THE PARTY.
"Bring me my new dress, Jenny; I want to see if the Honiton lace on
the caps is as wide as Ida Selden's."
"What do you mean?" asked Jenny, turning quickly towards her sister,
whose white, wasted face looked fitter for a shroud than a gay party
dress.
"I mean what I say," returned Rose; "I'm not going to be cooped up
here any longer. I'm going to the party to-morrow night, if I never go
again!"
"Why, Rose Lincoln, are you crazy?" asked Jenny. "You haven't been in
the street yet, and how do you expect to go to-morrow night? Mother
wouldn't let you, if she were here."
"Well, thank fortune, she and father both are in Southbridge; and
besides that, I'm a great deal better; so hand me my dress."
Jenny complied, and reclining on pillows scarcely whiter than herself,
Rose Lincoln examined and found fault with a thin gossamer fabric,
none suited for any one to wear in a cold wintry night, and much less
for her.
"There, I knew it wasn't as wide as Ida's into an eighth of an inch,"
said she, measuring with her finger the expensive lace. "I'll have
some new. Come, Jenny, suppose you go down street and get it, for I'm
bent upon going;" and the thoughtless girl sprang lightly upon the
floor, and _chasséd_ half way across the room to show how well and
strong she was.
Jenny knew that further expostulation from her was useless, but she
refused to go for the lace, and Sarah, the servant girl, was sent with
a note from Rose saying she wanted a nice article, 8 or 10 dollars per
yard.
"I don't believe father would like to have you make such a bill," said
Jenny when Sarah was gone. "Mother didn't dare tell him about your new
dress, for he told her she mustn't get any thing charged, and he said,
too, something about hard times. Perhaps he's going to fail. Wouldn't
it be dreadful?"
If Rose heard the last part of this sentence she did not need it, for
to her the idea of her father's failing was preposterous. When the
dinner bell rang she threw on a heavy shawl, and descending to the
dining parlor, remained below stairs all the afternoon, forcing back
her cough, and chatting merrily with a group of young girls who had
called to see her, and congratulated her upon her improved health, for
excitement lent a deep glow to her cheek, which would easily deceive
the inexperienced. The next day, owing to overexertion, Rose's temples
were throbbing with pain, and more than once, she half determined not
to go; but her passion for society was strong, and Mrs. Russell's
party had so long been anticipated and talked about that she felt she
would not miss it for the world, and as she had confessed to Jenny,
there was also a mean curiosity to see how Mary Howard would appear at
a fashionable party.
"Saturate my handkerchief with cologne, and put the vinaigrette where
I can reach it while you arrange my hair," said she to Sarah, who at
the usual hour came up to dress her young mistress for the evening.
"There, be careful and not brush so hard, for that ugly pain isn't
quite gone--now bring me the glass and let me see if I do look like a
ghost."
"Pale, delicate folks is always more interesting than red, hearty
ones," said the flattering servant, as she obeyed.
"Mercy, how white I am!" exclaimed Rose, glancing at the ashen face
reflected by the mirror. "Rub my cheeks with cologne, Sarah, and see
if that won't bring some color into them. There, that'll do. Now hand
me my dress. Oh, isn't it beautiful?" she continued, as she threw
aside the thickly wadded double gown, and assumed a light, thin dress,
which fell in soft, fleecy folds around her slight figure.
"Faith, an ye looks sweet, God bless you," said Sarah as she clasped
the diamond bracelet around the snowy arms and fastened the costly
ornaments in the delicate ears.
When her toilet was completed, Rose stood up before the long mirror,
and a glow of pride came to her cheeks, as she saw how lovely she
really was.
"You's enough sight handsomer than Miss Jenny," whispered Sarah, as
the door opened and Jenny appeared, more simply arrayed than her
sister, but looking as fresh and blooming as a rose-bud.
"How beautiful you are, Rosa," said she, "only it makes me shiver to
look at your neck and arms. You'll wear your woollen sack, besides
your shawl and cloak, won't you?"
"Nonsense, I'm not going to be bundled up this way, for don't you see
it musses the lace," said Rose, refusing the warm sack which Jenny
brought her.
A rap at the door and a call from Henry that the carriage was waiting,
ended the conversation, and throwing on their cloaks and hoods, the
girls descended to the hall, where with unusual tenderness Henry
caught up his invalid sister, and drawing her veil closely over her
face, carried her to the covered sleigh, so that her feet might not
touch the _icy walk_.
"What! Rose Lincoln here!" exclaimed half a dozen voices as Rose
bounded into the dressing-room.
