnold and listened to her
dear confiding tones.
"Mr. Tracy, I despise that Yorkshire bore, with his coarse English
and stupid manners. And his effrontery in presuming to play the
suitor to Madge. It is all your own fault. You follow at a distance
and have not the courage to claim your rights--"
"Rights!"
"Yes; I say rights, Mr. Tracy. I say that you have a right to claim
Madge, because we always looked upon you as her future husband. The
girl knows not her own mind, but she will never go against mamma's
wishes, and I know that she cares for you, though she will not own
it."
"If I thought so I would be happy, for if any woman will ever
reclaim me it will be Marguerite Verne."
"Such talk, Mr. Tracy; I'm sure you are no worse than the general
run of men. Pray don't talk of reclaiming; that sounds as if you had
committed something dreadful."
Just then there arose before Hubert Tracy's vision the sad picture
of a brave young man, struggling so hard to prove his innocence when
circumstances are all against him. He sees the reproachful gaze of
the sorrowful eyes, and he stops his ears to keep back the sound of
the reproachful tones that force themselves upon him.
But Mrs. Arnold knows it not.
"We will dispense with the word if it displeases you, Mrs. Arnold. I
will do anything that you wish, even if it be impossible for you to
be in a dearer relation than at present."
"Hubert Tracy, if you succeed not, remember it is through no fault
of mine. Just listen to me."
The young man listened, and in a few short words Mrs. Arnold made
known her plans.
"We will succeed or I am not what I think myself," said Mrs. Arnold,
readjusting the spray of heliotrope that was displaced in her
corsage.
"Adieu for the present, dear Hubert," said the latter, on seeing
Lord Melrose advancing to claim her for the next waltz.
"Ah, my fear truant, you have given me a world of anxiety. Why do
you persist in such delightful methods of torture."
"_Torture!_ Lord Melrose!" exclaimed the lady with an air of
arch coquetry.
Meanwhile Marguerite Verne sat in the quiet of her own apartment.
She had retired from the heated ball-room at an earlier hour than
many of the guests. A wearied look rested upon the girl's face. She
was heartily worn out with the excessive fatigue attending
fashionable life.
"Well, it seems that I am fated for a martyr, and I must calmly
submit," said she, loosening the luxuriant mass of silken hair that
had been arranged to suit the most fastidious taste of Mrs. Arnold.
Donning a loose wrapper, and exchanging the pretty white satin
slippers for a pair of soft morocco ones. Marguerite threw herself
into a large and inviting arm-chair.
"I will not allow myself to think. My thoughts are rebellious," and
immediately a pretty little pocket Testament found its way into the
girl's hand.
A few words escaped Marguerite's lips as if an invocation was asked;
then she read aloud the thirteenth chapter of Corinthians: "Though I
speak with the tongue of men and angels," etc.
The sweet voice of the reader was not heard in vain. Marguerite
closed the book and remained motionless for some moments, when she
fancied that there was a noise as if some one were listening at the
door.
"I am so foolish. My nerves are unstrung from keeping late hours,"
murmured she. Then hastily glancing towards the spot whence the
sound proceeded Marguerite knelt down and prayed that an
All-Merciful Providence would keep her from the temptations of
fashionable society.
"God help me, I'm lost. I dare not approach that angel in disguise,
else I would ask her what is meant by that Charity."
These words were muttered by Montague Arnold, who having been unable
to attend his wife to the ball, had now returned in a state of
intoxication.
Had Marguerite listened she might have heard the words repeated; but
she had dropped off into a quiet slumber and lay unconscious of the
semi-brutal state of her dissipated brother-in-law.
The next morning brought invitations for private theatricals at the
house of a distinguished foreign embassy.
The spacious mansion in St. James' Court received the grandees of
every land. It was a high honor to enter "Rosemere Place."
Mrs. Verne was almost beside herself (to use a vulgarism). She
walked on air, as it were, and could talk of nothing else but the
elegance and grandeur in prospect.
"I have accepted Mr. Tracy as escort, mamma," said Mrs. Arnold,
entering her drawing room with an elegant dress that had just
arrived from the _modiste_.
"Now, Evelyn, have you not been a little premature? Would it not
have been better to wait, for I think that Sir Arthur would in all
probability have called to offer his service to Madge."
"Sir Arthur is a horrid bore, mamma--he is intolerable. I cannot see
why you encourage him. I'm sure his estates are heavily mortgaged. I
don't believe he can afford to pay for the kid gloves that he
nourishes on his big brawny hands!"
"Some malicious person has been endeavoring to misrepresent Sir
Arthur. I wish you would not listen to such stuff. I am certain that
he is immensely wealthy, and then think of his family!"
Mrs. Verne did not wish to quarrel with her daughter; yet it seemed
that a quarrel was brewing.
"You think it so important to secure a title for Madge that you
would have her struggle amid shabby genteel surroundings in order to
introduce her as Lady Forrester!"
"Shame, Evelyn! you forget that I am your mother," said Mrs. Verne,
raising her hand with haughty gesture and looking the embodiment of
injured innocence.
