THE PRINCESS HOLDS A "DRAWING-ROOM."
When Morton heard of the two invitations, and something of the foregoing
conversation, as they sat over their cosey supper that evening, he kept
quite still, while Molly was running on with questions, suggestions, and
comments, till there was a lull; then he looked up at his elder sister
with a queer expression.
"Supposing, Sara, I had gone with Uncle Jabez Wanamead, and then should
come home a rough fisherman, while you were learning how to be polite;
would you have been ashamed of me?"
"No, Morton; but I shall be much prouder of you if you will have the
bravery and honesty of a fisherman, with the education and manners of a
gentleman, and the spirit of a Christian; that ought to make a man for
any sister to be proud of."
"Well," he said, drawing in his breath, "I'll say it now, Sara, I'm glad
you stuck out so against my going in the Mary Jane. While I was off with
the professor we were by the sea a day or two, and I went aboard a
smack. It was a better one than that, too; but I was glad I hadn't a
berth there, for somehow things did look dreadfully rough to me that
day. There was a boy about my age, and the men swore at him nearly every
word they said, and he swore too, and chewed and smoked and drank his
grog; and he seemed real proud to think he could take it down clear
without staggering. I was glad to get back to the professor, Sara, but I
_would_ like to have a yacht of my own, and sail all over the world
after specimens for the museum; wouldn't that be fine?"
"Perhaps you may some day; who knows? Stranger things than that have
happened."
It was a very nice-looking trio which turned into Mrs. Macon's gate
after church Thanksgiving Day. The checks Sara received for her articles
were of great assistance in clothing them comfortably for the winter;
and she glanced with almost motherly pride from tall Morton, in his neat
overcoat and derby, to Molly, pretty as a pink, with her flying curls
and scarlet cheeks, in a dark blue serge trimmed with fur.
She forgot herself, but no one else would have done so; for the slender
figure in black, with a close-fitting jacket and trig little hat, was so
symmetrical, while the face above had such a charm, both of feature and
expression, that few could pass her by unnoted.
Mrs. Macon welcomed them with gay cordiality.
"Dear me! How sweet you do look, Sara!" giving her a motherly kiss. "But
you'll have to look out for this young lady or she'll eclipse you yet!"
pinching Molly's dimpled cheek. "How the child is shooting up! I've a
surprise for you, Sara. I hope it will be a happy one."
"I think your surprises are always happy, Mrs. Macon."
"As are your remarks, Sara. Well, come, Madame Grandet is below."
They descended to the beautiful drawing-room, where, in the softened
light, Sara was conscious of several figures; the madame, lovely in a
Frenchy toilet, with a dash of scarlet here and there, rose to greet
them, while the little group of black coats just beyond separated and
turned, resolving itself into her host, Professor Grandet, and--Robert
Glendenning!
The last named came forward with an eager movement, and Sara's heart
stood still a minute, then plunged on with rapid beats, as he took her
hand and bent over it with an earnest greeting. He looked well, as she
quickly observed, having broadened into proportions better suited to his
height, and his eyes seemed more brilliant than ever as they met her
own.
"This is my surprise, Sara," laughed Mrs. Macon; "and you know,"
mischievously, "they are always happy ones. I think you have remarked it
yourself."
But Sara only answered by a look: her words did not come readily just
then.
"He have come last night," said the madame, beaming upon her nephew,
"so that it was to all of us a surprise, for we have not expect him."
"Indeed! As if you could think, Aunt Felicie, that I would eat my
Thanksgiving turkey in a boarding-house, when"--
"Ah! but that is what you would then do, if our friends had not so
kindly invite us here, Robare; are not your uncle and myself also in a
boarding-house?" a reply which rather nonplussed the young man for a
moment.
But, fortunately for his embarrassment, the domestic just then announced
dinner, and Mrs. Macon said,--
"Henry, will you give your arm to madame? And you, Mr. Glendenning, to
Miss Olmstead; I will do myself the honor of walking in with Professor
Grandet; and I'm sure Morton will be happy to escort his better half, as
I suppose a twin sister may be called."
As they passed through the hall, Sara's escort said in a low tone,--
"I have heard of your sorrows and your joys through my good aunt. Tell
me one thing, is your life any happier, broader, better, amid these new
surroundings?"
"Yes," said Sara, "I believe it is; and yet, sometimes my very soul is
sick for the sight and sound of the sea, and for the roughest greeting
from one of our good old weather-beaten fishermen at home."
