Part 3

So when Carter came down to dinner that evening, innocent as a lamb of any such designs and imaginings as occupied the worldly hearts about her, she was received with great friendliness by her cousins, and her gown was pronounced “as smart as possible” by Gladys, “very _chic_” by Ethel, and to have “quite a _cachet_” by Rosamond.

And indeed it was a charming thing, and she was a charming thing in it! No one could have dreamed of such a neck and such arms, under their former unbeautiful coverings, and the clear cool green of her crêpey draperies brought out the pure tints of skin and hair and eyes.

Jim Stafford, when he came, looked at her quite adoringly, and nobody could wonder! One or two others of the bachelor _habitués_ of the house had been bidden to the impromptu dinner and Carter drew all eyes upon herself, with as little volition and consciousness as a magnet.

After dinner, Stafford got hold of the guitar and beguiled her into the library, and she sang to him about God’s saints and the gospel train and the Bridegroom, until every other member of the party followed and gathered around her.

This was more agreeable to Carter, perhaps, than to her companion, for he found any further _tête-à-tête_ with her impossible, and, to make up for it, he asked her, on leaving, if he could see her to-morrow at some appointed hour. She said yes, certainly, and fixed the time. Gladys, who happened to be standing not far off, heard this.

When Carter went to her room that night, she looked long, and with great satisfaction at the image which the cheval glass reflected. She knew that she was pretty, but, indeed, she had never dreamed that she could look so charming as this. Money was a wonderful thing, and she would not be able in the future to wear such clothes as these, and she did like them! She liked admiration, too, and to-night she had had it unstintedly. Whence was it, then, that came this sense of lack, of wanting, of imperfectness? She felt it, to a degree that positively oppressed her, and as she doffed her brave attire and made herself ready for bed she could scarcely keep the tears out of her eyes. Two, at least, refused to be suppressed and lay wet upon her cheek as she finally fell asleep.

Next morning, when she joined her three cousins in their upstairs sitting-room, a very smiling welcome greeted her.

“We were just talking of you, Carter,” Gladys said, “and of how well you looked last night. Jim Stafford thought so, evidently! And, by the way, we were wondering how much you really know about Jim Stafford.”

“I don’t know a great deal,” Carter answered. “Very little, in fact, except that he is very kind and nice; and also, as I hear, very rich.”

“Do you know how rich?” said Gladys, with solemnity.

“No! How should I?” said Carter, looking rather wondering.

“I don’t know myself,” said Gladys, “but it’s a great many millions in money; besides a superb house, horses, carriages, pictures, and all sorts of things.”

“And a house at Newport,” put in Ethel, “a simply magnificent place!”

“And a yacht that is absolute perfection!” said Rosamond.

“And a collection of pearls of all colors, set in bracelets, necklaces and rings, which he has been collecting for years as a wedding present for his wife,” said Gladys with grave ardor.

Indeed, the solemnity of all these announcements seemed to Carter so funny that she said with a little laugh:

“What are you all so serious about? There does not seem to me anything profoundly solemn in all this.”

“The subject of Jim Stafford is more serious than you realize, perhaps,” said Gladys. “I think it best to tell you that we all think that he is going to make you an offer of marriage.”

Carter looked from one to the other with genuine surprise.

“I don’t believe it,” she said, and the next minute a crimson flush suffused her face, and she added in a tone of indignation, “If there is the least chance of such a thing it must be prevented.”

“Prevented!” said three voices at once in different tones of surprise and protest.

“Yes--prevented,” Carter said. “I like him too much to want to hurt his feelings, and if what you say is so, he must be stopped before he goes farther.”

“Carter Ayr,” said Gladys, in a tone of voice thoroughly provoked, “I’d like to know what you are thinking of and what you expect! You Southern people do act as if you owned the earth! What prospects in life have you got to make you throw away such a chance as this--the most brilliant marriage that any girl here could hope to make! If Jim Stafford asks you to marry him--as I believe he will--I’ll not believe it that you’ll be such an idiot as to refuse him.”

Carter rose to her feet, and flashed upon her a pair of angry eyes.

“Why should I not refuse him?” she said. “There is but one cause for marriage, and that does not here exist. Do you, for an instant, suppose that I, my father’s daughter, one of the Ayrs of Virginia, would marry a man for his _millions_, and his _houses_, and his _yachts_, and his _pearls_?”

She hit these several objects off, with a tone which seemed to turn them into chips, and blocks, and sawdust, and shavings, and then, with a sudden softening of all her face, a sudden lowering of her voice and another blush, she said, as she sank back into her seat:

“Besides--to settle the matter at once--I am engaged.”