"Forgive me, mamma, I did not mean to anger you," said Mrs. Arnold
with an air of deep contrition.
This act was the latter's only safeguard. She knew well the key to
her mother's character, and was determined to take advantage of
every point.
"You know, mamma that we must look to dear papa's interest as well.
His business is in a precarious state. I heard Montague say that it
is tottering, and Hubert's great riches will be at Madge's
disposal."
Mrs. Verne could not but admire the thoughtful argument of her
daughter.
"True enough, child; but if Mr. Tracy hears of the circumstance he
will soon throw us over, my dear," said Mrs. Verne with something
like agitation in her voice.
"Nothing of the kind, dear mamma," said Mrs. Arnold, placing her
hand caressingly upon her mother's shoulder "it is thus that I have
proved the true worth of Mr. Tracy's character--he not only spoke of
the matter but intimated in a delicate manner that now he could sue
more boldly for Madge's hand--be in a position to place dear papa on
a surer footing than, he ever was."
"It is indeed a great blessing to know that we have such true
friends," said Mrs. Verne in a tone that showed her heart was not
with the subject.
Poor Mrs. Verne!
She had, since her arrival in England, changed her views as regards
a son-in-law.
Her heart was set on the baronet and she wished that the merciless
Evelyn would have expatiated on his riches instead of those of
former friends.
"I can never have what I want," sighed the anxious mother as she
sought her boudoir to write a letter in answer to the one which lay
upon the Indian cabinet opposite.
"What on earth brings about these insolvencies is more than I can
account for. One thing certain I can wash _my_ hands of it. It
is not _our_ extravagance that will cause it."
Mrs. Verne glanced at the surroundings hoping to see much
simplicity, but the elegance of the magnificent suite of apartments
were sadly at variance with her speech.
"And to think of Evelyn's opposition. She is settled and should mind
her own affairs, and judging from what I can see, she will have
enough to do to keep her head up. Montague Arnold is no better than
he ought to be. Well, well! I suppose his money will hold out and
that is all that is required--oh dear, if Sir Arthur had Hubert
Tracy's money."
The letter being finished a servant was despatched with the budget
of mail, and Mrs. Verne took up a pretty design, of Kensington work
that she was fashioning for a table scarf.
"I don't feel like anything to-day," murmured the woman, throwing
the work aside and yawning several times.
"Madge, I'm glad you have come. Where is that novel I saw you
reading yesterday?"
"Rossmoyne, do you mean, mamma?"
"Yes, I glanced over it and think it is fascinating, and I stand
sorely in need of just such a work to-day."
Marguerite knew from her mother's fretted looks that she had been
somewhat annoyed, and judging that Evelyn had something to do in the
matter, said nothing, but quietly withdrew to her own apartments.
Although Mrs. Verne and her daughter spent much of their time in
Mrs. Arnold's elegant suite of rooms, they occupied an exclusive
suite of apartments in an aristocratic square not far distant.
Marguerite had been amusing herself in reading over some extracts
from her pocket diary when a pretty young page entered with an
exquisite bouquet of rare exotics.
"How lovely," was the simple remark, as the girl took them in her
hand and held them out to view, while the fragrance exhaled was
almost overwhelming.
A tiny note, peeped out between a cluster of heliotrope and blush
roses.
"It is provoking," thought the maiden, as she drew forth the
perfumed billet-doux and read what might be considered a declaration
of love.
Sir Arthur Forrester was not a dissipated man, nor was he a
disagreeable man, yet he was not what a girl of Marguerite Verne's
nature would desire for a husband.
"This is just what mamma has been angling for," thought Marguerite
as she tore up the note into tiny shreds and showed more spirit than
her sister Eve would have given her credit for.
"I thought as much dear Madge," said Mrs. Verne, who on entering
beheld the bouquet, "and to think that Evelyn should accept Mr.
Tracy as escort when we could have Sir Arthur. It is, indeed,
provoking beyond endurance. Madge you are to be congratulated upon
such good luck; scores of girls would envy you the proud position as
Lady Forrester, and for once I hope my child will consider well
before she lets such an offer meet with refusal."
Marguerite sat as if in a state of utter abstraction. She was too
much confused to reply. "Honor thy father and mother" had been an
important part of her religion. Must she now say words of dire
rebellion--the thought cost a bitter pang. The tears rose to her
eyes and her lips were pallid and tremulous.
"Mamma I cannot think you would ask me to encourage Sir Arthur
feeling as I do at present. I respect him but nothing more, please
do not mention the subject again. I do not wish to leave you and I
know papa wishes me to remain always with him and make his home what
it ought to be."
The last remark was too much for Mrs. Verne's temper.
"Marguerite, lately I had begun to think that you had more sound
sense than your fortunate sister but I am doomed to bitter
disappointment. One need expect nothing but ingratitude from
children--especially mine. Hear me, Madge: if you refuse Sir Arthur
you will live to repent of it--remember my words!" and gathering up
her trailing robes Mrs. Verne turned angrily away leaving Marguerite
to her own sad thoughts.