COFFEE AND CHIT-CHAT.
"What a lovely little home you have, Mrs. Gower," said her friend, Mrs. Smyth, seating herself near her hostess, the pale blue plush of the padded chair contrasting well with her fair hair, pink cheeks and pretty grey eyes.
"That chair becomes you at all events, dear," said her hostess, seeing that a maid deftly passed coffee bright as decanted wine, afterwards small bouquets of beautiful pansies and clematis among her guests, from huge glass and Japanese bowls.
"I could scarcely believe Will, when he wrote me of your good fortune, you know, the children and I were at Muskoka."
"Yes, I knew you would be glad. I bought this pretty little place the week you left, it seemed after years of waiting, my money (what is left of it) all came right in a day; you do not know how glad I am to at last see you in a home of my own—and in a chair pretty enough to become you, dear," she added more brightly.
"Oh, you always make the most of small kindnesses shown you, we were only too glad to have you."
"Be that as it may, I shall always remember the bright hours with yourselves in the dark days of my life," she said, warmly.
"When did you see Charlie?" asked Mrs. Smyth, in an undertone, for there are other ears.
"This afternoon."
"This afternoon!"
"Yes; and you will be surprised to learn he takes the rail for the seaboard to-night."
"To-night! Why, and whither, it must be a sudden move, for he was up for a smoke with Will the other night and said nothing of it; but," she added, laughingly, "he prefers a lady confidant when it's Mrs. Gower.
"Don't you think, Lilian, that the opposite sex is usually chosen to lend an ear?" she said, carelessly, to conceal a feeling of sadness at the out-going of her friend; for she is aware that the old friendly intercourse is broken, now that he has gone to his wedding.
"He has gone to be married; I suppose, he said something to us a long time ago about it, but he told it in a clouded kind of way; I wish he had confided in me, for Will would not care a fig, but every woman doesn't draw such a prize as I. Perhaps when you get number two he will not allow the opposite sex to confide; but talking of the green-eyed monster, reminds me of two scandals on our street." As she now raised her voice, the other ladies pricked up their ears. Mrs. Dale exclaiming:
"Scandals! sounds like Bertha Clay's novels. May poor Mrs. Tremaine and self come in. We have been on sermons, servants, and the latest infants; a scandal will be as refreshing as Mrs. Gower's coffee."
"I guarantee you an appreciative audience, Mrs. Smyth," laughed her hostess, "curtain rises over 'another mud-hole for us to play in.'"
"What a case you are, Mrs. Gower, but I must cut them short, for I would not for worlds Will and the other gentlemen come in while they are on."
"No fear of scandals in your home, Mrs. Smyth," said Mrs. Tremaine, "with Will always first."
"That's so; well, to begin, before I went to Muskoka, a lady and daughter came to reside near us. As they went to our church, Will said call; I did. Since my return, I heard from Mr. Cobbe," here turning suddenly to Mrs. St. Clair, to whom Mrs. Gower had overlooked introducing her, said: "I beg pardon, I should not name names." Continuing, "Mr. Cobbe told me the young lady had been married, and divorced. Some young fellow, in a good position down East, hearing she had some ready cash, wed and deserted her at close of honeymoon. Well, the other evening she was married again! at the house quite privately, and to whom do you think? to none other than, as the newspapers state, Norman Ferguson MacIntyre!"
"To Norman MacIntyre! oh, what a pity," cried Mrs. Tremaine, in dismay, "his mother and sisters are such pleasant people, and had very different hopes for him; it is simply dreadful."
"But he can throw her overboard, I am sure," cried Mrs. Dale. "If he only have his wits about him, the first marriage likely took place in Canada, the divorce across the line, don't you see; she is the precious prize of the gay deceiver, your friend is free."
"But, even if this be so, Mrs. Dale," said Mrs. Smyth, excitedly, "no girl will care to marry poor Norman afterwards."
"I am willing to stake our Pittsburg foundry on his chances," said Mrs. Dale, cooly.
