A GAY COMPANY AT HAZELDEAN.
The week that followed was one never to be forgotten. Such feasting and
merry-making, such excursions, and card parties, and dancing parties Mona
had never witnessed.
She had read of such scenes occurring in the great manor-houses of
England, and had often thought that she should like to witness something
of the kind; but she did not imagine that Americans had yet attained
the art of displaying such magnificent hospitality. It was a carnival,
indeed, from the evening of their arrival until the morning of their
departure.
It was the month of February, there was no snow on the ground, and the
weather was very mild and more like early spring, than winter, so that
every morning there was planned an excursion of some kind--either a
drive or a canter on horseback to different points of interest in that
picturesque section, which everybody appeared to enjoy as well as if
all nature had been at the height of its glory in midsummer.
Mona, of course, was never invited to join these excursions; she was
regarded as nothing but a seamstress or a maid, and most of the company
would have scorned the idea of thus associating with her upon equal
terms.
Her heart often swelled with bitter pain as she watched a gay cavalcade
ride away through the park, for she dearly loved horseback riding, and
she well knew that six months previous she would have been most cordially
welcomed by every member of that merry company.
She wondered what had become of her pretty saddle-horse, Jet, and her
uncle's proud steed, Banquo, and sighed regretfully as she reviewed the
happy past, when they four--for the horses had seemed almost human--had
roamed over the country together. She sometimes even longed to be back in
New York among her piles of sewing, for she had not enough to do now to
occupy her time, and it often hung heavily on her hands, thus allowing
painful memories to depress her.
The third morning after their arrival, just as a gay party was on the
point of starting off, Mona, being at liberty, thought she would slip
down to the library and try to find an entertaining book to pass away the
long hours before lunch.
She was half-way down stairs, when Kitty McKenzie came running
breathlessly back, looking flushed and exceedingly disappointed over
something.
"Oh, dear!" she cried, as she was passing Mona; "I tripped in my
riding-habit, and have ripped the facing so badly that I must change
it and go in the carriage with mamma. It is too bad, for I had the
loveliest pony to ride."
"Have you ripped it too badly to have it repaired?" Mona asked, sorry to
have the gay girl deprived of her coveted pleasure.
"Yes, for it takes me forever to mend anything. I am a wretched bungler
with my needle," she confessed, with engaging frankness, but with a
conscious blush.
"Let me see it," and Mona stooped to examine the rip. "This is not so
bad, after all," she continued, cheerfully. "Just come to my room, and I
will catch it up for you; I can do it in less time than it would take to
change your dress."
"_Can_ you? Oh, that will be so good of you!" and, delighted that she was
not to be deprived of her ride, Miss Kitty followed Mona, with a bright
face and an eager step.
Five minutes sufficed for our young seamstress to make the garment
wearable, and then she told Miss McKenzie that if she would bring the
habit to her upon her return, she would repair it more thoroughly.
The kind-hearted girl was very grateful.
"How kind you are to do it!" she cried, as Mona smoothed the heavy folds
into place, then, with a sudden impulse and a sympathetic look into the
fair face of the seamstress, she added: "What a pity it is that you have
to stay here all by yourself, while the rest of us are having such
delightful times! Why cannot you come with us, Miss Richards? I will make
mamma let you go with her--there is an extra seat in that carriage."
"Thank you; you are very good to suggest it, Miss McKenzie, but I cannot
go," Mona answered, with a flush, but touched that the girl should wish
her to share her pleasures.
"I am sure you would enjoy it, for you are young, and it is too bad to be
obliged to stay indoors this delightful weather, and I imagine, if the
truth were known, you could be as gay as anybody, while truly," with an
arch, winsome glance, "I believe you are the prettiest girl here. Do you
know how to dance?"
"Yes."
"Then I think I can manage it--if you would like it, Miss Richards--to
have you join the german this evening; will you?"
"You are very thoughtful, Miss McKenzie," Mona replied, appreciatively,
"but I should feel out of place, even if others were as kindly disposed
as yourself."
"You have had trouble--you have lost friends," Miss Kitty remarked,
glancing at her black dress.
"Yes--all that I had in the world," Mona returned, with a quivering lip
and a sigh that was almost a sob; for the sweet girl's kindly interest
moved her deeply.
"I am sorry," said her companion, simply, but sincerely. Then she
continued, with heartiness: "But let me count myself your friend after
this--will you? I think you are very nice, and I believe it would be
very easy to love you--you poor, lonely child!" and before Mona realized
her intention, she had stooped and kissed her softly on the cheek.
She did not give her any opportunity to reply, but tripped away, flushing
over her own impulsive familiarity.
She looked back over her shoulder as she reached the door and added:
"Good-by, Miss Richards; remember, you and I are to be friends; and thank
you ever so much for mending my dress."
