BEFORE THE QUEEN.
Such a May day! like one of those that the poets of old described when
they wrote of mead and honey. A flash of heaven's own sunshine, a murmur
of heaven's own music, a foretaste of the golden glories of summer which
were soon to shine over the land. A May day, when, in the green heart
of England, the hawthorn was budding, the perfume of violets filled the
air, the cuckoo remained lord of the meadows, the wood pigeons began to
coo, the butterflies to coquette with sweet spring flowers--a very
carnival of nature.
London had never looked so bright or so gay. The queen had thrown off
the black mantle of sorrow, and had come forth once more to gladden the
hearts of her faithful people. She had opened Parliament, and a series
of royal _fetes_ had been announced that cheered the whole city with the
hope of future prosperity. Trade, commerce, literature, and art were all
encouraged; as all drooped in her absence, so they all revived in the
gracious promise of her serene presence.
There was to be on the third of May a grand drawing-room. Great
excitement was caused by the announcement that the Countess of Linleigh
and the Lady Doris Studleigh were both on this eventful day to be
presented, the countess on her marriage, the Lady Doris as a
_debutante_.
Rumor was very busy. There was nothing to wonder about over the
countess--she was well-known for many London seasons; she had been a
belle and a reigning beauty, she was married at last to a popular
nobleman, and would doubtless take her place as one of the queens of
society; she would give brilliant _fetes_, head the gayeties of the
season. Hyde House would doubtless become one of the most fashionable
resorts of the day; but there all sensation about her ceased.
With Lady Doris it was different; more curiosity was felt to see Lord
Linleigh's daughter than his wife. People heard that she was a regular
Studleigh, and the memory of the handsome, debonair race was still
living among them.
In the time of Charles the Second there had been ladies of the Studleigh
family whose names were proverbs for beauty, wit, and recklessness.
Strange stories were told of deeds of fun and daring that in people less
noble would have been called crimes.
And now on the great world--always a little _blase_, a little tired of
itself, always athirst for novelty--a new star was to shine--a
Studleigh, with all the fatal, witching beauty of her race, and the
inheritance of wit that was always pointed.
Rumor said she was the loveliest girl on whom the English sun had shone
for many years. She would be wealthy, too, for Lord Linleigh was rich.
Expectation was for once fairly aroused; then, too, there was something
of romance about her story. The marriage of the handsome, popular earl
had been a private one; the Lady Doris, it was said, had been educated
in the strictest retirement. People were impatient to see her and
pronounce their verdict. She was to be presented by the Duchess of
Downsbury, whose name was a guaranty for every good quality.
The eventful day dawned at last. Lord Linleigh had been somewhat anxious
over it. True, his daughter's fate in life was fixed--he would not have
had her engagement with Earle Moray broken on any account--yet he
desired that she should receive all the homage due to her rank and her
beauty. No word of her engagement had been made public; that was by
Lady Linleigh's advice.
"Give her all the time possible, all the liberty that her heart can
desire, and then we shall see if she really prefers Earle to all the
world," she said to her husband.
Though he laughed at the advice, he owned it was good.
On that May day surely Lady Doris' dressing-room was one of the
prettiest scenes in all London. The sunbeams crept through the
rose-colored blind, and fell on the shining jewels, the costly dresses,
the flowers and laces. For the first time in her life Lady Doris was
arrayed in full court costume, and certainly nothing could have suited
her better. The Duke of Downsbury had insisted on presenting her with a
magnificent set of diamonds for the occasion, and she wore them now for
the first time. She stood in all the splendor of her marvelous beauty
and rich costume, smiling at herself in the mirror.
"I do not look much like Doris Brace, the farmer's daughter, now," she
said to herself.
Then Lady Linleigh entered the room.
"I could not rest, Doris," she said, "until I had seen you, and knew
whether you felt nervous or not."
Something like a smile of contempt wreathed the beautiful lips.
"Nervous, Lady Linleigh! not one whit," she replied. "Now, if I were
about being presented to a handsome young monarch, who wanted a queen to
reign by his side, I might feel nervous."
"When I was presented," said Lady Linleigh, "I did feel very nervous. I
thought of it for days and weeks beforehand."
"You and I, dear Lady Linleigh, differ considerably," said Doris. "I
often think myself it is strange, but I am really wanting in that
respect--I have no organ of reverence; I do not believe that I stand in
awe of any human being."
"It is strange; and I am not sure that such total independence is
altogether good for you, my dear. I should like you to bear more on
others, less on yourself."
"I am as I was made," laughed the girl; then she blushed slightly, for
the earl stood at the door of her dressing-room, looking at her with
such admiration in his eyes as they had seldom expressed before. She
could not help feeling embarrassed by it. Then she went up to him,
saying:
"Now, papa, imagine yourself the queen; let me make you my grand
presentation courtesy."
He never forgot her as she stood there, the light flaming in her jewels
and falling on the golden hair, the face softened into unusual beauty by
the slight flush.
"My darling," said Lord Linleigh, us he laid his hand on her head, "my
darling, I am proud of you."
