a moment's thought reassured her, and she gave herself up to the
unexpected enjoyment. They had proposed to stay at the hotel, but Mrs.
Felton had abundance of room, as Isabella Lambert was at her sister's:
she was very urgent with them to remain, and Mrs. Merton finally
consented, after stipulating that she should make no difference in the
family arrangements. There was, indeed, no need of her doing so, for
Mrs. Felton's housekeeping was always carried on upon a very liberal
scale—so liberal, indeed, that Olive thought she could not make much by
her boarders.
"Why, really, my love, you are delightfully situated here—are you not?"
said Mrs. Merton, as she surveyed Olive's comfortable room. "I had no
idea that you were in such luxurious quarters. I should think Mrs.
Felton might be a trifle wearisome sometimes, however."
"One soon gets used to it," replied Olive, smiling. "I know exactly how
much importance to attach to her complaints, and in general mind them
no more than the rain on the windows. She is really very kind to me,
and I have no excuse for being dissatisfied or home-sick, except the
desire to see you all."
"And Miss Felton—what a delightful person she is!" pursued Mrs. Merton.
"She is not pretty, but there is such a charming cheerfulness about her
face and voice that she really seems to bring the sunshine into the
room with her. If she only had a little more style, she would really
make a sensation in society. You must bring her home with you some
time, Olive, to make a visit. I should be quite delighted to have her,
and I think a little of the world would be a great advantage to her."
"I am glad you like her," said Olive, feeling as though she did not
care to have Ruth improved in that way. "She is one of my most intimate
friends. I want you to see Mrs. Tower; she is very different from Ruth,
but equally excellent."
"All in good time, my dear. I mean to see all your friends before I go,
and your school, too. How soon is it out?"
"There is only one week more."
"And then you have an examination, I suppose?"
"No, aunt, I am thankful to say, we do not. We have a review-day
every fortnight, and the last two weeks of the term are spent in the
same way, but we have no public display, except in declamation and
compositions. The school is open to visitors at all times, and we
have a good many, especially on repetition-days. If you will come in
to-morrow, we shall be very glad to see you. I assure you I am proud of
my girls. But I want to hear all about Abby and the baby."
Mrs. Merton was very ready to tell; and Abby's affairs, and Laura's
approaching marriage, occupied the evening. Olive was very much touched
at hearing of her uncle's kindness, and especially on learning what
neither Abby nor William yet knew, that he had defrayed the entire
expenses of her sister's confinement, besides leaving in Abby's hands a
sum sufficient to last till William should receive his first quarter's
salary. She could not help feeling some sympathy for what she supposed
must be William's mortification at being oblige to receive assistance
from one whom he had so deeply wronged, but she might have spared
herself the trouble.
That talented young gentleman had early imbibed the idea that he was
created to amuse himself, and the rest of mankind to wait upon him.
From the exaltation of his fancied genius and refinement, he looked
calmly down upon those lower mortals, whose grovelling minds permitted
them to learn and labor truly to get their own living, in the state
of life to which God had called them. He had felt a little annoyed at
first, on discovering that Mr. Merton had left money with Abby, but the
feeling did not prevent him from spending seven or eight dollars of
it upon some new engravings which had struck his fancy, and which, he
assured Abby, were so cheap that it would have been really foolish not
to buy them.
"Economy!" he said, when she remonstrated with him. "Oh! Yes, of
course, we must practise economy, but your uncle can not expect me
to deny myself all gratifications. I can not live without books and
pictures."
"In what, then, do you propose to economize?" persisted Abby.
"Oh! Why—in dress and housekeeping—any thing, in short, but
intellectual pleasures."
Abby shook her head. "The housekeeping costs as little as it can,
William."
"But could you not manage with a less expensive girl, my dear? I have
heard of servants getting only six shillings a week, and we give Katy
twelve!"
"I do not like to part with Katy," replied Abby, her heart sinking
at the prospect of a new and cheap girl. "She has just learned to be
useful, and attends to baby so nicely."
"Oh! Well, I only mentioned it. I thought, when it came to your own
case, you would not be so very desirous of saving. It is easy to be
economical of other people's enjoyments."
Abby's pale face flushed, and the tears filled her eyes.
