Honor Edgeworth; Or, Ottawa's Present Tense Part 15

Then came a few moments of great bustle and confusion, and an acc.u.mulation of seal-skins and brocaded silks was ushered into the drawing-room of Mr. Rayne's house.

It was reception day for Aunt Jean and Honor, and both were looking remarkably well in their most becoming costumes, amid their rich surroundings.

Aunt Jean advanced slightly to meet two ladies as they entered the room, and "How d'ye do?" pa.s.sed from one to another, as they deposited their expensive habiliments and precious humanity into comfortable "_fauteuits_." Then, while Mrs. d'Alberg tried to sustain a conversation with the elder and more substantial of the two, the younger lady, though not exceedingly childish, drew herself towards Honor, and addressed her patronizingly.

Here were people who were actual exclamation points in the social grammar. Their imposing appearance forced one to hold one's breath, and yet Dame Rumor, who deals in wholesale whispering at Ottawa, told one, with her hand to her mouth, that not so many years ago, Mr. Atkinson Reid was solving the mysteries of existence, inside a scarlet shirt, antique trousers, high boots and a conical straw hat. Only lately, comparatively speaking, had he discarded the one-storey frame house, in a decidedly un-aristrocratic and objectionable neighborhood, where, nevertheless, fortune was first pleased to smile benignly on his efforts to keep the old leathern purse well filled, and where his now precious, airy, nervous, affected daughters first saw their porridge and potatoes.

Things went well in the unpretentious little abode, and by and by Johnny Reid was able to indulge in sundry luxuries of life, that naturally belonged to a more advanced stage of civilization than is a.s.sumed in the hut of the ordinary shanty-man or wood-cutter. Years were stealing on, and Ottawa was growing up into a respectable size, and at last one day Johnny Reid made up his mind to abandon his rough work, since his acc.u.mulated wealth now allowed him to employ subst.i.tutes. With these glittering coins, that represented so many strokes of a heavy axe from a strong arm, and so many drops of sweat from an overheated brow, he would go into the heart of the city and buy finery and style and accomplishments for Maria, and Nellie, and Sarah, and the old woman herself as well, and life would bear fruit at last to him, after all his hard toil and bitter experience.

And this is the origin of one of Ottawa's stateliest mansions of to-day, of some of society's most dashing heroines, of John Peter's fine livery and cosy seat behind the best team of gilt-harnessed horses that trot the streets of the Capital, of the best and most sumptuous entertainments that are given in our hospitable City, and of the honest old gentleman himself who from this period must be recognized as John Atkinson Reid Esq., with a decade of distinguished antecedents that every one knows without even hearing their names.

Poor Mrs. Reid dreaded the new responsibilities with which her sudden acquirement of means threatened her, but her daughters fresh from the most fashionable of Canadian educational establishments, undertook to supply for maternal deficiencies by checking their untutored mother, the very many times they deem it necessary, thus making the last epoch of this ill-fated lady's life, a grand piece of misery and terror.

Just now Miss Sadie Reid is fidgeting nervously with a gold and pearl card case held within her primrose kids, that are peeping through the outlets of her brocaded Mother Hubbard dolman. She feels a little ill at ease beside Miss Edgeworth, who is so self-possessed and unapproachable to the stylish Miss Reid. The conversation is the same immortal collection of exclamations and enquiries that one hears everywhere in fashionable circles in Ottawa.

Miss Reid remarks in an almost flattering tone: "Why you don't look at all tired, Miss Edgeworth, after the MacArgent's ball."

"I do not tire myself ever when I can help it," Honor says, "and this occasion came under my rule. I left early and rested well."

"Did you really?" is the reply. "Well, you see, I couldn't have done that. I was engaged for every single dance and it would have been 'dreadfully atrocious' if I left before the end. We dined at Government House last night again and to-night there is an 'at Home' at the Bellemare's, but I suppose I will meet you there. Really it is 'dreadfully distressing' for one to be obliged to go out so much. I am sure you are to be envied, Miss Edgeworth, to be able to keep so quiet."

"I wonder that you realize how fortunate I am," said Honor calmly, "I thought our spheres lay so widely apart that you considered my lot as unfortunate as I do yours."

