PAULINE'S BRIGHT FANCIES.
The ball at Darrell Court was a brilliant success. Sir Oswald was
delighted, Lady Hampton complimented him so highly.
"This is just as it ought to be, Sir Oswald," she said. "One who can
give such entertainments as this should not think of retiring from a
world he is so well qualified to adorn. Confess, now, that under the
influence of that music you could dance yourself."
Sir Oswald laughed.
"I must plead guilty," he said. "How beautiful Miss Rocheford looks
to-night!"
"It is well for you, Sir Oswald, that you have not heard all the
compliments that the dear child has lavished on you; they would have
made you vain."
Sir Oswald's face brightened with pleasure.
"Is your niece pleased? I am very glad indeed. It was more to give her
pleasure than from any other motive that I gave the ball."
"Then you have succeeded perfectly. Now, Sir Oswald, do you not see
that what I said was true--that an establishment like this requires a
mistress? Darrell Court always led the hospitalities of the county. It
is only since no lady has lived here that it has fallen into the
background."
"It shall be in the background no longer," said Sir Oswald. "I think my
first ball is a very successful one. How happy everybody looks!"
But of all that brilliant company, Pauline Darrell was queen. There were
men present who would have given anything for one smile from her lips.
They admired her, they thought her beautiful beyond comparison, but they
did not feel quite at ease with her. She was somewhat beyond them; they
did not understand her. She did not blush, and glow, and smile when they
said pretty things to her. When they gave her their most brilliant
small-talk, she had nothing to give them in return. A soul quite
different from theirs looked at them out of her dark, proud eyes. They
said to themselves that she was very beautiful, but that she required
softening, and that something lovable and tender was wanting in her. She
was a queen to be worshiped, an empress to receive all homage, but not a
woman to be loved. So they thought who were not even capable of judging
such capacity for love as hers.
She was also not popular with the ladies. They thought her very superb;
they admired her magnificent dress; but they pronounced her proud and
reserved. They said she gave herself airs, that she took no pains to
make friends; and they did not anticipate any very great rejoicings when
Darrell Court should belong to her. The elder ladies pronounced that
judgment on her; the younger ones shrank abashed, and were slightly
timid in her presence.
Sir Oswald, it was noticed, led Miss Rocheford in to supper, and seemed
to pay her very great attention. Some of the ladies made observations,
but others said it was all nonsense; if Sir Oswald had ever intended to
marry, he would have married years ago, and his choice would have fallen
on a lady of mature age, not on a slight, slender girl. Besides--and who
could find an answer to such an argument?--was it not settled that Miss
Darrell was to be his heiress? There was no doubt about that.
The baronet's great affection for Aubrey Langton was also known. More
than one of the guests present guessed at the arrangement made, and said
that in all probability Miss Darrell would marry the captain, and that
they would have the Court after Sir Oswald's death.
The banquet was certainly a magnificent one. The guests did full justice
to the costly wines, the rare and beautiful fruits, the _recherche_
dishes prepared with so much skill and labor. When supper was ended, the
dancers returned to the ball-room, but Miss Darrell was already rather
weary of it all.
She stole away during the first dance after supper. The lamps were
lighted in the conservatory, and shed a soft, pearly light over the
fragrant flowers; the great glass doors at the end were open, and beyond
lay the moonlight, soft, sweet, and silvery, steeping the flowers, the
trees, and the long grass in its mild light. Without, all was so calm,
so still; there was the evening sky with its myriad stars, so calm and
so serene; close to the doors stood great sheaves of white lilies, and
just inside was a nest of fragrant daphnes and jessamines.
Pauline stood lost in delight; the perfume seemed to float in from the
moonlight and infold her. This quiet, holy, tranquil beauty touched her
heart as the splendor of the ball-room could not; her soul grew calm and
still; she seemed nearer happiness than she had ever been before.
"How beautiful the world is!" she thought. She raised her face, so
serenely placid and fair in the moonlight; the silver radiance fell upon
it, adding all that was needed to make it perfect, a blended softness
and tenderness. The gorgeous, golden-hued dress falling around her,
glistened, gleamed, and glowed; her diamonds shone like flames. No
artist ever dreamed of a fairer picture than this girl in the midst of
the moonlight and the flowers.
Bright fancies thronged her mind. She thought of the time when she
should be mistress of that rich domain. No mercenary delight made her
heart thrill; it was not the prospect of being rich that delighted her;
it was a nobler pride--delight in the grand old home where heroes had
lived and died, earnest thoughts of how she would care for it, how she
would love it as some living thing when it should be her own.
Her own! Verily her lines were cast in pleasant places! She dreamed
great things--of the worthy deeds she would do, of the noble charities
she would carry out, the magnificent designs she would bring to
maturity when Darrell Court should be hers.
It was not that she wished for it at once. She did not love Sir
Oswald--their natures were too antagonistic for that; but she did not
wish--indeed, she was incapable of wishing--that his life should be
shortened even for one hour. She only remembered that in the course of
time this grand inheritance must be hers. How she would help those
artist-friends of her father's! What orders she would give them, what
pictures she would buy, what encouragement she would give to art and
literature! How she would foster genius! How she would befriend the
clever and gifted poor ones of the earth!
The beautiful moonlight seemed to grow fairer, the blue, starry heavens
nearer, as the grand and gracious possibilities of her life revealed
themselves to her. Her heart grew warm, her soul trembled with delight.
And then--then there would be something dearer and fairer than all
this--something that comes to every woman--her birthright--something
that would complete her life, that would change it, that would make
music of every word, and harmony of every action. The time would come
when love would find her out, when the fairy prince would wake her from
her magic sleep. She was pure and spotless as the white lilies standing
near her; the breath of love had never passed over her. There had been
no long, idle conversations with young girls on the subject of love and
lovers; her heart was a blank page. But there came to her that night, as
she stood dreaming her maiden dreams among the flowers, an idea of how
she could love, and of what manner of man he would be who should win her
love.
Was she like Undine? Were there depths in her heart and soul which could
not be reached until love had brought them to light? She felt in herself
great capabilities that had never yet been exercised or called into
action. Love would complete her life; it would be the sun endowing the
flowers with life, warmth, and fragrance.
What manner of man must he be who would wake this soul of hers to
perfect life? She had seen no one yet capable of doing so. The mind that
mastered hers must be a master-mind; the soul that could bring her soul
into subjection must be a grand soul, a just soul, noble and generous.
Ah, well, the moonlight was fair, and the flowers were fair. Soon,
perhaps, this fair dream of hers might be realized, and then----