"And I, Holmnest," echoed Mrs. Gower, "poor Norman has but to stand in the market-place."
"I think they have both lowered their social standing; don't you, Mrs. Tremaine?" said Mrs. Smyth.
"I do, indeed."
"It altogether depends upon their bank account," said their hostess, sententiously; "and now for your next, for your mouth is still full of news, dear."
"Oh, yes; but my next is a bona fide married couple."
"But are they according to the Church Prayer Book?" said Mrs. Dale, with her innocent air.
"Oh, yes, certainly; and some say she is like a china doll, and the husband, a great big, ugly, black-looking tyrant; but the gentlemen are coming, and I must cut it short, and only say that a man handsome as Lucifer."
"Before the fall, I suppose," said her hostess.
"Yes, yes, you naughty woman. Well, they say this handsome fellow is there whenever the husband is out, and a pock-marked red-headed boy (some say their son) is there to watch the pretty wife, and their name is St. Clair." Sensation!
At this moment a pin is ran into the arm of the breathless narrator.
"Oh, mercy!" she cried, looking around discovering the boy Noah St. Clair, whom every one had forgotten seated on a footstool behind her, who said vengefully, indicating by a gesture Mrs. St. Clair and himself, "That's our name; it's us."
"Gracious, Mrs. Gower, what have I done? Pardon me, I was under the impression that this lady's name was Cobbe. I don't know how I got things muddled; I thought she was some relative of our Mr. Cobbe."
"Never mind, dear; I should have introduced you; don't apologize; there are other St. Clairs in Toronto than my friends."
"I don't mind it in the least," purred the pretty doll; "some one is always talking about me. Women are jealous of my complexion and all my admirers; but I think my name is prettier than Cobbe."
"Yet 'tell my name again to me,' am always here at beauty's call," said Mr. Cobbe, hearing his name on entering with the other gentlemen.
"You, as a Bona Dea, have been our toast, Mrs. Gower," said Buckingham, quietly, as he sank into a chair near her own.
"And my inclinations, I hope," she said, laughingly, "with no saving clause as to their being virtuous."
"I appeal to your memory of the 'Antiquary,' Mrs. Gower; could any man living toast you as the Rev. Mr. Battergowl did Miss Grisel Monkbarns?"
"I don't know; perhaps some would desire to make a proviso."
"Then they would err; I should give a woman of your stamp any length of line."
"Thank you; your confidence would not be misplaced, when in honor bound I have ever felt as though I did not belong to myself."
"I should judge so; underlying your gaiety conscientiousness holds you to an extent few would dream of; you have frequently sacrificed yourself to a mistaken sense of duty. Am I not right?"
"Yes; I have been a slave to what I used to think the voice of conscience, but which I am now sure was extreme sensitiveness, and a sort of moral cowardice; but how strange you should read me so truly."
"Not at all, I am a phrenologist; if you will allow me the very great privilege, I shall read your character to you in some quiet hour."
"With very great pleasure. And now will you do me another favor? Make my piano sing and speak to us."
"Thank you; I should like to try your instrument. It is from Mason & Risch, I see."
Having arranged a table at whist and euchre, Mrs. Gower seated herself to enjoy the entrancing music, while looking over some photographs to amuse the boy Noah St. Clair, but it was not to be, for the voice of Mr. Cobbe said in her ear:
"This won't do; you must come to the library with me; I have not had a single word with you all evening, and am, as you are aware, an uninvited guest."
"Why invite you, Philip? Alas! there is invariably discord with your presence," she says sadly, in the lowest of tones, moving away from the curious gaze of the boy.
"Sit here, Elaine, if you positively refuse to leave the room with me," he said excitedly, indicating a tête-à-tête sofa not within ear-shot of her guests, managing to detain her until, the hours creeping on apace, freighted with the music of soft laughter, and ravishing songs without words by the skilled performer, Mr. Buckingham, when pretty Mrs. Dale's sweet voice is heard, as she rises from the table, saying triumphantly:
"Win! of course we won. Why, Mr. Dale will tell you, Mr. Smyth, that in our card circle at New York, mine is dubbed 'the winning hand.'"
