SARATOGA AND NEWPORT.
For three weeks Katy had been at the Mountain House, growing stronger
every day, until now she was much like the Katy of one year ago, and
Wilford was very proud of her, as he saw how greatly she was admired by
those whose admiration he deemed worth having. But their stay among the
Catskills was ended, and on the morrow they were going to Saratoga,
where Mrs. Cameron and her daughter were, and where, too, was Sybil
Grandon, the reigning belle of the United States. So Bell had written to
her brother, bidding him hasten on with Katy, as she wished to see "that
chit of a widow in her proper place." And Katy had been weak enough for
a moment to feel a throb of satisfaction in knowing how effectually
Sybil's claims to belleship would be put aside when she was once in the
field; even glancing at herself in the mirror as she leaned on Wilford's
shoulder, and feeling glad that mountain air and mountain exercise had
brought the roses back to her white cheeks and the brightness to her
eyes. But Katy wept passionate tears of repentance for that weakness,
when an hour later she read the letter which Dr. Grant had sent in
answer to one she had written from the Mountain House, and in which she
had told him much of her life in New York, confessing her shortcomings,
and lamenting that the evils and excesses which shocked her once did not
startle her now. To this letter Morris had replied as a brother might
write to an only sister, first expressing his joy at her happiness, and
then coming to the subject which lay nearest his heart, warning her
against temptation, reminding her of that other life to which this is
only a preparation, and beseeching her so to use the good things of this
world, given her in such profusion, as not to lose the life eternal.
This was the substance of Morris' letter, which Katy read with
streaming eyes, forgetting Saratoga as Morris' solemn words of warning
and admonition rang in her ears, and shuddering as she thought of losing
the life eternal of going where Morris would never come, nor any of
those she loved the best, unless it were Wilford, who might reproach her
with having dragged him there when she could have saved him.
"Keep yourself unspotted from the world," Morris had said, and she
repeated it to herself, asking: "How shall I do that? How can one be
good and fashionable, too?"
Then laying her hand upon the rock where she was sitting, Katy tried to
pray as she had not prayed in months, asking that God would teach her
what she ought to know, and keep her unspotted from the world. But at
the Mountain House it is easier to pray that one be kept from temptation
than it is at Saratoga, which this summer was crowded to overflowing,
its streets presenting a fitting picture of Vanity Fair, so full were
they of show and gala dress. At the United States, where Mrs. Cameron
stopped, two rooms, for which an enormous price was paid, had been
reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Wilford Cameron, and this of itself would have
given them a certain _éclat_, even if there had not been present many
who remembered the proud, fastidious bachelor, and were proportionately
anxious to see his wife. She came, she saw, she conquered; and within
three days after her arrival Katy Cameron was the acknowledged belle of
Saratoga, from the United States to the Clarendon. And Katy, alas! was
not quite the same who on the mountain ridge had sat with Morris' letter
in her hand, praying that its teachings might not be all forgotten. Nor
were they, but she did not heed them here where all was so bright and
gay, and where the people thought her so perfect. Saratoga seemed
different to her from New York, and she plunged into its gayeties, never
pausing, never tiring, and seldom giving herself time to think, much
less to pray, as Morris had bidden her do. And Wilford, though hardly
able to recognize the usually timid Katy in the brilliant woman who led
rather than followed, was sure of her faith to him, and so was only
proud and gratified to see her bear off the palm from every competitor,
while even Juno, though she quarreled with the shadow into which she
was so completely thrown, enjoyed the _éclat_ cast upon their party by
the presence of Mrs. Wilford, who had passed beyond her criticism. Sybil
Grandon, too, stood back in wonder that a simple country girl should win
and wear the laurels she had so long claimed as her own; but as there
was no help for it she contented herself as best she could with the
admiration she did receive, and whenever opportunity occurred, said
bitter things of Mrs. Wilford, whose parentage and low estate were
through her pretty generally known. But it did not matter there what
Katy had been; the people took her for what she was now, and Sybil's
glory faded like the early dawn in the coming of the full day.
As it had been at Saratoga, so it was at Newport. Urged on by Mrs.
Cameron and Bell, who greatly enjoyed her notoriety, Katy plunged into
the mad excitement of dancing and driving and coquetting, until Wilford
himself became uneasy, locking her once in her room, where she was
sleeping after dinner, and conveniently forgetting to release her until
after the departure at evening of some young men from Cambridge, whose
attentions to the Ocean House belle had been more strongly marked than
was altogether agreeable to him. Of course it was a mistake--the locking
of the door--and a great oversight in him not to have remembered it
sooner, he said to Katy, by way of apology; and Katy, with no suspicion
of the truth, laughed merrily at the joke, repeating it downstairs to
the old dowagers, who shrugged their shoulders meaningly and whispered
to each other that it might be well if more young, handsome wives were
locked into their rooms and thus kept out of mischief.
Though flattered, caressed and admired, Katy was not doing herself much
credit at Newport, but after Wilford there was no one to raise a warning
voice, until Mark Ray came down for a few days' respite from the heated
city, where he spent the entire summer, taking charge of the business
which belonged as much to Wilford as to himself. But Wilford had a wife;
it was more necessary that he should leave, Mark had argued; his time
would come by and by. And so he had remained at home until the last of
August, when he appeared suddenly at the Ocean House one night when
Katy, in her airy robes and childlike simplicity, was breaking hearts by
the score. Like others, Mark was charmed, and not a little proud, for
Katy's sake, to see her thus appreciated; but when one day's experience
had shown him more and given him a look behind the scenes, he trembled
for her, knowing how hard it would be for her to come out of that sea of
dissipation as pure and spotless as she went in.
