THE WAY SHE MANAGED HIM.
Ross and his sister parted; she went into her husband’s room, and found
him in the agony of putting on a new dress coat, rather too small, and
which fitted him like a straight jacket.
“Mrs. Carter—Mrs. Carter, just come and give this skirt a pull, won’t
you? I feel as if corked up in a junk-bottle. Confound all your parties,
and everything else that takes a fellow out of his frock-coat!”
“Why, Carter, dear, it’s a lovely fit. Of course you must expect to be
tightened up a little at such a time. Only look at me, would you ever
have believed my waist could have been brought down to that, yet I don’t
complain. There are things, Carter, for which we must suffer.”
Carter wiped his red face with a towel, there being nothing else
convenient, at which his wife cried out, “Why, Carter!” and ran to a
drawer, from which she brought a handkerchief of the finest linen, with
an embroidered monogram in the corner. Over this she dashed a liberal
quantity of perfume from a scent-bottle, which she shook as if it had
been a pepper-box. Then she brought out a point lace barb, parted over a
white, silk cravat, which she tied around his stout, red neck, leaving a
kiss on his cheek when it was arranged to suit her.
All this had its effect. In spite of his coat, Carter softened and
became amiable. His hair had been nicely curled at the ends, a thing he
had submitted to for the first time in his life, but, on the whole,
rather liked. The diamond studs in his bosom glittered like fire-flies,
and his watch-chain coiled down his white vest like a golden serpent
hiding its head in his pocket.
“Now, my dear,” said Mrs. Carter, “just stand back and let me look at
you.”
“Well, Mrs. Carter, what have you got to say about it?”
Here Mr. Carter put a thumb into each armhole of his white vest, and
posed himself superbly.
Mrs. Carter took a general observation, drew nearer, smoothed the
sleeves of his coat with her plump hand, and observed that
better-looking men might be found in the great city of New York, but she
had never set eyes on them. At which Carter, being a little doubtful of
himself, blushed rosily, and attempted a dancing step, which proved an
ignominious failure, his boots being as tight as his coat.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Carter, busying her hands with the neck-tie again.
“Do you know I’ve been thinking of a pleasant surprise for you—a _very_
pleasant surprise?”
“Indeed, Mrs. Carter, you have given me one in this party, which I
shan’t get over in six months. What is it to be this time?”
“A daughter—a full-grown, lovely daughter. What do you think of that?”
“A full-grown, lovely daughter, Mrs. Carter? Well, I think you are in
want of a straight jacket more than I am, and, after the party, this
coat shall be made over to you.”
“But I am in earnest, husband!”
“So am I, wife, so much in earnest that I shouldn’t mind giving up the
coat now.”
“We have often talked of adopting a little girl since you know when.”
A flush came around Carter’s eyes—he turned away from his wife.
“It would be a trouble to bring one up, you know, dear. Now supposing
that done, and a girl came naturally into the family about the age _she_
might have been, wouldn’t you rather like it?”
“I haven’t thought about it, wife, have you?”
“Yes, Carter, and you’ll see this girl to-night. I’ve given you the
idea, when you’ve seen her, just say if she wont be like a sunbeam in
the house?”
“Like a what?” exclaimed Mr. Carter.
Mrs. Carter blushed and fanned herself nervously.
“It isn’t my idea, Carter; I found it in a magazine story, and
remembered it because it was so original.”
“Let that go. If the girl was like a sunbeam, she’d never get into our
house, for fear of spoiling the carpets. You’d be the first to shut her
out, old woman!”
“Old woman! I don’t like that, Carter. Look at me with your own eyes,
from head to foot, and say if you are not ashamed of yourself?”
“Look at you? Well, I’m a doing it; but what on earth have you done with
all them things from Ball & Black’s? So far, I haven’t seen nothing but
the bills. I thought you wanted to cut a shine with them to-night.”
“Well, so I did, but Ross thought I’d better not. You know, Carter, that
beauty unadorned looks better than overloading.”
“Oh!” said Carter, “at the magazines again.”
“Ross thinks so, at any rate, so I made myself simple but elegant. Don’t
you think so?”
“Well, I don’t know about that, Rebecca, but you’re an all-fired
good-looking woman, any how!”
“Oh, Mr. Carter! all-fired, and just as people are coming.”
“But it’s only between ourselves, Beccy.”
“But you might——”
“No, I mightn’t. What is it, Jacob?”
“Mr. Ross has come, sir, with the young lady, and wants to know if he
shall bring her up.”
“Yes,” answered Carter, after a moment’s hesitation, during which he was
fitting on a cream-colored glove, with all his might. “Take her into
Mrs. Carter’s bouder. We’ll be there in no time.”
Jacob went out, and his master tugged away at the second glove, which
refused to meet at the wrist.
“Mrs. Carter, _will_ you give a little attention? This confounded
button.”
“Yes, my dear, I know what it is, having suffered. There.”
The glove was closed so tightly that Carter’s wrist began to swell above
it, but the spirit of martyrdom was upon him, and he marched out of his
room without a word of complaint, resolving to perform his social duties
to the uttermost.
Eva Laurence was standing near the window of that sumptuous little room.
Her eyes had just fallen on Ruthy’s pictures, framed in an exquisite
net-work of gold, and the pleasant surprise brightened her face with a
smile that made Carter hold his breath.
“This is the young lady,” said Mrs. Carter, going up to Eva with a
cordial welcome in her face. “Miss Laurence, you have never seen my
husband, but he has come to make your acquaintance.”
Eva turned and saw a rather stout and well-formed man coming toward her,
with his hand extended.
“Delighted to see you, Miss—make yourself at home, and welcome.” Eva,
grateful for the warmth of his greeting, laid her hand in his.
“You are very kind,” she said, modestly; “but Mr. Ross told me I could
expect nothing that was not pleasant here.”
“Mr. Ross shall promise nothing for us that we will not perform,”
answered the host, blandly.
“My dear, that is a carriage—give me your arm. Ross, take care of Miss
Eva. Dear me, there is a party going up to the dressing-room. What if we
meet them!—oh, the back stairs. They are a little dark, but I’ll go
first. Carter, take care of my train. Ah, this is something like!”