AFTER TEN YEARS.
The thorns I have reaped are of the tree
I planted; they have torn me and I bled;
I should have known what fruit would spring from such
a seed. BYRON.
It is a brilliant, star-lighted night in December.
In an even more brilliantly illuminated mansion on Fifth Avenue, New
York City, a distinguished company is assembled. Elderly and
middle-aged gentlemen, dignified and imposing, with the suggestion of
opulence pervading every look and movement; young men, alert and full
of vigor, all clad in conventional dress suits and immaculate linen;
stately and beautiful matrons, elegantly robed in velvet and costly
laces; younger women resplendent in all the tints of the rainbow, and
flashing with diamonds and other many-hued gems; pretty débutantes, in
diaphanous and saintly white, gleaming like spotless lilies in beds of
variegated poppies; flowers and perfume everywhere; entrancing melody
from an invisible orchestra, mingling with many musical voices, joyous
laughter, and the rustle and swish of silk and satin--all contributed
to produce a wonderful scene and an exhilarating atmosphere, which
assumed life to be one long, gorgeous gala day, with never a cloud to
dim its brightness or cast its shadow upon these gay votaries of
fashion and pleasure.
Suddenly the music of the orchestra ceased, and presently a few
dominant chords were struck upon a fine-toned concert-grand piano, as
if to demand attention and silence.
The next moment a woman of beautiful and gracious presence stepped upon
a low platform beside the instrument, whereupon the buzzing of many
voices was hushed, and an air of eager expectation pervaded the company.
The dominant chords were followed by a rippling prelude, which soon
dropped into the more precise rhythm of an accompaniment; then a
glorious voice, full, rich, and thrillingly sympathetic, broke upon the
stillness, rising, falling, and trilling easily and naturally as a
bird, that, conscious only of the supreme impulse within his throbbing
breast and vibrating in his wonderful little throat, pours forth his
joy-laden soul in enraptured and exquisite song.
Every eye within range of her was fastened upon the singer, a queenly
matron, charmingly gowned in some soft material of pale-pink lavender.
Her abundant brown hair was becomingly arranged and surmounted by a
glittering aigrette of jewels, her only visible ornament. She was good
to look upon as well as to listen to, and bore herself with the ease
and poise of one long accustomed to entertain fashionable audiences
like the present, yet without a suggestion of self-consciousness to mar
her excellent work.
She rendered a group of three classical songs with artistic effect that
won for her a round of hearty applause as she ceased. She gracefully
acknowledged the tribute paid her, then turned and smilingly nodded to
some one who had evidently been sitting near her. Immediately a lovely
girl, robed in white, arose, and took her stand at the left of the
artiste.
A flutter of excitement throughout the room indicated the anticipation
of some unusual treat as harp, violin, and cello, accompanied by the
piano, rendered an inspiring introduction, which was followed by a
familiar duet from one of the standard operas, and executed with an
exquisite interpretation and spirit that held every listener spellbound
to the end, and evoked a storm of enthusiastic approval upon its
conclusion.
"Jove! can't they sing! Who are they, Jerome? Sisters, I should
judge, by their strong resemblance to each other, and the younger is
simply adorable!"
Mr. Homer Jerome, the host of the evening, smiled, his fine eyes
twinkling with secret satisfaction at these flattering compliments
bestowed upon the protégées of his wife by the aristocratic and
fastidious Clifford Alexander, the son of an old college chum, who had
recently returned from several years' sojourn in Europe.
"The elder lady is Madam Ford, who has become quite noted in New York
during the last ten years as a drawing-room artiste. She is in great
demand among society people, and never fails to give satisfaction to an
appreciative audience. Her companion is Miss Dorothy Ford, madam's
daughter," Mr. Jerome explained.
"You don't mean to tell me that the lady in lavender is the mother of
the other! It doesn't seem possible!" exclaimed the first speaker,
astonished.
"I am sure Madam Ford would appreciate the flattering, though indirect,
compliment you have paid her, my boy," observed his host, with a genial
laugh. "Madam is certainly a very youthful-looking woman, considering
her age and checkered experiences, for, some years ago, she was left
penniless to battle, single-handed, with the world, and she has seen
much trouble."
"She is a widow, then?"
"Um--er--I think it was about ten years ago that she lost her husband,"
was Mr. Jerome's somewhat noncommittal reply; then he hastened to add:
"But she faced the situation with indomitable courage and energy, and,
possessing much native talent, a beautiful voice, and a charming
personality, she has achieved a brilliant career for herself."
"Evidently she has found a very warm friend in Mr. Homer Jerome, to
whom, perhaps, she may owe something of her success in life," observed
Mr. Alexander, to whom his host's generous-spirited philanthropy was no
secret.