She was gone before Mona could answer, even to tell her that she was very
welcome, but her heart warmed toward the bright, genial maiden, and she
stood listening, with a smile on her lips, to the sound of her little
feet pattering down the stairs, and the next moment she caught her merry
laugh as some one swung her lightly into her saddle.
Then Mona went down to the library, where she selected a book, and then,
finding the room empty, she decided to remain where she was for a while.
Rolling a great easy-chair into a deep bay-window, she nestled, with a
feeling of pleasure, in its cozy depths, and was soon deeply absorbed in
the contents of her book.
She must have been reading half an hour when a slight sound in another
portion of the room startled her. Turning to see what had caused it, she
saw Louis Hamblin standing between the parted portieres of an archway,
and gazing upon her, a smile of triumph on his handsome face.
Mona sprang from her chair, looking the surprise she felt, for she did
not suppose he was in the house.
"Do not rise, Miss Richards," said the young man, as he came forward. "It
is really a great pleasure to find you here, but I pray that you will not
allow me to disturb you."
"I thought you had gone with the party," the young girl said, hardly
knowing how to reply to him, but deeply annoyed by his presence.
"No; I had a raging toothache all night, so had to make up my rest this
morning and have but just eaten breakfast. But sit down, Miss Richards;
everybody has gone off and left me behind; I am lonely, and nothing would
suit me better than a social little chat with yourself," he concluded,
with obnoxious familiarity.
Mona drew her graceful form to its full height, while her red lips curled
scornfully.
"Thank you, but it might be considered in bad taste for one in Mr.
Hamblin's position to be found chatting socially with his aunt's
seamstress, whom he is not supposed to know," she said, a note of sarcasm
in her tone.
The young man laughed out lightly.
"Ah! you resent it because I did not recognize you the day we came to
Hazeldean," he returned; "but you will forgive me, I know, when I tell
you that I avoided betraying the fact of our previous acquaintance
simply for your own good. I feared it might make you conspicuous if I
saluted you, as I wished to do, and my aunt is very particular about
the proprieties of life."
Mona smiled proudly. She failed to perceive how a courteous recognition
could have made her conspicuous or violated in any way the most rigid
laws of etiquette.
"In that case we will continue to observe the proprieties of life upon
all occasions," she dryly remarked.
He read her thoughts, and was keenly stung by her words.
"Forgive me," he said, with an assumption of regret and humility,
thinking thus the better to gain his end; "had I realized that you would
have been so wounded I should have acted very differently. I assure you I
will never offend you in the same way again."
"Pray do not be troubled," Mona coldly retorted. "I had no thought of
resenting anything which you might consider proper to do. If I thought of
the matter at all, it was only in connection with the generally accepted
principles of courtesy and good-breeding."
Mr. Hamblin flushed hotly at this keen shaft, but he ignored it, and
changed the subject.
"I am sorry to have interrupted you in your reading, Miss Richards. What
have you that is interesting?"
"Victor Hugo's 'Les Miserables,'" Mona briefly replied.
"Have you?" the young man eagerly demanded, "I was searching for that
book only yesterday. May I look at it one moment? McArthur and I had
quite a discussion upon a point regarding Father Madelaine, and we were
unable to settle it because we could not find the book."
Mona quietly passed the volume to him; but a blank look overspread his
face as he took it.
"Why, it is the original!" he exclaimed, "and I do not read French
readily. Are you familiar with it?"
"Oh, yes," and Mona smiled slightly.
She had been accounted the finest French scholar in her class.
Mr. Hamblin regarded her wonderingly.
"Where did you learn French to be able to read it at sight?" he inquired.
"At school."
"But--I thought--" he began, and stopped confused.
"You thought that a common seamstress must necessarily be ignorant, as
well as poor," Mona supplemented: "that she would not be likely to have
opportunities or ambition for self-improvement. Well, Mr. Hamblin,
perhaps some girls in such a position would not, but I honestly believe
that there is many a poor girl, who has had to make her own way in life,
who is better educated than many of the so-called society belles of
to-day."
"I believe it, too, if you are a specimen," her companion returned, as he
gazed admiringly into Mona's flushed and animated face.
"At any rate," he added, "you are far more beautiful than the majority of
society girls."
"Mr. Hamblin will please reserve his compliments for ears more eager for
and more accustomed to them," Mona retorted, with a frown of annoyance.
"Why are you so proud and scornful toward me, Miss Richards?" he
appealingly asked. "Can you not see that my admiration for you is
genuine--that I really desire to be your friend? And why have you
avoided me so persistently of late--why have you rejected my flowers?"
"Because," Mona frankly answered, and meeting his glance squarely, "I
know, and _you_ know, that it is not proper for you to offer, nor for me
to accept, such attentions, even if I desired them."
