Rutledge Part 31

"Alps on Alps!" exclaimed Grace, looking over my shoulder. "Tickets for the Charity Ball! What next?"

"What, indeed," I said. "John, some more sugar in my coffee, if you please."

"Really, you don't seem much excited by your invitations. I suppose you don't intend to accept them?"

"Accept them!" echoed Josephine. "What an idea! It would be perfectly absurd to think of it, when it's understood that she's not out yet."

"I think I'll risk that," I answered, decidedly. "If Aunt Edith has no objection, I will avail myself of any invitations that I may receive for the next ten days. After that, Lent, you know, will decide the matter for us all."

"You must follow the dictates of your own judgment," returned my aunt, coldly. "Staying at home was your own choice, going out is at your own option."

"I know, dear aunt," I replied, with unaltered _sang froid_, "that you would do anything to indulge me in anything reasonable, and as I have quite set my heart upon this, I am sure you will not make any objection to it. You are the last person to put anything in the way of my pleasure and advantage."

"Pleasure and advantage are not always synonymous terms, my dear. What you might be pleased to consider pleasure, I might look upon as anything but advantageous, you know."

"Oh! we shall not differ as to that, I fancy. You cannot be more careful of me than of Josephine, and she has certainly tested pretty thoroughly the merits of the question. I should not think of going out as she does, to two or three parties of an evening, and spending the intervening hours of daylight in bed; but just three or four b.a.l.l.s before the season closes, to see what it's all like, I really must enjoy, with your permission."

"Or without it," muttered Josephine. "You have enough _aplomb_ to sustain you in that or any other impertinence you might undertake."

"Josephine," said her mother, sternly, "you forget yourself. My dear,"

to me, "you know I shall put no obstacle in the way of your enjoyment.

You have my full permission to do as you think best."

"Thank you," I answered; "and I have the greatest desire to go to one of these mammoth charity b.a.l.l.s. How lucky that it comes to-night, and that Mrs. Humphrey's is to-morrow, so that I can go to both."

"In what, if I may ask," said Grace, "do you propose appearing?"

"That's a question, I fancy, that has not occurred to our young friend,"

remarked Josephine.

"It's easily enough settled," I answered. "White muslin, 'with variations,' will be a sufficient toilette for _me_, you know."

"You'll excuse me for saying, that I think it is a matter of very little moment to any one but yourself," said she, with a laugh, as she rose from the table.

"Don't be spiteful, Joseph," said Grace, the only error of whose tactics was, that she could not confine herself to any one side in an encounter, and could not resist administering a blow on any exposed cranium, indiscriminately of friend or foe--"don't be spiteful, Joseph. She couldn't help taking off Victor, you know. It was trying, to be sure, but then it left you more time for 'the substantials.'"

Josephine, pressing her lips together, darted a threatening look at her sister, who, with a pleasant little nod, slipped through the folding doors and vanished.

"May I speak to you a moment?" I said, following Mrs. Churchill into the butler's pantry.

"Certainly," she answered, in a tone that did not invite confidence.

I had followed my aunt to say two things to her: the first was about myself, the second was about Esther. I had meant to say that if she really thought I was doing an unwise thing in going to these b.a.l.l.s, I was willing to give them up. Conscience had made a suggestion or two that morning, and I was not yet careless about its admonitions. A kind word of advice, a look of motherly reluctance to deny me pleasure, and yet of motherly solicitude for my good, would have settled the doubt, and put me in the right way. But the tone in which she said "certainly,"

and proceeded to fit the key into the wine-closet, without so much as a look toward me, roused all the evil in my heart.

"You will never be troubled with any of my repentances," I thought, angrily; and then, in a tone that I suppose took its color from my thoughts, I said:

"I came to say, Aunt Edith, that perhaps you are not aware how much it irritates Essie to have Felicie take care of her. Felicie doesn't seem to have a pleasant way with her, and now she is confined to the nursery, she is continually fretted and unhappy. I find her more feverish every time I go upstairs, and I thought perhaps if you were willing to let Frances sit up there instead, she would amuse and keep her quiet better.

She seems to like Frances."

Mrs. Churchill turned around and regarded me attentively for a moment, then said:

"I am sorry that your own good sense did not teach you the impropriety of such an interference as this, and that I am obliged to remind you of our relative positions, before you can understand how much such a thing as this offends me. The management of the household is my province, and any interference or advice concerning it I reject decidedly. If Esther is peevish and ill-tempered, I certainly hope Felicie will be strict with her. I have no intention of humoring her caprices, or disarranging the family to suit her whims. You may dismiss the subject from your mind entirely."

