I don’t know why it is that the girls always read those “Personals” in
the paper. But I know they do.
The very minute Mr. W---- entered his father’s, where he lived with his
parents and sisters, his tallest and prettiest sister, Flotie, came
running to him with the paper in her hand.
“Brother Edward,” said she, “don’t you remember the initials on that
portfolio of drawings you had the other night--I mean the drawings made
by that pretty bindery girl of yours.”
“Why, what of it?” he asked, with well-assumed carelessness.
“Why, they’re here in this paper. Read this personal: ‘G. E. L.--If you
yet live come to your mother quickly--she is dying.’ That must mean
your bindery girl. Anna saw it first and brought it to me, and we had a
great mind to send it down to you, marked, at the bindery.”
“That would have been folly. There may be a thousand people in the
world with those very initials. And, moreover, the initials of the girl
alluded to are H. B. Her name is Hattie Butler.”
“That may be an assumed name. The initials on her portfolio were
G. E. L., for we all saw it and spoke of it at the time you had it
here.”
“Very likely. Is dinner ready? I’m hungry as an owl. And I’ve got to go
out to make a call this evening.”
“What, in the fearful storm that is just beginning to rage?”
“Yes. I do not like the storm--it must be terrible on the water--but I
promised to make a call at Mr. Legare’s, and I never break a promise.”
“At Mr. Legare’s on Fifth avenue? He who has a son in your club, and a
pretty blonde for a daughter?”
“Yes, Flotie.”
“Well, I wouldn’t keep you from going there, storm or no storm. You
can go in the carriage. I’d just go wild to have that girl for my
sister-in-law. The Legares stand at the very head of New York society.
But there’s the dinner-bell.”
“Mercy! how the wind blows. This storm has come up very quickly--a
regular north-easter,” said the brother, with a shiver, and there was a
very anxious look on his face as he went to the dining-room.
His people always dined late, that they might have his company after
the day’s business was over.
At the table Edward W---- ate very little. His soup was barely tasted,
the fish passed entirely, the “old roast beef” always on that table
just apologized to, and he would not wait for dessert at all.
“Why, brother, you said you were so hungry when you came in,” said
Flotie, opening her great black eyes in wonder at his abstinence. “Has
the thought of that little blonde divinity driven away all appetite?”
“What blonde divinity?” asked Anna, yet ignorant of his destination
that evening.
“Why, that pretty Miss Legare whom we saw at the opera the other
night. Her father is worth millions on millions, and they descended
from a noble French family, I know, just by their looks and the name,”
answered Flotie.
“Oh!”
And that was all Anna said just then.
But she kept on thinking, and when her brother kissed her and Flotie
good-night, as he invariably did on going out, she said:
“If you bring a nice, aristocratic sister-in-law to our house, Edward,
I’ll love you better than ever, if such a thing can be.”
His answer was a sigh, for he was thinking of one who even then was
tossing on the angry waves of Long Island Sound.
And putting on his overcoat, with an umbrella to shelter him over the
walk, he stepped into his own carriage, which he had ordered out, and
gave the driver the number and avenue on which Mr. Legare resided.
He found all the family at home, and met the new cousin, whom he had
never seen before. He was warmly welcomed, and as Mr. Legare insisted
on his passing the evening there, he permitted him to have his carriage
and horses sent around to the capacious stables in the rear of the
mansion.
When he told them that he had been sent by Miss Hattie Butler to
tell them she had been called away suddenly by the illness of a near
relative, and that even then she was on her way to Boston by the night
boat, every one of the family joined him in his expressed anxiety about
the storm--a wild, sleety north-easter, which could be heard in its
fury even inside the marble walls of the grand mansion.
“Alone, without any escort; she’ll be just scared to death,” said
Frank. “I wish I was there.”
“You’d be worse frightened than she’ll be,” said Lizzie. “She is
brave--very brave, I know.”
“Pooh--she is only a woman, and all women are cowards when danger is
around,” said Frank, in his important way.
“Allow me to differ with you, Mr. Legare,” said Mr. W----, promptly.
“I believe that the female sex, as a generality, have far more moral
courage than men. And what is physical courage but that of the brute?
Nine times out of ten those who possess it hold it more on their
ignorance of danger than anything else.”
“There, Mr. Frank Legare, you’re answered, and I hope you’ve got enough
of it. Women cowards, indeed! That shows what you know about them.”
“Oh, I might know that you’d side with him,” said Frank, petulantly.
“But that don’t change my opinion a bit, Miss Lizzie.”
“Frank! Frank! I really thought you were more gallant!” said his
father, laughing at the evident discomfiture of his son.
“I might as well give it up since you’re all against me,” said Frank,
in a sulk.
“Oh, I’m not against you, Cousin Frank,” cried Little Jessie, running
up to him, “for I was the biggest coward in the world to let that vile
wretch, Miss Scrimp, beat me, as she often did, when I might have
turned on her and scratched her very eyes out.”
Frank laughed now. He had one on his side, any way, and that put him in
good humor again.
All this time Mrs. Emory had been sitting sad and silent, listening to
the storm which raged without. For well built though the house was, the
fury of the gale dashing against the heavy plate-glass of the windows
gave a sign of what it must be out on the unsheltered sea.
“Heaven be merciful!” she said, solemnly. “Heaven be merciful to those
who are exposed on this fearful night on the raging deep. God help
those who now are battling with the storm.”
“Amen,” broke from every lip. Even Frank looked sad, and he was silent
now.