This decree of the doctor’s threw the household into a great bustle. I
was requested to call on the Don’s landlord, explain his long absence,
and have his trunk sent up to Leigh Street. The girls were in a great
flutter at the prospect of breakfasting with the mysterious stranger
next morning; which announcement they had no sooner heard than they flew
across the street to give Mary the news; and the air grew misty with
interjections.
“We have arranged it all, Mary. Mr. Whacker and Mr. Frobisher, who, as
you know, are to leave our house this evening, will come up to breakfast
with the Don, of course, and you will just make the party complete.
_Proper?_ Of course, Mary. Why, there will be just one apiece,—_so_
nice! You and Mr. Frobisher, Lucy and—ahem!—Mr. Whacker, and the Don
and myself. _No!_ that’s the way it shall be. Of course I’ll let you
girls look at him,—even exchange a few words with him,—but I!—” And
dropping into a chair by a table, she made as though mincing at an
imaginary breakfast, whilst ogling, most killingly, an invisible gallant
by her side.
That day, the girls thought, would never end. They could neither talk
nor think of anything save the coming breakfast, wandering aimlessly
from room to room, and from story to story, romping, yawning, giggling,
and were so exhausted by nightfall that they all went to bed at an early
hour, just as children do on Christmas Eve, to make the morning come
sooner.
You must remember that they were hardly eighteen years of age.
The morning came. Charley and I met Mary at the front door and we
entered together. “I am so excited,” said she. “It is all so like a real
adventure.”
A few minutes afterwards Mrs. Carter begged me to go up and assist the
Don down-stairs, if necessary. He walked down-stairs very well, however,
and we entered the dining-room, where I expected to find the whole
family, but the girls had not yet put in an appearance. Alice, it seems,
had gotten the other girls into so hilarious a state by her mad
drolleries—enacting scenes that were to take place between herself and
the Don—that they had to remain some time in the upper chamber in order
to resume control of their countenances; and her performances in the
halls and on the stairways were such that they had to call a halt
several times before they reached the dining-room door. We were all
seated at the table, and breakfast had begun, when the door was partly
opened, then nearly closed, then opened a little way again, while a
faint rustling of female garments was the only sound that broke the
stillness. Presently, Mary, followed by Lucy, popped into the room with
a suddenness that suggested a vigorous push from some one in the rear,
while their features, of necessity instantly composed, were in that
state of unstable equilibrium which may be observed in the faces of boys
when the teacher reappears in the school-room after a few moments’
absence. Alice followed, demure as a Quakeress.
The introductions over, and Alice and Lucy having thanked the Don for
his gallant rescue of them from danger, the girls took their seats,
Alice next the Don. It will be easily imagined that, under the peculiar
circumstances of the case, no word, no gesture, no look of our new
friend passed unobserved. No bride, coming among her husband’s
relations, was ever more searchingly scrutinized. Naturally, we compared
notes upon the first occasion that offered, and it was interesting to
observe that, various as were the estimates placed upon our enigma, each
of the ladies held, in the main, to her first impression. It is no
secret, in fact, that if a woman sees a man passing in front of a window
at which she is sitting, or hears him utter three sentences, the
impression formed upon her mind is often next to ineradicable.
“I do not know,” said Mrs. Carter, “when I have seen a manner so elegant
and distinguished. It shows the combined effect of gentle birth and much
travel. How charming—and how rare nowadays—is that deference towards
our sex that he manages to combine with perfect dignity and repose of
manner! By the way, Mr. Whacker, did you not notice how subdued Alice
was throughout breakfast? I have never seen her so quiet and demure.”
“Never mind,” said Alice, “I am feeling my way. Wait till I get a little
better acquainted with him. I must say, however, that I don’t think our
hero promises much in the way of fun. I doubt whether he would know a
joke if he met one on the highway.”
“No,” said Mary, “his nature is too absorbed, too intense, for—”
“And his eyes too starry. Did you not observe, Mary, how they dilated
when first they bended their light on the dish of stewed oysters?”
“Alice, I believe that if you could, you would jest at your own
funeral.”
“No; at that pageant you may count on me as chief mourner.”
“Ob, Alice!” said Lucy, reprovingly.
“Never mind, my dear; I am not so wicked as I seem. Besides, I am rather
reckless and desperate just at this moment.”
“Why, what is the matter?”
“All my aspirations dashed to the ground during one short breakfast!”
Alice rested her chin upon her hand, and gazed pensively upon the floor.
“What new farce is this?” asked Lucy, amused.
“And it is you who ask me that!” And Alice raised her eyes with a sad,
reproachful look to those of her friend. “And you call it a farce?
_You!_” And she sighed. “Of course,” resumed Alice, quickly raising her
head and looking from face to face,—“of course you all noticed it. It
was perfectly obvious. Yes, this Miss from the rural districts has
swooped down and carried off the prey without an effort.”
“I, at least,” said Lucy, coloring, “saw nothing of the kind. In the
first place, I sat at one end of the table and he at the other, and I am
sure I hardly exchanged a dozen words with him.”
“Alas!” sighed Alice, “it is precisely there that the sting lies. I sat
by him and had every advantage over you,—and I used every advantage.
Didn’t you remark the tone in which I called his attention to the
omelet? Could a siren have urged upon him, more seductively, a second
cup of coffee? And how gently did I strive to overwhelm his soul with
buckwheat cakes! And was the marmalade sweeter than the murmur in which
I recommended it? And yet,”—Alice paused for a lull in the tumultuous
laughter,—“and yet,” she continued, “strive as I would, I could not
keep his eyes from wandering to your end of the table.”
