THE INVISIBLE CHARM.
From Catskill Dr. Jeremy proceeded directly to Saratoga. The place was crowded with visitors, for the season was at its height, and the improvident travellers having neglected to secure rooms, they had no right to expect any accommodation.
"Where do you propose stopping?" inquired an acquaintance of the doctor's, whom they met in the cars.
"At Congress Hall," was the reply. "It will be a quiet place for us old folks, and more agreeable than any other house to Miss Graham, who is an invalid."
"You are expected, I conclude?"
"Expected?—No; who should be expecting us?"
"Your landlord. If you have not engaged rooms you will fare badly, for every hotel is crowded."
"We must take our chance then," said the doctor, with indifference; but arriving at his destination, he found his friend's words were true.
"I don't know what we are going to do," said he, as he joined the ladies; "they say every house is full; and, if so, we'd better take the next train of cars and be off, for we can't sleep in the street."
"Carriage, sir?" shouted a cabman, a few steps distant, and beckoning to the doctor, while another tapped his shoulder, and made a similar suggestion.
"Carriage!" repeated the doctor, angrily. "What for? where would you carry us, for mercy's sake? There isn't a garret to be had in your town, for love or money."
"Well, sir," said the last petitioner, "the houses are pretty full just now, to be sure, but may be you can get colonised out."
"Colonised out!" said the doctor, in a tone of vexation. "That's what I think we are already; what I want is to get in somewhere. Where do you usually drive your coach?"
"To Congress Hall."
"Drive up, then, and let us get in; and, mind, if they don't take us at Congress Hall, we shall expect you to keep us until we find accommodation."
Mrs. Jeremy, Emily, and Gertrude were assisted into a small omnibus. The doctor took a seat on the outside, and, the moment the vehicle stopped, hastened to the landlord. There was not a vacant corner in the house. Wishing to accommodate him, the office-keeper said that he might be able before night to furnish him with one room in a house in the next street.
"One room! in the next street!" cried the doctor. "Ah, that's being colonised out, is it? Well, sir, it won't do for me; I must have a place to put my ladies in at once. Why, in conscience, don't you have hotels enough for your visitors?"
"It is the height of the season, sir, and——"
"Why, Dr. Jeremy!" exclaimed the youthful voice of Netta Gryseworth, who was passing through the hall with her grandmother. "How do you do, sir? Are Miss Graham and Miss Flint with you? Have you come to stay?"
Before the doctor could answer her questions and pay his respects to Madam Gryseworth, a venerable old lady whom he had known for thirty years, the landlord of the hotel accosted him. "Dr. Jeremy?" said he. "Excuse me, I did not know you. Dr. Jeremy, of Boston?"
"The same," said the doctor, bowing.
"Ah, we are all right, then. Your rooms are reserved, and will be made ready in a few minutes; they were vacated two days ago, and have not been occupied since."
"What is all this?" exclaimed the honest doctor. "I engaged no rooms."
"A friend did it for you, then, sir; a fortunate circumstance, especially as you have ladies with you. Saratoga is very crowded at this season; there were seven thousand strangers in the town yesterday."
The doctor thanked his unknown friend, and summoned the ladies to enjoy their good fortune.
"Why, now, ain't we lucky?" said Mrs. Jeremy, as she glanced around the comfortable room allotted to herself, and then she took a survey of Emily's and Gertrude's apartment.
The doctor, having attended to the baggage, approached the door and heard his wife's last remark, and entering with his finger on his lip, exclaimed, in a low voice, "Hush! hush! don't say too much about it! We are profiting by a glorious mistake on the part of our good landlord. These rooms were engaged for somebody, that's certain, but not for us. However, they can't do no more than turn us out when the right folks come, and until then we have a prospect of very good lodgings."
But if they were not the right folks, the right folks never came, and, in the course of a week, our party not only ceased to be conscious of their precarious footing in the house, but obtained a favourable exchange for Emily to a bed-room upon the first floor, which opened directly into the drawing-room, and saved her from passing up and down the often crowded staircases.
