The company is 'mixed,' (the phrase I quote is
As much as saying, they're below your notice.)--_Byron_.
On reaching New Baden, towards night, they learned that there was to
be a dance that evening, in the hall.
"The deuse!" ejaculated Meredith, as they entered; "have we come all
this distance to find old faces again at New Baden? Look at that
corner."
Morton looked, and beheld a solemn group taking no part in the
amusements, but scrutinizing the scene with the air of superior
beings. He recognized the familiar countenance of Mrs. Primrose, with
her daughter, Miss Constance Primrose, and her daughter's friend, Miss
Wallflower. There, too, was Mr. Benjamin Stubb, Morton's classmate,
and Miss Primrose's reputed admirer, with several other kindred
spirits. Stubb was a tall and very slender young man, with a grave and
pallid visage, and an uncompromising rigidity of cravat. Though his
brain was unfurnished, his morals were reasonably good, and he went
regularly to church, believing that there was, he could not tell how,
an inseparable connection between good society and the ritual of the
English church. He prided himself on his gentlemanly deportment, and
regarded a lady as a being who is under no circumstances to be
approached, except through the medium of certain prescribed forms and
ceremonies. He seldom noticed those whom he thought his inferiors, and
was very formal and exact towards the select few whom he acknowledged
as his equals. As to superiors, he confessed none, except in the
highest ranks of the English aristocracy, upon whom he looked with
great reverence. He thought that there was no really good society in
America, except the society of Boston, of which he regarded himself
and his connections as the _creme, de la creme_. He cherished a just
hereditary scorn of upstarts and parvenus; for already nearly half a
century had expired since the Stubbs began to rise on golden wings
from their native mud. Nor was this their only claim to ancestral
eminence; since a judicious investment of a little surplus income at
the College of Heralds had revealed the gratifying truth that the
Stubbs of Boston were lineal descendants of King Arthur.
Mrs. Primrose was a very benevolent and estimable person, who knew
nothing of the world beyond her own circle, and looked with dire
reprehension on any deviation from the standard of morals and manners
which she had been accustomed to regard as the correct and proper one.
Miss Constance Primrose realized Stubb's most exalted ideal of a young
lady. She was very pretty, but with a face cold and unchanging as
marble. She carried an unquestionable air of good, not to say of high
breeding; having in this point an advantage over her mother, whose
style savored a little of the simplicity of her early surroundings.
The material, indeed, was very slender; but it had received a
creditable polish; and though she had nothing to say, she said it with
an undeniable grace.
Morton and Meredith paid their compliments to the group, the former
hastening to mingle with the crowd again, while Meredith remained to
exchange a few words with the pretty, modest, and too-much-neglected
Miss Wallflower.
"Upon my word, Mr. Meredith," said Mrs. Primrose, "Mr. Morton has
found a singular pair of acquaintances."
"O, yes," said Meredith; "those are particular friends of his."
"Very singular!" murmured Mrs. Primrose.
Morton was walking slowly up the hall, conversing with an odd-looking
couple--a heavy, thick set man, in the fantastic finery of a Broadway
swell, and a woman of five feet ten, thin and gaunt, with a yellow
complexion, and a pair of fierce, glittering eyes, like an Indian
squaw in ill humor. She was gorgeous in silk, brocade, and diamonds,
and her huge, gloveless, bony fingers sparkled with jewelry. Her
husband, on his part, displayed a mighty breastpin, in the shape of a
war horse rampant, in diamond frostwork.
"Mr. Meredith," murmured the horrified Mrs. Primrose, "pray who are
those persons?"
"Aborigines from Red River. Mr. and Mrs. Major Orson, of Natchitoches.
He is a speculator, I believe, of more wealth than reputation."
"And _are_ they friends of Mr. Morton?"
"O, Morton is a student of humanity. He met them at the tea table, and
thinks them remarkable specimens of natural history."