"Oh! dear no'" said Miss Saidie, "It is 'positively agonizing' to live as we do in such constant demand; I suppose you will feel it soon though, now you've come out. You have no idea of what is before you."

"Excuse me, Miss Reid," interrupted Honor, "but I think I have a very fair one. I have learned already that when a girl creeps into her first ball-dress she is like a cabinet minister getting into power, she has a great many troubles worse than trains to drag after her."

Miss Reid found this remark exceedingly funny, and laughed rather immoderately, Honor thought; but just then Nanette came in with the dainty cups of tea, and so created a slight diversion in the conversation.

As Miss Reid has told the reader Honor Edgeworth had really "come out,"

with Madame d'Alberg and Mr. Rayne as _chaperones_, and had made a great sensation. She was the same calm, beautiful, composed girl as ever, though a remarkable unseen change had come over her. If anything, it had only given more dignity and grace to her bearing, more music and pathos to her voice, and a more sympathetic and attractive expression to her face. Jean d'Alberg had not failed to notice it, and with her usual keen instinct had readily divined the cause, but she never spoke of it. She grew kinder, if possible, to the silent girl, and was satisfied for the present to hope for better things.

This bright afternoon, Honor felt more cynical than usual, and the conversation with her frivolous guests did not at all tend to improve her humor.

The Reids had just left the door, tucked into their comfortable conveyance, when two gentlemen were announced. Honor recognized them as some of those whom she had met since her _entree_ into society, but she neither knew of, nor cared for the admiration that was so freely bestowed on her by them.

When they were seated, Honor found that Mr. Standish was nearest her, and therefore she addressed herself to him. He could be the most nonsensical soul in the world when he felt like it or he could talk the dryest common sense that ever found its way into the wisest of heads, and thus he made his society pleasant to feather-brains, and _savants_ alike.

He was well up in almost every accomplishment. According to the girls, he could dance--oh his dancing was heavenly, his singing was equally good, and as for flirting, why he could kill a dozen female hearts with one of those pleading, dreamy, distracted looks, that he sometimes made use of among his lady friends. He knew all the genus and species of small-talk, and when it came to compliments and pretty little nothings, he was without a rival. He could take his turn at tennis and come off favorably. He could ride splendidly and skate admirably, in fact, he had made merciless havoc with the girls' hearts, with all his accomplishments and attractions, and such a fever of envy and jealousy and eager gossip as he created among his fair friends was something so "desperately horrid" (as they would put it) that one could almost hate him for it, and to tell the truth, many of his rivals, who were quite in the shade beside him, did hate him most cordially.

This manner and bearing of his, he looked upon as a _pa.s.se-partout_, and there was certainly one item in his character that outshadowed all the rest, namely his conceit, or self-sufficiency which was constantly a.s.serting itself in his every look and action.

Vivian Standish was a thorough man of the world--I use the word in its most literal acceptation. He was one of those cool, keen, calculating, diplomatic men, who never lose their presence of mind, who never hesitate, and yet are never precipitate, who always say the right thing in the right time, and to the right people. No one knew anything of his antecedents, but somehow, he carried an acceptable sort of reputation on his face.

Guy Elersley had done many foolish things, but foremost among them all was, his having made a friend of a man who was as obscure and incomprehensible to him as the most profound ethical mystery.

They got on very well together, however. Guy found Vivian all that one fellow expects another to be, consequently they soon became fast "chums." Now this is no light word at least in Ottawa. If you give a fellow to understand that you are his friend, it means, "thro' fire and water," if anything ever meant it. Ottawa is one of the most unfortunate places in the world for some people to live in. It is pregnant with snares and sc.r.a.pes for budding manhood, and there is redemption in nothing, if not in the steady arm or well filled pocket of a friend.

According to these notions, Guy and Vivian had played saviour to one another on sundry occasions. The last confidence reposed was the note that Guy had given Standish to deliver in, "Honor Edgeworth's own hands," before his departure on that eventful night when we left the two friends chatting over Guy's new troubles and plans for the future.

