Alice Merivale had "come out" with the greatest eclat into our social
circles. With wealth and beauty, grace and a certain number of showy
accomplishments, she had made conquests without the slightest effort
on her part. She was a finished musician, and had a sweet, thrilling
voice. She talked pleasant nonsense, danced beautifully, flirted very
artfully, and altogether seemed the living embodiment of every
attribute which is calculated to endear a human creature to its
fellow-men. She even gave a peculiar tone to the circle she moved in,
and it was quite a forcible guarantee that a gathering was select and
most exclusive if Alice Merivale was present.
When I returned the second time from school to prepare myself for a
public life Alice Merivale was the first to call upon me. She came in
quite unceremoniously one morning, looking very beautiful in a
sealskin mantle and hat, and declared in the prettiest manner possible
that we must be great friends; we lived so near and had known each
other for such a long time that there should not be anything like
ceremony between us.
"I shall almost need you now that Aunt Ada is married and Edith has
gone to Germany" she argued in pretty plaintiveness.
I liked this, though indeed, at the time it surprised me more than a
little. I had expected to find her developed into a feather-brained,
affected young lady who was shortsighted in a great many ways. I had
never been able to dissociate the early impression she made on me from
her later redeeming phases. Poor Florrie Grant vanishing out of the
doorway under Miss Merivale's sublime contempt came back to my memory
time and again, and I made up my mind that Alice Merivale and I could
never claim to be kindred souls.
But when I saw her after the lapse of some years and observed the
perfection of her physical loveliness I could no longer harden my
heart against her. It has always been a weakness of mine to slavishly
admire feminine beauty. There is a witchery about graceful curves, and
heavy eyelids, drooping lashes and dimpled chins that stronger souls
than mine cannot resist; and when the haughty little Alice of my
girlhood stood before me in all the glory of her fresh and beautiful
womanhood I forgave her all the past.
I hardly knew what she talked about, so rapturously did I gaze, now
upon her delicate pink ear, now upon the melting curves that brought
her white chin into provoking notice, then her roguish, winning,
violet eyes with their long dark lashes and languid brows. There was
everything to love in her so far as the eye could see, from the waving
profusion of golden hair to the toe of her dainty slipper.
I had met her at all the entertainments of the season. I had watched
her pretty manoeuvres and followed her flirtations with a quiet
amusement. Her admirers were numberless and pursued her with the most
emphatic devotedness. She was an item in the individual lives of young
people of both sexes, exciting in some hearts the bitterest envy and
jealousy, and kindling the name of an all-consuming love in many
others. She had earned the palm of triumph and victory all through the
gay season, and now that the end was near she decided to gather all
those who had witnessed her conquests abroad, within her own home and
there make her retiring courtesy under peculiarly advantageous
circumstances. She was to leave in a fortnight after for an extended
tour through Europe.
It was the fifteenth of March and the Merivales' "Musical" was to
commence at eight o'clock. The wind blew fiercely through the stiff,
naked boughs of the giant maples, and drifted the light powdery snow
madly on before it. I had been in-doors all day listening to the weird
wailing of the ceaseless wind as it whistled down the chimneys and
swept past the house corners. I had written and read and stitched
until my eyes were wearied and my fingers numb, and it was only four
o'clock, that turning-point on a March day from the sunshine to the
gloaming when we women know not what to do with ourselves; when it is
too cold to go out or expect visitors, too late in the day to begin
any occupation, too dark to read with any comfort, and too early to
light the lamps. I went to the window and looked impatiently into the
street but there was no comfort to be had there; a milkman's wagon
stood over the way, his horse pawing the frozen ground while he filled
his measure with the cold white liquid. A band of little children ran
screaming by with a large dog drawing a sleigh; a beggar woman clad in
flimsy rags was mounting the steps of a neighboring house, and that
was all. I shrugged my shoulders and turned away with a smothered
yawn. The piano stood open before me, I threw myself carelessly on the
stool and thrummed languidly on the key-board for a moment or so, but
I was not in the humor to play, and with another yawn I arose, crossed
the hall and passed into my father's library.
