CHAPTER XV.
MISS CHRISTINE GOES TO A PARTY.
Thanksgiving day passed off very quietly, but nevertheless very pleasantly, at school. The little dissipation of the night previous had given such perfect satisfaction to all those who participated in it, and they were the scholars who were generally the ringleaders in every scheme for fun and frolic, that they were all willing to maintain a most discreet behavior throughout the day. To be sure they entered into all the lively conversation of the dinner-table, and amused some of the younger ones afterwards with games and stories; but there was none of that general uproar and confusion that one would expect to see in a school full of all ages, when the whole day was fully understood to be at their disposal and they were released from any apparent restraint.
The quiet behavior of Marion and her set might have been readily attributed to the fact of Florence's lameness, had that fact been known; it took the united energies and tact of the six to get her up and down stairs, and in and out of rooms so that her limping would not be noticed, or attention attracted to the sudden growth of one of her feet. She bore the pain like a martyr, and managed to conceal her sufferings from the public, only giving vent to her feelings when she was perfectly sure of not being observed.
Of course Marion's supper could not remain a secret, and she and the five whom she had honored with invitations were made to feel the scorn of some of the older scholars, who were not of the favored few. Mutterings of discontent, contemptuous shrugs of the shoulders, and glances which were intended to be withering in the extreme, were levelled at the obnoxious six, who were highly entertained at the remarks and actions of some of the girls, and in various little ways added fuel to the flame.
Georgie Graham felt herself especially insulted, and did everything in her power to rouse her companions to a realizing sense of their injured dignity.
"Why, really, Georgie," said Mattie Denton, "I don't see as there was anything so very dreadful in Marion's asking the girls into her room. She probably had those she wanted, and I don't blame her. I'm sure you couldn't expect she would invite you!"
"Expect she'd invite me!" retorted Georgie, with a scornful toss of her head; "she knew very well I wouldn't have gone if she had."
"Oh, well," quietly replied Mattie, "I suppose, of course, that was the only reason she didn't ask you."
"The idea of her having Rachel Drayton," continued Georgie, ignoring Mattie's remark; "she has hardly treated her decently since she's been here, and to start out all of a sudden, and be so dreadfully intimate as to invite her into her room with a select party of friends, is really too absurd—or would be if it wasn't so easy to see what she is after!"
"See what she is after! Why, what in the world do you mean?" asked Mattie. "I don't imagine she's after anything."
"Oh, no! I suppose not," scornfully laughed Georgie, tossing her head still higher. "Of course not! you know the old saying, Mattie, 'None so blind as those that won't see.'"
"What in the world do you mean, Georgie Graham? I don't believe you know yourself!"
"Don't I, though? Well, now, do you suppose that Marion Berkley, who holds her head so high, and doesn't condescend to take any notice of us girls, would have whisked round all of a sudden, and been so very sweet on Rachel Drayton, if she hadn't an object in view?"
"You certainly are the strangest creature I ever saw," indignantly replied Mattie. "As if Marion ever had been sweet on Rachel! No one but you would ever have thought of such a thing! I presume she invited her, because she is a friend of Flo's."
"No such thing," replied Georgie, leaning across the table and speaking every word slowly and distinctly. "She invited her because she is an heiress, and Marion intends to toady round her until she gets into her good graces."
"I don't believe it," flatly declared Mattie.
"She told me so herself."
"What! told you she meant to toady Rachel!—a likely story!"
"No, told me Rachel was an heiress."
"Well, suppose she is an heiress, what of that? You know perfectly well that Marion Berkley is not a girl to toady any one, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself for saying so. I'm sure every one could see that she has not treated Rachel very cordially, and if she invited her into her room it was on Flo's account, and I'm glad for one she showed her some kindness. No one but you would ever have put a bad motive on such a simple action."
"Thank you, Mattie, for defending me," quietly remarked Marion herself, as she passed through the library where the two girls were sitting, and went upstairs.
"There, Miss Graham, I hope you feel better now!" exclaimed Mattie, who was now thoroughly roused.
"Pooh! I don't care; 'listeners never hear any good of themselves;' she shouldn't have been eaves-dropping."
"That sounds well, Georgie, I must say, coming from you," replied Mattie. "She was in the school-room, and goodness knows we talked loud enough. Next time you have any such agreeable insinuations to make against one of your school-mates, you'll be kind enough to go to some one else;" and Mattie turned away indignantly, and left Georgie to her own reflections.