"There, now, don't cry! I am sorry I said any thing, but you are so
cool in proposing your economy to me. But come, cheer up, my little
darling. I am coming to take you to ride presently."
Abby cheered up, and was thankful for the prospect of a little fresh
air, for she was not able to walk out yet. But when the carriage came,
there was a new cause of annoyance.
"Why do you wear that coarse blanket of a thing, my dear?" said
William, glancing disdainfully at the large woollen shawl Abby had put
on. "It makes you look like a servant."
"I have no other," replied Abby, coloring. "My cloak is not warm
enough, and I can not wrap the baby in it."
"Oh! Pray don't take the baby. She will be sure to cry, as they always
do when they ought not to, and besides, it will tire you to death. I
am sure your cloak is warm enough, my love," he continued, dexterously
removing the obnoxious shawl, and throwing it over the arm of the sofa.
"You do not know how mild and pleasant it is. Come, you are too bad to
make such a figure of yourself, when you know how much I like to have
you admired, and you are ten times prettier than ever."
So Abby wore the cloak, returned home chilled through, and was very ill
next day, in consequence. Mr. Forester was very sorry, paid her every
attention, and to prevent the possibility of such an accident happening
again, went out and bought a new shawl, for which he paid thirty
dollars.
To return to Basswoods! Mrs. Merton was delighted with the place and
the people, and quite astonished to find so much refinement in a
country village. Mrs. Gregory made a little party for her: so did Mrs.
Gordon, and at both did Mrs. Merton win golden opinions from all sorts
of people, by her elegant appearance and charming manners. It was a
peculiarity of hers that every one with whom she conversed ten minutes,
felt as though he or she had received a personal favor. Some of Mrs.
Tucker's adherents, who had hitherto been rather unfriendly to Olive,
suddenly turned completely round, and were warm in their praises of her
and her relations.
In short, Mrs. Merton's visit did a great deal of good, and Olive
enjoyed it extremely. She told her aunt she thought it would not do
to offer to pay Mrs. Felton for their board, and Mrs. Merton, after
considerable hesitation, consented to give up the idea, thinking that
she could make it up in some other way. Accordingly, she afterwards
sent Mrs. Felton a beautiful dress and shawl, with an elegant letter,
which Mrs. Felton showed to all the village, thanking her for all her
kindness to her niece, and requesting her to accept the accompanying
articles from herself and her husband, as a testimonial of her
gratitude.
A proud and happy woman was Mrs. Felton. Ruth was pleased with the
delicacy of the attention to her mother, and Mr. Felton, whose
conversation was usually summed up in a semidiurnal report of the state
of the weather, gave vent to the profound and original idea, that in
point of fact, some people were very different from other people.
CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.
MRS. DIMSDEN'S summer campaign at Newport and Saratoga had been
successful, almost beyond her highest hopes. Laura was going to be
married to a man of wealth and position fully equal to her uncle
Merton's—a man who had been an object with speculating young ladies and
their mammas for several years. Attracted by Miss Dimsden's magnificent
beauty, he had followed the ladies from Cape May to Newport, from
Newport to the White Mountains, and from thence to Saratoga, where he
finally surrendered at discretion.
It was a singular circumstance that no sooner was it known that Mr.
Witherington was engaged to the young and beautiful Miss Dimsden, than
all these same speculating young ladies and their speculating mammas
were at once filled with pity and sympathy for the poor girl, thus
remorselessly sacrificed by her heartless aunt, and with contempt for
the weak-minded suitor, caught by a girl without principle and without
fortune.
Olive had made anxious inquiries of Mrs. Merton concerning her future
brother-in-law.
"It is an excellent match, my dear, in all the generally received
senses of that much abused word. Mr. Witherington is a man of good
manners, excellent principles, and a large fortune. He has a fine house
in town, and a fine house in the country, and all that; and moreover,
he is desperately in love with Laura."
"Then I do not see, aunt, but that Laura's chances for happiness are
excellent."
"If you will excuse my saying so, Olive, I think her chances are better
than his." Olive looked at her inquiringly. "You know I am not romantic
in the least," continued Mrs. Merton, "but then I have rather peculiar
notions. I do not think a woman has any right to marry a man unless she
honestly prefers him to all the rest of the world."
