"MRS. LEE is quite fortunate with her daughters," remarked a visitor
to Mrs. Wyman, whose oldest child, a well grown girl of fifteen, was
sitting by.
"Yes; Kate and Harriet went off in good time. She has only Fanny
left."
"Who is to be married this winter."
"Fanny?"
"She is engaged to Henry Florence."
"Indeed! And she is only just turned of sixteen. How fortunate,
truly! Some people have their daughters on their hands until they
are two or three-and-twenty, when the chances for good matches are
very low. _I_ was only sixteen when _I_ was married."
"Certainly; and then I had rejected two or three young men. There is
nothing like early marriages, depend upon it, Mrs. Clayton. They
always turn out the best. The most desirable young men take their
pick of the youngest girls, and leave the older ones for second-rate
claimants."
"Do you hear that, Anna?" Mrs. Clayton said, laughing, as she turned
to Mrs. Wyman's daughter. "I hope you will not remain a moment later
than your mother did upon the maiden list."
Anna blushed slightly, but did not reply. What had been said,
however, made its impression on her mind. She felt that to be
engaged early was a matter greatly to be desired.
"My mother was married at sixteen, and here am I fifteen, and
without a lover." So thought Anna, as she paused over the page of a
new novel, some hours after she had listened to the conversation
that passed between her mother and Mrs. Clayton, and mused of love
and matrimony.
From that time, Anna Wyman was another girl. The sweet simplicity of
manner, the unconscious innocence peculiar to her age, gradually
vanished. Her eye, that was so clear and soft with the light of
girlhood's pleasant fancies, grew earnest and restless, and, at
times, intensely bright. The whole expression of her countenance was
new. It was no longer a placid sky, with scarce a cloud floating in
its quiet depths, but changeful as April, with its tears and smiles
blending in strange beauty. Her heart, that had long beat
tranquilly, would now bound at a thought, and send the bright
crimson to her cheek--would flutter at the sight of the very
individual whom she, a short time before, would meet without a
single wave ruffling the surface of her feelings. The woman had
suddenly displaced the girl; a sisterly regard, that pure affection
which an innocent maiden's heart has for all around her had expired
on the altar where was kindling up the deep passion called _love_.
And yet Anna Wyman had not reached her sixteenth year.
All at once, she became restless, capricious, unhappy. She had been
at school up to this period, but now insisted that she was too old
for that; her mother seconded this view of the matter, and her
father, a man of pretty good sense, had to yield.
"We must give Anna a party now," said Mrs. Wyman, after their
daughter had left school.
"Why so?" asked the father.
"Oh--because it is time that she was beginning to come out."
"Come out, how?"
"You are stupid, man. Come out in the list of young ladies. Go into
company."
"But she is a mere child, yet--not sixteen."
"Not sixteen! And how old was _I_, pray, when you married me?"
The husband did not reply.
"How old was I, Mr. Wyman?"
"About sixteen, I believe."
"Well; and was I a mere child?"
"You were rather young to marry, at least," Mr. Wyman ventured to
say. This remark was made rather too feelingly.
"Too young to marry!" ejaculated the wife, in a tone of surprise and
indignation--"too young to marry; and my husband to say so, too! Mr.
Wyman, do you mean to intimate--do you mean to say?--Mr. Wyman, what
do you mean by that remark?"
"Oh, nothing at all," soothingly replied the husband; "only that
I"--
"What?"
"That I don't, as a general thing, approve of very early marriages.
The character of a young lady is not formed before twenty-one or
two; nor has she gained that experience and knowledge of the world
that will enable her to choose with wisdom."
"You don't pretend to say that my character was not formed at
sixteen?" This was accompanied by a threatening look.
Whatever his thoughts were, Mr. Wyman took good care not to express
them. He merely said--
"I believe, Margaret, that I haven't volunteered any allusion to
you."
"Yes, but you don't approve of early marriages."
"True."
"Well, didn't I marry at sixteen? And isn't your opinion a
reflection upon your wife?"
"Circumstances alter cases," smilingly returned Mr. Wyman. "Few
women at sixteen were like you. Very certainly your daughter is
not."
"There I differ with you, Mr. Wyman. I believe our Anna would make
as good a wife now as I did at sixteen. She is as much of a woman in
appearance; her mind is more matured, and her education advanced far
beyond what mine was. She deserves a good husband, and must have one
before the lapse of another year."