Finding that she had not been able to rouse any ill-will towards Marion in Mattie's breast, and inwardly provoked with herself for having proclaimed Rachel to be an heiress,—a fact which for reasons of her own she would have preferred to have remain a secret,—she left the hall, and entered the drawing-room, where most of the girls were congregated, thinking perhaps that there would be a better field for her operations.
Poor Marion had been cut to the quick by Georgie's remark; not on account of the source from which it came, but because she feared, that, through Georgie's manœuvring, it would become the general opinion of the scholars, and in her inmost heart Marion had hoped that she might not leave the school at the end of the year, without leaving behind her a better reputation than she had borne before.
She said nothing of this hope to any one, not even Florence, but had tried in many little things, principally in her manner, to be more kind to those of her school-mates who were not in any way attractive to her.
Forgetful of the feelings of others as she so often appeared, she was herself extremely sensitive, and nothing could have annoyed her more than to be accused of toadying any one. She could not bear the idea of having such an imputation fastened upon her, and she secretly resolved that in the future she would treat Rachel Drayton with the same coldness and hauteur she had shown in the past. If she had only known that that was the very object at which Georgie was aiming!
She had been thinking all day of Aunt Bettie's happiness, and the thought of it had greatly contributed to her own; but now all her peace of mind was quite destroyed. She knew the resolution she had made was unworthy of herself; but every time she tried to reason against it, the thought of how her conduct would be misrepresented if she should treat Rachel with kindness and consideration, as she had made up her mind the previous night she would do, proved too much for her sensitive pride, and she determined to hold firmly to her first resolution.
She knew it was miserably weak in her, to allow herself to be governed by fear of the misrepresentation of any one whom she held in such utter contempt as she did Georgie Graham; but she knew that the girl's influence over some of the scholars was great, and though outwardly she appeared indifferent to whatever they might think of her, at heart she really longed for their good opinion.
A still, small voice whispered in her ear, that if she would only follow the dictates of her better nature she would certainly be worthy of their good opinion, and in the sight of One who not only sees, but understands, everything that passes in our minds, she would be doing right. But she was not in a mood to listen to any such voice; she left the room, and running down to the parlor, seated herself at the piano, and for an hour played for the girls to dance, trying in that way to get rid of the unpleasant thoughts that would force themselves upon her.
"What do you think?" exclaimed Mattie Denton, going up to her almost out of breath, after a furious gallop; "Miss Christine is going to a party."
"A party!" exclaimed Marion; "when and where?"
"To-night, at Mrs. Dickenson's; she has a family dinner-party, and a few friends are invited in the evening; of course I don't suppose it's a regular party, but quite an event for our Miss Christine."
"I should think as much," replied Marion. "I am so glad she's going! Wasn't Miss Stiefbach invited?"
"Oh, yes, of course; but she declined. I suppose she thought it would never do to leave us alone."
"No, 'while the cat's away the mice will play,' you know."
"Yes, I should think the mice played a little last night," laughed Mattie.
"So they did; but then the cat was round. Come, I've played enough for these girls. I mean to ask Miss Christine to let me do her hair. You come with me, and I'll give you some of the good things the mice didn't play with."
"O Marion!" wailed half-a-dozen girls; "aren't you going to play any more?"
"No, I can't. I've most banged my fingers off; ask Fannie."
"But she doesn't play half as well as you do."
"Much obliged for your flattery; but it's all wasted this time," answered Marion, as she and Mattie left the room to hunt up Miss Christine.
"Sallie, do you know where Miss Christine is?" asked Marion, as they met Sarah Brown on the stairs.
"Yes, she's just gone to her room. Do you know she's going to a party!"
"1 know it; isn't it splendid? I'm going up to ask her to let me do her hair."
"I don't believe she'll let you."
"Yes, she will; I'll coax her into it, see if I don't."
"Where are you going to do it? Do let me see you."
"In my room, I guess, so that Flo can see me; but not until after tea."
After depositing Mattie in her room with a plateful of goodies, Marion proceeded to that of Miss Christine, which was directly opposite that of Miss Stiefbach, and upon knocking was immediately told to "Come in" by Miss Christine, who at that moment was shaking out the folds of a plain, but handsome black silk.
"O Miss Christine, isn't it splendid?" cried Marion, clasping her hands; "you're going to a party!"
Miss Christine laughed her dear, little, good-natured laugh. "Why, it seems to be considered a most wonderful event. Sarah has just been up here, and appears almost as pleased as if she were going herself."
"Of course she is, and so am I; and I'm going to do your hair."
"My dear," replied Miss Christine, "it will be too much trouble."