It was nearly tea-time on the day of their arrival, and Emily and Gertrude had just completed their toilet, when there was a light rap upon their door. Gertrude opened it, and admitted Ellen Gryseworth, who, while she saluted her with southern warmth of manner, hesitated, saying, "I am afraid you will think me an intruder, but Netta told me you had arrived, and hearing from the chamber-maid that you had the next room to mine, I could not forbear stopping a moment as I passed to tell you how very glad I am to see you again."
Gertrude and Emily expressed their pleasure at the meeting, urged her to come in and remain until the gong sounded for tea. She accepted the invitation, and, taking a seat upon the nearest trunk, inquired concerning their travels and Emily's health since they parted at West Point.
Among other adventures, Gertrude mentioned their having again encountered Mr. Phillips. "Indeed!" said Miss Gryseworth; "he seems to be an ubiquitous individual. He was in Saratoga a day or two ago, and sat opposite to me at our dinner-table, but I have not seen him since. Did you become acquainted with him, Miss Graham?"
"I am sorry to say I did not," replied Emily; then, looking smilingly at Gertrude, she added, "Gerty was so anxious for an opportunity to introduce me that I was quite grieved for her disappointment."
"Then you liked him?" Miss Gryseworth asked Gertrude, and speaking with great earnestness. "I knew you would."
"He interested me much," replied Gertrude. "He is very agreeable, very peculiar, and to me rather incomprehensible."
"Non-committal, I see," said Miss Gryseworth, archly. "I hope you will have a chance to make up your mind; it is more than I can do, I confess, for every time I am in his company I recognise some new trait of character. He got so angry at one of the waiters the day he dined with us in New York, that I was frightened. But I believe my fears were groundless, for he is too much of a gentleman to bandy words with an inferior, and though his eyes flashed like coals of fire, he kept his temper from blazing forth. I will do him the justice to say that this great indignation did not spring from any neglect he had himself received, but from the man's inattention to two dowdy-looking women from the country, who had never thought of seeing him, and therefore got nothing to eat until everybody else had finished, and looked all the time as disappointed as if they were just out of the State Prison."
"Too bad!" exclaimed Gertrude, energetically. "I don't wonder Mr. Phillips felt provoked with the mercenary fellow. I like him for that."
"It was too bad," said Miss Gryseworth; "I couldn't help pitying them myself. One of them—a young girl, fresh from the churn, who had worn her best white gown on purpose to make a figure in the city—was near weeping."
"I hope such instances of neglect are not very common," said Gertrude. "I am afraid, if they are, Emily and I shall be on the crying list, for Dr. Jeremy will not fee the waiters beforehand; he says it is a mean thing, and he will not command attention in that way."
"Oh, you need have no such fear," said Miss Gryseworth. "Persons accustomed to hotel life can always command attention, especially in so well-regulated an establishment as this. Grandmamma shares the doctor's views with regard to bargaining for it beforehand, but no one ever sees her neglected here."
Another light tap at the door, and this time it was Netta Gryseworth who entered, exclaiming, "I hear Ellen's voice, so I must come in. I am provoked," added she, as she kissed Emily's hand, and shook Gertrude's with a freedom which seemed to spring from girlish hoydenism and high-bred independence of manner, "to think that while I have been watching about the drawing-room doors for this last half-hour, so as to see you the first minute you came in, Ellen has been sitting here on a trunk, as sociable as all the world, enjoying your society, and telling you every bit of the news."
"Not every bit, Netta," said Ellen; "I have left several choice little morsels for you."
"Have you told Miss Flint about the Foxes and the Coxes that were here yesterday?—Has she, Miss Flint?"
"Not a word about them," said Gertrude.
"Nor about the fright we had on board the steamboat?"
"No."
"Nor about Mr. Phillips being here?"
"Oh, yes, she told us that."