He was usually there at this hour, but early that afternoon he had
gone into the country to see a patient, and as he would not be back
until after dinner, I appropriated his sanctum in his stead. A fire
burned in the grate, not a roaring blazing fire, but a pile of
steadily glowing coals, intensely red and hot, that kept the room
comfortable, but threw no shadow on the tinted walls.
I wheeled the light lounge that stood opposite the door towards the
fire, and sank gratefully into it to have a little "think" about the
past, all to myself. I began to distinguish the spires of Notre Dame
Abbey rising clearly out of the glowing embers. Faces that I loved
peeped through its latticed windows, smilingly, and voices that were
like the breath of summer in my ear called to me from its hallowed
portals. I was back among the scenes of my early happiness, the winter
day was flooded with summer warmth and sunshine; the birds twittered
in the fresh green foliage, and the stream murmured placidly on at the
foot of the convent garden. My languor and weariness were gone; I was
cheerful and glad again, as I had been in my careless girlhood. How
long it lasted according to time reckoned by minutes and hours, I knew
not. In my dream many days came and went with new and repeated
delights. All I know is, that when I awoke the room was shrouded in
darkness and the fire had grown cheerless and dull I started up, for
the change was a shock to me. I did not know I had fallen asleep, and
it must have been a full hour or more since I came into the library.
More than that, I felt a sharp sensation for which I could not
thoroughly account. For a moment I suspected that some one must be in
the room, then again, the unbroken stillness re-assured me that this
was mere fancy. I felt an abiding presence which seemed to hover right
around me. I raised myself on one elbow and asked in an audible
whisper:
"Is anyone here?"
A coal gave way in the fire-place and the embers loosened and fell. I
started involuntarily, but there was no answer to my question. I
rubbed my eyes briskly and stood up. As I did so, something fell upon
the floor with a clinking noise. I put my hand up instinctively to my
ears. One ruby ear-ring was missing. I groped my way to the
mantel-piece and struck a light. Stepping carefully back towards the
lounge, with my eyes buried in the carpet, I spied a glittering object
at a little distance from where I had been standing. I stooped and
picked it up. To my great surprise it was not my ruby ear-ring. It was
a small oval locket suspended from a few links of a heavy gold chain,
one of the uppermost links was crooked and broken.
I turned it over and over between my fingers, holding the candle so
that the light fell full upon it. It was not my father's; of that I
was fully certain. It had a strange, unfamiliar look about it such as
other people's small wares always have for us, and yet, the more I
examined it, the more I began to think I had seen it somewhere before.
I was mystified. As I turned my head I descried my missing ear-ring
lying in the threads of a crocheted tidy that had lain under my head.
Setting down the candle, I extricated it and restored it to my ear. I
then blew out the light and went quietly up to my own room.
I had just closed the door and secured myself against possible
intrusion when the sound of the dinner-bell broke upon my ear. I
immediately rose, and storing my newly found treasure hurriedly away,
I went down to the dining-room.
My step-mother was already there, chatting with Mrs. Hunter, who had
come in to spend a quiet hour of the afternoon, and accepted an
informal invitation to dinner.
My father had not yet returned, and as Freddie was still at college,
we were quite a cosy little dinner party in ourselves.
I apologized for my delay, accusing myself of having fallen asleep,
and with a smiling enquiry about the general health of the Hunter
family I took my seat and began to unfold my table-napkin.
"Then you did not see what came for you this afternoon, if you've been
dozing," my step-mother said pouring a ladle of soup into Mrs.
Hunter's plate.
I looked eagerly towards her and exclaimed with a smile of surprise:
"No! Did anything come?"
My step-mother glanced significantly at Mrs. Hunter, but that lady was
either very hungry or saw no fun in the allusion, for she went on
quietly tasting her soup without looking up.
This piqued my step-mother a little, I fancy, for she said with
unusual emphasis and insinuation.
"Oh, you won't be at all surprised, Amelia, it is only what you might
expect now, some more of Dr. Campbell's kind attentions, that's all."
"What is it?" I put in with an uncontrollable relish and curiosity.
"_This_ time," said my step-mother, "it is a box of the loveliest
flowers, for to-night of course."
"Dr. Campbell is very thoughtful," Mrs. Hunter here ventured to
assert, "he often sends Laura books and flowers and such pretty songs;
he is a great favorite," she added, half satisfied no doubt that she
had knocked all the sentiment out of this offering to me. But my
step-mother was not to be baffled even if she had to show me to the
highest advantage.