"Trouble! why, I admire to do it. I always do mamma's when I'm home, and she wants to look very fine."
"But you see I don't want to look very fine."
"Oh, yes, you do; or if you don't I want you to; besides, I promise not to do it any fixy way,—braid the back something as you do, only put it up with a little more style."
Miss Christine laughed. "Well, as you are so very kind as to offer, I'll let you; but when will you do it?"
"Directly after supper, please; that will be time enough. Will you be kind enough to bring your brushes into my room? I think the light is better."
"Very well, it does not make any difference to me. You run out now, and I will be all ready but putting on my dress, before tea."
Marion ran back to Mattie, and then went down to communicate the success of her errand to Sarah and Florence. Immediately after supper they helped Flo upstairs, and had just got her comfortably settled in the only easy-chair in the room, with her foot on a cricket, and a shawl thrown carelessly over it, as Miss Christine came in, brushes in hand.
Marion seated her with her back to the glass, saying as she did so, "I don't want you to see yourself until it is all done."
"Don't make me look too fine," said Miss Christine.
"No fear of that," replied Marion, as she rapidly undid the massive braids, and brushed them until they shone like burnished gold.
"There is some pleasure in doing such hair as yours," said Marion, with all the enthusiasm of an Auguste; "no need of rats or yarn here."
For a few moments she worked in silence, as her fingers flew in and out, until two long shining braids were made; these she twisted gracefully round at the back of Miss Christine's head, exclaiming as she put in the last hair-pin:—
"There! who would ever suppose she had as much hair as that? Just look at it, girls; isn't it lovely?"
"Perfectly lovely!" cried Florence. "Why, Miss Christine, you don't make any show of it at all."
"I braid it up as tight as possible, and don't care for anything but to have it stay firm and smooth."
"Now, Miss Christine," said Marion, in a tone which seemed to imply that she expected opposition, but meant to conquer it, "I'm going to crimp the front."
"My dear child, are you crazy? Why, I should not think of doing such a thing!"
"Of course you wouldn't, because you don't know how; but I'll do it now, and teach you some other time."
"Yes, yes," put in both Florence and Mattie; "your hair will be lovely crimped, and so becoming; do let her!"
"But I am afraid you'll make me look ridiculous, Marion," said Miss Christine, in a deprecating tone; "and perhaps you will burn it."
"Indeed I won't; your hair shan't suffer the way poor Meg's did in 'Little Women,' for I'll do it over a hot slate-pencil, and that never burnt mine."
"You don't mean to say you want to friz my hair up the way yours is!"
"No, indeed; I'll take more hair, and that will do it in large, soft waves. Now you'll see how lovely I'll make it look;" and Marion already had the pencil in the gas, and in a moment more was twisting over it a lock of Miss Christine's hair. "Now for the other side; then I'll comb it out, and it will be perfectly stunning!"
"Marion, what an expression!" said Miss Christine, as she sat in momentary expectation of having her hair singed off her head, or her forehead blistered. "I wish you would correct yourself of the habit of using slang words."
"Slang! why, that's not slang!"
"Yes, my dear; I think it is."
"Well, it is certainly a very mild form."
"Mild or not, it is extremely unladylike, and I hope you will get over the habit soon, or it will become fixed upon you."
"Well, I'll try," said Marion, taking a hair-pin out of her mouth; "but it will almost kill me. Stunning, and scrumptious, and jolly, and lots of those things, express so much more than any old, prim, stuck-up words. There! I suppose that's slang too! Well, never mind now, Miss Christine; when I come back after Christmas vacation, I'm going to be 'Miss Piety promoted;' see if I'm not! Now look at yourself."
"Why, Marion, haven't you crimped my hair a little too much?"
"No, indeed!" cried the three girls.
"You look just as sweet as you can look," said Florence; "it's not a bit too much, it's only lovely waves."
"Now I'm to get your dress, and you must put it on in here," said Marion; and before Miss Christine could utter a word of remonstrance she was off, and in a moment came back with the dress over her arm, and a lace collar in her hand. "I wish the skirt was a trifle longer," said Marion, as she stooped, and pulled it down behind.
"It's long enough for such a plain body as myself; you want to make a fashionable lady of me."
"I wouldn't have you a fashionable lady for the world! but I do want you to look your very bestest."
"You have forgotten my pin, dear; it was on the bureau beside my collar."