"I esteem it an honor to be numbered among Madam Ford's friends,"
heartily returned Mr. Jerome. "She was really a protégée of my wife's,
to begin with, and we have seen a good deal of her during the ten years
of our acquaintance--first, to admire her for her heroism and
perseverance under difficulties, and later to love her for herself.
The daughter is no less lovely than her mother," the gentleman
continued, his eyes lingering fondly upon the girl. "Madam has given
her every possible advantage, and when she discovered that she also
possessed a promising voice she placed her under one of our finest
teachers, here in New York, with what result you have just had the
pleasure of ascertaining."
"She is surely deserving of laurels for this evening's work," said the
young man appreciatively.
"Particularly as this is her first appearance in a professional rôle.
Her voice is powerful, rich, and sympathetic. I would not be surprised
if Miss Dorothy eventually outclasses her mother as an artist." And
Mr. Jerome beamed satisfaction upon his favorite as he concluded.
"Dorothy Ford," mused Clifford Alexander, his voice lingering upon the
name while his fine eyes studied the face of the beautiful girl, who
was now chatting socially with a group of people who were offering
hearty congratulations to both mother and daughter. "It is a
peculiarly euphonious name for a very attractive young woman.
Introduce me, will you, Jerome?"
"With the greatest pleasure," responded that gentleman, with a sly
smile; and a few minutes later Mr. Alexander was making his best bow
before Madam Ford, whom he found even more charming at close range than
at a distance; and then the usually imperturbable young man found
himself experiencing unaccustomed heart throbs upon being presented to
the adorable Dorothy.
The girl did not offer him her hand, but, after gracefully
acknowledging the introduction, lifted her limpid gray eyes to the
gentleman's face with an earnest, straightforward look which told him
that she was one who judged people somewhat from first impressions.
His glance held hers for a moment, during which he was particularly
attracted by the sweet serenity of her gaze, while he was at the same
time conscious that every feature of her lovely face was aglow with
intelligence and vivacity.
Her skin was fine and clear, with a touch of rose on her cheeks; her
lips a vivid scarlet. A wealth of red-brown hair was arranged high on
her head, thus adding to her stature and poise; her features, though by
no means perfect, were fascinatingly expressive, especially when she
spoke or smiled.
Her graceful, symmetrical figure was clad in virgin white, with no
ornament save a string of rare pearls that once had belonged to her
grandmother Appleton; and, to her new acquaintance, Dorothy Ford
appeared the embodiment of loveliness and purity.
"Allow me to thank you both for the great pleasure I have just
enjoyed," Mr. Alexander remarked, when their greetings were over, the
sincerity in his tones saving his observation from seeming triteness.
Madam Ford smiled with motherly pride as she gracefully thanked him,
and, bending a fond glance upon Dorothy, added:
"I really feel that my daughter is entitled to congratulations, since
this is her first appearance, professionally, before a critical
audience. I must confess, however, to having experienced some inward
quakings in view of that fact; but her first note reassured me----"
"Why, mamma, I am surprised!" laughingly interposed Dorothy, but
flushing with pleasure, nevertheless, in view of her mother's
commendation, Mr. Jerome's approving eyes, and the evident appreciation
of her new acquaintance--"after all your careful coaching, not to
mention Signor Rotoni's merciless training for this important event!
Moreover, the burden of responsibility rested entirely upon you, and I
wasn't conscious of a quake, though I confess I might not have felt
quite so confident if I had been obliged to face all these people
alone."
"So this is your début before society, Miss Ford?" Mr. Alexander
observed, and charmed by the maiden's refreshing ingenuousness.
"Yes, as a vocalist; not socially, however, for Mrs. Jerome kindly
introduced me, with Miss Jerome, some time ago," Dorothy replied,
adding: "I have, perhaps, enjoyed some advantages to give me confidence
which débutantes, as a rule, do not have. Mamma having been so much
before the public, I have also had my responsibilities in the
profession, for"--with a laughing glance at her mother--"I have
frequently acted as her chaperon when she has had engagements at a
distance from home."
"'Chaperon!' That is rather good, Helen," Mr. Jerome here dryly
interposed, and bending a pair of twinkling eyes upon madam. "Well,
you do look almost youthful enough to need a chaperon; Alexander was
saying only a few moments ago he thought you and Dorothy must be
sisters."
"There, mamma, now will you believe what I said to you before we left
home?" gleefully exclaimed Dorothy. "I told her," she went on, nodding
brightly at Mr. Jerome, "that she is growing younger every year, and no
one would suspect that she is the mother of a twenty-five-year-old
daughter----"
"'Sh--'sh! Oh, Dorrie, _how_ indiscreet to tell it!" interposed her
host, in pretended consternation at her frankness.
