MR. WALRAVEN'S WEDDING.
Mollie Dane made herself very much at home at once in the magnificent
Walraven mansion. The dazzle of its glories scarcely lasted beyond the
first day, or, if it did, nobody saw it. Why, indeed, should she be
dazzled? She, who had been Lady Macbeth, and received the Thane of
Cawdor at her own gates; who had been Juliet, the heiress of all the
Capulets; who had seen dukes and nobles snubbed unmercifully every night
of her life by virtuous poverty, on the stage. Before the end of the
first week Mollie had become the light of the house, perfectly
indispensable to the happiness of its inmates.
Miss Dane was launched into society at a dinner-party given for the
express purpose by "grandmamma". Wondrously pretty looked the youthful
_débutante_, in silvery silk and misty lace and pearls, her eyes like
blue stars, her cheeks like June roses.
In the wintery dusk of the short December days, Mrs. Walraven
received her guests in the library, an imposing room, oak-paneled,
crimson-draped, and filled from floor to ceiling with a noble collection
of books. Great snow-flakes fluttered against the plate glass, and an
icy blast howled up the avenue, but in the glittering dining-room
flowers bloomed, and birds sung, and tropical fruits perfumed the air;
and radiant under the gas-light, beautiful Miss Dane flashed the light
of her blue eyes, and looked like some lovely little sprite from
fairy-land.
Miss Blanche Oleander, darkly majestic in maize silk and jewels, sat at
Miss Dane's right hand, and eyed her coldly with jealous dislike. Mollie
read her through at the first glance.
"She hates me already," thought Mr. Walraven's ward; "and your tall
women, with flashing black eyes and blue-black hair, are apt to be good
haters. Very well, Miss Oleander; it shall be just as you like."
A gentleman sat on her other hand--a handsome young artist--Mr. Hugh
Ingelow, and he listened with an attentive face, while she held her own
with the sarcastic Blanche, and rather got the best of the battle.
"The little beauty is no dunce," thought Mr. Hugh Ingelow. "Miss Blanche
has found a foe worthy of her best steel."
And coming to this conclusion, Mr. Ingelow immediately began making
himself agreeable to his fair neighbor. Miss Oleander was a pet aversion
of his own, and this bond of union drew him and her saucy little
antagonist together at once.
"Rather a sharp set-to, Miss Dane," the artist remarked, in his lazy
voice. "Miss Oleander is a clever woman, but she is matched at last.
I wonder why it is? You two ought to be good friends."
He glanced significantly at Mr. Walraven, devoting himself to Miss
Oleander, and Mollie gave her white shoulders a little shrug.
"If we ought, we never will be. Coming events cast their shadows before,
and I know I shall detest a guardianess. Who is that brigandish-looking
gentleman over there, Mr. Ingelow? He has been staring at me steadily
for the last ten minutes."
"Lost in speechless admiration, no doubt. That gentleman is the
celebrated Doctor Oleander, own cousin to the fair Blanche."
The gentleman in question certainly was staring, but his staring was
interrupted at this moment by a general uprising and retreat to the
drawing-room. Mr. Ingelow, on whose arm she leaned, led her to the piano
at once.
"You sing, I know--Mrs. Walraven has told me. Pray favor us with one
song before some less gifted performer secures this vacant seat."
"What shall it be?" Mollie asked, running her white fingers over the
keys.
"Whatever you please--whatever you like best. I shall be sure to like
it."
Mollie sung brilliantly, and sung her best now. There was dead silence;
no one had expected such a glorious voice as this. Hugh Ingelow's rapt
face showed what he felt as Mollie rose.
"Miss Dane ought to go upon the stage; she would make her fortune," said
a deep voice at her elbow.
She turned sharply round and met the dark, sinister eyes and pale face
of Dr. Oleander.
"Miss Dane forgets me," he said, with a low bow, "among so many
presentations. Will you kindly reintroduce me, Mr. Ingelow?"
Mr. Ingelow obeyed with no very good grace; the sparkling, blue-eyed
coquette had made wild work with his artist heart already.
"Mrs. Walraven desired me to bring you to her for a moment," the suave
doctor said, offering his arm. "May I have the honor?"
Mr. Ingelow's eyes flashed angrily, and Mollie, seeing it, and being
a born coquette, took the proffered arm at once.