"Oh!" she answered, with an effort at indifference, "he knows how to
be a favorite. In his profession, especially, it is far better to
court popularity in this way. I would say he studied his own interest
in Amey's case too," she continued, spitefully, "only that he knows,
since Freddie went away, we never have any strange doctors for the
household. What do you say, Amey?" she asked in a teasing tone,
changing the nature of the subject.
"I am sure I cannot presume to interpret Dr. Campbell's motives," I
answered quietly, "but there is no reason why his gift should not be
one of friendship," I added, with conscious dignity.
Mrs. Hunter's "Of course not" put an end to this sensitive topic. It
was dangerous ground and could lead to mischief. So we all thought, I
fancy, for by tacit consent it was dropped for the rest of the meal.
After dinner we had a tame little chat in the drawing-room over our
cups of tea, and then Mrs. Hunter left, for she too had to dress for
the "Musical," and there was now not much time to spare.
Arthur Campbell's flowers were truly lovely. When I went up to my room
I saw them laid out before me, and, I must confess, I felt a little
flattered at this mark of preference from one who was so highly
esteemed by all who knew him. I raised them tenderly and examined them
one by one. They were rich and delicate and sweet smelling.
There was a little card among them with the words "Will Miss Hampden
favor the giver by wearing these flowers this evening?" neatly written
upon it; below them the clear signature "V. Arthur Campbell," was
inscribed in the same loose but neat characters.
I could not help smiling while I dressed. Maybe I was a little
conceited, but no one saw me.
The circumstances of our introduction and acquaintanceship,
altogether, were so very peculiar that I could not dwell upon them
with a sober face. Besides, Arthur Campbell was a lion in society, a
success in his profession and the desired of many calculating mothers.
What would these people say if I quietly stepped inside them in Arthur
Campbell's favor?
I took up his flowers and began to choose those I should wear. After
all, I thought, it was not always wealth and beauty that accomplished
the greatest things. I might surprise our little world yet, though my
face had no extraordinary beauty, nor my form any marvellous
grace--with which hypothesis I laid a rich spray upon my breast and,
finding it becoming, fastened it there.
Ah me! how vain and foolish our weak humanity can be at times! Some
little unexpected circumstance gives us a key-note, and we sustain it
through a heart-stirring melody that will never charm our ear save in
this misty reverie. We girls of one-and-twenty summers are so easily
borne along by every passing breath of unstable experience; so easily
stimulated by rivalry that begins in little things but may yet creep
into the great crises of our lives; so easily stung to impulsive
action by the incisive smile and word of jealousy or pride; so easily
led away by aspects that show us only their bright and cheerful side;
so easily wearied of the happy, careless monotony of our young lives!
And yet, there is an exquisite pleasure for us in the weaving of those
delicate golden webs that are destined to be torn so rudely asunder by
a prosy and matter-of-fact reality.
The thoughts suggested by Arthur Campbell's gracious offering took a
firm and exclusive hold of my mind, from the moment I saw it, until I
sat beside him in the Merivales' vast drawing-room.
He looked handsomer than ever that night, it seemed to me, as he came
smiling towards me and asked leave to take the vacant chair beside me.
Every one was busy talking and laughing, for the music had not yet
begun and we felt quite secure in our remote corner to say and do as
we pleased. It is so often quite easy to be alone in a crowd.
"I need not ask you how you are, Miss Hampden," Arthur Campbell began,
sinking down carelessly into his seat, "your looks are perfect."
"Such unworthy adulation Dr. Campbell!" I exclaimed in mock
indignation, "besides" I said, with some malice "I would like to know
how many times you have paid this compliment before it reached me."
"This is very unfair, Miss Hampden" he retorted with a pleasant smile.
"Upon my honor, I did not--well yes, to be candid, I said something
like it to Miss Merivale, but she is the only one beside yourself."
"I knew it!" I interrupted triumphantly "and I daresay she is the only
lady you have spoken to at all, since you came in, except myself."
He looked at me with his solemn blue eyes for a moment and then said
in a half jesting, half earnest, tone:
"I wish I could make you jealous."
