A YOUNG GIRL’S CONFIDENCES.
“Indeed, Egbert, I shall insist upon going. The Noels have been old
friends of our family for ages, and I have a particular desire to know
this young girl, who was only a pretty child when I was here.”
“But I do not really care to go. Circumstances—”
“I know all about it. How you dived down into the bosom of the James,
and dragged a man out of death’s arms, whom it would have been better
for the world if you had allowed him to drift quietly out of it. But
what then? Is one to be unsocial because one is brave?”
“Alice, you cannot understand! I wish to avoid that man’s thanks—they
stifle me!”
“I dare say. His presence will almost stifle me, for I know him. But
never mind that. I have accepted the invitation, and mean to be
particularly agreeable to Mr. Waldon.”
“Very well,” answered Fletcher, almost disposed to laugh. “When a tyrant
fills the throne, slaves most obey!”
“I wonder who they will have? Any visitors at Willow Bend that you
know?”
“Not now. A—a young lady, whom you know a little, I believe, was there,
but she is gone. Waldon is engaged to her.”
“Yes, I know—Bertha Canfield. A splendid creature—ten thousand times too
good for him. Was not she down in the river with him?”
“Where did you hear about this, Alice?”
“Why you wrote me about it, of course.”
“No, I am sure not.”
“Then I don’t remember. From the servants here, I dare say. They know
everything.”
“Not quite,” answered the young man, with a bitter smile; and taking his
fowling-piece from its rack, he went out.
“Poor, proud fellow!” thought Mrs. Forbes, looking after him with loving
sympathy. “How little he dreams that I know all about it, and that she
is so near! It strikes me, Alice Forbes, that you have got tangled up in
a touching little romance; but, if I can help it, Egbert shall not crash
against the rock that so nearly shipwrecked me. Oh, Heaven forgive me!
how I detest that man!”
She did detest him—yet, being a woman of exquisite tact and wonderful
self-control, met Waldon, three days after that, with the most cordial
politeness, resolved, if possible, to ascertain from him what Bertha
Canfield was pining to know.
Very pretty and delightfully blissful was Mary Noel that day. Mr. Noel,
with some hesitation, had given his consent; and, after that, there was
no reason why her engagement should be kept secret, though privacy had
brought a pleasant tribute to her vanity, in an offer from young Hyde.
Waldon had enjoyed this with great zest, for, next to success for
himself, he loved defeat for his friends, and these two delicious
morsels coming together filled him with infinite satisfaction.
Mary had acted up to her nature, and coquetted a little with Hyde. She
refused to give him a direct answer, amusing herself with the idea that
he would soon receive information which would render a positive
rejection unnecessary.
Thus, in absolute ignorance of the exact state of things, four persons
in that party met, with great danger of falling into cross purposes.
At first, invitations had only been given out for gentlemen. Young Hyde,
with his guests, and Egbert Fletcher, were of the number; but, when Miss
Noel learned that Mrs. Wilson Forbes was on a visit to her brother, she
rode over, left cards, and afterward included her in the dinner party,
thus adroitly making it proper that she should be present herself. No
other ladies were expected. Mary told Mrs. Forbes of this while they
were in that great, airy chamber, busy about the toilet table after the
maid disappeared.
Mrs. Forbes only smiled, and shook out the folds of her rose-colored
dress, over which quantities of white lace fluttered incessantly.
“So much the better,” she said. “We shall have a chance to get
acquainted. When I saw you last, dear, you were just the prettiest,
golden-haired little thing in the world; but, since then, you have
broken dozens of hearts, I dare say, and fancied yourself in love ever
so many times.”
Mary blushed rosily, and tossed a long curl, that had fallen to her
bosom, over her shoulder, looking at herself in the glass and admiring
the effect.
“Not so many hearts as that, Mrs. Forbes, and as for falling in love,
once in a lifetime is enough for me.”
“Then you own to that once. It must be serious, and very recent, I
should think, from the dainty fashion you have of blushing.”
“Oh, yes, very recent. I don’t mind telling you, because it must all
come out soon, and our families have been such old friends; but you will
be astonished, because everybody thinks him engaged to another person,
and so he was till—till—”
“Till he saw you, and thought better of it. You are speaking of Mr.
Waldon, I fancy.”
“Do you know him? I should think so, from the way you speak,” inquired
Mary, sparkling with animation.
“Oh, yes; we are old friends. That is why guessing was so easy.”
“You know him, and understand how perfectly splendid he is. But in one
thing you are mistaken. It was not just as you think. He had given up
Miss—that is, the lady we are speaking of—before I knew that he cared
for me. It was something very distressing, I am sure, that made it
impossible for him to marry her—something touching his honor. I would
not say this, only she was my own friend, and, not knowing, people might
blame me for marrying him, and not associating with her after—which, he
says, must be, as that which made it impossible for him to keep his
engagement must break up all friendship between us.”
