COUSIN FRANK AGAIN.
Breakfast was over—Mr. Hazleton gone to his office—Alice to pen a
letter to her mother—and Julia was left alone with Mrs. Hazleton. It
was no light errand upon which she was bent, and gladly would she have
followed her cousin from the room—but an encouraging smile from Alice
re-assured her. Yet how to open the dreaded subject? Several times she
essayed to speak, but the words died upon her lips. Meanwhile Mrs.
Hazleton, in a most voluble strain, was planning characters and dresses
for a fancy ball. So far as Julia herself was concerned, the Scottish
Chiefs were chosen for the field of display—deciding she should go as
Helen Mar, and she was now trying to fix upon some character calculated
to set forth her own charms to the best advantage.
“What do you think of Die Vernon?” said she turning to Julia—“or would
Flora McIvor suit my style better—perhaps Mary, Queen of Scots, or—but
what is the matter with you? How stupid you are! Why don’t you speak? I
declare I believe you will get to be as dull as Alice Churchill. What
ails you?”
“Nothing, ma’ma—I—I only—”
“Only what? do speak!” cried Mrs. Hazleton, impatiently.
“I only wanted to tell you that—that Frank Reeve is in town,” stammered
poor Julia.
“And pray who is Frank Reeve, to call such a blush to your cheek?”
“Why, dear me, ma’ma, you know Cousin Frank Reeve!”
“No, I don’t know Cousin Frank Reeve!” exclaimed Mrs. Hazleton, turning
very red—“neither do I wish to know him.”
“Why, ma’ma, he is so pleasant—so delightful!”
“_Is he?_ Well, Miss Julia, that is no reason why I should know him, or
you either—and, let me tell you, if you have any ridiculous, childish
_penchant_ for ‘Cousin Frank,’ you had better banish it at once!” and
Mrs. Hazleton looked very knowing.
“Ma’ma, I—I don’t understand you.”
“O yes you do. I have said enough—so no more of Frank Reeve. Now tell
me if you can what were the colors of the _Vich-ian Vohr_ plaid—Alice
knows I dare say—go and ask her.” And glad of an excuse to leave the
room, Julia quickly withdrew.
Mrs. Hazleton spoke the truth—she did not know Cousin Frank, though the
nephew of the departed Ketchim. She had never seen him—but she had
heard of moonlight walks and tender billet-doux. In her widowhood, so
long as Julia was out of the way, she cared little which most occupied
her time—books or a lover. The case was now altered. She had a higher
object to be accomplished, to which the plighted affections of her
daughter must be made to yield—what did she care for the affections!
Poor Julia’s eyes were swollen with weeping—her head ached intolerably,
but her heart ached worse. There was a ring at the door—she listened—O
happiness! ma’ma was out—and there was Cousin Frank! What could Julia
do! What _did_ she do but rush down stairs and burst into a fresh flood
of tears on Cousin Frank’s shoulders! Very improper, was it not?
However, we will not stop to argue the matter now, but rather adopt Jack
Easy’s system—finish the story first and have the argument afterward!
As interesting as our pair of lovers undoubtedly were to themselves, a
third party might not form the same opinion. We will not intrude,
therefore, but content ourselves with marking the result of this
interview, which was that Julia from that hour appeared in excellent
spirits, quite delighting ma’ma with her praises of Herman Wallace, and
never once mentioning the name of Cousin Frank again—simply amusing
herself when alone with kissing mysteriously folded billets, and penning
little rose-colored notes—surely there was no harm in that!
In the meanwhile Wallace had become a constant visiter. Although Alice
was generally in the room upon these occasions, Mrs. Hazleton had no
longer any fears. Wallace to be sure was very polite and
agreeable—brought her books—sometimes reading a favorite passage—of
course, why should he not? and so Mrs. Hazleton herself began to treat
her with more attention—but with Julia he would chat in a low voice in
snug window seats, or remote corners, while she in turn seemed to lend a
willing ear—blushing, smiling, and evidently very happy. “Ah, there
certainly must be some understanding between them!” thought the
delighted Mrs. Hazleton.