“Noch seh’ ich sie
Die herrlichste von allen, stand sie da.”
At length, to Ada’s infinite relief, came the last of Catharine’s bridal
parties. This was one of the largest and gayest of the season; and the
throng was so great that the two friends were separated soon after
entering the room, and saw nothing of each other till the evening was
more than half over.
The music had been so inviting that Catharine danced on until,
thoroughly exhausted, she made her way to another room, and sunk into
the depths of a Louis Quatorze, which, despised by the dancers, had been
tending its cushioned-arms for hours in vain. When she was sufficiently
rested, she began to look around her, and perceived that at last
accident had brought her so near to Ada, that the light folds of her
crape dress almost touched Catharine as the air from the open windows
swayed it to and fro.
Ada was talking with Mr. Stanley, and listening to his animated and
brilliant conversation with an interest which spoke in her smiling lips
and sparkling eyes. As for the gentleman, he was perfectly happy; he
would have asked nothing better than to look into those eyes for ever;
and, elated with the conviction that he had conquered her growing
aversion for him, he was now cherishing the hope that time might win for
him her regard. He already judged too correctly of her character, to
fancy it subject to sudden changes or hasty attachments; but he thought
it something to have brought her to a state of amiable indifference—to
have “smoothed the raven down of darkness till it smiled.”
“If you like the sentiment, Miss Somers,” were the first words Catharine
overheard, “I am sure you will be pleased with the whole book. The
author of Lacon, though he has borrowed largely from La Rochefoucauld
and La Bruyère, has some claims to originality. His style, moreover, is
epigrammatic, and his subjects will interest one like you, whose cast of
mind is metaphysical.”
“Humph!” said Catharine to herself, “you have been studying its nature,
_con amore_, I perceive;” while Mr. Stanley, unconscious of listeners,
went on.
“Will you allow me to bring it to you to-morrow, together with
Picciola?”
Ada gave a gracious assent, while Catharine pursued the current of her
remarks.
“Picciola! Lacon! Upon my word, he is advising a course of reading.” And
the demon of mischief strongly tempted her to break her promise—but
this time she resisted, or rather mischief was stifled by curiosity;
for, just at that moment, Charles advanced toward Ada with a middle-aged
and gentlemanly-looking man, whom he begged to present to Miss Somers as
Doctor B., a gentleman who, for some time, had been anxious for the
honor of her acquaintance.
“Doctor B.!” exclaimed Catharine, almost audibly. Why that is the
celebrated surgeon. What interest can _he_ have in Ada, so particularly
to desire her acquaintance? And, gracious heavens! how Ada blushes! What
can there be in the appearance of a respectable-looking elderly
gentleman to cause such a fluttering? And he and Stanley appear to be
such excellent friends, too. Oh, I can stand this no longer. “Charles!
Charles!” cried she, as Ada was led off to the dance, and Doctor B. and
Stanley moved away together; “Come quickly and tell me why you took such
special pains to make Ada acquainted with Doctor B. I was not aware that
you knew him personally.”
“I did not until this evening,” replied Charles, “and I introduced him
to Ada by Stanley’s request.”
“Why that is singular. I never knew they were intimate before. But why,
then, did he not introduce him himself?”
“He would not take the liberty,” said Charles, with a smile.
Catharine understood and returned the smile; then observed, “Stanley
ought to go on the stage. He has great talents for playing ‘The
Stranger.’”
Charles nodded his head, and then explained the origin of the intimacy
between Dr. B. and Stanley, and left Catharine traveling in seven-league
boots, till she ended her journey with Ada’s marriage.
Catharine had seen and heard too much that evening not to be primed for
mischief; and an opportunity soon occurred which put to flight all her
promises of neutrality. The dance was ended, and she had just
comfortably married Ada, when she once more spied the object of her
thoughts. She was alone, for her partner had gone in search of an ice
for her; and her attitude was that of complete meditation. Slowly and
deliberately she was tearing to pieces the prettiest flowers in her
bouquet, without seeming to know what she did. Catharine had just seen
Mr. Stanley leaning against the mantel-piece, gazing at Ada as if his
whole soul had been in his eyes; she instantly converted what she saw
into cause and effect; and delighted with her own penetration, she could
not resist so favorable an occasion for displaying it.
Catharine was right as to the object, mistaken as to the cause of her
friend’s meditation. Ada was thinking with genuine satisfaction of the
very agreeable person whom she had just escaped hating; and though, like
all generous minds, she liked him the better for her former injustice,
her thoughts were neither of rapture nor of love; they wore the sober
hue of justice; and if she was thinking of Mr. Stanley without
prejudice, she was also thinking of him without enthusiasm, and she was
unconscious of his gaze until Catharine called her attention to it.
“Where’s your bouquet, Ada?” said Catharine, pointing to the carnations
and geraniums that strewed the floor; and looking so intensely
mischievous, that Ada, innocent though she was, felt guilty.
“Really—I—it was so heavy,” stammered she, scarcely knowing what to
say.
“Indeed!” said Catharine, significantly; “then do let me ask Mr. Stanley
to come and hold it for you; it is the least he can do after causing its
destruction—shall I call him?”
Ada followed the direction of Catharine’s eyes, and one glance at Mr.
Stanley, gazing at her with an expression of intense admiration,
explained what was passing in Catharine’s mind. Ada was not pleased with
such public homage; moreover she had an aversion to what is commonly
called “being teazed about a gentleman;” but this was no place to
remonstrate with Catharine, and she resigned herself.
