THE BIRTHDAY ENTERTAINMENT.
During the night, when poor Aunt Vina was bemoaning her loss, very
different scenes were being enacted at the residence of the St. Clair's,
in which Mrs. Belmont was happily participating. It was the birthday of
Ellen St. Clair, the youngest and pet of the family, who had but a few
weeks previously returned from New York, where she had been for three
years at school; and this, her twentieth birthday, was to be the
occasion of unlimited enjoyment. The grounds as well as the mansion were
brilliantly illuminated, and the spacious apartments crowded with wealth
and beauty. Nothing was left undone that could add grandeur to the fete
or pleasure to the loved one for whom all this magnificence and display
were brought out.
Mrs. Belmont was a very particular friend and distant relative of the
family, and therefore had gone over at an early hour that her
suggestions and experiences might not be wanting. She was immediately
shown to the private dressing-room of Mrs. St. Clair, who was patiently
suffering under the skillful hands of her French dressing-maid.
"I am exceedingly glad that you came so early. Pauline, ring the bell
for a servant. You see the house is to be crowded before dinner with
friends and relatives from New Orleans and Atlanta, and it is as much as
I can endure to be dressed three times in one day. O you need not laugh
at my indolence, as you usually do."
No one laughed, however, but the lady herself.
"Why, Pauline, you make me look like a fright," she exclaimed, catching
a glimpse of herself in the mirror before which she was sitting. "Can
you not bring those puffs back a little?"
"_C'est a la mode, chere Madame_," replied the maid, smiling.
"You mean to say by that, I suppose, that it is the latest style, and I
must submit."
"_Oui, madame_."
"Very well, proceed then with the inevitable," and settling herself down
quietly she went on chatting with her visitor.
Mrs. Mason, a widowed daughter, who had returned the year before to her
childhood's home with her three little children, came in for a moment,
then retreated as silently as she entered.
"Poor Bertha," exclaimed Mrs. Belmont, with much feeling, "what a look
of suffering she wears upon her face. She seems to bemoan her loss now
as deeply as when first bereaved. How I pity her!"
"Yes, the dear child, she misses her husband much; but I tell her it is
far better to rejoice over the living than to mourn over the dead. Every
widowed mother has not three such beautiful and interesting children as
she. This, in time will, I have no doubt, take away the acuteness of her
sorrow, but we must wait for the work to be accomplished."
"Yes."
Was Mrs. Belmont thinking of the time when, years ago, beautiful
children nestled into the inner chamber of _her_ soul, which had been
desolated by the hand of death? Or did her memory go no farther back
than the last parting scene with her only daughter? There were many dark
pictures that might have been brought up, but the volubility of Mrs. St.
Clair drove them from her sight. She continued:
"I dare say I shall shock your sensibilities very much, but Ellen has
declared her intention of bringing the governess out to-night as one of
her honored guests." And the lady laughed heartily as she looked into
the face of her visitor.
"But _you_ are not going to permit it, certainly. The affair would be
decidedly absurd. You ought most positively to interfere."
"But you know, my dear, that I was never emphatic about anything. I have
not the needed strength for a battle. And then, on this occasion, I am
left perfectly powerless, as her father declares that for this once she
shall have her own way in everything, just as if she did not always have
it"; added Mrs. St. Clair with much merriment.
"But does she not know that she may offend many of her dear friends by
such folly?" interposed the lady of Rosedale.
"I imagine she cares but little as to that; she is so much like her
father--and mother, too, it may be"; and the thick folds of her rich
brocade rustled with the contagion of her mirth. "The fact is, cousin,
she is such a fine musician that I have no doubt you will be charmed
with her yourself. To be sure she holds a menial position in our home,
but I cannot help admiring and loving her too. There is something so
mild and unassuming about her. I often tell Ellen that I wish she would
imitate her manners."
"No doubt she is well enough in her place; but the drawing-room, which
is to be filled with the elegant and affluent who are to come from
aristocratic homes, bringing with them refinement and culture, must
overshadow her. She ought certainly to have sufficient sense to
understand this, and refuse such publicity. Why not as hostess appeal to
her yourself? If she is as amiable as you have represented, she would
not act in a way contrary to your wishes."
All this was spoken hurriedly and with much feeling.
"I presume she would; but the trouble is that I _have_ no objections.