"How can you talk so, Margaret? For my part, I do not wish to see
her married for at least five years."
"Preposterous! I wouldn't give a cent for a marriage that takes
place after seventeen or eighteen. They are always indifferent
affairs, and rarely ever turn out well. The earlier the better,
depend upon it. First love and first lover, is my motto."
"Well, Margaret, I suppose you will have these matters your own way;
but I don't agree with you for all."
"Anna must have a party."
"You can do as you like."
"But you must assent to it."
"How can I do that, if I don't approve?"
"But you must approve."
And Mrs. Wyman persevered until she made him approve--at least do so
apparently. And so a party was given to Anna, at which she was
introduced to several dashing young men, whose attentions almost
turned her young head. In two weeks she had a confidante, a young
lady named Clara Spenser, not much older than herself. The progress
already made by Anna in love matters will appear in the following
conversation held in secret with Clara.
"Did you say Mr. Carpenter had been to see you since the party?"
asked Clara.
"Yes, indeed," was the animated reply.
"He's a love of a man!--the very one of all others that I would set
my cap for, if there was any hope. But you will, no doubt, carry him
off."
Anna coloured to the temples, half with confusion and half with
delight.
"He used to pay attention to Jane Sherman, I'm told."
"Yes; but you've cut her out entirely. Didn't you notice how unhappy
she seemed at the party whenever he was with you?"
"No; was she?"
"Oh, yes; everybody noticed it. But you can carry off all of her
beaux; she's a mere drab of a girl. And, besides, she's getting on
the old maids' list; I'm told she's more than twenty."
"She is?"
"It's true."
"Oh, dear; there's no fear of her then. If I were to go over sixteen
before I married, I should be frightened to death."
"Suppose Carpenter offers himself?"
"I hope he won't just yet."
"Why?"
"I want two or three strings to my bow. It would be dangerous to
reject one unless I had another in my eye."
"Reject? Nonsense! Why should you reject an offer?"
"My mother had three offers before she was sixteen, and rejected two
of them."
"Was she married so early?"
"Oh, yes; she was a wife at sixteen, and I'm not going to be a day
later, if possible. I'd like to decline _three_ offers and get
married into the bargain before a year passes. Wouldn't that be
admirable? It would be something to boast of all my life."
Pretty well advanced!--the reader no doubt exclaims; and so our
young lady certainly was. When a very young girl gets into love
matters, she "does them up," as the saying is, quite fast; she
doesn't mince matters at all. A maiden of twenty is cooler, more
thoughtful, and more cautious. She thinks a good deal, and is very
careful how she lets any one--even her confidante, if she should
happen to have one, (which is doubtful)--know much beyond her mere
external thoughts. Four or five years make a good deal of difference
in these things. But this need hardly have been said.
"You are going to Mrs. Ashton's on Wednesday evening, of course?"
said Clara Spenser to Anna, on visiting her one morning, some weeks
after the introduction to Carpenter had taken place.
"Oh, certainly; their soirees, I'm told, are elegant affairs."
"Indeed they are; I've been to two of them. Fine music, pleasant
company, and so much freedom of intercourse--oh, they are
delightful!"
"Did you ever see Mr. Carpenter there?"
"Oh, yes; he always attends."
"I shall enjoy myself highly."
"That you will--the young men are so attentive."
Wednesday night soon came round, and Anna was permitted to go,
unattended by either of her parents, to the so-called soiree at Mrs.
Ashton's. As she had hoped and believed, Carpenter was there. His
attentions to her were constant and flattering; he poured many
compliments into her ears, talking to her all the time in a low,
musical tone. Anna's heart fluttered in her bosom with pleasure; she
felt that she had made a conquest. But the fact of bringing so
charming a young man to her feet, and that so speedily, quickened
her pride, and made it seem the easiest thing in the world to be
able to reject three lovers and yet be engaged, or even married, at
sixteen.
Besides Carpenter, there was another present who saw attractions
about Anna Wyman. He wore a moustache, and made quite a dashing
appearance. In the language of many young ladies, who admired him,
he was an elegant-looking young man--just the one to be proud of as
a beau. His name was Elliott.
As soon as he could get access to the ear of the young and
inexperienced girl, he charmed it with a deeper charm than Carpenter
had been able to impart. She felt almost like one within a magic
circle. His eye fascinated her, and his voice murmured in her ear
like low, sweet music.