I bowed and left the room, with what bitter and resentful feelings it is easy to imagine. When Essie came crying to the door of my room, half an hour after, I sent her away; I was busy, she must not come in, and though her miserable face haunted me, I stubbornly put back the counsel that it gave me. I had been told not to interfere, and I would obey. All day I did not interfere--all day the evil spirit ruled, and I heard, without a remonstrance, the storm from the nursery, which, however, gradually subsided as the day advanced. I had enough employment, meantime, to keep down conscience; there was a flounce of my white dress to be repaired, and the blue bows to be made before evening. Mr.

Waschlager did not come; Mr. Olman, poor man, had been ill for a week, and to-morrow was Miss Berteau's day, so there was nothing of duty to fill up the hours that would have hung heavily if it had not been for the antic.i.p.ations of, and preparations for, the evening,

I turned the key of my door on Grace, and the key of my heart on poor little Essie, and toward evening threw myself into a chair by the fire, and read the latest number of "The Newcomes." And who ever read Thackeray without feeling the greatest longing to see the world which he decries? Who ever laid down a volume of his without a more eager thirst for the pomps and vanities than they had ever felt before? Who wouldn't have been Ethel, "with all swelldom at her feet," even if she did cheat herself of her happiness, and stored up sorrow for the heavy years to come? Who could have the heart to say that Pen, in his zenith, wasn't to be envied? or that George Osborne wasn't a good fellow? I, for one, never felt any less attracted toward them because Mr. Thackeray, after spending on them the finest colors on his pallet, tells us they are not to be approved after all, and that they are not in the right way, and that they have any amount of discipline to go through before they are perfected. I always felt inclined to "skip" the discipline; the natural man was the genuine one--the improvement wasn't spicy. So, on this occasion, I read on, fascinated, till twilight's gradual fingers stole between me and the page, and I reluctantly gave it up, and dreamed on about the story till the dinner bell rang.

Then I started up, struck with a feeling of remorse that Essie had missed her accustomed twilight story for the first time this winter. I smoothed my hair and hurried into the nursery. Silence reigned there; Felicie sat by the dim light, quietly pursuing her work. I asked for Essie, and she rather sullenly pointed to the bed. It was unusual for her to sleep at this hour; indeed at all hours she was a light sleeper, and I had never before known her to be willing to lie down even in the daytime, so it was with some surprise that, on stooping down, I saw she was sleeping, and sleeping heavily.

"Why does she sleep so soundly, Felicie?" I said, looking up.

"Because she's sleepy, I suppose, mademoiselle," she answered, rather shortly.

It was not worth while being angry with the woman, and indeed I did not feel like resenting any impertinence to myself, as I looked down at the quiet face of the little girl. Asleep, and free from the haggard, restless expression that her features ordinarily wore, she was almost pretty, almost child-like, but even in sleep there was a weary look about her that was pitiful. "Poor little mite," I murmured, "I've been unkind to you all day. Why won't you wake up and kiss me?"

But she did not wake; and when, in the selfishness of my self-reproach, I lifted her up and kissed her, in the hope that it would rouse her, the little arms fell down, limp and lifeless, and the little head sunk heavily back on the pillow, and she slept on unmoved. My interference in the morning had not been without its effect; as I left by one door, my aunt entered by another. She had been up twice since morning, and I could see she was uneasy; but, looking down at the child, I heard her say, in a tone of relief:

"Ah! she's sleeping nicely now!" and the voice of Felicie responded blandly. I think it was a load off her mind, for at dinner she was unusually affable.

Phil and Captain McGuffy were dining with us, and were to accompany us in the evening. The captain was extremely gracious to me; and as on former occasions he had appeared as nearly unconscious of my presence as was possible, I simply concluded that the sagacious captain was like the rest of the world, and was better satisfied to trust looking through his neighbors' gla.s.ses than through his own.

"Ever so many people," he said to me, as the soup was being removed (the captain rarely conversed much while there was anything engrossing on the table), "ever so many people have asked me about sending you invitations, and I've told 'em by all means; for you certainly were going out."

"Why didn't you remind them of Grace and Esther, and let them have the whole of the nursery, while they were about it?" asked Josephine, scornfully.