Under these circumstances you will discover that I would make a poor
deputy to do the business"; and the merry peals startled the demure maid
who was putting the finishing touches to her lady's toilet. Then turning
to the mirror she continued, without giving her visitor time to reply:
"There--how do I look? Not much like Venus, as I can readily perceive.
Is not that trail too long? and these hoops too large? But it will have
to do, I suppose. Now I will go and see what the girls are doing, while
Pauline's skillful fingers put you in order. I had your dressing case
brought here so as to be ready"; and the good lady bustled out of the
room, leaving her cousin in no very amiable mood.
At an early hour the sound of mirth and gayety was heard everywhere in
the elegant home of the St. Clair's. The drawing-rooms were filled with
gay, flitting forms which kept humming and buzzing like a swarm of busy
bees, mingling and changing their bright colors until with kaleidoscopic
distinctness the last brooch was fastened and each delicate toilet had
received its finishing touch from skillful hands, and on the broad
stairway the tripping of feet and the rustling of silks mingled with
joyous laughter as the chorus of many voices were heard coming up from
the hall below. It was a brilliant sight! So many happy faces gleaming
with the excitement of the hour as they gathered together in little
circling eddies in the drawing-rooms, radiant with gems which flashed
and sparkled in the full glare of the overhanging gas-lights that glowed
in subdued brilliancy upon them.
"How very strange!" was heard from many a rosy lip that night as
familiar friends met in sly nooks where confidential words could be
interchanged. It was true that Ellen St. Clair had never appeared at
such an entertainment so plainly dressed; what could it mean? A rumor
had been floating about purporting to have originated with her sister
Bertha "that it was to please some one," but who was the honored one?
Then there came the response. "A governess who had declared her dislike
to appear in so large a company because of her unfitting toilet!" But
why this should so strangely influence the "pretty heiress" was still a
mystery. "And where was the governess?" No one was more eager to be
satisfied on this point than was Mrs. Belmont; and no one was more
anxious to hide that desire which so fretted her.
"I never saw Miss Ellen look prettier or fresher than she does
to-night," remarked a gentleman to the captivating young Mrs. Mason.
"That spotless dress of white becomes her airy figure and combines with
her purity of look and manner. Her appearance is truly ethereal--and
that one diamond star at the throat reminds me of something in the good
book my mother used to read! In fact I like it." A toss of the regal
head beside him was the only answer. "I am sorry, however, that her
motive for throwing aside her little feminine adornings is so much
beneath her," continued the young man with some volubility. "But where
is the governess? I beg pardon!" and the head of the speaker bowed low
with mock seriousness.
"I do not know, sir; I have not troubled myself about her!" was the
haughty reply. "Exquisite! Pray tell me who is that at the piano? A
wonderful voice! So sweet and flexible!" exclaimed a lady near where the
two were standing. "Listen! I wish I could get a peep at her!"
"I do not know," interrupted Mrs. Belmont who had been addressed. "I
will inquire," and she pressed her way through the crowd and was lost
from sight by the enraptured listeners. The melodious voice soared aloft
in little rippling eddies to die away in the distance, then fell like
liquid drops of silvery cadence upon the ear, while it hushed into
silence the sound of mingling voices until the spacious apartments were
filled with naught but the wonderful music of the unknown singer. Mrs.
Belmont had made her way to a group of grave gentlemen and ladies in the
parlor opposite, where they had been discussing the great topic of the
day.
"I cannot see well," replied Mrs. St. Clair with a merry twinkle in
her gray eyes as she returned to the sofa she had just left to look
about her for a moment. "But it is some one Professor Edwards seems
to honor, for he is beside her turning the music. Ah, there is
'Cathesdra'--listen," and the same voice came floating and circling
about their heads in the very ecstacy of delight.
"You never heard that _sung_ before"; interposed Mr. St. Clair
laughingly. "I mean as now!"
"You know who it is, cousin; tell us, will you?" But Mr. St. Clair was
wholly intent upon the music and only shook his finger menacingly at
Mrs. Belmont for interrupting it.
"There! That is over! Now who says he _ever_ heard anything better than
that?" and the kind-hearted old gentleman gazed appealingly about him.
