It was the most surprising and unwelcome _rencontre_ in the world, that
meeting between those four, Everard Dawn and his daughter and Mrs.
Varian and her son.
Frederick Foster was the son of Mrs. Varian’s eldest sister, long since
dead, and therefore peculiarly dear to her, so that wherever he went,
he always kept up a correspondence with Arthur, of whom he was very
fond. So it chanced that they had written him while he was abroad of
their sojourn at Newport, and begged him to join them there on his
return.
Later on the mother and son decided to meet him at the steamer, as he
might feel it a lonely home-coming, his father also being dead, and his
two married sisters being absent from the city.
From the pier they had recognized Frederick on the steamer’s deck,
but as he stood in front of his three companions, they had not been
identified, otherwise Arthur would have gone away to avoid a meeting.
It seemed to Mrs. Varian as if a most malignant fate had sent them
there when she lifted her eyes and saw before her Frederick, her
handsome nephew, arm in arm with Cinthia, while behind them walked
Everard Dawn with the beautiful Madame Ray.
It was a painful, almost a tragic _rencontre_, and entirely
unavoidable, for Frederick Foster, unconscious of anything wrong, cried
out almost boisterously:
“How do you do, my dear aunt? Happy to see you, Arthur!” embracing them
with effusion, and adding, to the pale, silent girl who clung to his
arm: “Miss Dawn, let me present my aunt, Mrs. Varian, and my cousin,
Arthur Varian.”
A moment of shocked embarrassment was followed by formal
greetings--greetings as of strangers who had never met before.
Mrs. Varian and Cinthia simply bowed to each other, both pale and cold,
but Arthur held out his hand, saying, almost inaudibly:
“I am glad to meet you.”
Cinthia bowed without speaking, and gave him her icy fingers in
response. Their hands just touched and fell apart, and their faces were
as pale as they would ever be in their coffins.
Frederick Foster, without observing anything unusual in the air,
proceeded to present the others.
“Mr. Dawn and Madame Ray, let me present my aunt and cousin, Mrs.
Varian and her son.”
Again there were cold, surprised bows on either side, and the next
moment Frederick found that Cinthia’s fingers had dropped from his arm,
and the heedless, jostling, happy throng had closed in between the two
little groups, cutting them off from each other.
“Oh, I say!” he cried, in dismay, “we have quite lost my friends. Will
you excuse me one moment while I follow and bid them good-bye?”
But Arthur answered in a troubled voice:
“My mother is almost fainting, Fred. Will you help me take her to the
carriage?”
It was quite true what Arthur said. Mrs. Varian’s proud, dark head had
drooped heavily against his shoulder, and her face was marble-pale,
with half-closed eyes, while her breath came in slow, labored gasps.
Somehow, the sight of Everard Dawn with the beautiful actress by his
side had given her an almost insupportable shock.
Frederick Foster instantly became all anxiety and attention, and with
Arthur’s assistance he supported her to the waiting carriage.
She leaned back among the cushions with shut eyes, while Arthur stroked
her brow and hands with tender touches, and her nephew exhausted
himself in wondering what had made her ill.
Arthur answered evasively:
“It must have been the great heat of the sun. She complained of the
warmth of the weather while we were watching the steamer come into
port.”
The carriage rolled along toward their hotel, and Mrs. Varian grew
gradually better, opening her eyes presently and faintly apologizing
for the fright she had given them.
“I am almost well again, and I think we can return to Newport
to-night,” she said.
Foster’s thoughts recurred again to his friends, and he exclaimed,
regretfully:
“I am very sorry that I lost sight of my friends, the Dawns and Madame
Ray. They, too, are going to Newport, and if I only knew at what hotel
they intended to stop, I would go and persuade them to make a party
with us going there.”
“Please do not, Fred. They might think us officious, being strangers,”
Mrs. Varian cried, hastily.
Frederick laughed roguishly, and answered:
“I serve notice on you that you will not be strangers long, for I
intend to make Miss Dawn your niece, if she will give her consent!”
“Ah!” cried Arthur, in a strange tone of suppressed emotion; but
Frederick did not notice, he was so absorbed in the thought of Cinthia.
“Did you notice how radiantly beautiful she was?” he cried. “She is as
graceful and stately as a young princess, and her feet and hands are
exquisitely small and dainty. Her hair is a shower of gold, and such
beautiful, large, soft dark eyes, so haunting and mesmeric, I never saw
in another woman’s face. The first moment I met their full glance, I
realized that all was over with Frederick Foster.”
“How long have you known the young lady, Fred?” his aunt asked.
“Only from the first day we sailed for New York; but the moment I saw
her I was done for, and I believe if I had not secured an introduction
to her soon, I should have jumped overboard and drowned myself. Oh, I
tell you, it was a case of love at first sight--on my side, at least. I
don’t know how it is with her; but I was actually proposing to her as
we came down the gang-plank and met you, so I did not get her answer.
But I shall at Newport, of course. But, as I was saying, I got an
introduction through the lovely actress, Madame Ray, who had been with
them several months in Europe. She has retired from the stage now, and
I’m rather sorry. I’ve known her several years, and she was an ornament
to the profession--as good a woman as ever stepped.”
“Perhaps she is going to marry Miss Dawn’s father?” ventured his aunt,
inquiringly.
“I don’t know. They would make a splendid couple, wouldn’t they? And I
know that the lovely Cinthia would give anything to bring it about. She
is devoted to the charming actress.”
“How I hate that girl!” Mrs. Varian thought, with secret, irrepressible
bitterness.
“They are all coming to Newport, and I hope you and Arthur will find
them as charming as I do--only Arthur must not fall in love with my
princess,” continued Foster, blithely.
Arthur only laughed, and just then the carriage drew up at the entrance
to their hotel.
As Arthur was helping his mother out, she whispered:
“If they come to Newport, we will go away the same day.”
Meanwhile, the other party, quite as much disconcerted, had sought
another hotel.
Cinthia lay sobbing on a low couch, and Madame Ray knelt by her side,
caressing her and murmuring low words of comfort.
“Do not think of him, my darling. He is not worthy of one regret. Only
a coward would have deserted you as Arthur Varian did. I am sorry that
Fred Foster is his cousin, but that need not matter. He loves you very
much, and I would be charmed to see you marry this manly young man.”
“Oh, I can never love again! My heart was broken by Arthur’s falsity!”
moaned Cinthia, sobbing in unrestrained grief that she would not have
shown to any one on earth but this sympathetic friend she loved so well.
“Forget him, dear,” the other answered, as she had often done before,
laying the golden head caressingly against her breast, and kissing the
tears from the sad, dark eyes.
When Cinthia had sobbed herself into calmness, she said:
“Of course, we will not go to Newport now. I must not meet them again.”
“No, we must not go to Newport now,” Madame Ray agreed; adding: “I
shall go on from New York to my home in Florida--a pretty estate left
to me last year by an old maiden aunt--and, Cinthia, I want you and
your father to come with me as my guests.”
“But perhaps we ought to go and visit Aunt Flint first,” suggested
Cinthia.
“No; for you are in danger of meeting the Varians there.”
“That is true,” sighed Cinthia.
“So you will promise to come with me, dear?”
“If papa is willing.”
When Mr. Dawn was consulted, he accepted the invitation for Cinthia,
saying that he had business that would take him to California for a
short while, but would join them later in the South.