It was the merest trifle grandmamma wanted, but it served the doctor's
turn--he had got the beauty of the evening, and he meant to keep her.
Mollie listened to his endless flow of complimentary small-talk just
as long as she chose, and then glided coolly away to flirt with a third
adorer, the eminent young lawyer, Mr. Joseph Sardonyx.
Mollie hovered between those three the livelong evening; now it was
the handsome artist, now the polished doctor, now the witty, satirical
lawyer, flirting in the most unpardonable manner.
Even Mr. Walraven was a little shocked, and undertook, in the course of
the evening, to expostulate.
"Flirting is all very well, Mollie," he said, "but it really mustn't be
carried too far. People are beginning to make remarks."
"Are they?" said Mollie; "about which of us, pray? for really and truly,
guardy, you have been flirting the worst of the two."
"Nonsense, Mollie! You mean Miss Oleander, I suppose? That is no
flirtation."
"Indeed! then it is worse--it is serious?"
"Yes, if asking her to marry me be serious. And she has said yes,
Mollie."
Miss Dane looked at him compassionately.
"You poor, unfortunate guardy! And you are really going to marry Blanche
Oleander! Well, one comfort is, you will be ready to blow your brains
out six months after; and serve you right, too! Don't let us talk about
it to-night. I am sorry for you, and if you have any sense left you will
soon be sorry for yourself. Here comes Doctor Oleander, and I mean to be
as fascinating as I know how, just to drive the other two to the verge
of madness."
She danced away, leaving Mr. Walraven pulling his mustache, a picture of
helpless perplexity.
"I wonder if I have put my foot in it?" he thought, as he looked
across the long room to where Blanche stood, the brilliant center of a
brilliant group. "She is very handsome and very clever--so clever that
I don't for the life of me know whether I made love to her or she to me.
It is too late now for anything but a wedding or heavy damages, and of
the two evils I prefer the first."
Mrs. Walraven's dinner-party broke up very late, and Blanche Oleander
went home with her cousin.
"A pert, forward, bold-faced minx!" Miss Oleander burst out, the moment
they were alone in the carriage. "Guy, what on earth did you mean by
paying her such marked attention all evening?"
"What did Carl Walraven mean by paying _you_ such marked attention all
evening?" retorted her cousin.
"Mr. Walraven is no flirt--he means marriage."
"And I am no flirt--I mean marriage also."
"Guy, are you mad? Marry that nameless, brazen creature?"
"Blanche, be civil! Most assuredly I will marry her if she will marry
me."
"Then you will repent it all the days of your life."
"Probably. I think I heard Miss Dane making a similar remark to your
affianced about you."
"The impertinent little wretch! Let her wait until I am Mr. Walraven's
wife!"
"Vague and terrible! When is it to be?"
"The wedding? Next month."
"Poor Walraven! There, Blanche, don't flash up, pray! When you are
married you will want to get blue-eyed Mollie off your hands, so please
transfer her to me, little flash of lightning that she is! I always did
like unbroken colts for the pleasure of taming them."
Mrs. Walraven was told of her son's approaching marriage the day after
the dinner-party; disapproved, but said nothing. Mollie disapproved, and
said everything.
"It's of no use talking now, Mollie!" her guardian exclaimed,
impatiently. "I must and will marry Blanche."
"And, oh! what a pitiable object you will be twelve months after! But
I'll never desert you--never strike my flag to the conqueress. 'The boy
stood on the burning deck.' I'll be a second Casi--what you may call
him? to you. I'll be bride-maid now, and your protector from the lovely
Blanche in the future."
She kept her word. In spite of Miss Oleander's dislike, she was first
bride-maid when the eventful day arrived.
But fairer than the bride, fairest of the rosy bevy of bride-maids,
shone blue-eyed Mollie Dane. A party of speechless admirers stood
behind, chief among them Hugh Ingelow.
The bridal party were drawn up before the surpliced clergyman, and "Who
giveth this woman?" had been asked and answered, and the service was
proceeding in due order when there was a sudden commotion at the door.
Some one rushed impetuously in, and a voice that rang through the lofty
edifice shouted:
"Stop! I forbid the marriage!"
Carl Walraven whirled round aghast. The bride shrieked; the bride-maids
echoed the bride in every note of the gamut--all save Mollie; and she,
like the bridegroom, had recognized the intruder.
For, tall and gaunt as one of Macbeth's witches, there stood the woman
Miriam!