THE sun had not been up long when I reached the spring, and found the
little boys already busy with their long-handled dippers. I gulped
down a glass of the water, which is a bad mixture of soda and Epsom
salts, and was strolling over the grounds, thinking how pleasant
‘twould be to have even little Miss Finnock along with me, when the
rattling of the circular railway caught my ear and I walked towards it.
A gentleman and lady were riding in the car, who riveted my attention
at once. The gentleman was strikingly handsome. A snow white Panama
hat, whose flexible brim, bending up before the current of air, showed
a high, white forehead, and black eyes so piercing in their glance
that I involuntarily shrank back as they whirled past me. A very heavy
moustache, parted in the middle, fell on each side of his lip like
a stream of ink; a graceful, massive frame, yet a small hand turning
the crank of the car and a small foot with high instep rested on the
edge. This much I saw as they rattled by, and strange to say, so full
of admiration was I for the man that it was not till they were coming
around again that I noticed the lady, who was much the handsomer
of the two. She was clad in a blue morning robe, whose ample folds
floated gracefully out from the side of the car. One tiny gloved hand
rested playfully on the flying crank, while the other held in her lap
the broad straw hat she had taken off. Her eyes were as black as her
companion’s, but were soft and gentle in their expression; her hair,
superbly massive in its loose folds, was as black as a raven’s wing,
and fell in wavy profusion far below her waist. These were the general
outlines of her features, for I could not see her face distinctly, so
swift was the speed of the car. But even that glimpse had thrilled
me, and an indefinable something in the face seemed to speak
familiarly to my heart, and awaken wild, vague visions of something
forgotten—perhaps the memories of previous existence, as Plato calls
them.
“Have I seen her in my dreams?” I murmured, “or is she the star of my
destiny which intuition thus reveals, that her beauty should so thrill
me?”
A romantic youth, fresh from college, on the lookout for adventures,
with a very large fund of admiration, on which beauty could check at
sight; is it a wonder I was in love a second after this bright vision
of loveliness floated by?
I waited for them to come round again, but I saw the car stop on the
other side, and hurried through the crowd only to see them enter a gold
mounted phæton, drawn by a splendid pair of blood bays, the driver and
footman in liveries almost too gorgeous for Republican America.
“May the Fates grant he may only be a brother! They look alike,” I
muttered, as I walked back to the hotel.
I sought for them in vain during the day around the hotel, though I
thought once I saw the black moustache behind the green baize door of
the billiard room, but, on entering, I could not find it.
That afternoon Mrs. Marshman and party came up from Albany, and took
rooms also at the Union. How cordial was Miss Finnock in her manner
towards me! and how long she let her hand remain in mine when I shook
hands with her! Poor, little cold hand! I felt as if I was pressing a
frog with five legs!
The ladies were too much fatigued to go to the dance that night, so
Finnock and I walked across to Congress Hall after tea. I told him of
the wonderful beauty I had seen in the morning, and asked if he could
not contrive to get an introduction for us.
“Oh, yes,” he said, carelessly, “presyume so; she’s the same Monte
wrote me about. Devilish pretty, rich, and so forth. Engaged to that
fellow, Monte says. Pious old couple to take care of her. But yonder’s
Monte now.”
He carried me up to a throng of foppish young men who were lounging on
the steps of the hotel. They spoke, after Finnock’s introduction, with
a cool kind of condescension that irritated, and, to a certain extent,
humiliated me. While in my heart I despised them for their foppish
uselessness, yet I felt they somewhat looked down upon me as being from
the country, and I desired their attention and consideration more than
I did the esteem of the most prominent gentlemen of my acquaintance;
such is pride!
“Why, Finnock, where the devil did you spring from?” said Monte, a
tall, languid fellow, with dark red hair, roached up in curling puffs
on each side of the central division; somewhat lighter whiskers flowing
in long wisps from each ear to the corner of his mouth, while his short
chin, shaved clean, imparted an angry bull dog expression that required
all the languor of his weak eyes and single eye-glass to soften. “I
thought you were going across the pond?”
“No, not yet,” said Finnock, carelessly, “the old man swears that
stocks are too low to think of Europe. I told him I didn’t care, I
would either take three M’s for Europe next winter or two for the
Springs and Newport.”
“Say, Finn.,” continued Monte, “have you heard about Sedley?”
“No, anything bad?”
“Rather! got a lift from Lola, took the blues, and went into the
jungle.”
“‘D the tiger hurt him?”
“A little—fifteen hundred or so. He left next morning, and I expect
has committed suicide.”
“Who the deuce is Lola?” asked Finnock.
“She’s the rage now—prettier than Venus and richer than Plutus
himself. Don’t you remember my writing you about her?”
“Ah, yes, I do remember,” said Finnock, “but where is she from, Monte?”
“The devil knows,” said that gentleman. “I found her here when I came
and as all the first ladies were jealous and angry, and all the best
fellows in love with her, I went in without questioning her previous
history.”