"Grace can speak for herself," said that young person, tartly. "You may tell them, if they ask anything about me," she continued, turning to the captain, "that they needn't look for my _debut_ till Josephine is disposed of, and I am, _par excellence_, Miss Churchill."

"Then," said the captain, gallantly, "you will not have a long time to wait, if what they say is true. I hear it hinted, Miss Josephine, that since Mr. Rutledge came from abroad this last time, he is quite changed, softened, you know, and made rather a society man; and they _do_ say that his friends in Gramercy Square have something to do with it."

"I can't imagine how," said Josephine, all smiles and blushes.

"If Joseph knew when she was well off," interposed Grace, who loved to damp her sister's triumphs, "she wouldn't blush; she doesn't look well; she grows mahogany color, doesn't she Phil. Why, you're blushing too!

What's the matter with everybody?"

"Everybody is blushing at your rudeness," said Mrs. Churchill, gravely.

"I am sorry to be obliged to reprove you at the table; but I a.s.sure you, if you are not more careful"----

"Oh, mamma! you've always said it wasn't polite to deliver a reprimand in company; don't break through your rule. I won't say another word about blushing. Let's talk of something pleasanter. So," she continued, turning to the captain, "they really say Mr. Rutledge wants to marry Josephine?"

"Grace, leave the table," said her mother, concisely, but in a tone there was no mistaking, and which fell on the ears of the startled company with uncomfortable clearness, and on none more unexpectedly than on those of the young delinquent herself, who had never been so unequivocally disgraced before. She had trusted greatly to her mother's partiality and her own acuteness in warding off reproof, and this took her quite by surprise. She had not calculated the dangerous nature of the ground she was treading on, nor the decision of her mother's character when once roused, and so this edict came upon her like a clap of thunder. She was const.i.tutionally incapable of blushing, or of looking confused, but she approached on this occasion more nearly to a state of embarra.s.sment than I had ever supposed she could; but recovering herself in a moment, she deliberately folded her napkin and put it on the table, pushed back her chair, made a low courtesy, and saying, "Bon soir, mesdames; bon soir, messieurs," retreated in good order.

Rather an awkward pause ensued upon her exit; but it was soon broken by Mrs. Churchill's half laughing apology for her pertness, and Josephine was too much delighted with her adversary's discomfiture to be long silent. And she almost forgot to be spiteful to me, too, in the triumph of her acknowledged conquest. Even the dreaded task of dressing and preparing for the ball was accomplished without half of its accustomed drawbacks. Grace wisely kept out of sight, and Frances was less fluttering and timid than usual, so that at nine o'clock we all mustered in the parlor with comparatively undisturbed tempers.

I had left Esther still asleep when I came down. Felicie had undressed her and put her back in bed without arousing her. "You'd hardly let me go so quietly if you were awake, I think," I said to myself, as I bent down to kiss her.

I found myself much more excited than I meant to be, as the carriage drew near the Academy of Music. My excitement, however, had time enough to cool, for carriages choked the streets on every hand, and it was the work of half an hour to effect an entrance. The steps were crowded, the lobbies were crowded, the cloak-room was a hopeless crush, but the full sense of bewilderment did not overcome me, till following the captain and Mrs. Churchill, we ascended another pair of stairs, and pa.s.sing through a side door, stood looking down upon the magnificent scene below. The captain said he had never seen anything finer in this country, so I felt at liberty to be enchanted with it. The decorations and lights were brilliant, the music delightful, and the sight of so many thousands of gaily-dressed people crowding the boxes, the pa.s.sages, the floor, could not fail to excite the enthusiasm of one so new to such scenes as I was. To Josephine, on the other hand, the ball seemed by no means a wholly rapturous affair. A ruthless foot had trodden on her dress, and torn the lowest flounce; Phil was out of humor, and refused to be devoted; the captain had his hands full with mamma, and Josephine searched in vain among the crowd for the one or ones she wanted. We were in a private box, and too far from the floor to recognize the dancers easily, and by some neglect, the opera-gla.s.ses had been left in the carriage. Josephine was unspeakably annoyed. They might as well be looking out of the third-story window at home, she declared. For me, the scene was enough for the present, without any nearer interest in it. If I could have been further forward, it would have been pleasure enough to me to have looked on, but my aunt and cousin occupying the front of the box, left me no view of the house, but over their heads.