"Let me see, cousin. What was it you were saying about the 'uncultured
females' of the north? Well, I remember but will not repeat, so you may
save your blushes," and his plump hand came down with emphasis upon his
well-developed knee. "Yes--they do soil their fingers with toil it is a
fact. Ellen has often spoken of her visit to the home of a schoolmate
who lives on the banks of the old historic Hudson, and she declares that
the home into which she was ushered on her arrival was superior to
almost anything she had seen in our sunny clime; but the mistress many
times during her stay of two weeks actually made tea with her own hands
and served it at her own table! And what was even worse, there was not a
day that she did not visit her kitchen--order her own dinner--and, it
may be, stuffed her own turkeys--made her own jellies, puddings, etc.! I
should not be at all surprised!" Here the speaker burst forth into a
merry peal of laughter, which did not seem at all contagious as no one
but the wife joined in his glee. "Ah, there is the singer. I know her by
the blue silk," interposed one of the ladies who had striven to get a
look at her while she was at the piano. "Prof. Edwards seems to
monopolize her entirely." "She is _very_ pretty," remarked another. "All
but those blue eyes," chimed in Mr. St. Clair; "those tell the tale of
frosts and snows--do you not think so, cousin?"
"You annoy me, somehow," said Mrs. Belmont with much feeling; "perhaps
it is because I do not understand you. I would like to cover your lack
of gallantry with a soft cloak of charity you see."
"It is the war, madam, that had fired his bitter animosities," suggested
a gallant knight near by.
"Have I indeed then been so boorish? I beg your pardon," and he bowed
obsequiously. "Now for plain dealing, as I feel you will like that
better! The young lady to whom we have been so rapturously listening,
and who has drawn such a large circle about her yonder," pointing with
his finger towards where she was sitting, "including your honored son, I
perceive, is Miss Anna Pierson--our governess. Look at her now! Her face
is like her music, all soul, all feeling. Now clear and smooth with the
most exquisite pathos, yet never blank or uninteresting; now brilliant
and sparkling, rippling all over with enthusiasm; a face one never tires
of watching through all its changes; never growing weary no matter how
often the repetition comes."
Immediately after supper Mrs. Belmont ordered her carriage. She was
anxious to return and bury her chagrin in the privacy of her own
chamber. Why was she so wretched? She asked herself over and over again,
yet received no definite answer. It might be that a gentleman with whom
she had been talking assured her that the war so much commented upon
could not, or would not be averted. "Even now," he added, "extensive
preparations are going on in Charleston for its early commencement." But
certainly this could not be the cause of her disquietude, as she scanned
over the immensity of southern political power. After all that has been
done the fight must be short and the victory speedy and glorious. The
pall lifted slowly from about her heart, and before she reached her own
door she stigmatized herself as a coward for retiring so soon from the
gay scene, appearing, as she imagined, like retreating before a phantom
foe. In her own room, however, the fire broke out anew. There was
something in the tones of her cousin's voice that angered her. "What
right had he to allude to my words, spoken in private, and display my
peculiar views, as he called them, before such a company? But above all,
what could have induced Charles to hand that detestable governess to the
table and leave Ellen St. Clair to another?" Nothing had gone right, and
the indignant woman paced the floor goaded by her agitating thoughts
until the footsteps of her offending son were heard entering his room.
How true it is that when the heart opens its "guest chamber" to evil
spirits and gives them welcome, it will wake ere long to find its most
sacred place invaded, and its halls of innocence desecrated by the
madness of associated passions that come to take up their abode in it!
Poor heart! What a struggle for purity must follow with opposing foes
before it ever again becomes a fit temple for the high dignitaries of a
God-like nature to enter and dwell in! Better far to bar the door at
their first approach and set its seal of truth and nobleness upon it
which, like the "blood of sprinkling," turns away the footsteps of Death
with his destructive power. Alas, with Mrs. Belmont it was too late. She
had not counted the cost of her misdeeds from the beginning, and now
found herself in a labyrinth of difficulties that were thickening about
her, and out of which she could see no way of escape.
She was angry, too, for Bertha had said that Ellen was indignant that
her name should have been coupled in an outside gossip with that of her
son, and had improved every opportunity to contradict the rumor. Here
was another disappointment to be thrown into her cherished plans; and
the very depths of her soul seemed embittered.
Chafing under the accumulating power of her goading thoughts, she walked
her room with rapid steps, while her angry soul went down among the
roaring billows.
[Illustration]