“Sed. was euchred badly,” put in a bloated young man, with protruding
bleared eyes and very red nose; “held a good hand, too, but played his
cards badly and lost. They say he went a five hundred diamond ring, but
she sent it back.”
“That was hard on him; but, Monte!” said Finnock, “Smith and I want an
introduction, cannot you present us?”
“Certainly,” said Monte, getting up from his chair, and shaking one
leg at a time, to make his pants smooth, “but it’s useless, that black
eyed fellow with her has it all his own way. She will waltz with no one
else, pretends to be squeamish, but it is all because he will not let
her. The devil take these old marching Lancers and trotting quadrilles;
give me a soft hand and a trim waist, and my toe is at your service.
Let’s have something to drink!”
All assented, and I followed them into the bar-room. I did not wish
to drink, but my moral courage shrank from refusing before a throng
of exquisites, who were just admitting me to their fellowship.
Accordingly, when the others had called for juleps, cold punches and
“straights,” I responded to Monte’s inquiry, by stating very faintly
that I would take a sherry cobbler, believing that was the weakest
drink I could name. Monte repeated the orders to Snyder, the bar man,
with the injunction to make them strong, and we all stood around trying
to keep up a desultory conversation, but watching, with more interest,
the preparation of the beverages, as men always do at a bar.
Snyder, a large fat man, in his shirt sleeves, with a large diamond pin
on his large bosom, and a heavy moustache on his heavy lip, who had
been looking off vacantly while we delivered our orders, now started as
if he suddenly remembered them, and calling an assistant, took down the
bottles, put in the white hailed ice and sugar, the sprigs of mint, the
slices of lemon, and set the dewy glasses on the counter. With a bow
and a health we drank, and then Finnock swore we should have another
round. This time I had weakened enough in my resolution to try a julep,
and feeling a tinge of the old excitement coming over me, I asked, as
we turned to leave the bar, the privilege of treating.
“Have you some good champagne—green seal or Verzenay—the best now?” I
asked the barkeeper, assuming something of the bully in my tone.
“Not champagne at the bar!” said Monte, “that is sacred to the table.”
The barkeeper pointed us to a curtained apartment, and sent in the
champagne and some biscuit.
We spent, perhaps, half an hour behind the curtain, and when we came
forth I felt as if I was again at Frank’s party. Though the others had,
perhaps, imbibed more than I, yet it had not affected them so sensibly,
and, muddled as was my brain, I saw they were enjoying my condition.
They proposed that we have a peep at the Tiger, and I agreed very
readily, having a faint idea that we were going to a zoological
exhibition.
The zoological garden proved to be a brilliantly lighted room, redolent
of cigars and full of tables, around which were grouped eager, anxious
faces. I had never gambled in my life, but felt compelled to show my
contempt for money by staking a few dollars on a game or two. I soon
lost something over a hundred, and was getting more and more reckless,
to the extent of much larger stakes, when Monte proposed to leave,
saying to one of his companions, in an undertone, which I, however,
heard:
“That will do for to-night, not too much at a time.”
Monte proposed to take us over to the ball room and introduce us to
Lola, the sensation, but I objected that I was not in evening dress.
Monte swore I was fit for Buckingham Palace, and dragged me along to
the room. Our party was very noisy as we entered the ball room, and
several gentlemen moved away from our group in apparent disgust. The
brilliancy of the scene dazzled and confused me, and I stood staring
stupidly about, holding to Monte’s arm for support. The floor was full
of dancers, who were circling in a spirited Mazourka.
“There she is, Smith!” exclaimed Monte, “isn’t she superb?”
Just in front of us was the belle of the season—my unknown beauty of
the circular railway, floating gracefully in the embrace of the black
moustache.
Her hair was now caught up in a magnificent coil, and its black folds
were adorned with a beautiful spray of pearls. Her eyes—and oh!
how melting and tender was their look—splendid in their depth of
expression, were turned up to the face of her partner, and her form,
perfect in its outlines, reposed with easy confidence in his arms.
Her arm, round, smooth and dazzling, was shown in fine relief against
the black cloth of his coat, and her neck, white as snow, tapered
exquisitely from her bare, dimpled shoulders to the shading of her hair.
How my heart throbbed with admiration as she passed me; and again that
strange memory of a dream of her face came over me!
Again they came around, and her full face was turned toward me.
Heavens, can it be? yes, there, on that lovely arm, just above the
tinted kid, a serpent in Etruscan gold wound its coils up the flesh,
and I knew it was Carlotta.
“Monte!” I said, grasping his arm tightly, “that’s C’lotta; I know her,
I raised her. Lem’me go and speak to her!”
“Wait, Smith, don’t be a fool!” he said, impatiently shaking me off,
and making his way across the room, as the music had now ceased.
I turned to the others of our party and kept repeating, “That’s our
C’lotta, I know her ‘s well ‘s I want to. She knows me soon ‘s she sees
me.”