"I am glad that is so. You are too loyal to forget easily; but still you
would not go back, would you?"
"No, never;" smiling up into his face. "There is no plan for going back
in my life; only for going forward."
He smiled in return, but the bustle of taking their seats prevented any
answer. When all was quiet again, Sara had time to notice that she had
been placed where she could observe every motion of her hostess, and
even as the thought crossed her mind, she caught that lady's eye and a
telegraphic glance passed between them. Sara's said, "Help me!" Mrs.
Macon's replied, "Watch me!" at which both smiled slyly, and turned to
the next neighbor with some light remark.
Morton and Molly had been so drilled in their deportment before they
came, that each sat now stiff and solemn as martinets awaiting some
command; Morton, eying hopelessly the tiny bouillon-cup before him, with
the healthy appetite of a boy who had not eaten anything since an early
breakfast; while Molly, after a stony rigidity of perhaps two minutes,
suddenly gave a little twist and drew a sigh as long and lugubrious as
the wail of an autumn blast. Professor Macon looked at her with
twinkling eyes.
"Don't be discouraged, Miss Molly," he whispered leaning towards her,
"there is a turkey somewhere, I'm sure, for I had a sniff of it myself
some time ago." Her eyes brightened, and she whispered back in the same
confidential way,--
"You see, I don't like beef-tea very well, and I do love turkey. But, of
course, if it's the thing"--and she submissively took up her spoon,
prepared to attack the decoction.
Sara's cheeks had grown red at this; but when the professor added,--
"Between you and me, Molly, I think it's only fit for sick folks myself;
but I suppose, as the saying is, we must eat by the card;" at which
everybody laughed good-naturedly, her worried feeling wore off, and she
began to think it would not, perhaps, be an unforgivable offence if one
of them did commit a blunder or two.
In fact, by the time the bouillon disappeared to make room for the next
course, she had quite forgotten her worries, so deeply was she
interested in what Robert was telling her of the wonderful growth and
vigor of his city home, Chicago; while the children, unwatched and well
occupied, fell into order like well-trained soldiers; Molly now and then
flinging out some _naive_ remark which sent a ripple of laughter
around the table, at which Morton would begin trying to frown her down,
in his elder-brotherly way, and end by laughing with the rest.
When the ladies had returned to the drawing-room and coffee, leaving the
gentlemen deep in a political discussion in the professor's snuggery,
just off the dining-room, Mrs. Macon saw the children happily interested
in some beautiful photographs of European scenes, viewed through a
powerfully mounted lens, then turned to the others.
"Come," she said, "I want you to go up-stairs with me, and see Sara's
dress. My dressmaker has done wonders the past week, and it is nearly
ready."
They followed her to the little sewing-room, which Sara so well
remembered as the first apartment of this hospitable house into which
she had ever been introduced, and there lay the white gown over a chair.
After viewing it critically, Sara in a quiet rapture, and madame with
all a French woman's enthusiasm and epithets, Mrs. Macon said
impulsively,--
"Do try it on, Sara; I'm a little afraid about this skirt; it looks
short in front, and you know she has had to go almost entirely by
measure, so far; here, let me pin the rest of this swan's-down in place,
while you take off your dress."
Sara obeyed without a murmur, feeling all the delight of any young girl
in trying on her first evening gown, while her two tire-women stood by,
patting, punching, pulling, and commenting, as women will, pronouncing
it a perfect fit, and quite long enough. When it was finally adjusted,
they stepped back, and the little madame drew a long breath.
"Ah! but she is beautiful!" she said in her own language; "she might be
one of the old noblesse," while Mrs. Macon, controlling her delight,
remarked,--
"It is becoming, my dear: you have one of those peculiar complexions
dead white only enhances. You look taller, too, a full inch, in that
train. Really, the children ought to see you; let's go down-stairs and
take them by surprise."
Sara, believing them still alone, did not object; and Mrs. Macon, if she
had heard a closing door, and steps through the hall below, did not
think it necessary to mention the circumstance. So down they went, the
two attendants in front, and Sara following, with possibly a little
intensification of her usual measured and stately tread. Thus they
entered the drawing-room, the two ladies parting to right and left
before her, as might two maids of honor attending some royal personage,
the stately white-robed figure advancing, with head slightly bent, as if
in modest disclaiming of all this parade over one so young.
"Oh!" cried Molly shrilly, "it's Sara, and she looks like a queen!"
while the three gentlemen, farther down the room, turned quickly from
their talk, and one said, under his breath,--
"A princess, indeed!"