"Indeed! no wonder at our good fortune. Congratulate us, Mrs. Gower; we won three straight games, all by reason of the admirable forethought of my partner," cried Smyth, exultantly.
"Forethought always comes in a head's length, Mr. Smyth. Now, if you could only gain a pocket edition of the winning hand, your surveys would yield you a gold mine," said his hostess, gaily.
"Instead of as now, a few promissory notes," laughed Smyth.
"The gentlemen have been envying you your monopoly of Mrs. Gower, Mr. Cobbe," said lively Mrs. Smyth, in an undertone; "she is an awful flirt, you had better take care of yourself," she added, mischievously.
"I mean to," he said savagely, and with latent meaning, adding, "she is as fickle as her clime; I hope," he said, endeavoring to control himself, "all you ladies are not so heartless."
"Oh, no; we are as constant as the sun, compared to her," she said, half jokingly.
"Would you be so to me," he said thickly, and coming near her.
"Go away, Mr. Cobbe; don't look at me like that, you awful man," she whispered, laughingly.
"When may I call, you are the right sort of woman," he continued, persistently.
"Will says so, any way," she said, archly.
"Say to-morrow," he persisted.
"Will!" she cried, mischievously, "Mr. Cobbe's compliments, and desires to know when he will find you in your sanctum, he wishes to smoke the pipe of peace with you."
"Hang it," thought Cobbe, "she has no ambition beyond Will; give me the Australian women after all."
"Almost any evening, Cobbe, I am always good for a smoke; but my wife says I'd better retrench, the house of Smyth is increasing so rapidly; good-night."
"May I see you home, Mrs. St. Clair?" asked Mr. Cobbe, fervidly.
"It would be too sweet—but oh!" and her arm above the elbow is rubbed, for the boy Noah has pinched her severely, saying,
"I'll tell papa."
At this juncture Thomas appeared, saying, a coupé had arrived for Mrs. St. Clair and Master Noah.
"I must see you to-morrow, Mrs. Gower, after office hours," said Cobbe, adding, on meeting the sharp eye of Mrs. Dale, "I have something very particular to tell you."
"Say the day after, Mr. Cobbe, please; I shall endeavor to restrain my curiosity so long, even though I am a woman."
"No, no, I must see you to-morrow at five p.m.," he said, impulsively.
"The yeas have it this time, Mr. Cobbe. Mrs. Gower belongs to us for to-morrow," said Mrs. Dale, drawing her wrap about her, over her cream-silk robe, slashed with blue velvet, and laced amid innumerable buttonholes, her innocent look only apparent while, in reality, she is dissecting him, "our kind hostess does some of the lions with us to-morrow afternoon; the evening, she spends with us at the Queen's."
"Yes, we have no end of a bill for to-morrow," said Mr. Dale; "the Normal School, Mount Pleasant Cemetery, office of the Mail, and the University of Toronto."
At this there was a transformation scene, the face of Mr. Cobbe changing like a flash from inane sulkiness to jubilant triumph.
"To the University! then Mrs. Gower will tell you what a paradise we enjoyed, when I alone was her companion there," he said, with excitement; and having previously made his adieu, he departed, chuckling inwardly at his parting shot, and thinking for once she is nonplussed. "She is too high-spirited to sleep comfortably to-night, if so, she'll dream of me in spite of herself."
"What a funny man!" exclaimed Mrs. Dale, "reminds me of a Jack on wires. If I were in your place, Mrs. Gower, I'd hand him over to his mother to bring up over again; till to-morrow, farewell."
"Au revoir, dear."
"Good night, Mrs. Gower," said Buckingham, with a firm hand-clasp; "your evenings leave one nothing to wish for, save for their continuance."
"If your words have life, prove them by coming again; good night."