He did not turn away his eyes after this, but let them jest in calm
scrutiny upon my half averted countenance. There was a power in his
words that thrilled me for a second or so. I may have betrayed some
agitation in my answer. I closed my fan and opened it again nervously
before I replied:
"Have you heard that I am easily provoked to jealousy?"
"Not at all," he said in quite a serious voice, "and if I heard it a
thousand times I could not believe it. You are too sure of yourself to
give way to such a sentiment."
"But we cannot rely very much upon ourselves under some
circumstances."
"Very true, and very fortunately, for we resolve to support attitudes
under some circumstances, that are neither true to ourselves, nor fair
to our fellow-creatures. Don't you think so?" he asked, taking my fan
out of my lap and looking intently at it.
"I don't think I understand you very well," I answered timidly.
Just then the sounds of voices were hushed, and the loud strains of
Rossini's _Semiramide_ filled the room. That ended our conversation
for awhile. The music proceeded with little or no intermission, for
upwards of an hour. All the vocal and instrumental talent of the city
was present, and the audience was treated to a rare and most happily
rendered repertoire. Miss Hartmann had just finished an Arietta of
Beethoven's, which was rapturously received, when Alice Merivale stole
up behind me, radiant in pale green mist--as it seemed to me--to ask
how I enjoyed the selections.
I could scarcely think of answering her until my eyes had taken in the
full beauty of her face and form.
"I want you all to be in a very good humour, before I begin" she said
coquettishly, "for I will try your patience very hard, yours
especially, Dr. Campbell," she added, looking at him now for the first
time, "you are such a merciless critic--a perfect epicure in music."
He smiled languidly at her, and swept a glance over her from head to
foot.
"Is it any wonder" he asked lazily; "when you spoil us by feasting us
with the perfection of every sort of loveliness, what else can you
expect?"
She touched him smartly on the nose with a roll of music she held in
her hand--for they were old friends--and flitted away, saying:
"It is a good thing that I have never had any faith in men of your
profession."
He looked after her in undisguised, ardent admiration. I saw it, and
if I remember well, a vague wish was creeping into my heart at the
time, that I had been as lithe and fair a creature as Alice Merivale.
Before I had dwelt much upon it however, silence was again restored
and our charming hostess had appeared before us.
Low and sweet, the first thrilling notes came from her swan-like
throat; then a strain of violin accompaniment and loud chords from the
piano, and she broke forth into a passionate refrain that held her
listeners spell-bound.
I had ceased to look at her, and was busy watching the expression on
Arthur Campbell's face. It was one of profound admiration. His eyes
were riveted upon her with a devouring look, he was lost to every
surrounding, dead to every influence for the time being but the magic
power of this beautiful voice that trembled in the scented air and
died away into a musical whisper.
She bowed and retired as the pent up emotions of her audience had
given way; exclamations of praise and enthusiasm greeted her on every
side.
She deserved all this and more, if it were possible to give it to her.
I had been enraptured myself over her singing, but still I could not
see the necessity or appropriateness of Arthur Campbell's prolonged
ecstacy. I began to think it was affected, and turned away from him to
talk to a little lady with gold-rimmed spectacles who sat quietly on
the other side of me.
When I addressed her she raised her glasses and wiped her eyes with a
dainty lace handkerchief.
"Very beautiful, was it not?" I said, for want of something more
appropriate.
"Ah! mon Dieu! oui!" she exclaimed warmly, and then proceeded to tell
me in very broken English that "Mees Alice" was the pupil of her
deceased sister, who had come from France some years before and had
undertaken the vocal instruction of _haut ton_ young ladies, in order
to save their aged mother from a destitution which threatened her,
owing to some heavy reverses which had befallen them in their native
land.
I was outwardly very sympathetic as she recited these melancholy
details. She did not suspect, poor thing, what an effort I was obliged
to make to keep track of her subject at all, and I was conscious of
having won her kind favor under false pretences. Before she could
pursue her pet topic to any fuller advantage, however, the music began
again and our newly made friendship was effectually nipped in the bud.
During the next selection, which was a lengthy piano solo by the
fashionable Miss Nibbs, I busied myself observing all that transpired
about me. Miss Nibbs herself was worthy of some notice; perched upon
the piano-stool, her flat feet barely reaching the pedals, and her
ill-formed bulky figure swaying now on one side, now on another.