“It is very strange,” said Lucy, wiping her eyes, “that all this was
lost on me.”
“And then,” added Alice, “your most—some one will please attend to the
fat lady; she seems in a fit—your most trivial remark, even though not
addressed to him, seemed to rivet his attention. To confess the
humiliating truth, Mary, I don’t believe he would recognize either of
us, should he meet us in the street; but every lineament of Lucy’s face
is graven—you know how they say it in novels. It is a regular case of
love at first sight, my dear.”
Alice’s eyes ran along the circle of faces surrounding her as she spoke,
and it so happened that when she paused at the words “my dear” she was
looking Charley full in the face. Charley, as I have before remarked,
had seen very little of young ladies, and I had several times observed
that when Alice was speaking in her sparkling way he would watch her all
the while out of the corners of his eyes, with an expression of
wondering interest. Charley rarely laughed. I think his self-control in
this regard amounted to somewhat of an affectation, and he had acquired
a sort of serene moderation even in his smiles. But Alice’s bright,
rattling talk seemed to have a sort of fascination for him, and to hurry
him out of himself, as it were. And on this occasion I had been slyly
watching his features moving in sympathy with the changing expression of
her exceedingly mobile countenance. Entirely absorbed as he was in
watching the play of her countenance, and thinking of I know not what,
when he found her bright eyes resting full upon him, and himself
seemingly addressed as “my dear,” he was suddenly startled out of his
revery, and not knowing what to say:
“I beg pardon,” said he, quickly, “were you speaking to me?”
A shout of laughter greeting this ingenuous question, Charley’s face
reddened violently, Alice’s generally imperturbable countenance
answering with a reflected glow.
“Not exactly,” said she; “my remarks were addressed to the company at
large.”
“Oh!” said he, blushing more deeply still.
“But, Mr. Frobisher,” continued Alice, willing to relieve the
embarrassment of the woman-hater, “don’t you agree with me? Wasn’t the
Don obviously captivated by Lucy?”
“I am sure, if he was not, it would be hard to understand the reason
why. But the fact is, Mrs. Carter’s capital breakfast—”
“Oh, you monster!”
Half an hour later, finding myself alone with Lucy: “So you do not claim
or even admit,” I happened casually to remark, “that you have made a
conquest.”
“No, indeed!” replied she, with a frank look in her eyes. “Far from it.
Alice is all wrong.”
“But Miss Alice was not alone in her observation of the facts of the
case. We all saw what she described. I did most certainly.”
“And so did I.”
“Well?”
“I saw, of course, how often he glanced towards me, and I was conscious
that even while I was speaking to others his eyes were upon me. But
there are looks and looks. You men don’t understand anything about such
matters.”
“And where, pray, did you learn all this mysterious language of looks
and looks?”
“I am a woman.”
“So is Alice.”
“Ah, yes; but, Alice—well, girls like to say that kind of thing to each
other,—it’s encouraging, you know. Why do you smile? It is pleasant, of
course, to be told that we have destroyed some man’s peace of mind,
though we know it to be highly improbable in point of fact. I shall
reciprocate, at the first opportune, by telling Alice with what sweet
pain she has filled the breast of dear good Mr. Frobisher.”
“Do you think so?” I exclaimed. “That would be too good! The
woman-hater! Capital!”
“Stranger things have happened. Did you not see how he blushed just now?
But as to the Don, do you know he is a greater mystery to me now than
ever? Every woman instinctively knows what a man’s looks mean.”
“Well, what did the Don’s glances signify?”
“I cannot for the life of me imagine.”
“What! Although every woman instinctively knows, and so forth.”
“Ah,” said she, smiling, “I meant that they always knew when the looks
meant—pshaw! you know very well what I mean.”
“You would have me to understand that the Don’s looks, though they meant
something, did not mean nascent love.”
“Yes. Do you not remember that sudden and intense look he gave me when
we met him on the sidewalk? Well, when I came to turn that incident over
in my mind I came to the conclusion that he mistook me for some one
else. Now I am all at sea again. He knows, now, that I am Lucy
Poythress, and not any one else.”
“Naturally.”
“Don’t be silly,—and still—”
“And still?”
“And yet—oh, you know what I mean.”
“Upon my word I do not.”
“Well, he seemed to me to be studying me as a kind of problem,—no, not
that,—he appeared—ah, this is my idea—he seemed to me to survey me
just as I have seen mothers look at their sons after a session’s
absence. ‘Has he grown? Has he changed? Has he improved?’ Do I make
myself clear?”
“Perfectly.”
“What are you laughing at? What do I mean, then?”
“I gather from all you say that your impression is that this Mystery,
this Enigma, this Sphinx, this Don Miff—longs to be a mother to you.”
“Mr. W-ha-c-k-e-r!”
I could never understand why a man must not laugh at his own witticisms;
and my hilarity on this occasion immediately drew the other girls and
Mrs. Carter into the front parlor, where Lucy and I were sitting. By
rapidly interposing a succession of chairs between that young woman and
myself, I succeeded in giving the ladies an enlarged and profusely
illustrated edition of Lucy’s views of the state of the Don’s feelings
and intentions in regard to herself, when, seizing my hat, I fled,
leaving the three girls in uproarious glee, and Mrs. Carter collapsed in
an arm-chair, weeping, while voiceless laughter rippled along her rotund
form. As I passed in front of the window Lucy’s head appeared.
“Say your prayers twice to-night,” said she.