“Engaged!” said her cousins together, and Gladys added:

“To whom, pray? Some neighbor in Virginia?”

Then, once more, Carter sprang to her feet, and stood there palpitating, as she said:

“Yes--to a neighbor in Virginia!--a man whose only earthly possession is a small farm, which is all that is left of a great estate. But he is a man, and not a dude--and he works, instead of playing, and has paid off thousands of dollars of debts which he did not make, working day and night for the money, which, after all, is less than you are accustomed to see thrown away at a day’s racing! He is not fashionable, and you would scorn his looks and his dress, too, as you did mine, if he were to come among you--but he is handsomer and stronger than any man I’ve seen here--and dearer and better than any man in all the world! Do you think I’d give up such a man as that for _money_?” (accentuated as if it had been _dirt_!) “You don’t know him, you don’t know me, you don’t know Virginia if you can think that! I like Mr. Stafford, and I hope you are wrong in what you think; but if not, I believe he would understand me, whether you do or not.”

“Carter,” said her cousin, insistently, “are you going to be fool enough to throw away such a chance as this, for the sake of a mere school-girl’s sentiment? You can’t play fast and loose, after your Southern fashion, with a man like Jim Stafford. If you throw him aside to-day, you can’t count on getting him back.”

Carter’s eyes were fairly blazing. She moved toward the door, but before she passed it, she turned, and said proudly:

“What I have to say to Mr. Stafford is my own affair and his. You would not understand, but he, I think, would.”

What she said to him was simply this (and he gave her occasion to say it, two minutes after she came down to see him, dressed in one of her homely little Virginia gowns):

“Don’t say any more, Mr. Stafford, please. You have been so good to me, and I like you so much that I can’t bear to make you sorry, but I’m engaged to be married to a man in Virginia, whom I love with all my heart, and so that settles it.”

It settled it simply and at once for the poor young fellow, but he took it hard. New York saw him no more that season, and when Carter was married in the spring his magnificent collection of pearls was sent to Virginia with a note which implored her to take them as a wedding present, and said that unless she consented to wear them, no other woman ever should.

He believed it, poor fellow, but Carter didn’t. That was the only thing that comforted her as she stood, with her lover’s arm around her waist, turning over the splendid jewels.

“Of course they must go back,” she said, “but not just yet. I can’t bear to hurt him.”

“Poor, poor fellow!” was her companion’s response, spoken in tones of heart-felt commiseration, “what a beggar he is, with all his millions, and how criminally rich I feel!”

A New Thing Under the Sun

A New Thing Under the Sun

During the months of summer Belton was usually crowded with city guests, but the last of these departed, as a rule, with the falling leaves, and by the time winter had set in the little town had relapsed into its normal monotony.

One year, however, there was an exception, and Mrs. Bryan, who had pleasant accommodations in her large, old-fashioned house, received, for a stay understood to be indefinite, a city boarder, who arrived in midwinter, and took two of her best rooms at the highest summer rates.

This lady was duly indorsed and recommended--as Mrs. Bryan’s boarders were required to be--in spite of the fact that she was coming with the avowed purpose of getting a divorce from her husband.

The new arrival--Mrs. Leith--proved to be young and exceedingly pretty. All her simple, dark costumes were made in the highest fashion, and had the names of the best French dressmakers on their linings. She was an extremely small woman, exquisitely made, and with minutely perfect hands and feet. She had with her an immense Angora cat, and an old negro servant-woman, who had been her nurse. Her companions are mentioned in the order of their estimation in Mrs. Leith’s regard. The great, white, sleepy, selfish, unresponsive cat was her very idol; and the old negress, who loved and watched over and toiled and suffered for her, was taken little account of, and even, at times, made the object of unreasonable and unjust irritation. But “Mauma,” as her mistress called her, cared nothing whatever for that. The days of slavery were over, but she was held by chains more binding and restrictive than any that they could forge or break.

This old woman had an immense power of reserve, and her lips were sealed as to any revelations concerning the past life of her young mistress. Mrs. Bryan, however, made a few notes from her own observation. She noticed, for instance, that Mrs. Leith always looked forward to the coming of the mail with an eager interest, and that, no matter what letters were received, the expression of her face was always the same--disappointment. She wrote few letters, herself, and seemed to take little interest in those that she got. Mrs. Bryan came to know, moreover, that on the not infrequent occasions when Mrs. Leith would excuse herself from coming to meals, the cause was generally a fit of crying which, no doubt, gave rise to the headache which Mauma would name as her excuse. Once or twice, when Mrs. Bryan had accidentally got a glimpse of the inner room, where she had gone to make inquiries, she had seen the same picture--the old negress in a big rocking-chair before the fire, in her arms her young mistress, dressed in a little silk dressing-gown that looked like a baby’s long frock. Mauma was rocking her backward and forward, patting and soothing her, while the poor little creature clung around her neck and sobbed.