An elderly gentleman, who had been much annoyed by our noise, and who
had been looking very steadily at us for several minutes, now got up
from his seat and approached. I looked at him now for the first time,
and oh, shade of Hamlet! I recognized my father. The most fervent wish
of my heart was that there might be a Samson underneath that floor with
his hands already on the pillars.
He did not smile as I pressed his hand, but said, “Come, go with me up
to our room, John.”
His presence, and my chagrin and surprise did one good thing—it
effectually sobered me.
As we walked out of the room he left me for a moment, and when he
rejoined me a lady was on his arm—my mother. There was as much sorrow
as joy in her kiss, and we proceeded in silence to their rooms. I took
the proffered seat, and no one spoke for some time; then mother burst
into tears and said:
“Oh, my child! my child! you have almost broken my heart. To think that
I left you such a pure, noble boy, and return to meet you drunk, and in
a disorderly crowd. Oh, John, how cruelly you have deceived us!”
I threw myself on my knees, as I used to do when a child, and buried my
face in her lap.
“Mother,” I said, humbly, “I have not deceived you; let me explain.”
“My son,” said she, “there can be no explanation. I saw you intoxicated
myself; and even now you are under the influence of liquor.”
Her last words somewhat nettled me, and I resumed my seat, saying as I
did so:
“I am entirely sober, madam;” which, indeed, was the truth, for all the
fumes and effects of the liquor I had taken departed instantly from me
on the discovery of my parents. Father, who had been regarding me with
much pity, now spoke:
“Do not be too hard on him, Mary; perhaps this is his first offence.”
“It is, it is,” I said, gratefully; then suddenly remembering, I said,
candidly: “No, I will confess I was under the influence of wine once
before this,” and I told of Frank’s party. With that exception this was
my first time, and I promised that it should be the last.
They both seemed mollified, and seeing that I was really not under the
influence of liquor, they gradually fell into conversation with me,
and we forgot all unpleasantness in our mutual inquiries about each
other’s health, and a general hash of all that had occurred since we
parted. The evening wore on, and I commenced to make preparation for
my departure; I had just taken my hat when a rustling was heard in the
corridor, a musical “Good night!” and Carlotta came in, holding up
her satin trail with its shower of lace. She started back on seeing a
stranger in the room, but the next instant, as I rose to meet her, she
dropped her skirt, and, holding out both hands, exclaimed:
“John! dear brother!” and putting up her rosy lips she kissed me, then
stood looking at me with earnest happiness in her glance, as if she was
really glad to meet me. What a joyous feeling there was in my heart!
An hour or two before I had coveted just the honor of an introduction,
now I had pressed her hand and kissed her! There was a delightful
surprise, too, about the kiss, that made it all the more thrilling.
We had never been very intimate, though living in the same house, and
while confiding many secrets to each other as children, as I have told,
yet there was always a shadow of reserve between us, and it was only
by observing, at a distance, the beautiful depth of her character, I
had learned to love her. After a three years’ residence in Europe I had
expected to find her haughty, vain and supercilious, and had rather
dreaded the meeting; but now I found that the flattery and adulation
she had received, instead of turning her head, had only conferred the
insight of experience, and made her own heart more earnest and true.
These thoughts of her ran rapidly through my mind as I gazed at the
beautiful, brilliant woman that had bloomed from the lovely child,
whose image I had cherished since we had parted.
We sat down with father and mother, and as we all had much to say,
there were not many seconds that escaped unfreighted with a word.
Carlotta seemed much more ready to listen to me, though, than to talk,
and instead of telling what she had seen and done seemed intensely
interested in my dull affairs.
Father asked her if she were not going back to the ball room.
“Oh, dear, no,” she said, drawing off her gloves, “I had much rather
stay here and talk with John; beside, I am tired. I had a long sail
on the lake to-day, and drove out with Cousin Herrara this afternoon.
Please unfasten my bracelet,” and she extended her arm to me.
As I took her soft white arm in my hand can you wonder that I pretended
to be awkward, that I might prolong the undoing of it?
“_Apropos_ of the ball, John,” she said, while I was fumbling at the
bracelet, “Mr. Monte asked the privilege of introducing two friends,
Mr. Finnock and Mr. Smith. Did he refer to you?”
I told her he did, and what a romantic fervor I felt after I had seen
her at the railway, and she and father rallied me on losing it as soon
as I found her out, and mother helped me to deny it, and we were all so
pleasant together we forgot the lapse of time. Looking at my watch and
finding it nearly day, I bade them good night, and went to my room.
Like a child with a new toy, I felt a continual surprise and delight
that the brilliant belle of the Springs was _my_ Carlotta. Mine? The
thought of Cousin Herrara placed a very large mark of interrogation
after that word. As all indications pointed to the fact that she was
his, and would ere long leave our home, the question came to me,
bitterly: Can I give her up?