"Ah, she did!" exclaimed Netta, with an arch look which called up her sister's blushes. "And did she tell you how he occupied this room, and how we heard him through the thin partition pacing up and down all night, and how it kept me from sleeping, and gave me a terrible headache all the next day?"
"No, she did not tell me that," said Gertrude.
"You don't either of you walk all night, do you?" asked Netta.
"Not often."
"Oh, how thankful we ought to be to have you for neighbours!" replied Netta. "If that horrible man had stayed here and kept up that measured tread, there would have been a suicide either in this room or ours before many nights."
"Do you think he was ill?" asked Gertrude.
"No, indeed," said Ellen; "it was nothing very remarkable—not for him, at least—all his habits are peculiar; but it kept Netta awake an hour or two, and made her fidgety."
"An hour or two, Ellen!" cried Netta. "It was the whole night."
"My dear sister," said Ellen, "you don't know what a whole night is."
A little sisterly discussion might have ensued about the length of Mr. Phillips' walk and Netta's consequent wakefulness, but, fortunately, the gong sounded for tea.
Saratoga is a queer place. One sees congregated there, at the height of the season, delegates from every part of the world. Fashion's ladder is transplanted thither, and all its rounds are filled. Beauty, wealth, pride, and folly are well represented; also wit, genius, and learning. Idleness reigns supreme, and no one, not even the most active and industrious citizens of our working land, dares, in this her legitimate province, to dispute her temporary sway. Every rank of society, every profession, and almost every trade, meet each other on an easy and friendly footing. The acknowledged belle, the bearer of an aristocratic name, the owner of a well-filled purse, the renowned scholar, artist, or poet, have all a conspicuous sphere to shine in.
It was a new experience to Gertrude, and although in the Congress Hall she saw only the reflection of Saratoga gaiety, and heard only the echo of its distant hum, there was enough of novelty and excitement to entertain and surprise one who was a novice in fashionable life. In the circle of high-bred, polished, literary, and talented persons whom Madam Gryseworth drew about her, and into which Dr. Jeremy's party were admitted, Gertrude found much that was congenial to her cultivated taste, and she soon was appreciated as she deserved. Madam Gryseworth was a lady of the old school—one who had all her life been accustomed to the best society, and who continued, in spite of her advanced years, to enjoy and to adorn it. For the first day or two Mrs. Jeremy stood much in awe of her, and could not feel quite at ease in her presence; but this feeling wore off, and the stout little doctor's lady soon became confiding and chatty towards the august dame.
One evening, when the Jeremys had been a week at Saratoga, as Emily and Gertrude were leaving the tea-table, they were joined by Netta Gryseworth, who, linking her arm in Gertrude's, exclaimed, in her usual gay manner, "Gertrude, I shall quarrel with you soon!"
"Indeed!" said Gertrude; "on what grounds?"
"Jealousy."
Gertrude blushed slightly.
"Oh, you needn't turn so red; it is not on account of any grey-headed gentleman staring at you all dinner-time from the other end of the table. No; I'm indifferent on that score. Ellen and you may disagree about Mr. Phillips' attentions, but I'm jealous of those of another person."
"I hope Gertrude isn't interfering with your happiness in any way," said Emily, smiling.
"She is, though," replied Netta. "My happiness, my pride, my comfort; she is undermining them all. She would not dare to so conduct herself, Miss Graham, if you could see her behaviour."
"Tell me all about it," said Emily, coaxingly, "and I will promise to interest myself for you."
"I doubt that," answered Netta; "I am not sure but you are a coadjutor with her. However, I will state my grievance. Do you not see how entirely she engrosses the attention of an important personage? Are you not aware that Peter has ceased to have eyes for anyone else? For my own part, I can get nothing to eat or drink until Miss Flint is served, and I'm determined to ask papa to change our seats at the table. It isn't that I care about my food; but I feel insulted—my pride is essentially wounded. A few days ago I was a great favourite with Peter, and all my pet dishes were sure to be placed in front of me; but now the tune is changed, and this very evening I saw him pass Gertrude the blackberries, which the creature knows I delight in, while he pushed a dish of blues towards me in a contemptuous manner, which seemed to imply, 'Blueberries are good enough for you, miss!'"