"Perhaps it was," retorted the girl, with a roguish gleam in her eyes.
"I did not realize what my admission would imply, and I humbly beg
mamma's pardon for trespassing upon so delicate a subject," and she
curtsied with mock humility to her mother, without a vestige of
self-consciousness for having given away her own age.
"Now, I suppose it behooves me to offer thanks to Mr. Alexander for a
very pretty compliment," demurely observed Madam Ford, when the laugh
at Dorothy's clever repartee had subsided.
"Oh, Helen," groaned Mr. Jerome, who dearly loved to hector, "I am
surprised to hear you giving thanks for a compliment at your charming
daughter's expense!" Then, turning to Dorothy, he added, with an air
of commiseration: "Dorrie, dear, you have my deepest sympathy in view
of your aged appearance; if you had only not persisted in growing up,
so early, to be so mature, tall, and stately, people would not have
been so prone to mistake you for your mother's sister," he concluded,
bestowing a reproachful look upon the young man standing beside her.
"Really, Jerome," Clifford Alexander here laughingly interposed, but
with heightening color beneath his friend's persistent banter, "I seem
inadvertently to have stumbled upon dangerous ground, and there appears
to be no way to either advance or retreat with any glory to myself.
Pray tell me how I am to propitiate so gallant a champion as you have
constituted yourself; also this fair lady"--with a deprecating glance
at Dorothy--"whose cause you so ardently espouse."
"This 'fair lady' and her 'champion,' as you are pleased to regard me,
have been lovers ever since she was a small girl in short dresses, I
would have you understand, and I warn you, young man, that I am very
jealous for her--eh, Dorothy?" Mr. Jerome asserted, with a delightful
air of proprietorship. "However," he continued, "I can assure you she
is easily propitiated, for she is exceedingly amiable."
"That, I am sure, goes without saying," affably assented the young man.
"Exactly; and, taking her all in all, she is '_simply adorable!_'"
retorted his host, in a significant tone, as he thus quoted the young
man's own words of a few moments previous, and which again sent the
quick color to his face.
Dorothy had thoroughly enjoyed the tilt at her expense, but now she
began to feel the situation becoming a trifle embarrassing, both for
herself and her new acquaintance; and, turning brightly to him, she
merrily observed:
"Pray, do not mind him, Mr. Alexander; he is the greatest tease in New
York. He has hectored me for years, and does not half realize that I
have grown up to be almost mamma's double; for really we are more like
two devoted chums or sisters than like mother and daughter."
"Miss Ford, I am everlastingly obliged to you for the olive branch of
peace you so kindly extend to me," the gentleman smilingly returned.
"And now, as the room is very warm, won't you come and let me get you
an ice, or a glass of punch? I am sure Mr. Jerome will kindly care for
Madam Ford."
"Thank you; I shall be glad to have an ice, if you will be so kind,"
Dorothy cordially assented.
She nodded a gay adieu to her mother and Mr. Jerome, as she turned to
accompany her escort, who shot a look of mock triumph at his host as he
walked off with his coveted prize.
"That is a mighty fine fellow, Helen," remarked her companion, as the
two young people disappeared among the throng.
"He is certainly good to look upon; not exactly what would be regarded
as a handsome man, but decidedly distinguished in appearance, and with
evidences of a fine character written on his strong face," madam
replied.
"You are right; but he has never been a 'ladies' man,' much to the
chagrin of many of our New York mothers. I am surprised at his walking
off so summarily with Dorothy--no," he corrected, "I am not surprised,
either, for Dorrie would melt a statue of ice. Next to my Mollie, she
is the most glorious girl I know."
Madam Ford smiled as she bestowed a grateful look upon the speaker for
his high praise.
"You have idealized Dorothy, I am afraid," she returned, with evident
emotion; "but one is prone to endow those in whom one is deeply
interested with the rich qualities of his own nature. You are so
thoroughly good yourself, my friend, you can see nothing but good in
others."
"Somebody else, I perceive, is looking through rose-tinted glasses at
this very moment, Helen," lightly responded her companion.
"Well, you must not forget that you have put some rose tints into my
life during the last ten years; you have also been almost like a father
to my child, and I am not likely to forget it--nor the heavenly
kindness of your wife, either." Helen's lips were tremulous as she
concluded.
"My wife is a gem of the first water," responded her companion, in a
low, intense tone, a fond look in his fine eyes, as they rested upon a
stately woman standing in the full light of a brilliant chandelier not
far from them.
"Indeed, she is," Helen heartily assented, as her glance followed his;
for never in her life had she met a couple who lived in such perfect
accord with each other as Homer and Lena Jerome.