“Oh, yes, I understand this sensitive honor!” said Mrs. Forbes, in a
voice that thrilled with lofty disdain, though Mary did not feel it.
“Isn’t he the soul of honor?” she said. “So careful, too, about me. ‘The
snow,’ he says, ‘must not be more pure than the woman he marries!’ A
pretty idea, isn’t it, Mrs. Forbes?”
“Yes, a very pretty idea,” answered Mrs. Forbes, with a curl of her red
lips: “so very appropriate! But do you know, my dear, I think modesty
blinds you a little. There could have been nothing more potent than your
own loveliness in breaking up the old engagement.”
“Indeed, you are mistaken. I saw him receive a letter, which distressed
him terribly. I saw tears in his eyes.”
“But what was in the letter?”
“I do not know. I asked to read it, but he flung it into the river. I am
sure that letter was about her—in fact, he told me so, but that it was
something he was bound to keep secret.”
Mrs. Forbes was satisfied that she had mastered all the information Mary
had to give, and she came to this conclusion: Waldon’s motive for
breaking his engagement was Mary Noel’s wealth. Beyond that he had
something which answered as an excuse to his own selfish nature. What
that something was, she resolved to find out. Gathering up the silken
folds of her robe, she stood ready to descend to the drawing-room; but
Mary was fastidious about the arrangement of her front hair, and
doubtful of the exact spot where a white moss rose, Waldon had sent her,
would be most effective. When this was arranged, she grew anxious about
the flow of her filmy blue dress—wondered if it was not too deeply
tinted, and if he would think it enough like a summer sky.
Mrs. Forbes watched her patiently; there was something child-like about
all this that touched her with gentle compassion. At last, the girl was
ready to go down, and taking her cobweb of a handkerchief from the
toilet, cast another shy glance at the mirror, and followed her guest
from the room.
Mrs. Forbes and her brother had come early. Waldon had been at Willow
Bend all day—indeed, he almost lived there now—and none of the other
guests had arrived, so that he was walking up and down the drawing-room
alone when the ladies entered it. For an instant, he held back, dreading
a rebuff in the presence of Miss Noel; but Mrs. Forbes reached out her
hand, with a brilliant smile, and he came up at once, most cordial in
his greeting.
“So long, so very long since we met,” said the lady, with impressement;
“and to find you here, of all places in the world!”
“The best place in the world for me to find myself is where I am likely
to meet you!” was the prompt answer.
She had put her arm quietly through his, as he spoke, and lured him out
of the French window, nodding back to Mary with a pleasant smile.
“We are old friends, my dear, and have so much to say.”
Mary, directly after, found herself alone, with a hot flush on her
cheeks. She was beginning to dislike Mrs. Wilson Forbes very much.
Waldon and the lady walked down to the lawn, which was closely cut and
soft as velvet, over which her rose-colored dress swept like a cloud at
daybreak.
“What a lovely place it is! and what a sweet girl! I should almost think
you would regret being engaged,” she said, looking around her.
“No, I am not likely to regret that,” said Waldon, with a mysterious
smile.
“True. Bertha is not likely to be pushed aside even by a girl bright and
lovely as this one. I beg your pardon for speaking of it as possible,
even in jest.”
“Mrs. Forbes, I am not engaged to Bertha Canfield.”
“Not engaged! That is all nonsense! I know better.”
“It is true.”
“True! But how? The engagement was understood and recognized everywhere.
In such cases, old friends, at least, have a right to ask explanations.”
“But if I do not choose to give them?”
“Then, of course, it will be understood that the lady has jilted you.”
“Jilted _me_! No woman will ever have the credit of doing that!”
“I don’t know. There never was such a belle as Bertha Canfield. No one
will believe that you snatched a girl like that, all fresh and blooming,
out of her first season, to drop her so soon.”
“But they shall believe it if—if—”
“Well, old friend, if what?”
“If I have to tell the truth,” answered Waldon, in a low voice.
“Ah, that rare thing in the world—a good, wholesome truth! Tell it me,
Waldon.”
“You seem eager. I remember now—it is not likely that you would love
Bertha. I wish to do her no harm, but if I am driven to it, you shall
know, and I will depend on you for setting me right with society.”
“Yes,” said the lady, controlling herself with difficulty; “you can
depend on me, if placing you right with our set is needed.”
“Yes, I always counted on you as a friend—though things did happen that
rather disturbed me. I suppose it’s all right between you and Forbes?”
“Right! Yes. Why do you ask?”
“She does not know of the letters,” thought Waldon. “The old fellow kept
them back, after all. How he must love her!”
“Here come more guests; we must go in now. After dinner, perhaps, I
shall have more to tell you,” he said, observing that Mary was
fluttering around the window with increasing impatience.