"I am my own master; you are your own mistress, if, as you say, you are
alone in the world; consequently, such a matter lies between ourselves,
without regard to what others might consider as 'proper,' And I may as
well make an open confession first as last," he went on, eagerly, and
bending nearer to her, with a flushed face. "Ruth, my beautiful Ruth, I
love you--I began to love you that morning when we met on the steps
before our own door, and every day has only increased my affection for
you."
A startled look swept over Mona's face, which had now grown very pale.
She had not had a suspicion that she was destined to hear such a
declaration as this; it had taken her wholly unawares, and for a
moment she was speechless.
But she soon recovered herself.
"Stop!" she haughtily cried "you have no right to use such language to
me; you would not presume--you would not _dare_ to do so upon so brief an
acquaintance, if I stood upon an equal footing with you, socially. It is
only because I am poor and unprotected--because you simply wish to amuse
yourself for a time. You would not dare to repeat in the presence of Mrs.
Montague what you have just said to me. Now let me pass, if you please,
and never presume to address me again as you have to-day."
The indignant girl looked like some beautiful princess as she stood
before him and thus resented the insult he had offered her.
Her slight form was held proudly erect, her small head was uplifted with
an air of scorn, her eyes blazed forth angry contempt as they met his,
while her whole bearing indicated a conscious superiority which both
humiliated and stung her would-be suitor.
She had never appeared so beautiful to him before. Her face was as pure
as a pearl; her glossy hair, falling loosely away from her white
forehead, was simply coiled at the back of her small head, thus revealing
its symmetrical proportions to the best advantages. Her great brown eyes
glowed and scintillated, her nostrils dilated, her lips quivered with
outraged pride and delicacy.
Her dress of dead black fell in soft, clinging folds about her slender
form, making her seem taller than she really was, while one hand had been
raised to enforce the commands which she had laid upon him.
He thought her the fairest vision he had ever seen, in spite of her
indignation against him, and if she had sought to fascinate him--to weave
the spell of her witchery more effectually about him, she could have
taken no surer way to do so.
He could not fail to admire her spirit--it but served to glorify her in
his sight, and made him more eager than before to conquer her.
"Nay, do not leave me thus--do not be so bitter against me, my peerless
Ruth," he pleaded. "Perhaps I have been premature in my avowal, but I beg
that you will not despise me on that account. Do not judge me so harshly.
Lay my impatience rather to my eagerness to win you. I would do anything
in the world to make you love me, and now, I fear, I have only been
driving you farther from me. I love you, honestly and sincerely, my
beautiful Ruth, and I would not only dare to confess it to my aunt, but
proclaim it before the world, if that would serve to prove it to you. Ah!
teach me how to woo you, my darling; give me but a crumb of hope upon
which to feed, and I will try to be satisfied until you can learn to
have more confidence in me."
He reached forth his arms as if he would have infolded her; and Mona, who
for the moment had been rendered spell-bound by the swift rush of burning
words that he had poured forth, seemed suddenly electrified by the act.
She felt both insulted and humiliated by this premature avowal of a
love that had not received the slightest encouragement from her, and
she recoiled from him with a gesture of contempt.
"I wonder how you have dared to say this to me," she cried, in a voice
that quivered with indignation, "when in my very presence you have shown
another attentions such as a man has a right to bestow only upon the
woman whom he intends to marry. But for the respect I owe myself and my
sex, I would like to brand you with a mark that would betray your
disloyalty to the world, and make Miss McKenzie despise you as I do;
being only a weak woman, however, I must content myself with simply
manifesting my scorn, and by telling you to go!" and she pointed
authoritatively toward the door with one white taper finger.
A hot, crimson flush dyed the young man's white face with a sense of
shame, such as he had never before experienced in the presence of any
one, while the purple veins stood out in ridges upon his forehead.
He was completely cowed before her. Conscious himself of the insincerity
and unworthiness of his declaration, he knew that she also had read him
like an open book, and the knowledge made him fearfully angry; while to
be foiled in his purpose and browbeaten by this girl, whom he imagined to
be only what she seemed, was more than his indomitable spirit could
tamely submit to.
"A love like mine is not to be despised, and you shall yet find it so,"
he muttered between his tightly shut teeth.
Mona would not deign him a reply, but standing in the same attitude, she
again motioned him to go.
Unable longer to endure the unflinching gaze of her clear, scornful eyes,
he shrank back through the portieres, which instantly fell into place
again, and Mona, with a smile of disdain curving her red lips, went back
to her seat by the window.
But all enjoyment in her book was gone; she was much excited, for she had
been greatly shaken by the interview and made to feel her position as she
never yet had done; and after sitting a few moments gazing sadly out of
the window she again went up to her own room.