The one real interest in Mrs. Leith’s life was Fleecy, the Angora cat; and when, at rare intervals, she chose to show off her accomplishments, and catch the rubber ball her mistress rolled on the floor and bring it to her, Mrs. Leith would grow gay, and laugh until her cheeks were flushed with a rosy and becoming color. Mrs. Bryan had sometimes watched this game, when she would go up with her knitting to Mrs. Leith’s sitting-room.

She had assisted also at another pastime of Fleecy’s, which was more to the cat’s fancy, but much less to that of its mistress.

Mrs. Leith had a standing offer among the servants for live mice, which it afforded Fleecy the highest ecstasy to catch. Always, when the poor little captives would be brought (and fortunately they seemed hard to secure, and were not numerous), there would be a sharp conflict in the mind of Mrs. Leith.

“Oh, I hate to see them frightened and tortured so!” she would say; “but nothing in the world gives Fleecy such delight, and they don’t suffer long. Still, I wish Fleecy liked the dead ones as well.”

She would take her darling in her arms, and say: “Mouse, Fleecy, mouse!” and there was no sort of doubt that the cat understood. She would prick up her ears and great plumy tail, and quiver with delighted anticipation. Then, when the trap was opened and the mouse let loose, Mrs. Leith would clap her hands with delight to see the joy and activity of her great, indolent pet as she would scamper about, over chairs and under tables, wildly pursuing her prey. Invariably, however, when the final moment came, and the piteous little dying squeaks would be heard, Mrs. Leith would turn away and shut her eyes tight, and put her fingers in her ears. Sometimes, when Fleecy had finished her meal, and sat licking her lips, and drowsing in complacent repletion by the fire, Mrs. Leith would give way to reproaches of both her pet and herself, and would think of the sufferings of the poor little victim, till the tears came into her eyes. In spite of that, however, when another mouse was offered, the same scene was invariably re-enacted.

She loved this cat with a passionate affection; more, indeed, than that bestowed by many mothers on their children. She spent hours in combing and brushing its long fur and tying on various ribbons, and she often kissed and squeezed it so ardently as to get scratched in return for her tenderness. She called it by a hundred tender names when this would happen, and blamed herself for her roughness.

There were certain little oddities in Mrs. Leith’s behavior, now and then, which Mrs. Bryan was quick to observe. For instance, one day, when someone remarked that Mr. Manning, the lawyer who was conducting her divorce case, was a very handsome man, Mrs. Leith smiled to herself, in a confident, abstracted way that piqued curiosity; and again, when another man was commended for having very delightful manners, Mrs. Leith said with the same look on her face:

“Oh, do you think so, really?”

Even Mrs. Bryan, who was not very imaginative, got the idea that the little creature had some standard in her mind, measured by which she found these men very small.

Mrs. Leith spent almost her entire time in her own room, sometimes singing to herself, to a guitar accompaniment, impassioned love songs that made her tremble from head to foot with emotion, and often break into uncontrollable weeping. When she was in her not infrequent fits of despondency, even Fleecy was no comfort to her, and she would sometimes complain that she slept so contentedly on the rug.

“She doesn’t love me. She only wants to eat and sleep and be comfortable,” she said one day, in an outburst of despair. “Oh, nobody loves me, nobody loves me! If God would only let me die!”

“Mauma loves you, honey,” the old woman answered. “God ain’ gwine tek you ’way from po’ ole Mauma.”

“What’s the use of your loving me, when you don’t love Bertie? You hate him, and you hate Fleecy, too--you know you do! I don’t want anybody to love me, if they don’t love them. Oh, I’m so wretched!” and she went off into low wails of anguish that subsided, as usual, in sleep.

Many a time would old Mauma sit and hold her so, until her arms and shoulders ached. Small and childish as she was, she was much heavier than a child, but she had no more than a child’s consideration for the trouble she gave, and Mauma would no more have reproached her with this than a mother her baby.

Mrs. Bryan, out of sheer pity, began to feel herself growing attached to her boarder. She seemed to make, however, but little progress in her acquaintance, and things remained just as they had begun, until there came a break in the monotony of their intercourse, caused by the sudden illness of Fleecy.

Mrs. Leith flew wildly downstairs, one morning, her face pallid with fear, and dragged the astonished widow up the stairs, exclaiming that Fleecy was dying. When they got into the room, the big white cat was lying on the lounge, stretching and jerking its body, and giving every indication of the vulgar malady of fits. Mauma was bending over the lounge, but her little mistress flew at her and pulled her away.

