CAUGHT.
There’s danger in that dazzling eye,
That woos thee with its witching smile;
Another when thou art not by,
Those beaming looks would fain beguile.—FRANCES OSGOOD.
This was the short session of Congress, which would close on the fourth
of March. The fashionable season, therefore, was nearly over, and it was
ending in true carnival style.
There were morning concerts, theatricals, receptions, etc., all day; and
there were evening concerts, theatricals, receptions, dinners, balls and
parties all night. And “everybody who was anybody” was expected to
“show” at all.
The belle of the season went everywhere; and often appeared at half a
dozen different scenes of festivity or revelry in one night.
Her constant escort, Alexander Lyon, had no sinecure. He went with her
everywhere; partly because his uncle willed that he should go with her,
and he could not well refuse without explaining his reasons for doing
so, and he could not explain, without acknowledging his secret marriage
with Drusilla; partly because he imagined himself in love with his
brilliant cousin; but mostly because he determined that Richard Hammond
should not supplant him in his office of escort.
For two days during which he had not appeared at his home, he had been
on a “perpetual” round of pleasure with Anna. The first day he attended
her to a breakfast given at the Executive Mansion; to a _matinèe
musicale_ at the French minister’s; to an afternoon debate in the Senate
Chamber; to a dinner party at General Stott’s; and to the theatre to see
a celebrated comedienne; and, lastly, to a supper at General Lyon’s
room; all this in one day and evening; so, of course, he could not get
home that night. The next day he went with her, first to a wedding at
St. John’s church, and to the wedding-breakfast at the house of the
bride’s mother; then to hear part of a very interesting case at the
Supreme Court; next to the reception of a cabinet minister; then to an
exhibition of paintings; from that to a dinner party at the Brazilian
minister’s; and, finally, to the very grandest hall of the carnival,
given by the wife of a millionaire, who had taken a furnished house for
the season, and reserved herself for this final magnificent affair.
It was considered a great distinction to get an invitation to this ball.
Only the “elite” were invited, and all the “elite” were there.
Anna, restricted by her mourning to a certain style of dress was still,
as always, the most beautiful and the most admired woman of the
assembly. And Alexander was proud of her as his reputed betrothed.
In all the success of the season Anna had never had such a dazzling
triumph as upon this evening. She seemed to turn all heads with her
bewitching beauty, until at length her own brain seem dizzied with her
conquests. She grew capricious and exasperating. Alexander hovered
around her; and he would not have left her for a moment that evening if
she had not, with a furtive and angry flash of her blazing blue eyes,
peremptorily ordered him to leave her. And to complete his mortification
and despair, she beckoned Richard Hammond to come to her, and she
retained him in her suite for the rest of the evening.
Alexander was half maddened by this conduct of his cousin. His blood
boiled when he saw her smiling upon his rival; and when he saw that
rival basking in those smiles; and he would have liked to have throttled
Richard then and there; but he knew that it would never do to make a
scene in that place; so he stood scowling and muttering curses, and
planning vengeance.
General Lyon, who for once had been tempted to come out in the evening
for the sake of being present at this great ball, and meeting many of
his old friends whom he knew would be there, saw the provoking behavior
of the young pair and resolved that as soon as he should have them at
home he would favor the coquette and the rival with a good sound
reprimanding lecture. But the festivities were kept up all night; and so
the old soldier, who broke down at about one o’clock, was forced to
retire and leave the beauty and her rival lovers to their own devices.
Not, however, without whispering to each of the delinquents in turn:
“I shall want to see you at my rooms to-morrow at twelve noon.”
It was broad daylight when the ball broke up.
Anna was at length under the necessity of giving Richard his congee, and
resigning herself to the charge of Alexander, who, having escorted her
to the ball, was of course obliged to take her home.
On reaching her lodgings, Anna went to bed to sleep off her fatigue. And
Alexander, who had hardly spoken during the drive home, hurried off to
his rooms at the Blank House, to procure what rest he could before the
hour at which he was to wait upon his uncle.
At twelve o’clock precisely, the old soldier, having breakfasted, was
seated in his private parlor waiting for his fractious young people.
Anna was the first to come in. And her grandfather was just clearing his
throat to begin upon her when the door was opened and Mr. Richard
Hammond was announced.
“Ah! very well, it is just as easy to speak to you both at the same
time,” said the old gentleman, turning around in his chair and facing
the culprits.
And very imposing looked the veteran as he sat there with his majestic
person, grave countenance and silver hair and beard.
And the young cousins were certainly awed by the dignity of his aspect
as well as abashed by a sense of their own follies.
“Come and stand before me, sir and madam.” (This gentleman of the old
school, always on ceremonious occasions, addressed ladies, whether
married or single, by the title of “madam,” which in its true meaning is
simply _ma dame_, or my lady, and applies with equal propriety to maids
or matrons.)
“Sir and madam, come and stand before me,” he said.
And the young people, with the reverence they had been educated to show
to age, approached and stood before the old man.
Their ready obedience mollified him to a certain extent; for when he
spoke again it was in a milder manner.