"I have noticed that the waiters are very attentive to us," said Emily; "do you suppose Gertrude has been secretly bribing them?"
"She says not," replied Netta. "Didn't you tell me so yesterday, Gertrude, when I was drawing a similar comparison between their devotion to you and to our party? Didn't you tell me that neither the doctor nor any of you ever gave Peter anything?"
"Certainly," answered Gertrude; "his attentions are all voluntary; but I attribute them entirely to Emily's influence and his desire to serve her."
"It is no such thing," said Netta; "it's sorcery, I'm sure of it; you've been practising the black art, Gertrude, and I'll warn Peter this very day."
They now went to the corner of the drawing-room where the old ladies of Gryseworth and Jeremy were sitting upon a sofa, engaged in earnest conversation, while Ellen, who had just returned from a drive with her father, stood talking with him and a Mr. Petrancourt, who had just arrived from New York.
The ladies on the sofa made room for Emily, and Netta and Gertrude seated themselves. Madame Gryseworth was annoyed by a group of children on the other side of the room, who by their shouts interrupted her remarks, and prevented her understanding those of her neighbour. Gertrude's attention was attracted by them to such a degree that she did not hear half of the sallies of wit and nonsense which Netta continued to pour forth.
"Do go and play with those children, Gertrude," said Netta at last; "I know you're longing to go."
"I'm longing to stop their play!" said Gertrude.
Some half-dozen gaily-dressed children had collected around a strange little new-comer, whom they were subjecting to every species of persecution. Her clothes, though of rich materials, were mostly untidily arranged, and soiled by travelling. Her little black silk frock (for the child was clad in mourning) was quite outgrown, being much shorter than some of her other garments, and her whole appearance denoted great neglect. Gertrude saw the little girl standing in their midst, looking wildly about her, as if to escape; but this the children prevented, and continued to ply her with questions, each of which called forth their derisive shouts, which made her cry. Whether the scene reminded Gertrude of some of her own experiences, or merely touched the chord of sympathy for the injured, she could not keep her eyes from the little party; and just as Netta was upon one of her favourite topics—namely, Mr. Phillips and his unaccountable conduct—she sprang from her seat, exclaiming, "They shan't torment that child so!" and hastily crossed the room.
Netta burst into a hearty laugh at Gertrude's excited manner of starting on her benevolent errand; and this, together with her so hastily crossing the large and crowded room, drew the inquiries of all the circle whom she had left, and during her absence she became the subject of discussion and remark.
"What is the matter, Netta?" asked Madame Gryseworth. "Where has Gertrude gone?"
"To offer herself as a champion, grandmamma, for that little rowdy-dowdy looking child."
"Is she the one who has been making all this noise?"
"No, indeed; but I believe she is the cause of it."
"It isn't every girl," said Ellen, "who could cross a room like this so gracefully as Gertrude can."
"She has a remarkably good figure," said Madame Gryseworth, "and knows how to walk."
"She is a very well-formed girl," remarked Dr. Gryseworth, "but the true secret of her looking so completely the lady lies in her having uncommon dignity of character, being wholly unconscious of observation and independent of the wish to attract it. She dresses well, too; Ellen, I wish you would imitate Miss Flint's style of dress; nothing could be in better taste."
"Or a greater saving to your purse, papa," whispered Netta. "Gertrude dresses very simply."
"Miss Flint's style of dress would not become Miss Gryseworth," said Mrs. Petrancourt, who approached in time to hear the doctor's remark. "Your daughter, sir, is a noble, showy-looking girl, and can carry off a great deal of dress."
"So can a milliner's doll, Mrs. Petrancourt. However, I suppose, in a certain sense, you are right. The two girls are not sufficiently alike to resemble each other, if their dresses were matched with Chinese exactness."
"Resemble each other! You surely would not wish to see your beautiful daughter the counterpart of one who has not half her attractions."