"Yes, Rose Lincoln _is_ here," she replied, gayly divesting herself of
her wrapping. "I'm not going to die just yet, I guess, neither am I
going to be housed up all winter. The fresh air has done me good
already,--see," and she pointed to a bright round spot which burnt
upon her cheeks.
A young girl, whose family had one by one fallen victims to the great
New England plague, consumption, shuddered and turned way, for to her
eye the glow which Rose called health was but the hectic bloom of
death.
"How beautiful she is!" said more than one, as with her accustomed
grace Rose entered the brilliant drawing-room. And truly Rose was
beautiful that night, but like the gorgeous foliage of the fading
autumn 'twas the beauty of decay, for death was written on her
blue-veined brow, and lurked amid the roses on her cheek. But little
thought she of that, as with smiling lip and beaming eye she received
the homage of the admiring throng.
"Upon my word, you do look very well," said Henry, coming for a moment
to his sister's side. "Why, you'd be the star of the evening, were it
not for _ma belle_ Ella. See, there she comes," and he pointed to a
group just entering the room.
An expression of contempt curled Rose's lip, as she glanced at Ella,
and thought of being outshone by her dollish figure and face. "I'm in
no danger, unless a more formidable rival than that silly thing
appears," thought she; and she drew up her slender form with a more
queenly grace, and bowed somewhat haughtily to Ella, who came up to
greet her. There was a world of affection in Ella's soft hazel ayes,
as they looked eagerly up to Henry, who for the sake of torturing the
young girl feigned not to see her until she had stood near him some
minutes. Then offering her his hand he said, with the utmost
nonchalance, "Why, Ella, are you here? I was watching so anxiously for
your sister that I did not notice your entrance."
Ella had dressed herself for the party with more than usual care, and
as she smoothed down the folds of her delicate pink silk, and shook
back her long glossy curls, she thought, "He cannot think Mary
handsomer than I am to-night;" and now when the first remark he
addressed to her was concerning her sister, she replied rather
pettishly, "I believe you are always thinking about Mary."
"Now, don't be jealous," returned Henry, "I only wish to see the
contrast between you."
Ella fancied that the preference would of course be in her favor, and
casting aside all unpleasant feelings, she exerted herself to the
utmost to keep Henry at her side, asking him numberless questions, and
suddenly recollecting something which she wished to tell him, if he
made a movement towards leaving her.
"Confound it. How tight she sticks to a fellow," thought he, "but I'll
get away from her yet."
Just then Ida and Mary were announced. Both Aunt Martha and Ida had
taken great pains to have their young friend becomingly dressed, and
she looked unusually well in the embroidered muslin skirt, satin
waist, and blonde bertha which Aunt Martha had insisted upon her
accepting as a present. The rich silken braids of her luxuriant hair
were confined at the back of her finely formed head with a golden
arrow, which, with the exception of a plain band of gold on each
wrist, was the only ornament she wore. This was her first introduction
to the gay world, but so keen was her perception of what was polite
and proper, that none would ever have suspected it and yet there was
about her something so fresh and unstudied, that she had hardly
entered the room ere many were struck with her easy, unaffected
manners, so different from the practised airs of the city belles.
Ella watched her narrowly, whispering aside to Henry how sorry she
felt for poor Mary, she was so _verdant_, and really hoping she
wouldn't do any thing very awkward, for 'twould mortify her to death!
"but, look," she added, "and see how many people Ida is introducing
her to."
"Of course, why shouldn't she?" asked Henry; and Ella replied, "I
don't know,--it seems so funny to see Mary here, don't it?"
Before Henry could answer, a young man of his acquaintance touched his
shoulder, saying, "Lincoln, who is that splendid-looking girl with
Miss Selden? I haven't seen a finer face in Boston, for many a day."
"That? Oh, that's Miss Howard, from Chicopee. An intimate friend of
our family. Allow me the pleasure of introducing you," and Henry
walked away, leaving Ella to the tender mercies of Rose, who, as one
after another quitted her side, and went over to the "enemy," grew
very angry, wondering if folks were bewitched, and hoping Ida Selden
"felt better, now that she'd _made_ so many notice her protegée."