"And you think, aunt, that Laura does not—"
"I think she is almost indifferent, my dear. Begging your pardon for
speaking so freely of your sister, I do not think she has depth of
character enough to appreciate a man like Mr. Witherington. He is an
earnest, grave person—what I call a weighty man, and I fear he will be
disappointed in his wife. Of course, he can see no fault in her now."
"But it seems rather strange," said Olive, after a little silence,
"that Laura should not like such a man."
"She does like him, my child, but she does not love him, and no one
should know better than you that there is all the difference in the
world between loving and liking."
"I suppose aunt Dimsden is delighted."
"Oh! Of course; you know what her ideas of marriage are. But don't
attach too much importance to what I say, my love," added Mrs. Merton
kindly. "Perhaps when you see them together, you may think I am
entirely mistaken."
"And how is Laura?" asked Olive.
"She is splendid—really magnificent! I never knew that she was half so
beautiful, and she has a subdued, gentle manner, which is very becoming
to her. And now, while I think of it, Mrs. Dimsden is bent upon having
a grand display—a reception, and all that, and of course you and
Charlotte must be dressed to correspond. Now what I want to stipulate
is that you shall permit us to provide your dress and ornaments. I know
you like to be independent, my dear, but you must really allow us this
pleasure. You will have ways enough to dispose of your earnings by and
by."
Olive accepted the kindness, and felt very grateful for it. She knew
her aunt wanted her to be dressed like Charlotte upon all occasions, an
expenditure which, now that she was dependent upon her own resources,
and had such a strong motive for saving, she felt that she could not
well afford, and she appreciated the delicacy which thus granted a
favor on pretense of asking one.
They arrived at home early in the evening, and Olive was hardly dressed
before the Black Prince announced Mr. Witherington and Miss Dimsden.
Laura was certainly more dazzling than ever, and Olive could not wonder
at her lover for looking at her constantly, even while talking to other
people. She was very much pleased with Mr. Witherington. He did not
talk much, and was evidently full of serious thought, but what said was
frank, manly, and to the purpose. She thought he winced a good deal
under Mrs. Dimsden's genteel vulgarisms, and she admired the adroit way
in which Laura often contrived to turn the conversation, or to divert
her lover's attention to herself.
The evening passed before she could satisfy herself as to whether her
aunt was right in her ideas about the depth of Laura's attachment.
The next day she spent the whole morning in her sister's apartment,
admiring and commenting upon the bridal finery which Laura displayed
for her inspection. Every thing was of the best and handsomest, and
Olive gave her aunt credit for greater liberality than she had thought
belonged to her. Laura told her how many presents she had had.
"These two boxes of hankerchiefs Charlotte gave me. See what beauties
they are, all marked with my name so ingeniously. Aunt Merton gave me
this set of cameos. Don't they look just like her, so quietly elegant?
Besides, she and uncle together gave me the tea and coffee-set that you
will see by and by. They are much handsomer than Jane Lewis's were.
Mrs. Schuyler gave me the fruit and cake-knives, and Louisa a beautiful
little pitcher. The Jenners sent me the egg-cups lined with gold, and
Mrs. John Jenner a beautiful basket, etc., etc. Now confess, Olive, is
it not worth while to be married, to have such beautiful things given
to one?"
"I am afraid I never took that into the calculation," said Olive,
good-naturedly.
"No, I dare say not, but you and I are very different, you know. Now
only think, if you had only been guided by aunt Dimsden, you might have
married a rich man, too, instead of a poor minister. Not," she added
hastily, "that Mr. Witherington's money is the only good thing about
him."
"I should think his money was the least recommendation," said Olive.
"He appears to me to be a very earnest, excellent man. I only hope you
love him as he deserves."
Laura laughed and then sighed. "Why, to tell you the simple truth,
Olive, I don't think it is in me to 'fall in love,' as people call
it, with any body. I esteem Mr. Witherington highly, and I have a
very great respect for him. I think that is a great deal more sure
foundation than such a violent passion, don't you?"
Olive shook her head. "'Love,' honor, and obey, Laura!"
"Oh! Well, of course, yes. But there is another thing, Olive—do you
think that obey is to be rendered literally, or is it just put in to
fill out the line?"
"I think of it in this way, Laura. A man ought to be head of his own
house, and when there is a decided difference of opinion, the wife
ought to give up. I must say I do not believe in a woman's humoring a
man in all his whims and caprices, as Abby does with William. It is not
good for her, and certainly it is very bad for him."