“You shan’t touch her,” she cried, angrily, “go away! You have always hated her, and you’ll be glad if she dies! Oh, Mrs. Bryan, you will help me! Do you think she is going to die? Oh, Fleecy, Fleecy, my poor baby, don’t go and leave me! You are all I’ve got in the world.”

The old negress shrugged her shoulders and moved away. It was evident that the reproaches of her mistress amounted to nothing with her. Mrs. Bryan, out of pity for the poor child’s grief, went to work to try to render aid, and, after a little doctoring, Fleecy showed signs of recovery. The gratitude showered upon Mrs. Bryan was touching to see. Mrs. Leith, usually so cold and abstracted in her manner, became suddenly affectionate and effusive. She kissed Mrs. Bryan’s hands and then her face, and begged her not to leave her. When she was entirely reassured about Fleecy, and had her darling sleeping on her lap, she suddenly caught hold of Mrs. Bryan’s hand and said, impulsively:

“You are good and kind. You have a tender, loving heart. I’d like to talk to you, and tell you about my troubles. May I? Oh, if you knew how unhappy I am, and how no one understands and sympathizes with me!”

Mrs. Bryan moved closer to her, and begged her to speak, assuring her, beforehand, of the sympathy which showed plainly in her face.

Then, still holding the big cat on her lap, and touching it with tenderness from time to time, Mrs. Leith told her story.

A singular one it was, and Mrs. Bryan, as she listened, could not altogether wonder at the friends who had refused to sympathize with Mrs. Leith in her position.

The unhappy young wife, who was in Belton for the sole purpose of getting a divorce from her husband, began her narration by describing him in terms of glowing enthusiasm, as the handsomest, the cleverest, the most charming, gifted, lovable being that mind could conceive. “You think Mr. Manning is handsome,” she said, “and you thought that other man’s manners were charming! If you could see Bertie! It makes me cross to hear Mr. Manning and those other people talked about. Why, Bertie is like what you would imagine a great big angel to be, if it hadn’t any wings and wore clothes. He’s so tall and strong that he can lift me about like a baby, and never get tired in his shoulders, as Mauma does after the least little while. He’s got a figure more beautiful than any statue that was ever made, and hair that curls in little shiny rings the moment he lets it get long enough. Oh, once, in Italy,” she broke off, as a sudden memory came to her, “I persuaded him to let it grow. We were in the country, where no one knew us, and it came down all about his neck. It was so funny. We used to row a great deal, and, though he wore a big peasant’s hat, he got brown as a berry, but his neck was always fair, where his hair hung over it. I used to say it was the only place left for me to kiss, because the sun had made him brown as an Italian, so I wouldn’t kiss him, except there. I always said I felt as if I were kissing some Italian woman’s husband. O Mrs. Bryan,” she said, in a choking voice of pain, “we were so happy then! He loved me so! He never got tired of me, and couldn’t bear me out of his sight. I don’t see why I didn’t die then. If joy could kill, I would have.” She paused a second, and then went on, with a return to her former tone: “You would have to see him before you could understand how poor all other men seem after him. His voice is like a great strong lark’s, that can sing and fly together. He used to sing until he could be heard for miles, all the time that he was rowing me over those tremendous waves that shook our little boat about like a chip. I never dared to go with any one else, but with him I never had a fear. I often used to think we would be drowned, but I would laugh at the idea, and tell him it would be only to wake up in another heaven with him. Then you were talking about manners! Oh, you can’t have any idea of Bertie’s manners, and I couldn’t give you any! He never goes into a crowded room that everybody doesn’t look at him and speak about him. He seems to know, at once, the ways of every country, and never makes a mistake. And gentle! why, he’s gentler than any woman that ever lived! Children always love him, and so do animals. Fleecy loves him fifty times better than she does me, and you ought to see how he loves Fleecy. I thought it was so good of him to let me keep my dear kitty. I offered to give her up, but he would not let me. I know she’d be happier with Bertie, and I did offer, but when he said no, I was glad, for Fleecy was all I had left. If Bertie had been here to-night, he would have nursed and doctored her just as you did, instead of getting cross like Mauma. Sometimes I hate Mauma!” she broke off with a vicious snap of her little regular teeth.

For a long time Mrs. Leith talked on, dwelling on the attractions and perfections of the man from whom she was seeking a divorce, until finally her companion, unable to keep down her curiosity any longer, said abruptly:

“I can’t help asking, Mrs. Leith, why you want to be divorced from such a man as that.”