"No I haven't forgotten it," said Marion, who was opening and shutting various boxes in her upper drawer. "Where in the world is that ribbon? Here it is. Now, Miss Christine, I don't want you to wear the pin; it's the same you wear every day, and you ought to have some color about you somewhere; so I want you to wear this knot of blue satin, and I've got a band to match. Please do, just for my sake!"
"Why, Marion, you will make me absurd; you forget what an old maid I am."
"Old maid! I should think as much," replied Marion, pinning on the bow in spite of all remonstrance,—"old maid indeed! You're nothing of the sort, and what's more you know you never will be;" and Marion gave a mischievous glance at her teacher.
"Don't be impertinent, Marion," replied Miss Christine; but "old maid" as she called herself, she could not keep a very girlish blush from glowing on her cheeks at her pupil's words.
"I think you are just as lovely as you can be!" exclaimed Marion. "Oh! I forgot; the band for your hair;—there! now you're complete."
"Why, Miss Christine, you'll hardly know yourself," said Florence; "just look in the glass. Those crimps make you look five years younger."
"I'm going down to get Sallie," said Marion. "Don't put your things on yet, please; she wants to see you."
Marion ran off, returning in a few moments with Sarah Brown, who, the moment she saw her teacher, threw open her arms, and gave her a most emphatic hug.
"Now you look just as you ought. I'm perfectly delighted you're going, and your hair is beautiful,—that band is so becoming."
"That is all Marion's doings; in fact, I owe all my 'fine feathers' to her, and without them I should not be such a 'fine bird' as you seem to think me;" and Miss Christine laughed her dear, little laugh, that her scholars loved so well, and glanced affectionately at the group of admiring girls about her.
"You are not a 'fine bird' at all," exclaimed Sarah, in her most enthusiastic way; "you are just a dear, white dove."
"O Sarah! a white dove in black silk and blue satin—rather incongruous," said Miss Christine.
The girls all joined Miss Christine in her laugh; but nevertheless protested that Sarah's simile was not a bit exaggerated.
"Well now, Miss Christine," said Marion, "if you are ready, I'll go down and tell Biddy to put her things on."
"Biddy isn't going with me," replied Miss Christine, who seemed very busily engaged enveloping her head in a cloud, bringing it so far over her face that not a vestige of her hair was visible.
"Why, you're not going alone?"
"No; M. Béranger was invited, and kindly offered to escort me," said Miss Christine, bending her head to fasten her glove.
"Oh!" said Marion; but she gave a sly glance at her companions, which was not observed by Miss Christine, whose glove-buttons seemed to be giving her a great deal of trouble.
"Now, good-night, girls. I thank you a thousand times for all you have done for me, Marion;" then, as she kissed them all, "I don't believe there ever was a teacher had such affectionate scholars."
"You mean there never were scholars that had such a perfectly lovely teacher!" cried Sarah Brown, loud enough to be heard in the hall below.
"'Sh!" said Miss Christine. "Monsieur is down there; he will hear you."
"I guess it won't be any news to him," whispered Marion, as they hung over the banisters watching the proceedings below. "Do you know, Sallie, I believe she pulled that cloud over her head on purpose so that Miss Stiefbach wouldn't see she had her hair crimped. I dare say if she had, she'd have given her a lecture, when she got back, on the follies and vanities of this world."
"I dare say," replied Sarah. "She'd like to make Miss Christine just such a stiff old maid as she is herself; but she won't succeed."
"Not a bit of it," replied Marion.
When Miss Christine came home from the party, and stood before her glass preparatory to undressing, if she had been one of her own scholars she would have said she had a "splendid time." Evening companies, even as small as the one she had just attended, were something in which she rarely indulged; in fact, she had often remained at home from preference, sending her sister in her place, thinking she was much more likely to shine in society than herself. But this night she had really enjoyed herself. It certainly was very pleasant to know she looked better than usual; and if the evidence of her own eyes, and the admiration of her scholars, had not proved that, there had been some one else who testified to the fact in a few respectful, but very earnest words.
As she unpinned the blue ribbons, she wondered if it had been foolish and undignified in her to wear them; but the recollection of the loving girls who had urged her to do so filled her heart with delight, and she went to bed feeling that the affection of those young hearts was worth more than all the elegance of manner, and extreme dignity, for which her sister was noticeable, which, however it might inspire the awe and respect of her pupils, never won their love.
The next morning the girls noticed that Miss Christine's crimps were not entirely "out." When she brushed her hair that morning, her first impulse had been to straighten out the pretty waves with a dash of cold water; then she thought, to please Marion, she would leave it as it was. I wonder if it occurred to her that the only lesson for the day was French?