Whatever Miss Nibbs had been in her youth, and to speak truly one
might doubt at this period of her existence if she had ever known a
younger day, she certainly was very much worn and used looking in her
decline. Not even the faded remnants of an earlier grace or gentility
helped to redeem the weak points of nature about her. She was a
stranger to me, and yet I could have declared with the most perfect
sanction of my moral certitude that she was the direct descendant of a
plebeian stock. Not but that she had counterfeited patrician
attributes according to her own interpretation of them as earnestly as
she knew how; but such, empty pretensions as these are too transparent
to the all-discerning eye of true gentility. They can not easily
assume that which they have no right to claim. A haughty, overbearing
demeanor, or a powerful drawl, is no guarantee of good breeding, and
these were poor Miss Nibbs' only titles to it. I will admit that, in
my fretted mood, I saw her at her worst. Not a wrinkle of her
ill-fitting bodice escaped me, not a movement of her ungainly form
passed unnoticed, I was dissecting her to a pitiful disadvantage,
following up each new discovery with a moral of my own when a
half-subdued voice whispered in my ear:
"Spare her, Miss Hampden."
I looked up significantly and met Dr. Campbell's mock-reproachful
glance, resting full upon me.
"Spare whom?" I asked, very innocently.
"Oh! you wicked critic of human frailties," he answered slowly, "whom
do you think?"
I betrayed myself with an ill-suppressed smile which broadened into a
genuine laugh as poor Miss Nibbs retired most awkwardly from her post,
very well satisfied with herself, no doubt.
During the interval that followed, Dr. Campbell amused himself with
the indulgence of a new freak. He leaned his elbow on the back of the
chair in front of us, and turning his face towards me supported his
head in the palm of his hand. There was a new expression on his
countenance which foreboded the tantalising remark that followed:
"Do you know, Miss Hampden," he began, looking at me through his half
closed eye-lids, "you are beginning to puzzle me strangely. Did any
one ever tell you you are an eccentric girl?"
"Oh dear! yes! my step-mother persuaded me to that comfortable
conviction long ago," I answered laughingly.
He followed up this agreeable retort with a most expressive "Ahem!"
and then paused a moment before adding in a very emphatic tone:
"Well, you are a queer girl, you know."
"Because I fall short of your standard, I suppose?" I interrupted,
passing my hand languidly over my brow and eyes.
"Well that is not a bad guess, Miss Hampden, but that is not the only
reason."
The shaft pierced me. Arthur Campbell was not always in a mood to
flatter. I wanted to prove to him that two could play at his little
game and I hardly knew how to match him.
"I suppose I ought to feel quite grieved at this intelligence," I
answered consciously, "but, dear me," with an artificial sigh, "I
cannot bring myself to study people's opinions; that is probably one
feature of my eccentricity?" I added in an interrogative tone, looking
aimlessly at him.
He was silent for a moment during which he looked around the room.
Then he stood up saying:
"Let us go outside, I see the music is over."
I rose and took his proffered arm and we turned towards the door. As
we passed out my eyes fell upon Mr. Dalton's solitary figure standing
by the window opposite. A stern, set expression was upon his
countenance, and his glance was riveted upon us. I inclined my head
with a smile, but he either saw not or purposely took no notice of it,
for he went on staring abstractedly until we vanished into the
adjoining room.
For a second time in our lives Arthur Campbell and I were alone amidst
suggestive surroundings such as met us as we passed under the heavy
curtain that screened the cosiest of _boudoirs_ from the general view.
There is such a special appropriateness about certain circumstances
that one cannot help speculating to some extent upon their probable
and possible issues. It is a known fact that a vast percentage of
society marriages are the outgrowth of these little stolen
_tete-a-tetes_ that are snatched from the gay confusion of some noisy
gathering. No one will be so unreasonable as to denounce the young
heart that flutters with some timid anticipation, as it forsakes the
mad merry-making of the ball room for the quiet insinuating stillness
of some reserved nook by a flickering fireside, where the flower-laden
atmosphere whispers interesting suggestions of its own. Far be it from
me to overshadow such gleams of sunlight, by censure or cruel mockery,
and when I affirm most earnestly that such flutterings of vague
expectation never animated my poor heart, so cold, so empty, so
unbelieving, it is not that I hold it outside and above such an
influence. I only lay bare the barrenness of its nature and the
trustless reserve that always made the world around me seem wrapped in
a gloomy pall, that inspired me with suspicion, if not altogether fear
of it.
