A REJECTED SUITOR.
In one of the handsomest houses on Ashland avenue lived Grace Dearborn,
the young lady whose acquaintance Paul had made on the train. Perhaps
it would be more proper to say that her aunt, Mrs. Sheldon, lived
here, and Grace was a member of her family. Mr. Sheldon was dead, and
his widow carried on her husband's business--a large retail drygoods
store--through the help of the former chief clerk, now promoted to
general manager, under whose wise and faithful superintendence the
store flourished, and yielded to the widow an ample yearly income.
But if the aunt was wealthy so was the niece. Miss Dearborn had come
into possession of an independent fortune of one hundred and fifty
thousand dollars, which was so invested as to net her seven per cent.,
or a little more than ten thousand dollars a year.
As this fact was generally known, it will not be thought strange
that Miss Dearborn was much sought after in society, and her hand
was considered a great prize in the matrimonial lottery. Thus far,
however, she had resisted all solicitations, and society waited in
vain to hear of her engagement.
Let us go back a week, and introduce Miss Dearborn at home on a
Wednesday evening.
She had been chatting with her aunt on indifferent matters, when a
servant appeared with a card in the presence of the two ladies.
"A gentleman to see you, Miss Grace," she said.
"Who is it, my dear?" asked Mrs. Sheldon, as Grace took the card from
the servant's hand.
"Major Ashton," answered Grace, reading from the card.
"Will you see him?"
"I suppose I have no good excuse for declining," said the young lady,
shrugging her shoulders.
"He may wish to see you on important business," said Mrs. Sheldon,
playfully.
"I hope not," said the young lady, looking alarmed. "If I thought so, I
wouldn't go down."
"Oh, don't let my words influence you, my dear. It may be an ordinary
call. Besides, if it were not, the major is considered a desirable
_parti_."
"Not by me," returned Grace, with emphasis.
"What have you to object to him? He is good-looking."
"Ye-es, I suppose so," admitted Grace, with evident reluctance.
"Let me assure you, my dear Grace, that he is considered decidedly
_distingue_."
"I would sooner admit that than that he is _good-looking_. He doesn't
look _good_ to me."
"What is the matter with him?"
"There is a look in his eyes that I don't like. It is a cruel look, as
if he had a latent fierceness and hardness in his disposition."
"All fancy, Grace."
"Perhaps so; but I don't fancy his looks."
"Then he is rich."
"I suppose he is, though I don't know."
"He must be. He lives like a gentleman of large means."
"I don't attach much importance to wealth, aunt. Surely, in a husband,
other things are more important."
"You wouldn't marry a penniless lover?"
"Why not, if I respected and loved him?"
"My dear Grace, you alarm me. I never supposed you entertained such
quixotic notions. Some day we may have you eloping with a dry-goods
clerk, or a poverty-stricken artist, or----"
"Don't borrow trouble, Aunt Caroline," said the young lady, with a
merry laugh. "You don't get rid of me so easily. It is possible, of
course, that I may fulfill your prediction, for I have money enough to
enable my future husband to live respectably; but I'll give you fair
warning and sufficient notice. But I must go down, or the major will be
getting impatient."
Descending to the drawing-room, Grace saluted courteously a gentleman
who rose from a sofa, and advanced to meet her with considerable
_empressement_ of manner.
"You are very kind to consent to see me, Miss Dearborn," he said.
"Oh, no," answered Grace, smiling. "I should have been unkind to
decline, since I have no good reason for doing so."
"At any rate, suffer me to interpret it as kind, since it pleases me to
do so. You do not know how much I attach to it in the present instance."
A slight shade of dissatisfaction flitted over the face of Miss
Dearborn, for the words and manner of her visitor clearly pointed to a
declaration of love, which she wished to avoid, if possible.
She was not like some young ladies in society, desirous of extending
the list of her conquests.
"Thank you, Major Ashton," she answered, lightly, "but compliments are
more in place in the ballroom."
"I do not mean it as a compliment, Miss Dearborn. Compliments are
often insincere. I beg you to believe that I am sincere."
"Don't let us make too much of a trifle, Major Ashton. I am ready to
believe you are sincere. Have you been to the opera?"
There was a brief season of Italian opera in Chicago, and this led to
the question.
"Yes," answered the major. "Might I hope that you will accept an
invitation to accompany me tomorrow evening?" he asked, eagerly.
"I am afraid I must decline. I am expecting company, or, rather, my
aunt is."
"Then, perhaps, another evening?" suggested the major.
"I fear I cannot accept during the present engagement. You are very
kind to invite me."
"I wish I might have the privilege of always attending you, Miss
Dearborn."
Grace blushed, but not with pleasure.
"What opera did you attend?" she inquired, coldly.
"'Norma.' I can't say it is my favorite, but the parts were well sung."
"I have never heard it. In fact, I have to confess that I do not
enjoy the opera as much as many. Probably my musical taste is not
sufficiently developed."
She spoke rapidly, and somewhat nervously, hoping to prevent the major
from carrying out what she perceived to be his intention. But she had
to do with a man who was resolute of purpose.
"Miss Dearborn--Grace--" he said, abruptly, "I hope you are not quite
unprepared for what I came here this evening to say. It consists of but
three words--_I love you_!"
"Of course, I am very much flattered," said Grace, hurriedly, "but I am
sorry to hear it."
"Why should you be sorry?"
"Because it is quite impossible for me to reciprocate your feelings."
"Don't say that, Miss Dearborn," returned Major Ashton, in a tone of
mingled disappointment and mortification. "Can you not learn to love
me?"
"Love does not come by learning, or by any conscious effort, Major
Ashton. It should be spontaneous, and come from the heart."
"I do not wish to be vain, or to speak egotistically, Miss Dearborn,
but I am generally considered an eligible match. My social position you
know, and I am able to support a wife in luxury----"
"I do not care to question it," interrupted Grace. "I hope you will
transfer your flattering proposal to some one who may prove to you a
good wife, and----"
"I cannot transfer my devotion as easily as you imagine," said Ashton
in a tone of annoyance. "I have long loved you, and thought of you as
the one woman with whom I desired to walk through life. Your refusal,
if persisted in, will wreck my happiness."
Grace was tempted to survey somewhat closely the man who thus declared
that he should be miserable without her. He did not look like a
despairing lover. His sleek black hair and whiskers, the rather insipid
regularity of his features, his evident foppish attention to his dress,
hardly indicated a soul moved to its lowest depths by romantic and
despairing passion.
Self-conceit, vanity, a high degree of self complacency could be read
in the major's face, but he did not look like a man who would jump into
Lake Michigan, a victim to the tender passion.
Grace did not feel that there was any cause to make herself miserable
on her suitors account.
"I hope, Major Ashton," she replied, courteously, "that time may soften
whatever disappointment you feel. Pardon my saying that you have never
appeared to me the one man with whom I should wish to walk through
life, and this being the case, I should wrong both myself and you by
accepting you."
"You will consider my proposal? You may change your mind?"
"Do not hope it, Major Ashton," said Grace, firmly. "It can never be.
And now you will allow me to bid you good-evening."
She left the room swiftly, and Major Ashton had no choice but to
terminate his call.
"Confound the girl!" he muttered, when he reached the street. "She was
my trump card, and she has failed me! What shall I do next?"