Vivian Standish had drawn in the comfort of his cigar in rather anxious breaths, as he walked back alone in the starlight after leaving his friend. He detested things that puzzled and crossed him, and nothing under the sun could have puzzled him more than the sudden change that had come over Guy Elersley. He had been such a happy, careless, daring sort of fellow all his life; and now, all at once, a gloom of skepticism seemed to settle down on him, extinguishing the light of hope and energy which had previously marked his character. This, Standish concluded, was no meaningless nor ordinary effect, there must be a cause for this newer, more thoughtful mood. Had he forfeited his claim to the long- expected legacy of Henry Rayne's wealth? Had Honor Edgworth any thing to do with it? Perhaps he never answered these questions even to himself on this silent night. He walked on quietly till he came to a streetlamp, whose yellow radiance threw fitful gleams around the lonely street. Here he stopped and deliberately unb.u.t.toning his overcoat, took out the note that Guy had confided to his care, tore it open and coolly read, word for word, the pa.s.sionate declaration held therein. He laughed a low little chuckle, with his cigar between his teeth, and muttered to himself, "not so bad by Jove, not a bad game at all." Then without a trace of shame or compunction on his face, he calmly tore the precious paper into little pieces which he carefully placed in his vest pocket.

Then he b.u.t.toned up his coat, and putting both hands in his pockets he walked steadily on, still scenting the air with his expensive cigar, and wearing all the while such a look of lazy amus.e.m.e.nt as betrayed nothing whatever of what might be going on inside of those handsome features.

Vivian Standish was a man of impulse and inspiration; but, strange to say, his impulse or inspiration invariably moved him the right way. I use right, as meaning personal advantages or victory for himself. His latest "inspiration" led him to reflect on the possible and very gratifying advantages he might secure for himself by marrying well. "But then," thought he, "girls are such diabolical ninnies that everything which does not come under the shadow of some big church or fat parson is vicious in their eyes." In spite of this conviction, he had weighed his chances and possessions against every possible drawback, and, with his usual conceit, he fancied the road was beautifully clear.

Here we have him then with the self-appointed mission of choosing a wife. No man had ever held within his soul such volumes of deep sentiment as he could call into his eyes when the occasion required it, and no knight of the age of chivalry ever wooed a fair lady with such winning words and courteous deeds as Vivian Standish could bring to his aid, when he so wished it.

This is an age replete with valuable opportunities for cunning people, and they are the losers who cannot take advantage of the world's susceptibility and weakness, by turning its folly to their own personal advantage and especial benefit.

Vivian Standish had not a genius for everything alike. He never in the world could have created himself an apostle of aestheticism, though he found out later that there was more money than exalted enthusiasm in the business He never could have bothered about a flying machine, or spent his time discovering hair renewers or cures for rheumatism, but he could speculate with the wealth that nature and a little art had given him, in the gold mines of the comfortable houses that were open to him. With a little tinge of communism and a great deal of egotism in his nature he concluded that he had as good a right to the gold and silver of those gouty fathers and mothers as they had, and he was going to prove it too.

With this insight into his character, which is rather a long parenthesis than a direct deviation from my story, we can see Vivian Standish in his true colors, and we can, therefore, easily guess the object of his visit to Mr. Rayne's house on this particular afternoon. No ordinary observer could have detected any other than a purely conventional motive in this call.

He had met Miss Edgeworth, and had solicited the favor from her of allowing him to call at her residence. Every other young fellow had done nearly the same thing, and he himself had acted in the same manner towards many other young ladies. But we, who are permitted to look behind the screens while this little drama is going on, can say more about his true motives. His clever way of reasoning had led Vivian Standish to believe that Guy Elersley had forfeited every right to his uncle's wealth, and without knowing anything of Honor's own fortune, he concluded that it was worth a fellow's while to secure her, as the most indirect, but about the most truly lawful way of getting the "old fellow's" money.

It was this determination that had caused him to cast the fractions of Guy's love letter into the fire when he reached his room on that eventful night. He excused himself very easily on the plea that there was no earthly use in encouraging this love affair, when there were neither hard cash nor good prospects to wind it up with. Elersley had had his chance and missed it. Now, why wouldn't some less fortunate dog take his rejected luck and put it to better account? There is no verdict so prompt as the one a man p.r.o.nounces over a case of "my own good or another fellow's." And Vivian Standish made up his mind, in plain English, to I do "square business."