I will not take the responsibility of affirming that my views were at
all odd or singular, and incompatible with the real condition of
feminine hearts at that time. Neither would I like to assure the world
that our blooming society girls of to-day are any more credulous or
unwisely susceptible than many were at the date I speak of. It has
become a popular belief, I think, that beauty coupled with a
fascinating manner in a woman, is as heartless and unfeeling as a
stone, and yet is just indifferent and neutral enough to abstain from
inflicting any more direct pain than that to which its indiscreet
victims expose themselves knowingly. There is a certain pity excited
by human moths that flutter about our drawing-rooms with their smooth
velvety wings charred and disfigured, but even in the sympathy
expressed there is a ring of "I told you so," and "beware the next
time" that makes the sufferer's burden only heavier to endure.
I can not take upon me to say that Arthur Campbell's beautiful pinions
had touched the dangerous flame with any alarming results. I believed
him to be very human in spite of his multiplied efforts to establish
himself above or below that limit. I saw, when our acquaintanceship
was only an hour old, that he was an artful man and, to no small
extent, a conceited man. I did not suspect him of regulating his life
according to the dictates of a scrupulous conscience. In fact I
daresay I was uncharitable enough to look upon him as wanting that
blessed monitor, altogether. He professed no definite religious
belief, and generally held all creeds to be equally good. Sometimes
when he wanted to excite the particular interest of some orthodox
young lady he leaned towards the agnostics, and without upholding
their tenets, exactly, wanted to know why their right to establish
themselves should be so universally questioned and condemned. He liked
to see pretty faces looking shocked, and his ears revelled in the
sound of a plaintively persuading voice that argued on the side of old
truth; he would even allow himself to be converted for the moment by a
reproachful look from indignant blue eyes. It gave a flavour to a
languid flirtation and "after all," he was wont to say, "what religion
can be better than that whose ministers are fair and beautiful women."
He was an acknowledged flirt; a regular knave of Hearts; and yet
totally unlike those professional lady-killers who carry their smooth
chins so very high above their would-be rivals in fashionable
drawing-rooms. There was no insinuation of his purpose or design about
Arthur Campbell as he stepped quietly in among the many _coteries_ of
which he was a spoiled darling. His profession excused him for his
late arrivals everywhere, and, in the bargain, granted him ample
opportunity for intruding himself upon the notice of everyone present
without being condemned for presumption or conceit. It was whispered
of him that his private life was based upon free and easy principles,
and that he was not altogether so circumspect a walker in the ways of
righteousness as he was in the ways of society. Such an accusation,
however, remained perforce under an open verdict. Too many of those
who might have decided against him had delicate glass-houses of their
own to care for, and it would likely prove a treacherous missile that
would aim at the well-propped reputation of Doctor Campbell.
I had my own private opinion about him, which never prevented me from
openly admiring his tactics, from enjoying his company, and, in a
sense, from coveting his attentions. Strangely enough, I had every
opportunity for indulging all three. We were thrown frequently
together, and I could not help seeing that he took more than a passing
notice of me. To tell the truth, until a certain time I never
questioned the possible motive that might have inspired him to seek my
company. I met him always with a cordial, and may be a very cordial,
smile. He was an interesting man, who talked well, and as such
appealed largely to my ardent appreciation. We became friends in a
very little while, and probably contributed largely towards each
other's mutual enjoyment. But very soon the all-seeing eye of a
jealous scrutiny was upon us, and we were singled out wherever we
went. Little rumors were being hatched, destined before long to creep
out from under the great fostering wing of that old hen, Gossip, who
is ever chuckling over some new and active brood. People caught the
message and repeated it with a relish. People said that young Campbell
was no fool in aspiring to succeed to Dr. Hampden's practice. People
said: Trust the fellow to spy out a rich man's only daughter. People
said: The Hampdens have made a dead set on Campbell, always asking him
to luncheon, etc. People said: He is fooling her. In fact people gave
expression to every uncomplimentary sentiment which the circumstances
could possibly suggest, and it was only then that I turned my
attention to the matter at all. I heard the floating verdicts that
were being pronounced upon us, and thenceforth I also infused a
certain purpose into our hitherto aimless relationship. I quietly
resolved to meet that respectable body so widely known as the "people"
in open combat. I needed no formidable weapon, an old halter would
answer my purpose fully, for of course my readers know that this
loud-voiced authority, this much feared power, this braying denouncer
of men's private, social, or moral attitudes is only our friend the
ass in a pretty well-fitting lion-skin, not nearly so dangerous as
timid souls imagine, a nuisance certainly, but that is all.