The words were few, but they expressed a whole volume.
"There will not be a fairer girl at the drawing-room to-day," he
continued, "Yet you must look out for your laurels, Doris. Lady Blanche
Trevor is presented to-day, and the Trevors have always been considered
the handsomest family in England."
"I am not afraid, papa," was the calm reply. "We should be going now; it
is some time since the carriage was announced."
"Doris," said the countess, "stop one minute, dear."
Doris turned, wonderingly. She detected a faint tremor in the voice;
Lady Linleigh's face, too, was very pale.
"Come here one moment," she continued, and Lady Doris went up to her.
The pale, lovely face looked into hers, the gentle hands touched her,
the sweet lips caressed her. The countess took one long tress of the
golden hair in her hands.
"I could not let you go out into the world, my dear," she said, slowly,
"without first wishing you all happiness."
All her heart was on her lips, and her voice trembled with emotion. Lady
Doris looked at her in a perfect bewilderment of surprise.
"You are very kind to me, Lady Linleigh," she said; and there was
something of haughty surprise in her voice which fell like cold snow on
the gentle heart. "You are very kind," she repeated, "but I have no
fear."
"It is such a brilliant world, Doris, but so full of pitfalls--oh! my
dear, so full of pitfalls for the beautiful and young."
"I will steer clear of them, dear Lady Linleigh," said the impatient
voice. "While the May sun is shining and the carriage is at the door,
there is hardly time to talk about the dangers of the world. I am quite
willing to take them for granted."
Lady Linleigh said to herself that she could not alter her nature--that
she was brilliant, polished, cold, beautiful, without warmth of heart,
and that she could not help it. Yet she felt most bitterly disappointed;
her heart had yearned for one kind word, for one token of affection from
her, but it was not to be.
The earl looked in surprise from his wife to his daughter, but he made
up his mind never to interfere between them, or to appear to notice
anything that passed. Then they entered the carriage and drove to St.
James'.
Those present will not soon forget the beauty of the women or the
splendor of the whole scene. Never since the days when her royal consort
stood by her side had the queen looked better or happier than on this
day, when she woke to the sense that the great voice of a mighty nation
was calling her. Noble sons and fair daughters stood around her; the
noblest of the realm had hastened to do her homage. The sun that shone
upon the palace walls and streamed through the windows, fell on no more
calm or royal face than hers.
There was some little excitement when the name of the Countess of
Linleigh was announced. Many there remembered her years ago, when she
had made her _debut_, and smiled to think that for love of the gallant
earl she had remained unmarried all these years. With the entrance of
Lady Doris Studleigh into the royal presence, there was a sensation such
as had not been made at the court for many long years. The girl's
glorious beauty, her imperial grace, the proud carriage, the splendor
of her jewels, the fascination that seemed to clothe her as a
garment--even the royal face lighted up with admiration as the queen's
eyes fell on her. Words more kind than usual came from the royal lady's
lips, and her heart beating high with triumph, her position secure, the
Lady Doris passed from that gracious presence. Even as she stood bending
low before the queen, she said to herself that she should be a favorite
at court, if looks promised anything.
The Duchess of Downsbury was well pleased with her young _protegee_.
"My dear," she, said to her, when the ordeal was over, "whatever else
you may lack, you certainly have plenty of nerve."
Lady Doris raised her eyes unflinchingly to her grace's face.
"Different people," she said, "give other names to the quality I
possess. Your grace calls it nerve--the Studleighs call it courage."
"Well," said the duchess, grimly, "I will call it courage, then; you
have plenty of it, Lady Doris."
"I have no doubt," was the smiling reply, "that as I go through the
world I shall need it all."
The duchess knew that in a passage at arms, even she, well versed as she
was, had no chance with Lady Doris. In one way she was pleased at her
granddaughter's success, although she disliked so much calm
self-possession in one so young.
But the earl saw no drawback, he admitted none. Every one was enraptured
with Lady Doris, every one praised her, spoke of her wonderful beauty,
and complimented him on having so peerless a daughter. His heart beat
high with pride, yet never once did he wish her engagement with Earle
Moray broken. He saw Lady Estelle alone a few minutes before dinner, and
then he wondered at the paleness of her face, the depression of her
spirits.
"Estelle," he said, gently, "what is the matter?"
It seemed as though the question broke through the flood-gates of her
sorrow. She raised her eyes to his--they were streaming with tears.
"I am ungrateful, Ulric," she said. "I am wicked and discontented. I see
my darling so beautiful, yet I cannot go to her and clasp her in my
arms. I cannot say, 'Child, how I rejoice in you, for you are my own.'"
"No, you cannot say that; but you may love her and be as kind to her as
you will."
The countess shook her head sadly.
"You do not understand," she said. "Doris is not affectionate by nature,
and I can see that my love annoys and teases her. I do not repine, for
you love me, Ulric, do you not?"
Love her? Yes, assuredly he did; how could he help it? Yet, all the
same, he did wish that Lady Doris would show greater affection for her
unknown mother.