“Oh, no!” said she, smiling, “he has probably some object in view.
Perhaps he is practicing for a tableau vivant, designed to represent
Lara, or the leaning tower of Pisa. I have no desire to interfere with
so rational an amusement.”
“In other words,” replied Catharine, intent upon tormenting, “I am
politely requested to mind my business, and let Mr. Stanley look at Miss
Somers as long as he pleases. Well, all I have to beg is, that you will
keep out of my green-house whenever you indulge him in this ‘rational
amusement,’ at least till you have read Picciola, and have learned the
value of a flower.”
“Picciola!” echoed Ada, looking surprised, but by no means confused, as
Catharine had anticipated. “So, Kate, you have been playing Hephæstion
to-night! What a waste of conscience for a parcel of ballroom nonsense!”
“Oh, no! not Hephæstion,” exclaimed Catharine, “I am not so ambitious. I
am a mere snapper up of inconsidered trifles.”
“Well! considering the way in which you collect them,” said Ada,
good-humoredly, “I think you might be more scrupulous as to the way you
use them; and though you disclaim the resemblance, let me tell you that
you are quite as much in need of a seal to your lips as Hephæstion
himself.”
At this moment appeared Ada’s partner with an iced peach, and many
apologies for not bringing it sooner. He then offered to procure another
for Mrs. Ingleby—and she, to rid herself of his presence, accepted the
offer.
“Upon my word, he is staring at you yet!” exclaimed she.
This time Ada thought Catharine was jesting; and she looked up to prove
her indifference. But no! Once more her eye met his, and blushing with
displeasure, she replied to Catharine’s exclamation of triumph,
“I should never have suspected _any_ gentleman of trying to stare a lady
out of countenance; but you know Mr. Stanley better than I do,
Catharine, and since you have constituted yourself his protectress, you
would do well to teach him the rudiments of politeness.”
“He will be delighted with such a proof of your interest,” replied she,
“and as I am just about to challenge him to a walk on yonder balcony,
I’ll not fail to tell him what you have said. And if Charles inquires
for me, tell him, that at your special request, I am undertaking the
education of his friend; and pray be particular on that point, for I
remember some ten years ago, when gray eyes were in the ascendency with
us, and Charles might think that such a pair as Mr. Stanley’s, and given
to staring, too, might be dangerous. And now thank me, Ada, for I am
going to take him away;” and off she flew, delighted with having
achieved the difficult task of vexing Ada, and convinced that because
she was vexed, she must be in love.
A few moments after, Catharine was pacing the balcony on Mr. Stanley’s
arm, and actually repeating to him Ada’s very words.
“No wonder,” sighed her mortified companion, “you have never any peace
till you vex her with me in some way or other. She, so gentle—why
should you provoke her to speak harshly?”
“Oh, I could not help it!” said Catharine. “I was sorry for the poor
flowers—anxious that your admiring glances should not be thrown away,
and—in short, the fit was upon me.”
“What a reason, Catharine, for wounding the feelings of your dearest
friend, and enlisting her womanly pride against one whom you
profess—nay, I will be just, whom you really like.”
Catharine looked penitent, while he continued, “If I had not made that
foolish promise, she would not think me so presumptuous as she does; and
but for your interference, Catharine, I might perhaps have no cause to
regret it. But—”
“But remember that I am going away to-morrow, and you will then have the
entire management of your love affairs in your own hands.”
“True,” said he, smiling; “and you are such a mischievous Puck, that I
shall certainly mark the day of your departure with a white stone.”
“Saucy, are you, sir? Well! I shall punish you on my return. But hist!
no more of Ada, for she comes this way. The traitress! she has been
flirting with my husband, while I have been tormenting her lover.”
“My dear Catharine,” said Ada, advancing, “I defended you to Mr. Ingleby
to the best of my abilities, but he insisted upon testing my sincerity
by confronting us.”
“Mr. Ingleby is pleased to play the Othello,” returned Catharine; “I
demand, therefore, that you give him up to my vengeance.” And Catharine
would have taken her husband’s arm, but seeing that Ada had no mind to
relinquish it, she whispered, “For shame! to bear malice so long; his
eyes are not basalisks.” But Ada went on quietly talking to Ingleby’s
sister, Mrs. Howard, who had joined them; and the conversation became
general, and turned upon the expected departure of the newly-married
pair. Not long after, they took their leave, and Ada, to atone for her
unkind remarks, accepted Mr. Stanley’s arm to the carriage, and bade him
a cordial good-night.
Early the next morning Catharine started on her bridal tour, to be
absent the entire summer. She wished Mr. Stanley much happiness, and he,
bowing with mock gravity, assured her that he looked upon her
disappearance as the first step thereunto. And he was really as glad to
have her gone, as he professed to be; for Catharine, with a warm heart,
a generous nature, and a thousand good qualities, lacked seriousness of
character—and she was too apt to lay the sacrilegious hand of mirth,
upon the heart’s sacred altar, and to jest of what to Stanley seemed
matters of deep and serious import.
He therefore went home light of heart; for he was not only relieved from
the presence of his tormentor, but he was glad that the gay season was
now over. He felt that the regard of Ada Somers was not to be won at
balls and parties, and he longed to know her where she would seem
loveliest—in the tranquil intercourse of a refined and happy home.