“My daughter and my nephew,” he said, “your conduct lately, and
especially your deportment last evening, has shamed and grieved me. It
might be said of our ancient house, as it has been said of another noble
line, that all the men were brave and all the women pure. Let me not see
in you two the first exceptions to that proud rule.”
The cheeks of the young lady and the brow of the young gentleman flushed
crimson with mortification; but neither spoke, and the old gentleman
continued:
“No brave man ever tries to supplant an accepted suitor. And no pure
woman ever encourages the rival of her betrothed.”
The flush deepened on the cheeks of Anna and on the brow of Richard, and
both cast down their eyes, but neither opened their lips.
“And,” proceeded the veteran hero, “I should blush for the daughter of
my house who should prove a coquette, as I should blush for the son who
should prove a coward. My children, I hope I have said enough. Be brave
as all the men of our line, and pure as all its women.”
“Richard,” said Anna, with eyes flashing through their tears, “Cousin
Richard, you must bid me farewell here, now, and forever.”
He took the hand she extended to him, and holding it within his own,
turned to his uncle and said:
“Sir, you _have_ said enough, and so has my cousin. What it costs me to
leave her, only heaven knows. But you have made an appeal that cannot be
resisted, and I bow before it. Farewell, sir! And Anna, my cousin,
good-bye! Good-bye! God bless you.”
And after wringing Anna’s hand, he dropped it, bowed to his uncle, and
hastened away to conceal the tears that rushed to his eyes.
Anna threw herself down upon the sofa, buried her head in its pillows,
and sobbed convulsively.
The old man, with his hands clasped behind his back, and his
silver-haired head bowed upon his bosom, walked slowly up and down the
floor. At length, he came to his sobbing daughter, and laying his hand
tenderly upon her head, said:
“I am sorry, Anna. I am sorry, my child. I would I could bear all pain
in your stead. But, Anna, I cannot bear this pang for you. And you know
that faith must be kept, though hearts be grieved—aye, or——”
Before he could finish his sentence, the door was opened, and Mr. Lyon
was announced.
On seeing Alexander enter, Anna started up from the sofa, and hurried
from the room.
“Good morning, sir. I hope I have not disturbed my cousin?” said Mr.
Lyon, bowing, and shaking hands with his uncle.
“Sit down, Alick,” said the old man, without replying to his
observation. “I wish to speak to you.”
Alexander seated himself, and looked attentive.
“Alick, I saw how much annoyed you were last night by Richard’s marked
attentions to Anna, and her seeming encouragement of them.”
“‘Seeming,’ sir! It was more than seeming; and much more than mere
‘encouragement.’ Sir, she solicited those attentions,” said Alexander,
with scarcely suppressed indignation, and entirely forgetting that _he_
certainly had no right to object to all this.
“Tut, tut, tut, tut, boy, that is very strong language. However, I can
overlook it, as the provocation was very great. But, Alick, it was only
the mischievous spirit of a spoiled beauty on her part, and the vanity
of a coxcomb on his. I have had them both up before me this morning, and
spoken some words to them that they will not readily forget. Anna has
dismissed Richard once for all. And he has bid us good-bye, and is gone
for good.”
Alexander looked up in surprise and pleasure.
“Yes, it is so,” said the general.
“Excuse me, sir, was that the reason why my cousin was so very much
overcome, and ran from the room as soon as I came in?” questioned
Alexander, his jealous doubts again awakening.
“Um-m, well, you see I had said some pretty severe words to her and made
her cry. But it is well she is gone, as I have something to say to you
in private.”
“Yes sir?” said Alexander, hesitatingly and with a guilty twinge, for
his conscience immediately awakened his fears. What was it his uncle
wanted to say to him? Had the old man got an inkling of the cottage at
Cedarwood and its inmates? Scarcely likely he thought, but still he felt
uneasy until the general said:
“Alexander my boy, it is now nearly five months since the lamented death
of your dear mother, my esteemed sister-in-law. And I do not for my
part, see why your marriage with Anna should be longer deferred. Long
engagements are very injudicious indeed; and your engagement has been an
exceedingly prolonged one. And I think now that it should terminate in
marriage. Come, what do you say?”
Alexander turned hot and cold; attempted to speak and failed.
The old gentleman ascribed all his emotion to excess of love, surprise
and joy.
“Yes, my boy, I really mean it,” he said, smiling. “To defer the affair
longer would not be so much of a respectful tribute to the memory of
your dear mother, as a superstitious observance. Come! find your tongue,
man! find your tongue!”
“The question must be referred to my beautiful betrothed sir. It will be
for her to decide it,” said Alexander.
“Oh, aye, certainly, to be sure; it will be for her to decide it; but it
will be for _you_ to induce her to decide it in your favor, my lad,”
chuckled the old gentleman. “And as you are to take her to see Saviola’s
new picture to-day, you will have a fine opportunity of doing so,” he
added.
At that moment the door was again opened, and Commodore Staughton was
announced.
And as the old naval hero entered the room, Alexander arose and bowed
and made his escape.
But Mr. Lyon did not attend his cousin to the picture gallery that
afternoon. Anna pleaded excessive fatigue, and with good reason, and
kept her room until evening, when she went, attended by Alexander, to a
reception at the Executive Mansion, that was the last and greatest of
the season.