Then they all surrounded her, even dignified Professor Macon showing his
enjoyment of the masquerade, while Professor Grandet spread out both
hands, and cried, "Beautifool! Beautifool!" in a French rapture.
Only Robert Glendenning said nothing more, unless eyes speak; but Sara
did not seem to miss the lack of words on his part.
"It is strange, now," observed the host reflectively, after the first
outburst had subsided, "what a transformation dress is! I shall never
again quite dare to think of Miss Sara as a little girl; she has crossed
the brook, she has entered into woman's kingdom, and all because of a
long white gown!"
Sara turned to him.
"Oh, please, sir, I'd rather be the little girl. I"--with a pathetic
tremble in her voice, "I'm barely twenty yet, and I've never had much of
a girlhood."
The little cry, right from her heart, sent a thrill through every one;
and there was not a person in the room, even to careless Molly, who did
not, then and there, resolve that whatever was in their power should be
done to bring that brightness into her life, in which it had been so
greatly lacking. Robert Glendenning sought his aunt's eyes, and in his
she saw an indomitable resolution, while in hers he read a sudden
yielding, which made his heart leap with joy; for he knew no step could
be a happy one for him which did not meet with her full approval.
The rest of the evening passed swiftly and merrily away, Sara once more
in her plain black dress, modestly bearing her part in the bright,
animated conversation, in which even the children were interested, as
well as instructed. When they separated to their homes, Robert said,--
"Miss Sara, with your permission, I will walk home with you; I want to
see where you live, and besides, there are a good many lawless students
on the street to-night."
"And won't we see you again, Mr. Glendenning?" asked his hostess.
"I fear not, Mrs. Macon; I leave to-morrow at nine o'clock."
"Your stay is short."
"Yes, very; a business trip mostly, which I managed to bring about to
take in Thanksgiving Day. Let me thank you for helping to make it one of
the happiest I have ever known."
"I think," smiling mischievously, as she gave him her hand, "your thanks
are due elsewhere; but as I never refuse anything that is offered me, so
I won't these; and allow me to say," with intense meaning, "as far as I
am concerned, you are _most welcome!_"
"Thank you again! Miss Olmstead, are you ready? I'll be home soon, aunt;
good-night, Professor Macon," and Sara was conducted down the steps, her
heart beating, and her head whirling with new, strange, unfathomable
thoughts.
The dinner-party came off in due course of events, and Sara went
through the ordeal with credit to her quartet of guardians. Indeed, she
made so favorable an impression upon several that they really longed for
a more extended acquaintance, and, for a time, invitations became quite
a common affair. But she accepted these most sparingly.
"I can never return them," she said to Mrs. Macon, "and I do not like to
be under obligations, except to those I love," with a sweet look into
her friend's face.
"Yes, my dear, that is right, only in these cases the people expect no
return, knowing fully your circumstances; your acceptance and enjoyment
repay them sufficiently."
But Sara shook her head. She had her own ideas of these things, and
besides, it was no trial for her, the doing without society. Here, as in
Killamet, she preferred books to people; though she was often charmed to
find herself deeply interested in some individual, who upon acquaintance
developed qualities she had only dreamed of before. But it was simply as
individuals that these interested her; taken _en masse_ the world
of men and women seemed cold almost to cruelty. After one or two
evenings out, she went back to her books with a warm feeling of
attachment.
"You cannot disappoint me, dear old friends!" she whispered lovingly,
and the next invitation was answered by a formal regret.
So the winter passed quietly and swiftly away; for busy time is always
swift time, and all three of our Olmstead household were thoroughly
busy: Sara with her writing added to the museum work; Morton with his
studies, in which he was growing deeply interested; and Molly in a
little of everything. She had no special fondness for books, but a real
genius for cookery and housework, most of which now devolved upon her in
their modest establishment. But Molly was growing very pretty too, not
with Sara's delicate, _spirituelle_ attractions, but with a saucy,
piquant, bewitching charm of her own that the students were not slow to
notice, and which Molly was not slow to appreciate, and make the most
of.
Still, Sara did not for some time take any notice of this; for she could
not understand that what to her was a nuisance, and to be gotten rid of
at once, was to Molly the source of the greatest amusement and delight,
--their street admiration and attentions. It came upon her with a shock,
one day, to find herself on the sidewalk behind some tall-hatted young
sprig, accompanied by her little sister, rattling on to him with smiles,
dimples, and tosses, in her own peculiar way, as if she had known him
all her life, and she could scarcely wait to get the child indoors,
before she began,--
"Molly, who was that?"
