JUST A LITTLE APOLOGY.
As Mrs. Wilson Forbes was driving home, very much dissatisfied with
herself, she saw a young lady, followed by a colored groom, galloping
down the river road, with a swift speed, which indicated something more
important than a simple ride for pleasure. The moment this fast rider
came in sight of the carriage, she threw up her whip hand, and put her
horse upon the run.
“Oh, Mrs. Forbes! I am so glad to have overtaken you—so troubled! so
fearfully anxious! Mr. Waldon went over to Hyde’s last night, in
defiance of all I could do, and I’m terrified to death from fear that
something may happen.”
Mrs. Forbes had stopped her carriage, and Mary Noel said all this,
leaning from her saddle and panting for breath.
“What is it that you fear so much?” inquired the lady, thinking first of
her brother, then of poor Bertha, as she had seen the wretched girl
walking up from the bridge, with all the strength smitten from her limbs
by the very dread this maiden carried so lightly.
“Oh, Mrs. Forbes! they will fight! How could your brother insult him so?
the bravest, proudest man on earth! What was that Bertha Canfield to
Fletcher, that he should put himself in such awful danger?”
“My brother does not often sit quietly and hear a woman slandered,”
answered Mrs. Forbes, coldly, “and at such times he is not a man to
calculate consequences.”
“But he will be shot—as true as you live, he will be shot! You have no
idea what sure aim my—that is, Waldon, has. I like your brother so much,
it would be dreadful. Do try and prevent it, my dear Mrs. Forbes! You
could—you can do anything. Just tell your brother how dangerous it is!”
Mrs. Forbes smiled a little scornfully.
“I fancy that would not be exactly the way to influence him!” she said.
“Well, you know the best way. Tell him how ridiculous it is to fight for
a girl like Bertha Canfield, who never let Mr. Waldon alone for an hour,
till she had entangled him, and then gets up duels and things when his
eyes are opened, and he refuses to marry her. It would just be ruin to
him, fighting for a girl like that. Tell him so, and make him apologize,
beg pardon, and all that. Mr. Waldon will let him off after that. He
told me so.”
“He told you so, did he? When?”
“Last night, after all the rest were gone. You don’t know how I pleaded
with him! how I clung to him and implored for your brother’s life!”
“Indeed, you were very good!”
Mary did not observe the curl of that haughty lip, and went on, with
headlong rashness:
“At first he would not listen, but went on like a lion. You could see
specks of froth flying up to his dear lips, faster than I could kiss
them off—and I did my best! I told him how wretched I should be; how
papa would mourn having once given consent, and how people would talk,
if, just before our being married, he should fight for a woman like
Bertha.”
“What did he say then?” inquired Mrs. Forbes, parting her lips with
difficulty from their haughty pressure.
“Mrs. Forbes, he cursed her! I was so frightened! But wasn’t he
excusable? Why couldn’t she give him up quietly, without all this fuss?
And your brother taking her part! The idea!”
“It seems to me,” said Mrs. Forbes, “that you were not particularly
successful with Mr. Waldon. He left you, I dare say, bloodthirsty as
ever.”
“That is true. But the insult—a glass of wine dashed right into a
gentleman’s eyes! What was the use of pleading against that? Then I
said: ‘Well, if you refuse me, I will go to Mr. Fletcher. He never could
resist me.’ You know, Mrs. Forbes, I was in hopes of making him jealous,
and come round a little; but, instead of that, he seemed pleased by the
idea, and told me to come—there might be hopes of success in that
quarter, and he had no objection; all he wanted was an apology. As for
bringing that girl’s name up in a duel, he wanted it no more than I did.
So it was agreed between us that I should ride over this morning, and
get your influence with Fletcher. Just a little apology, Mrs. Forbes.
Waldon won’t be over-particular, and all this trouble will be washed
away like melting snow. I’m sure Mr. Fletcher will do it, just to oblige
me.”
There was no possibility of intensifying the scorn that Mrs. Forbes felt
for Russell Waldon; but the mean cowardice of sending this young girl to
ward off a threatened danger went even beyond anything she had dreamed
him capable of. True, Mary did not understand that she was acting as his
tool, but rather prided herself upon the independent idea which would
lift her to a heroine of romance in her lover’s eyes, and bring her
nearer to a level with himself.
“Then your mission was really to me,” said the lady, controlling
herself. “I am to importune my own brother to make a craven of himself,
in order that you and Waldon may be married, and enter upon the good
things of life on velvet. What does he think of me?”
“Oh, he thinks the world of you! I was a little jealous that night, you
know, and he confessed all about old times, when you were so fond of
him, in spite of his not caring, before he got you married off to Mr.
Forbes.”
“Before he got me married off to Mr. Forbes!”
Mary started upon her saddle. That burst of indignant scorn terrified
her almost into running away, but after riding off a pace or two, she
wheeled her horse and came back.
“Dear Mrs. Forbes, I had no idea of offending you. Indeed, I don’t know
how any lady on earth could help loving him; and he couldn’t love them
all, you know. He only told me about it that I might understand how much
more likely you would be to interfere because of old times, for his sake
as well as your brother’s. Besides, there is one thing I forgot to
mention. Papa knows nothing about this quarrel; he was ill, and went to
his room, so I bribed the servants, and they kept silent. He was never
told a word about Bertha’s engagement, and all that coming at once might
set him against Waldon; so, for my sake, Mrs. Forbes, do the very best
you can.”
“I will do the very best I can to preserve my brother’s honor. You can
say this to Russell Waldon.”
“I was not to mention him as even knowing that I came, so I cannot do
that,” said Mary.
“As you please; but your horse seems restive. Good-morning, Miss Noel.”