Later in the evening, William Bender came, and immediately Jenny began
to talk to him of Mary, and the impression she was making. Placing her
hand familiarly upon his arm, as though that were its natural resting
place, she led him towards a group, of which Mary seemed the centre of
attraction. Near her stood Henry Lincoln, bending so low as to
threaten serious injury to his fashionable pants, and redoubling his
flattering compliments, in proportion as Mary grew colder, and more
reserved in her manner towards him. Silly and conceited as he was, he
could not help noticing how differently she received William Bender
from what she had himself. But all in good time, thought he, glancing
at Ella, to see how she was affected by his desertion of her, and his
flirtation with her sister. She was standing a little apart from any
one, and with her elbow resting upon a marble stand, her cheeks
flushed, and her eyelashes moist with the tears she dared not shed,
she was watching him with feelings in which more of real pain than
jealousy was mingled; for Ella was weak and simple-hearted, and loved
Henry Lincoln far better than such as he deserved to be loved.
"Of what are you thinking, Ella?" asked Rose, who finding herself
nearly alone, felt willing to converse with almost any one.
At the sound of her voice Ella looked up, and coming quickly to her
side, said, "It's so dull and lonesome here, I wish I'd staid at
home."
In her heart Rose wished so too, but she was too proud to acknowledge
it, and feeling unusually kind towards Ella, whose uneasiness she
readily understood, she replied, "Oh, I see you are jealous of Henry,
but he's only trying to teaze you, for he can't be interested in that
awkward thing."
"But he is. I 'most _know_ he is," returned Ella, with a trembling of
the voice she tried in vain to subdue; and then, fearing she could not
longer restrain her emotion, she suddenly broke away from Rose, and
ran hastily up to the dressing-room.
Nothing of all this escaped Henry's quick eye, and as sundry unpaid
bills for wine, brandy, oyster suppers, and livery, came looming up
before his mind, he thought proper to make some amends for his
neglect. Accordingly when Ella returned to the drawing-room, he
offered her his arm, asking "what made her eyes so red," and slyly
pressing her hand, when she averted her face saying, "Nothing,--they
weren't red."
Meantime William Bender, having managed to drop Jenny from his arm,
had asked Mary to accompany him to a small conservatory, which was
separated from the reception rooms by a long and brilliantly lighted
gallery. As they stood together, admiring a rare exotic, William's
manner suddenly changed, and drawing Mary closer to his side, he said
distinctly, though hurriedly, "I notice, Mary, that you seem
embarrassed in my presence, and I have, therefore, sought this
opportunity to assure you that I shall not again distress you by a
declaration of love, which, if returned, would now give me more pain
than pleasure, for as I told you at Mr. Selden's, I am changed in more
respects than one. It cost me a bitter struggle to give you up, but
reason and judgment finally conquered, and now I can calmly think of
you, as some time belonging to another, and with all a brother's
confidence, can tell you that I, too, love another,--not as once I
loved you, for that would be impossible but with a calmer, more
rational love."
All this time Mary had not spoken, though the hand which William had
taken in his trembled like an imprisoned bird; but when he came to
speak of loving another, she involuntarily raised his hand to her
lips, exclaiming, "It's Jenny, it's Jenny."
"You have guessed rightly," returned William, smiling at the
earnestness of her manner. "It is Jenny, though how such a state of
things ever came about, is more than I can tell."
Mary thought of the old saying, "Love begets love," but she said
nothing, for just then Jenny herself joined them. Looking first at
William, then at Mary, and finally passing her arm around the latter,
she whispered, "I know he's told you, and I'm glad, for somehow I
couldn't tell you myself."
Wisely thinking that his company could be dispensed with, William
walked away, leaving the two girls alone. In her usual frank way,
Jenny rattled on, telling Mary how happy she was, and how funny it
seemed to be engaged, and how frightened she was when William asked
her to marry him.
Fearing that they might be missed, they at last returned to the
parlor, where they found Ella seated at the piano, and playing a very
spirited polka. Henry, who boasted that he "could wind her around his
little finger," had succeeded in coaxing her into good humor, but not
at all desiring her company for the rest of the evening, he asked her
to play, as the easiest way to be rid of her. She played unusually
well, but when, at the close of the piece, she looked around for
commendation, from the one for whose ear alone she had played, she saw
him across the room, so wholly engrossed with her sister that he
probably did not even know when the sound of the piano ceased.
Poor Ella; it was with the saddest heartache she had ever known that
she returned from a party which had promised her so much pleasure, and
which had given her so much pain. Rose, too, was bitterly
disappointed. One by one her old admirers had left her for the society
of the "pauper," as she secretly styled Mary, and more than once
during the evening had she heard the "beauty" and "grace" of her rival
extolled by those for whose opinion she cared the most; and when, at
one o'clock in the morning, she threw herself exhausted upon the sofa,
she declared "'twas the last party she'd ever attend."
Alas, for thee, Rosa, that declaration proved too true!