"That? Why, I've forgotten his name," coolly. "He's a 'fresh' though, I
believe."
"And you're one, too, I should think!" strongly indignant. "What in the
world were you doing?"
"Oh, just talking and laughing."
"When you don't even know who he is? O Molly!"
"Well, what of it? All the girls talk to them, coming home from school,
and nobody thinks anything of it but you!" pouting and frowning, in her
growing anger.
Sara looked at her with suddenly-awakened eyes. Even in her petulance
she was wonderfully pretty, with her great surprised eyes, saucy little
nose, and exquisite coloring; and a sudden sense of her helplessness, if
this little sister should also prove to be vain, and careless of her
good name, came over her with such crushing force that she dropped into
a chair, feeling almost faint for the moment. Molly, frightened at her
sudden pallor, cried out,--
"What is it, Sara? What have I done? Is it such a sin to walk with a
student on the street?"
Sara shook her head helplessly.
"If I could only make you understand, Molly: you _must_ understand!
See here," with intense earnestness, "we are all alone in the world,
Molly, you and Morton and I, all alone, except for a few friends, whose
only interest in us depends upon our worthiness. Don't you see how
careful we must be? We have no home, no money, no anything, except our
good name: we must keep that! Nothing, nothing, must take it from us.
The Bible says it is more precious than rubies, and it is, Molly, it is;
indeed, with us it is everything! If you had a father and mother to back
you, possibly you could make such acquaintances without harm, though it
seems to me a hazardous thing, even then; but now it is absolutely
dangerous! Promise me, Molly, that this shall end it."
"If I promise I shall break it," said the honest girl; "for they
_will_ speak to me, and I shall forget when I'm away from you."
"Then, Molly," with sudden resolution, "I shall resign my position, and
take you back to Killamet. I can make enough with my pen to keep us from
starving."
Molly looked at her, and knowing she was in deadly earnest burst out,--
"Oh, don't do that, Sara; 'twould be too dreadful! I'll try, I really
will; but you must remember I'm not like you. I don't care for books,
and I do like people; and it's awfully lonesome with nobody but you and
Morton! Other girls have parties and rides, and lots of nice times; and
I don't even have girlfriends to come and visit me; it's lonesome, it
is!"
Sara felt the force of this as she had never felt it before. Here was a
nature as opposite to her own as the two poles. The books, thoughts, and
work, which gave her such pleasure were all a weariness to this sunny,
companionable creature, longing for life, merriment, and all youthful
pleasures. Could she greatly blame the child? And her tones softened as
she said,--
"Poor little girl! Have I kept you too close? Believe me it was for your
good."
At this Molly weakened instantly, and two arms flew about Sara's neck,
while a penitent voice cried,--
"I know I'm just as mean as I can be, and you're the best sister in the
world; but oh! I do wish I could ride horse-back, and go to parties and
picnics, and have stacks of girls all the time, then those silly
students might go to gr--I mean to College, where they belong; for I
wouldn't care a cent for the whole lot of them!"
Sara laughed. After all, there was something in this honest, transparent
child, from which evil had always seemed to slide, as dust slips from a
polished mirror; and she said with conviction,--
"Molly, we'll both do differently. I like people too little, you perhaps
too much; but after this I'll cultivate a fondness for them. There is no
reason why we shouldn't both go out more, in certain ways, and see
something of the life about us. If you will give up these wretched
street acquaintances you shall have a party next Saturday."
"A party? O Sara!" her eyes dazzling in their delight.
"What kind of one?"
"A tea-party. Let's see, you might have nine girls, besides yourself;
that would about fill our table, and I'll wait on you. I presume Morton
will be off, as usual, on a geological ramble, so we needn't count him."
"O Sara! and may I have the table trimmed, and flowers all around? and
may I make the cake? And oh!" clasping her hands together, "may I have
Mr. Hoffstott freeze some cream?"
"Yes," laughed Sara; "yes, every one, if you'll keep your part of the
contract."
"Sara," with intense solemnity, "if a student speaks to me I'll look
right through him, like this," with a stare of Gorgonian stoniness; "and
if he isn't completely silenced, I'll wither him this way," and she
swept her sister with a slow, lofty, contemptuous glance, that would
have scathed an agent.
"O Molly! Molly!" was all Sara said, as she laughed in spite of herself;
but she felt she could trust the child who, with all her faults, had not
a grain of slyness or deception in her nature.