"But, now for instance, to take something that you know all about,
there was Janet Forster. She married Mr. Heyling, you know, when she
was so very poor, and he not only took care of her, but of all her
relatives. Then she was seized with a poetical mania, and wanted to
publish her poems. He was a very proud man, and it disturbed him
dreadfully to think his wife should write for money. He could not bear
to have her publish the volume, but she persisted. It came out in spite
of him, and she got the pay for it, whatever it was. What do you think
of that?"
"I never knew exactly the truth of the matter before," said Olive,
"though I knew that poor Mr. Heyling was very unhappy. I must say,
I think she did very wrong. Supposing that it was a foolish pride,
which I will not deny, she was under the greatest obligations to him,
not only for herself, but for her family. The poems were not so very
splendid that the world would have suffered any great loss from their
suppression."
"I don't think he objected so much to her publishing as to her writing
for money."
"Then she ought not to have written for money. What did a few hundred
dollars, more or less, matter, compared to her husband's annoyance?"
"I always thought she was wrong," remarked Laura. "If I were going
to differ from my husband, at least I would do it in a delicate way,
and not make it a subject of town gossip. But I don't believe Mr.
Witherington will try to govern me much."
"I rather hope he will," said Olive, smiling. "He does not seem at
all like a man who would be tyrannical or capricious, and a little
reasonable government will do you no harm."
Laura laughed heartily at the idea. "Really, Olive, you are very good.
Don't look grave, my dear, I mean to be quite a pattern wife, I assure
you, and shall preside over my husband's establishment with all the
dignity and grace imaginable. I mean to make him very happy, and never
contradict him unless we differ in opinion. But come down-stairs—I want
to show you my presents."
The presents were magnificent. Laura had their cost all by heart, and
went over it all with a readiness which would have done credit to a
jeweller's' clerk.
"What a quantity of silver you have!" remarked Olive. "If you should
ever become reduced in circumstances, you might set up a shop, and
stock it with your bridal presents. Let me see—here are one, two,
three, six butter-knives, all marked with your name, and how many
fruit-knives?"
"Two complete sets, besides three odd ones. That is the trouble—one
gets so many things just alike. I have four or five cream-spoons, and
three sugar-sifters, and so with other things."
"I shall be quite afraid to put my simple presents by the side of all
these grand things, Laura. I have not felt as if I could spend much
money, and my plain white Parian ware will look out of place beside all
these grand things, I am afraid."
"No, indeed," replied Laura, with more earnestness than she usually
manifested. "If you had given me nothing more than a sheet of paper,
Olive, I should think more of it than of all these fine things that
people give me to display their own liberality, and get themselves
talked about."
"You don't seem to have a very high opinion of your friends," remarked
Olive.
"Of course that does not apply to all of them," returned Laura. "Some
of these were given by dear friends, and these I really value. The
things uncle and aunt Merton have given me, for instance, and Mrs.
Schuyler's presents, because she was a friend of mother's, you know,
and the Jenners, because I always loved them. But there is Maria
Lewis, she never liked me, though she wanted me to marry Sam. And
after I refused him, she hated me, I know—yet she sends me this superb
"odeur"-box, just that she might see it on the table, with her name
attached to it."
"I should hardly want to accept presents upon such terms, I think,"
said Olive.
"Oh! The things are just as pretty and convenient, you know, as if they
liked me ever so much. But tell me, Olive, and pray don't think I ask
because I am dissatisfied, or any such thing—why can not you afford to
spend as much money as you want? I am sure you have some good reason."
"My reason is Abby, Laura. I feel as if the time would come when she
will need all that I can do for her. William is not getting on at all
in business, and is not likely to. He is very extravagant besides."
"I am very sorry to hear it. I hoped they were doing pretty well.
Perhaps I shall be able to help them."
"If you can do it by denying yourself, and curtailing your own
expenses, my dear Laura, I shall be very glad. But pray do not ask Mr.
Witherington to do any thing for them."
"What a queer girl you are! Why not?"
Olive thought if the "why not" did not present itself, there was no use
in arguing the point any farther.
"I hope, at any rate, Laura, if your husband approves, you will go and
see Abby, or at least write to her."