Mrs. Primrose did not hear this explanation. The trio had now
approached within a few yards; and her whole attention was absorbed in
listening to the high, penetrating voice of the female ogre.
"There's one great and glorious thing about Natchitoches," remarked
Mrs. Orson.
"What's that?" asked Morton.
"You can get every thing there to eat that heart can wish."
"That's a fact," said the major; "there ain't no discount on that."
"Game, and fish, and fruit, and vegetables," pursued the lady; "any
thing and every thing. The north can't compete with it, I tell _you_.
There's the pompano! O, my! Did you ever eat a pompano?"
"Never."
"Then you _have_ got something to look forward to. That's a fish that
_is_ a fish. Why, sir, you can begin at the tail, and eat him clean
away to the head, and the bones is just like marrow! It makes my mouth
water to think of it!"
"O, hush!" cried the major, with sympathetic emotion.
"And then the fruit! Think of the peaches! They beat your nasty little
northern peaches all holler!"
"Yes," added the major, and to have your own boys to shin up the tree
and throw 'em down to you; and to sit under the shade all the
afternoon eating 'em;--that's the way to live!"
"It's all the little niggers is good for, just to pick fruit."
"Troublesome animals, I should think," observed Morton.
"Well, they be; and the growed-up niggers ain't much better. To think
of that girl, Cynthy, major. My! wasn't she one of 'em! The major is,
out of all account, too tender to his niggers, and if it warn't for
me, they wouldn't get a speck of justice done. Why, what are all those
folks moving for? My! supper's ready. I'll go in with this gentleman,
major, and you may foller with any pretty gal that you can get to come
with you. I ain't a jealous woman"--turning to Morton--"I let the
major do pretty much what he pleases."
Mrs. Primrose drew a deep breath. "There must be"--thus she communed
with herself--"something essentially vulgar in the mind of that young
man, if he can neglect a cultivated and refined young lady like
Constance, and at the same time find pleasure in the conversation of a
person like that." And she considered within herself whether it would
not be best to warn Constance not to encourage any advances which he
might in future make. On second thoughts, reflecting that his position
was unquestionable, his wealth great, and that she had never heard any
thing against his morals, she determined to suspend all action for the
present, keeping a close watch, meanwhile, on his behavior.
While Morton was thus brought to the bar in the matronly breast of
Mrs. Primrose, while the jury were bringing in a verdict of guilty,
joined to a recommendation to mercy, the unconscious young man was
leading his companion to the supper room; where, furnishing her with a
huge plate of oysters, he left her in perfect contentment.
Not long after, he encountered Meredith.
"How do you like your friend in the diamonds?"
"She's a superb specimen; about as civilized, with all her jewelry, as
a Pawnee squaw. She has a vein of womanhood, though. I saw her, in the
tea room, fondle a kitten whose foot had been trodden upon, as
tenderly as if it had been a child."
"If you had not been so busy with her, you would have met a person
much better worth your time."
"Who's that?"
"Miss Fanny Euston."
"Do you mean that she is here?"
"She _was_ here,--in that room adjoining. But she has gone; you'll see
nothing of her to-night."
"Will not her being here induce you to stay?"
The question, as he spoke it, had a sound of frankness; but the
shameful truth must be confessed, that, in spite of his friendship for
Meredith, and his admiration of Miss Leslie, he was a little jealous
of his friend.
"No," replied Meredith, "it's out of the question. I must be off the
day after to-morrow. By the way, you never told me how you liked Miss
Euston."
"A rough diamond, needing nothing but to be cut, polished, and set!"
"It's too late, I think, for that. The polishing should have begun
before eighteen. She is quite unformed, and quite unconscious of being
so. I'll leave you here to fall in love with her, if you like; but if
you do, colonel, you'll be a good deal younger than I take you for."
There was something in his friend's tone which led Morton half to
suspect the truth. Meredith had himself a _penchant_ for Miss Fanny
Euston, held in abeyance by a very lively perception of her faults.