"Square business" to him meant something very delightful to the average society girl. Courteous manners, marked attentions, openly expressed admiration, and slavery almost if she proved exacting. But Standish had an idea, and not a too comfortable one about the character of the girl he had to deal with. And so this afternoon, he presented himself before her with all the charm of a studied negligence which attracts in spite of one's self. He was very careful about all that pa.s.sed, as yet he was only groping in the dark. If he once knew whether she loved Guy or not, his game would be an easy one, and this was the first problem he set himself to solve. He spoke to her of a great many things before he ventured on the subject that interested him most. When he did finally broach it, he merely asked in a simple sort of way:

"Have you heard any news of--a--our mutual friend, Mr. Elersley?"

The die was cast. He had only this instrument with which to apply his skill, and had he used it well or not? The sound of this name was the "Open Sesame" to Honor's heartful of secrets, and Standish scanned her face with a look of penetrating inquiry as he p.r.o.nounced it. But men are fools. Honor Edgeworth was a woman and a woman's face is not an index to woman's soul. Truly her slender fingers clutched each other nervously until the golden circlets around them nigh entered the tender flesh. But who felt that besides herself? It is a woman's own fault if she is not appreciated to-day, for men will never know from her lips of the hundred moral victories she achieves daily. Even those ordinary common-place females who make the dresses and trim the hats of the creatures our men adore, even these do their inner selves more violence in one short day than a man endures for a life time. Give me a man for courage, if you will, for power of action, if you will, but give me a woman with a heart for an unrivalled endurance and fort.i.tude.

Vivian Standish cool, keen, deliberating, could read nothing in his companion's face, and thus baffled, he began inwardly to wonder what would be his next course.

Honor looked at him in the most provokingly composed way and said dryly:

"You may give the word 'friend' a rather extensive meaning for aught I know. Things have grown into such an exaggerated state, now-a-days, that a commonly sensible person is lost towards understanding them."

Standish winced.

"Which may infer that I am not on intimate terms with my common sense,"

he thought, and aloud:

"I will retract the word if you please, and consider you and Mr.

Elersley as strangers."

Strangers! that was true, deep down in her heart, but with her lips she said:

"By no means, Guy Elersley and I have ceased to be strangers from the first moment we met. But this can not interest you. Let us talk of something else. Do you enjoy the last of the season here?"

"Very much indeed," he replied, but without the slightest warmth, as he was inwardly wondering at this girl's conduct, so different from the others. At this stage of his critical distraction, his friend rose and shook hands with Madame d'Alberg, then advanced to make his adieux to Honor. This necessitated Vivian's doing so likewise, and if ever Vivian Standish's hand clasped another's emphatically, it did on this occasion.

He just gathered the soft white fingers of this strange haughty girl within his own, and held them for an instant in that trusting longing way that had done him good service many a time before, then he laid them quietly away, with a look of eloquent pleading in his eyes and a simple "Good-bye" on his handsome lips.

It was six o'clock at last. The gas was lit, the curtains drawn, and the familiar and just now welcome sound of dishes was coming from the dining-room across the hall. Mr. Rayne was expected every minute, and Mrs. d'Alberg and Honor were loitering the moments of waiting around the drawing-room.

"Well, aunt Jean," said Honor, lazily placing her hand on the back of the arm-chair in which the lady addressed was seated, (she had chosen to call her "aunt" since she was to appear in society as her charge), "what do you propose doing to-night? Do you care at all to go to the Bellemare's?"

"Oh, I don't know," Mrs. d'Alberg replied, "one place is as attractive as another for me. You will see plenty of people and nonsense, and you may as well be wearied all at once with these things as to foster the spirit by degrees. You will meet Miss Mountainhead or Miss Dash, or Miss Reid some of these days, and if you can't talk about this one's 'kettledrum' and that one's 'at home' you will be bored to death by hearing their version of it, so you might as well do one thing as the other. You'll see that Mr. Standish too, by-the-way! Do you know, I like him, Honor, it is a stamp you seldom see."

"Really, aunt Jean," Honor was smiling, "this looks suspicious. You should be blind to your favorite stamps by now. But about this other thing, since we've accepted we had better go, as you say, boring one's self to death, or being bored by other people is much the same thing, so we may as well resign ourselves and make the best of it."