CHAPTER XX.
WHAT THE GIRLS SAID.
Kate's little party, out on the dry, bright yellow leaves, gay with early flowers, under the grand old maples, elms and beeches, in the warm sun, came and went, with laughter and light hearts. If it could be reproduced with its lights, and colors, and voices, what a bright little picture and resting-place it would be, in this sombre-colored annal! I am sad for poor Bart, and I cannot sketch it.
The young lawyers had been there, seen, talked to, got acquainted with, were looked up to, deferred to, admired and flirted with, and had gone, leaving themselves to be talked about.
Two young girls, amid the fading light, with the rich warm blood of young womanhood in their cheeks, and its latent emotions sending a softened light into their eyes, with their arms about each other's waists, were pensively walking out of the dusky woods to the open fields, with a little ripple and murmur of voices, like the liquid pearls of a brook.
They had been speaking of the young lawyers. "And these two," said Julia, "are some of those who are to go out and shape and mould and govern. I am glad to have seen them, and hear them talk."
"Do you think these are to be leading men?" asked Flora Walters.
"I presume so. It is generally conceded that Henry Ridgeley is a young man of ability; and I don't think any one could be long in the company of Mr. Ranney without feeling that he is no ordinary man. Indeed, Henry said that he was destined to a distinguished career."
"Well, now to me they were both a little heavy and commonplace. Mr. Ridgeley was easy and gentlemanly; Mr. Ranney a little shy and awkward. I've no doubt one would come to like either of them, when one came to know him."
"Oh, Flora! the beauty of a man is strength and courage, and power and will and ability. When one comes to see these, the outside passes out of sight."
"Do you think that absolute ugliness could be overcome in that way?"
"Yes, even deformity. I should be taken even by beauty, in a man, and should expect conforming beauty of heart and soul. Do you know, I sometimes half feel that I would like to be a man?"
"You, Julia! with your wealth, beauty and friends, who may, where you will, look and choose?"
"Yes, I, as much as you flatter me. I can feel the ambition of a young man; and were I one, how gladly would I put the world and its emptiness from me, and nurse and feed my soul and brain with the thoughts and souls of other men, till I was strong and great; and then, from my obscurity, I would come forth and take my place in the lead;" and her great eyes flashed.
"If you are ambitious, you have but to wait until the leading spirit comes. What a help you would be to him!"
"He might never come, or I might not know him when—"
"Or you would not love him, if you did know him."
"He might not love me; or, if he did, I might drive him away. But that is not what was in my mind, although a woman must be ambitious through another. To be one of these young men, to know their minds, to feel their hopes and ambitions, and struggle with and against them, for the places, the honors and leaderships!"
"And would you never love and wed, woo and marry?"
"Yes; and I would like to see the woman who would scorn me. I would take her as mine, and she should not choose but love me!"
"Why, Julia! who would think that you, sweet and deep as you are, could say such things! Would you like to be wooed in that way?"
"I never came to that. I am only a woman without aim in life. I am only to float along between flowery banks, until somebody fishes me out, I suppose!"
"I am sure, were I you, I could well float on until the right man came; and you, Julia, it is your own fault if you do not marry for love. You will not be obliged to consult anything else."
"And you?" said Julia, laughing.
"I? oh! I am dependent on my brother, you know."
"Yes, and there comes in the hardship; were you a man, you could go out and make and choose. Now, a daughter remains where her father and mother leave her. The sons may rise, the daughters stay below, and if sought for, it is usually in the same channels in which the parents move, and that is the hardship of those who, unlike you, are on a lower plane, or who, like you, have no father and mother to sustain them in their proper place. If you could win wealth, you would only marry for love; and I am sure you will do so now."
"A woman who wins fortune usually loses the capacity to win love, I fear," said Flora.
"And the woman who wins nothing deserves nothing," said Julia. "I am a little like my mother, I presume; but who would win you, and how, I wonder?"
"Oh," answered Flora, "I suppose the man who really and truly loved me. I would like to have him come, as the breeze comes, with the odor of flowers, as the spring comes, with music and song, with all sweet and gentle influences, with beauty and grace; but he must not be effeminate."
"He would have to be a good waltzer, I presume?"
"Would that be an objection?" asked Flora.
"No; but a man who excels in these light accomplishments may fail in the stronger qualities. I admit that beauty and grace would go a great way, if one could have them also."
"Julia, were I you, I would have them all."
"Girls, what are you loitering along there for? Talking over the young lawyers, I'll bet; who takes which?" called back Kate, impetuously; "I don't want either."
* * * * *
All the afternoon long, Bart was sad and silent, and spite of himself, his thoughts would hover about that bright place in the maple woods, sweet with one face of indescribable beauty; one form, one low, many-toned voice which haunted—would haunt him.
He came in to a latish supper, with a grave face. The spring was not in his step; the ring was not in his voice, or the sparkle in his words.
The two guests were in high spirits, and talked gushingly of the young ladies they had met, and they wondered that it did not provoke even a sarcasm from him.
"It would compensate you for not going," said Ranney, kindly, "if we were to tell you what was said of you in your absence."
"And who said it," added Henry. Not a word, nor a look even.
"One might be willing to be called a genius, for such words, and from such a young lady," ventured Ranney.
"I am not sure but that I would even venture upon poetry, under such inspiration," said Henry.
To the youth these remarks sounded like sarcasm, and he felt too poor even to retort.
"Oh, boys!" finally said Bart, "it is good exercise for us all; persiflage is not your 'best holt,' as the wrestlers would say, and you need practice, while I want to accustom myself to irony and sarcasm without replying. If by any possibility you can, between you, get off a good thing at my expense, it would confer a lasting obligation; but I don't expect it."
"Upon my word—" began Ranney.
"We all speak kindly of our own dead," said Bart, "and should hardly expect the dead to hear what we said. Mother said you had determined to leave us in the morning;" to Ranney—"Our brother the Major will be home in the morning, and would be glad to make your acquaintance, and show you some attention." And so he escaped.
When Ranney took leave the next morning, he kindly remarked to Bart that he would at any time find a place in his office, and should have his best endeavor to advance his studies. It was sincere, and that was one of the charms of his character. Bart was pleased with it, and it almost compensated for the unintentional wounds of the night before.