"If I were her brother I would warn her that her present career, though
very delightful now, is not one upon which she will look back with
pleasure when the excitement is over," he said to himself; "but if
Wilford is satisfied it is not for me to interfere. It is surely nothing
to me what Katy Cameron does," he kept repeating to himself; but as
often as he said it there came up before him a pale, anxious face,
shaded with Helen Lennox's bands of hair, and Helen Lennox's voice
whispered to him: "Save Katy, for my sake;" and so next day, when Mark
found himself alone with Katy, while most of the guests were at the
beach, he questioned her of her life at Saratoga and Newport, and
gradually, as he talked, there crept into Katy's heart a suspicion that
he was not altogether pleased with her account, or with what he had seen
of her since his arrival.
For a moment Katy was indignant, but when he said to her kindly: "Would
Helen he pleased?" her tears started at once, and she attempted an
excuse for her weak folly, accusing Sybil Grandon as the first cause of
the ambition for which she hated herself.
"She had been held up as my pattern," she said, half bitterly, and
forgetting to whom she was talking--"she the one whom I was to imitate;
and when I found that if I would I could go beyond her, I yielded to the
temptation, and exulted to see how far she was left behind. Besides
that," she continued, "is it no gratification, think you, to let
Wilford's proud mother and sister see the poor country girl, whom
ordinarily they would despise, stand where they cannot come, and even
dictate to them if she chooses so to do? I know it is wrong--I know it
is wicked--but I rather like the excitement, and so long as I am with
these people I shall never be any better. Mark Ray, you don't know what
it is to be surrounded by a set who care for nothing but fashion and
display, and how they may outdo each other. I hate New York society.
There is nothing there but husks."
Katy's tears had ceased, and on her white face there was a new look of
womanhood, as if in that outburst she had changed, and would never again
be just what she was before.
"Say," she continued, "do you like New York society?"
"Not always--not wholly," Mark answered; "and still you misjudge it
greatly, for all are not like the people you describe. Your husband's
family represent one extreme, while there are others equally high in the
social scale who do not make fashion the rule of their lives--sensible,
cultivated, intellectual people, of whose acquaintance one might be
glad--people whom I fancy your Sister Helen would enjoy. I have only met
her twice, it is true, but my impression is that she would not find New
York utterly distasteful."
Mark did not know why he had dragged Helen into that conversation,
unless it were that she seemed very near to him as he talked with Katy,
who replied:
"Yes, Helen finds some good in all. She sees differently from what I do,
and I wish so much that she was here."
"Why not send for her?" Mark asked, casting about in his mind whether in
case Helen came, he, too, could tarry for a week and leave that business
in Southbridge, which he must attend to ere returning to the city.
It would be a study to watch Helen Lennox there at Newport, and in
imagination Mark was already her sworn knight, shielding her from
criticism, and commanding her respect from those who respected him, when
Katy tore his castle down by answering impulsively:
"I doubt if Wilford would let me send for her here, nor does it matter,
as I shall not remain much longer. I do not need her now, since you have
showed me how foolish I have been. I was angry at first, but now I thank
you for it, and so would Helen. I shall tell her when I am in Silverton.
I am going there from here, and oh, I so wish it was to-day."
The guests were beginning to return from the beach by this time, and as
Mark had said all he had intended saying, and even more, he left Katy
with Wilford, who had just come in and joined a merry party of
Bostonians only that day arrived. That night at the Ocean House the
guests missed something from their festivities; the dance was not so
exhilarating or the small-talk between them so lively, while more than
one white-kidded dandy swore mentally at the innocent Wilford, whose
wife declined to join in the gayeties, and in a plain white muslin, with
only a pond lily in her hair, kept by her husband's side,
notwithstanding that he more than once bade her leave him and accept
some of her numerous invitations to join the giddy dance. This sober
phase of Katy did not on the whole please Wilford as much as her gayer
ones had done. Perfectly sure of her devotion to himself, he liked to
watch her as she glided amid the throng which paid her so much homage.
All he had ever dreamed of the sensation his bride would create was more
than verified. Katy had fulfilled his highest expectations, reaching a
point from which, as she had said to Mark, she could even dictate to his
mother, if she chose, and he did not care to see her relinquish it.
But Katy remained true to herself. Dropping her girlish playfulness she
assumed a quiet, gentle dignity, which became her even better than her
gayer mood had done, making her ten times more popular and more sought
after, until she begged to go away, persuading Wilford at last to name
the day for their departure, and then, never doubting for a moment that
her destination was Silverton, she wrote to Helen that she was coming on
such a day, and as they would come by way of Providence and Worcester,
they would probably reach West Silverton at ten o'clock, A.M.
"Wilford," she added, in a postscript, "has gone down to bathe, and as
the mail is just closing, I shall send this letter without his seeing
it. Of course it can make no difference, for I have talked all summer of
coming, and he understands it."