"Are you much acquainted with Miss Flint?"
"Not at all; but Netta pointed her out to me at the tea-table as being a particular friend."
"Then you must excuse me, ma'am, if I remark that it is impossible you should have any idea of her attractions, as they do not lie on the surface."
"You confess, then, that you do not think her handsome, sir?"
"To tell you the truth, I never thought anything about it. Ask Petrancourt; he is an acknowledged judge;" and the doctor bowed in a flattering manner to the lady who had been the belle of the season at the time her husband paid his addresses to her.
"I will, when I can get a chance; but he is standing too near the blind lady—Miss Flint's aunt, is she not?"
"Particular friend; not her aunt."
This conversation had been carried on in a low voice, that Emily might not hear it. Others, however, were either more careless or more indifferent to her presence; for Madam Gryseworth began to speak of Gertrude without restraint, and she was at this moment saying, "One must see her under peculiar circumstances to be struck with her beauty at once; for instance, as I did yesterday, when she had just returned from riding, and her face was in a glow from exercise and excitement; or as she looks when animated by her intense interest in some glowing and eloquent speaker, or when her feelings are suddenly touched and the tears start into her eyes, and her whole soul shines out through them!"
"Why, grandmamma," cries Netta, "you are really eloquent!"
"So is Gertrude, at such times as those I speak of. Oh, she is a girl after my own heart!"
"She must be a very agreeable young lady, from your account," said Mr. Petrancourt. "We must know her."
"You will not find her of the same stamp as most of the agreeable young ladies whom you meet in gay circles. I must tell you what Horace Willard said of her. He is an accomplished man and a scholar—his opinion is worth something. He had been staying a fortnight at the United States Hotel, and used to call occasionally to see us. The day he left he came to me and said—'Where is Miss Flint? I must have one more refreshing conversation with her before I go. It is a perfect rest to be in that young lady's society, for she never seems to be making the least effort to talk with me, or to expect any attempt on my part; she is one of a few girls who never speak unless they have something to say.' How she has contrived to quiet those children!"
Mr. Petrancourt followed the direction of Madame Gryseworth's eyes. "Is that the young lady you were speaking of?" asked he. "The one with great dark eyes, and such a splendid head of hair? I have been noticing her for some time."
"Yes, that is she, talking to the little girl in black."
"Madame Gryseworth," said Dr. Jeremy, through the long, open window, and stepping inside as he spoke, "I see you appreciate our Gerty; I did not say too much in praise of her good sense, did I?"
"Not half enough, doctor; she is a very bright girl, and a very good one, I believe."
"Good!" exclaimed the doctor; "I didn't know that goodness counted in these places; but if goodness is worth speaking of, I should like to tell you a little of what I know of that girl;" and, without going closely into particulars, he commenced dilating enthusiastically upon Gertrude's noble and disinterested conduct under trying circumstances, and had recounted, in a touching manner, her devotion to one old paralytic—to another infirm and ill-tempered old man and his slowly-declining daughter—and would have proceeded to speak of her recent self-sacrificing labours in Emily's service; but Miss Graham touched his arm, spoke in a low voice, and interrupted him.
He stopped abruptly. "Emily, my dear," said he, "I beg your pardon; I didn't know you were here; but what you say is very true. Gertrude is a private character, and I have no right to bring her before the public. I am an old fool, certainly; but there, we are all friends." And he looked around the circle a little anxiously, casting a slightly suspicious glance at the Petrancourts, and finally rested his gaze upon a figure behind Ellen Gryseworth. The latter turned, not having been previously aware that any stranger was near, and, to her surprise, found herself face to face with Mr. Phillips! "Good evening, sir," said she, on recognising him; but he did not seem to hear her. Madam Gryseworth, who had never seen him before, looked up inquiringly.
"Mr. Phillips," said Ellen, "shall I make you acquainted with Mrs. Gryseworth, my——" But before she could complete the introduction he had darted through the window, and was walking across the piazza with hasty strides.