MRS. BREVORT’S RECEPTION.
Gladys Huntress was very beautiful that evening when she entered Mrs.
Brevort’s drawing-room, leaning on the arm of Mrs. Loring, who was to
present her to their hostess, while Addie and her mother followed close
behind.
Her dress was blue, of elegant surah, which fell in soft, graceful folds
around her, its long train making her most perfect figure seem almost
regal.
It was cut, front and back, with a V shaped bodice, and this was filled
in with a profusion of soft filmy lace, gathered close about her white
throat, and fastened with a string of rare, gleaming pearls.
Her beautiful arms, round and as smooth as marble, were also covered,
but not concealed, by sleeves of lace.
Her nut-brown hair, which shone like finest satin, had all been drawn up
and coiled around the top of her head like a gleaming coronet, while a
few soft, silken rings curled charmingly about her pure forehead.
There was not a flower nor an ornament about her anywhere excepting that
string of pearls, but the very simplicity of her toilet was artistic and
just adapted to enhance her beauty of face and form.
Everet Mapleson saw her the moment that she entered the room; indeed, he
had been watching her for a half-hour or more, and his eyes glowed with
admiration.
“She is a hundred fold more lovely than I thought her this afternoon,”
he said, under his breath. “I shall love that girl, if I allow myself to
see much of her. And why not? I believe I will set myself regularly at
work to win her; thus I shall not only secure a charming little wife,
but accomplish my revenge, also, for the indignity that I have received
from _his_ hands.”
He watched Gladys, while she was presented to the hostess, and was
charmed with the ease and grace of her manners.
“She belongs, evidently, to a good family; she has been well reared,” he
continued, “even my critical and aristocratic mamma could not fail to be
satisfied with her as a daughter, although she is not particularly
partial to Northern women. She reminds me of some one, too. I wonder who
it can be? There is something strangely familiar in the proud way that
she carries herself.”
He moved toward another portion of the room, as he saw Gladys and her
friends pass on, and, seeking Mrs. Vanderwater, who, by the way, was the
mother of Albert Vanderwater, Everet Mapleson’s chum and especial friend
at Yale, he asked:
“Do you know the party of people who have just entered—that gentleman
with three ladies?”
“Oh, yes; they are the Lorings. Mr. Loring is a wealthy Wall street
broker. His wife is a daughter of the late Colonel Elwell, and their
daughter, Miss Addie, is a charming young lady, not to mention the fact
that she is the only child and the heiress to a great deal of money.”
“Introduce me, will you?” asked Everet, eagerly.
“To be sure I will; but is it the money or the beauty that attracts you
most?” queried the lady, roguishly.
“I will tell you later,” retorted the young man, in the same vein; “but
you did not say who that young lady is who accompanies them,” he
concluded, as if his attention had but just been drawn toward her.
“No, I do not know myself; she is a stranger, but a very lovely one, is
she not? Really, I do not believe there is another lady in the room so
beautiful. Come, I have a curiosity to know who she is myself, and we
will beg Mrs. Loring for an introduction.”
Thus Everet Mapleson managed to secure a formal introduction to the
Lorings and Gladys through one of the leaders of New York society.
He knew that there could be no exceptions taken to any one whom Mrs.
Vanderwater vouched for, and therefore the young girl would have no
excuse for avoiding him on the score of not having been properly
presented to him.
But she received him very graciously, even referring in a laughing way
to their previous meeting earlier in the day, thus showing him she would
not have been the least bit prudish about recognizing him, even without
Mrs. Vanderwater’s reassuring presence.
He soon after searched out his friend Al, whom he presented to Miss
Loring, and then left him to be entertained by her while he devoted
himself exclusively to Gladys.
They danced together several times, and he managed to secure her company
during supper, while afterward they had a social chat in Mrs. Brevort’s
charming little picture-gallery, where there were several works of rare
value.
But the only picture which Everet Mapleson seemed to consider worthy of
his regard was an exquisite face, framed in lustrous brown hair, with
the bluest eyes that he had ever seen, and whose every expression only
served to wind the silken chain of his bondage, the chain of love, more
closely about him.
Gladys, on her part, was strangely moved by the young man’s presence.
He was Geoffrey and yet he was not.