"I have done that already," said Laura. "I told aunt I would not
be married at all unless she would let me ask Abby to the wedding.
She made a great fuss at first, and threatened to appeal to Mr.
Witherington, so I saved her the trouble by appealing to him myself.
Then she was frightened, for he is so very precise and particular in
his ideas, and she thought the match might be off."
"What did he say?" asked Olive, very much interested.
"He praised me very much in the first place, for telling him every
thing. Then he asked very particularly about the affair, and aunt told
him, only she made it a great deal worse than it was. You would have
thought Abby had behaved more shamefully than any one ever did in the
world. I could not help putting in a word now and then, and finally he
said I might have my own way in the matter. Aunt was very angry, but
she dared not show it to him, you know. So I wrote to her day before
yesterday. I do wonder if she will come?"
"I am rather afraid not, Laura. Abby has more on her hands than you
have any idea of. She wrote to me that she had changed girls lately,
and she has not learned to keep house so but that it takes all her
time. Moreover, I do not think William will spare her, and I am very
certain he will not come himself."
Laura sighed.
"I am very sorry for her, I am sure. It seems a great pity—so pretty
and well-educated as she is. She ought to be enjoying herself in
society, instead of being burdened with a house and a baby at her age.
Only think, she is only eighteen now! I do think girls lose a great
deal by marrying so young, Olive, even if they marry well."
"I think so, too, Laura. But I must go home, or aunt will miss me at
luncheon-time. I shall see you again to-morrow, and arrange about every
thing."
Olive felt rather sadly as she walked homeward. She did not think
Laura was doing right, and she feared that Mr. Witherington would be
disappointed in her. He seemed an earnest, thoughtful man, who would
need something more in a wife beside beauty and fine manners. And,
fond as she was of her, she could not conceal from herself that Laura
had no depth, either of character or principle. She clearly married
Mr. Witherington, not because she loved him, but because he was an
excellent match, and could give her at once that wealth and position
which she had been educated to regard as the chief end of existence.
For a time, her husband's eyes might be blinded by her beauty and his
own passion, but Olive felt as though he must find out the deficiencies
in his wife after a while, and be made very unhappy by the discovery.
There was nothing for it, however, but to hope that a man of so much
depth of character might influence Laura, and lead her to higher
things. At present, all the energies of herself and her aunt seemed
concentrated on the desire that the wedding should eclipse every thing
of the kind ever seen in M. before. Aunt Merton, though she disapproved
of gay weddings, as a matter of taste, lent her efficient aid to
gratify them, and devoted more time and attention to the affair than
she had ever done to any party of her own.
Abby could not come. She wrote that Katy had left her, and the girl she
had was not very efficient, baby was troublesome, she was not strong
herself, and, on the whole, she thought it would be better not to
make the attempt. She sent her love and good wishes, and a beautiful
handkerchief; embroidered by her own hands, as a present for Laura.
Olive was glad that Laura persisted in carrying this handkerchief on
her wedding-day, instead of the more splendid Honiton-bordered one
which Mrs. Dimsden had provided.
They talked over the letter together, and agreed that it was very sad,
despite the evident effort to make it cheerful. Abby was clearly very
home-sick, and very much depressed, though she said not a word of any
new trouble, except her change of girls, and that baby was troublesome.
She had made acquaintance with the rector of the nearest church and his
wife, who were very kind to her, but she could not get to church very
often. Mrs. Granger came to see her sometimes, and was very good to
her. Such was the substance of her letter.
The eventful day arrived. Olive's dress was perfect, and aunt Rebecca,
as she clasped the last bracelet—part of a beautiful set of ornaments
presented by her brother-in-law, pronounced that she had never looked
so well in her life. And, as Olive looked in the glass, she thought
so, too, and wished that Walter were there to see her. Mrs. Merton did
honor to the occasion by a superb new dress, and her most magnificent
display of diamonds—rather a remarkable thing for her, as she did not
usually trouble herself to dress much. Charlotte was attired exactly
like Olive, and looked very queenly and amiable.
"Olive," said she, as they were waiting for the carriage to convey them
to Mrs. Dimsden's, "how should you like all this fuss, if you were
going to be married yourself?"
"I am afraid I should think it a very great bore," answered her cousin.