When Arthur Campbell and I vacated the crowded drawing-room,
therefore, and passed into the quiet retreat opposite, many a
significant glance followed us besides poor Mr. Dalton's. I knew it
and so did he, although no mention was made of it by either of us. We
had drifted imperceptibly into that phase of a growing friendship
which is silent upon certain interesting topics. We often talked in a
vague and general way about the tender influences, but never now by
any chance allowed our random remarks to convey any personal
reflections. We were puzzling over one another, which is a fatal
resource for unfortified hearts, but we prided ourselves upon our
well-guarded and invulnerable affections, and, in a way, playfully
defied the inevitable to conquer us.
Arthur Campbell held the heavy drapery aside until I had glided into
the room. He then drew it briskly across the doorway and followed me
to an ebony cabinet before which I had stood to look at a comical
crockery pug that lay on one of its tiny shelves. He glanced over my
shoulder at my interesting distraction, and was silent for a moment. I
could feel his breath upon my hair and ear, then he said slowly:
"You seem to be fond of animals, which is your favorite?"
An answer rushed to my lips and I was conscious of a mischievous
expression creeping over my face. Had I reflected for a moment I might
never have uttered it, but before I had time to weigh my words, they
had been pointedly pronounced.
"Man--of course," I said; "Which is yours?"
He did not answer as quickly as I had, and yet I did not dare look at
him or speak again. After a moment's pause, however, I ventured to
raise my eyes towards the cabinet, and as I did so, how my heart
thumped, how my cheeks reddened. He had stretched one hand out to
reach some object that stood on one of the ebony brackets above me,
and the reflection in the little square mirror before us was, to say
the least, rather suggestive. The bracket being higher than the mirror
was not visible in it. The effect produced therefore was that of a
broadcloth sleeve, carefully brought around two slender shoulders, and
a handsome manly countenance leaning a little towards a blushing
maiden's face. Worse than all, he too happened to look into the glass
at the same moment, and our eyes in shrinking from one another's
glance met under an awkward circumstance. He looked steadily at Amey
Hampden in mirrorland, and then said in a very conventional tone,
turning his eyes towards the bracket:
"Pardon me, I want to show you something."
It was a beautiful white dove which, though lifeless, had retained
much of its grace and softness. In its beak was a dainty little card
upon which was inscribed in large characters: "Love one another."
"Do you like it?" he asked after we had examined it silently for a
moment.
"The idea is certainly original," I answered evasively.
"Yes, but do you like it?" he repeated
"Which?" I asked, "the bird, or the idea altogether?"
"The idea altogether."
"Oh! ye-e-s," I drawled as indifferently as I possibly could. "It is a
very chaste conception on the whole--but--"
"But what?"
"Oh! there is not much in it after all."
"Miss Hampden! you astonish me! Not much in loving one another,
especially with such an exalted, enduring love as that which the dove
symbolises."
"You mistake me, Dr Campbell," I interrupted suddenly, looking up at
him, but I did not finish, for some one just vanished out of the
doorway as I turned my head. The curtain was still swaying when I
stopped my remark abruptly, and Arthur Campbell following my glance,
strode towards the entrance and looked indignantly out. The passage
was clear, and he returned, laughing, saying the eavesdropper was no
one more formidable than the draught. I was not so easily convinced,
however, and asked to go back in to the drawing-room where the
merriment was still unabating. He did not seem quite pleased, but
nevertheless offered me his arm unhesitatingly, and we passed in among
the noisy crowd just in time for the summons to supper.