Several times she almost forgot herself and was on the point of
addressing him in the old familiar way which she had always adopted
toward her father’s _protege_, and only restrained herself in season to
prevent herself from appearing bold and forward.
Everet Mapleson found her eyes fixed upon him with great earnestness
several times, and he knew that she was measuring him by her estimate of
Geoffrey Huntress.
It nettled him exceedingly, for he was only too conscious of his own
inferiority.
“Well, Miss Huntress, are you, like many others, trying to solve within
yourself the mystery of my resemblance to your cousin, that you observe
me so closely,” he asked, with an amused smile, upon finding her gaze
riveted upon his face instead of the picture before which they were
standing.
Gladys blushed slightly.
“I shall have to plead guilty, Mr. Mapleson,” she confessed. “I trust
you will excuse me if I have appeared rude, but, really, to me it seems
the strangest thing imaginable.”
“It is, indeed,” he said, and added to himself: “and dusedly
uncomfortable to _me_, too.”
“I wonder if you are not in some way related,” Gladys said, musingly,
and more to herself than to him.
Everet Mapleson’s face darkened.
“I do not think so,” he answered, curtly. “He is a Northerner—I was born
at the South. _My_ father is a Southern _gentleman_, and has always
resided near Richmond, Virginia, excepting during the war, when he was
in the field or camp most of the time, and a year or two that he spent
traveling in Europe.”
Gladys was conscious of a slight feeling of resentment toward her
companion during this speech. The emphasis which he had, perhaps
unconsciously, expended upon his personal pronouns, and the fact of his
father being a “Southern gentleman,” implied a sense of superiority
which grated harshly upon her ear.
“Is your mother also a native of the South?” she asked.
“Oh, yes; and my mother is a most magnificent woman, too, Miss
Huntress,” the young man returned, with a kindling face.
Gladys’ heart softened a trifle toward him at this. If he loved his
mother like that there must be some good in him, she thought.
“Have you brothers and sisters?” she inquired.
“No, I am the only child. I was born within a year after my parents’
marriage, and there have been no other children.”
“Do you resemble your father or mother?”
“My father. My mother has often told me that I am very like what he was
at my age; but there is a portrait of my grandfather Mapleson at home,
which, but for the ancient style of dress, you would believe had been
taken for me; the resemblance is every bit as striking as that between
Huntress and me.”
“Has your father no brothers or sisters?” Gladys asked.
Everet Mapleson looked surprised.
He knew that she was trying to account in some way for Geoffrey
Huntress’ likeness to himself; but, surely, he thought, she must know
all about her cousin’s parentage and their connections, and it was a
little singular that she should be so persistent in her inquiries
regarding the Mapleson genealogy.
“No,” he replied; “my father was an only son. He had a sister, but she
died while very young. The only other connections that I know anything
about were an uncle who made my father his heir, and a distant cousin—a
very eccentric sort of person. Both, however, are long since dead, and
both died single. The Mapleson family was never a numerous one, and it
is now almost extinct. I see, Miss Huntress,” he added, with a slight
smile in which Gladys thought she detected something of scorn, “that you
are trying to account for this resemblance upon natural principles; but
it is simply impossible that we are in any way connected. The fact can
only be attributable to a strange freak of nature.”
“Possibly,” Gladys returned, thoughtfully, and yet she was impressed
that there was more in it than Mr. Mapleson appeared willing to allow.
She did not feel well enough acquainted with him to speak of the mystery
surrounding Geoffrey’s parentage and his early life. It is doubtful if
she would have told him, under any circumstances, because of Geoffrey’s
sensitiveness upon the subject, still she was strangely impressed by
their resemblance.
The evening was one of keen enjoyment to Everet Mapleson, and when at
length Gladys withdrew with her friends, he accompanied her to the
carriage and assisted her to enter.
“I have rarely enjoyed a pleasanter evening, Miss Huntress, and I hope
we shall meet again before I leave the city,” he said, as he handed her
the extra wrap which hung over his arm and stood a moment beside the
carriage door.
“Then come and call upon us, Mr. Mapleson; the young ladies will be
together for a few days longer,” said Mrs. Loring, who had overheard
this remark; and having learned from some source that he belonged to one
of the F. F. V’s, she was anxious to cultivate his acquaintance for
Addie’s sake.