The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals Part 38

Eliza came out of the room, grim as ever, and gave the pannier a discontented jerk or two.

"Now what are you up to?" she inquired, curtly, for she was sometimes a little scandalized at her younger sister's coquettish airs.

"Never you mind, only tell me one thing, honest. Look at me. Ain't I about as good looking as I ever was? If I am, tell them to wait till I come back."

"Don't ask me!" was the curt answer. "Of course they'll wait, because they can't help it."

CHAPTER XXVII.

MAGGIE CASEY MEETS HER OLD LOVER.

Margaret Casey called a cab, and ordering it to drive to Morley's, Trafalgar Square, betook herself to rearranging her toilet. She re-clasped a pair of heavy gold bracelets around her wrists--at any rate there was enough of gold in them to make a dashing display--and settled a splendid shawl pin to her own infinite content, then she shook out the folds of her dress, and settled down to serious meditation.

Certainly she did not appear much older than when her good looks had been a temptation to Matthew Stacy, which came very near depriving Harriet, the cook, of her pompous husband. Excitement had brought back the youthful color to her face, and a spirit of benevolent mischief kindled all the old coquettish fire in her eyes. Indeed, take her altogether, the air of refinement, which she had obtained as a lady's maid, and a certain style that she had, might well have made Mrs.

Matthew Stacy look about her when Margaret came out in force, such as marked the dashing lady who descended from that cab, just lifting her dress enough to reveal glimpses of a high-heeled boot, and an ankle that Matthew Stacy recognized in an instant, for nothing so trim and dainty had ever helped make a footprint in his matrimonial path, you may be sure. He was standing on the steps at Morley's, with a white vest on and his heavy chain glittering over it like a golden rivulet.

"What! No! yes! On my soul I believe it _is_ Miss Maggie!" cried the ex-alderman, stepping forward and reaching out his hand. "Miss Casey, I am in ecstasies of--of--in short, I am glad to see you."

Maggie bent till her pannier took the high Grecian curve as she opened her parasol, then she gave him the tip end of her gloved fingers, and said, with the sweetest lisp possible:

"How do you do, Mr. Stacy? It is ages and ages since I have had the honor of meeting you. How is Mrs. Stacy and the--and the--"

"Thank you a thousand times, Miss Casey; but--but--in short, Mrs. Stacy is the only person about whom you need inquire. There was another--forgive the outburst of a father's feelings--but a little grave in Greenwood, that long, tells the mournful story."

Here Alderman Stacy measured off a half yard or so of s.p.a.ce with his fat hands, but found the effort too much for him, and drew forth his pocket handkerchief.

"Forgive me, but may you never know the feelings of a father who--who--"

"How distressing!" said Margaret, waving her head to and fro, until her eyes settled on a window of the hotel.

"But do control yourself. I think that is Harriet--I beg pardon--Mrs.

Stacy, at the window, and your grief may remind her of her loss."

"Mrs. Stacy! Mrs. Stacy!" faltered Matthew. "Miss Maggie, would you have any objection to stepping a little this way? It is so unpleasant for a young lady of your refinement to stand directly in front of a hotel filled with gentlemen. Beauty like yours is sure to bring them to the windows in swarms, as one may observe, and I--I have enough of the old feeling left to be jealous, miserably jealous when any man dares to look upon you."

"But I come to call on your wife, Mr. Stacy."

"She is not at home, I do a.s.sure you. She has been shopping since--since day before yesterday."

Margaret's eyes twinkled.

"Then, perhaps, I had better go up, and wait for her?"

Margaret was bright, but even here her old lover proved equal to the occasion.

"My dear Maggie--excuse me, Miss Casey--I do a.s.sure you my lady has taken the parlor-key with her. She will be so disappointed at not seeing you!"

"It is unfortunate," said Maggie, playing with her parasol; "because I was in hopes of having a few words with you, and that would be improper, I fear, without her."

"My dear Miss Maggie, not at all--not at all. You have no idea of the quant.i.ties of women that prefer to see me alone. Indeed, sometimes I think Mrs. Stacy is a little in the way. Just walk quietly along, miss--not before the windows. Excuse my infirmity, but there are some feelings that one never can throw off. Hold that elegant parasol before that lovely face, and I will be with you in a twinkling. The park is not far off. One moment, while I run up for my cane."

Margaret allowed herself to be persuaded, for the last thing in her mind had been to see Mrs. Stacy. Like those other ladies Matthew had boasted of, she very much preferred to see him alone, and would have been greatly annoyed had Harriet, in fact, appeared at the window.

So, making a merit of her own wishes, she slanted her parasol toward the house and sauntered down the street, while Matthew ran up-stairs, panting for breath, and, entering his parlor, looked anxiously toward the window.

"Matthew, dear, is that you?"

Matthew's foreboding heart revived. That mumbling term of endearment, coming, as it were, through a mouthful of cotton wool, rea.s.sured him. He stepped to the sleeping-room door, and found Mrs. Stacy, with her head buried in the pillows and her feet thumping restlessly on the quilt.

"What is the matter, my love?"

"Oh, Stacy, dear, such a sudden take-down! My old neuralgia. Matthew!

Matthew! don't leave me! I feel as if I was just a goin'!"

"Oh, nonsense, dear. All you want is plenty of quiet. A good, long sleep would bring you around in no time. Just snuggle down in the pillows, and take yourself off to sleep till I come back."

"Are you going? and me like this? Oh, Matthew!"

"You can't feel it more than I do, Harriet, dear; but I must go down to the bankers with this bill of exchange. Ten thousand dollars isn't to be carried round in a man's pocket safely. Besides, there is a special messenger just come up from the bank; so I must go, you see. But it breaks my heart to leave you so--indeed it does!"

"Oh, if it's about money, I do not mind. That is a thing which must be attended to. But Stacy, dear, don't let them keep you long; but go at onst, and right back."

"The moment those rich old fellows will let me off--the very moment, dear!" cried the model husband, waving his hand airily toward the bed, and taking up both hat and cane; "so try and sleep."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

JUST FIFTY POUNDS.

Mrs. Stacy, thus reminded of her own needs, began to moan softly among her pillows, and called out to the walls and windows that she wished, if that pain was going to keep on so, that she never had been born. If it wasn't that she had the very best husband that ever drew breath, she would just give up, and want to die; but for his sake she would try and worry through.

Stacy was far out of reach both of the moans and this conjugal tribute to his goodness, for he had hastened to join that bank messenger who, somehow, took the form of his old sweetheart, and shaded him now and then with a coquettish bend of her parasol.

"Found your cane," observed Maggie, glancing at the ponderous gold-headed affair in the hand of her old lover.

"Oh, yes; no trouble; had just stood it up in a corner of the parlor."

Maggie laughed a little under the cover of her parasol, but kept a discreet silence about the locked door until she was snugly seated in the park, with Stacy crowded close to her side.

"Ah," he said, heaving a sigh that lifted the white vest like a snow-bank, "this is something like happiness! If you could only know what your haughtiness has driven me to--but it is no use trying to make you understand! Look at me, Miss Maggie! _Am_ I the same man that adored you so? Don't answer. I am, I am, for--Harriet, forgive me, I love you yet--I love you yet!"

"But you left me, Mr. Stacy."