TONING DOWN.
_Bell's Diary Continued_.
Such fun as it was to see mother and Juno training Katy, showing her how to enter the parlor, how to arrange her dress, how to carry her hands and feet, and how to sit in a chair—Juno going through with the performance first, and then requesting Katy to imitate her, which I must say she did to perfection, even excelling her teacher, inasmuch as she is naturally very easy and graceful. Had I been Katy I should have rebelled, but she is far too sweet-tempered and anxious to please, while I half suspect that fear of my lord Wilford had something to do with it, for when the drill was over, she asked so earnestly if we thought he would be ashamed of her, and there were tears in her great blue eyes as she said it. Hang Wilford! Hang the whole of them! I am not sure but I shall espouse her cause myself, or else tell father, who will do it so much better.
Dec.—th.—Another drill, with Juno commanding officer, while the poor little private seemed completely worried out. This time there were open doors, but so absorbed were mother and Juno as not to hear the bell, and just as Juno was saying, "Now, imagine me Mrs. General Reynolds, to whom you are being presented," while Katy was bowing almost to the floor, who should appear but Mark Ray, stumbling square upon that ludicrous rehearsal, and of course bringing it to an end. No explanation was made, nor was any needed, for Mark's face showed that he understood it, and it was as much as he could do to keep from roaring with merriment; I am sure he pitied Katy, for his manner toward her was very affectionate and kind, and when once she left the room he complimented her highly, repeating many things he had heard in her praise from those who had seen her both in the street and here at home. Juno's face was like a thundercloud, for she was as much in love with Mark Ray as she was once with Dr. Grant, and is even jealous of his praise of Katy. Glad am I that I never yet saw the man who could make me jealous, or for whom I cared a pin. There's Bob Reynolds up at West Point. I suppose I do think his epaulettes very becoming to him, but his hair is too light and he cannot raise whiskers big enough to cast a shadow on the wall, while I know he looks with contempt upon females who write, even though their writings never see the light of day; thinks them strong-minded, self-willed, and all that. He is expected to be present at the party, but I shall not be. I had rather stay at home and finish that article entitled "Women of the Present Century," and suggested to my mind by my Sister Katy, who stands for the picture I am drawing of a pretty woman, with more heart than brains, contrasting her with such a one as Juno, her opposite extreme.
January 10.—The last time I wrote in my journal was just before the party, which is over now, the long-talked-of affair at which Katy was the reigning belle. I don't know how it happened, but happen it did, and Juno's glory faded before that of her rival, whose merry, ringing laugh frequently penetrated to every room, and made more than one look up in some surprise. But when Mrs. Humphreys said: "It's that charming little Mrs. Cameron, the prettiest creature I ever saw, her laugh is so refreshing and genuine," the point was settled, and Katy was free to laugh as loudly as she pleased.
She did look beautiful, in lace and pearls, with her short hair curling on her neck. She would not allow us to put so much as a bud in her hair, showing in this respect a willfulness we never expected; but as she was perfectly irresistible, we suffered her to have her way, and when she was dressed, sent her in to father, who had asked to see her. And now comes the strangest thing in the world.
"You are very beautiful, little daughter," father said. "I almost wish I was going with you to see the sensation you are sure to create."
Then straight into his lap climbed Katy—father's lap—where none of us ever sat, I am sure, and began to coax him to go, telling him she should appear better if he were there, and that she should need him when Wilford left her, as of course he must a part of the time. And father actually dressed himself and went. But Katy did not need him after the people began to understand that Mrs. Wilford Cameron was the rage. Even Sybil Grey, in her palmiest days, never received such homage as was paid to the little Silverton girl, whose great charm was her perfect enjoyment of everything, and her perfect faith in what people said to her. Juno was nothing, and I worse than nothing, for I did go, wearing a plain black silk, with high neck and long sleeves, looking, as Juno said, like a Sister of Charity. But Bell Cameron can afford to dress plainly if she chooses, and I am glad, as it saves a deal of trouble, and somehow people seem to like me quite as well in my Quakerish dress as they do the fashionable Juno in diamonds and flowers, with uncovered neck and shoulders.
Lieutenant Bob was there; his light hair lighter than ever, and his chin as smooth as my hand. He likes to dance, and I do not, but somehow he persisted in staying where I was, notwithstanding that I said my sharpest things in hopes to get rid of him. He left me at last to dance with Katy, who makes up in grace and airiness what she lacks in knowledge. Once upon the floor, she did not lack for partners, but, I verily believe, danced every set, growing prettier and fairer as she danced, for hers is a complexion which does not get red and blowsy with exercise.
Mark Ray was there, too, and I saw him smile comically when Katy met the people with that bow she was making at the time he came so suddenly upon us. Mark is a good fellow, and I really think we have him to thank in a measure for Katy's successful _début_. He was the first to take her from Wilford, walking with her up and down the hall by way of reassuring her, and once as they passed me I heard her say:
"I feel so timid here—so much afraid of doing something wrong—something countrified."
"Never mind," he answered. "Act yourself just as you would were you at home in Silverton, where you are known. That is far better than affecting a manner not natural to you."
After that Katy brightened wonderfully. The stiffness which at first was perceptible passed off, and she was Katy Lennox, queening it over all the city belles, who, because she was married, would not be jealous—drawing after her a host of gentlemen, and between the sets holding a miniature court at one end of the room, where the more desirable of the guests crowded around; flattering her until her little head ought to have been turned if it was not. To do her justice, she bore her honors well, and when we were in the carriage, and father complimented her upon her success, she only said:
"If I pleased you all I am glad."
So many calls as we had the next day, and so many invitations as there are now on our table for Mrs. Wilford Cameron, while our opera box between the scenes is packed with beaus, until one would suppose Wilford might be jealous; but Katy takes it all so quietly and modestly, seeming only gratified for his sake, that I really believe he enjoys it more than she does. At all events, he persists in her going, even when she would rather stay at home, so if she is spoiled, the fault will rest with him.
February—th.—Poor Katy. Dissipation is beginning to wear upon her, for she is not accustomed to our late hours, and sometimes falls asleep while Esther is dressing her. But go she must, for Wilford wills it so, and she is but an automaton to do his bidding.
Why can't mother let her alone, when everybody seems so satisfied with her? Somehow, she does not believe that people are as delighted as they pretend, and so she keeps training and tormenting her until I do not wonder that Katy sometimes hates to go out, lest she shall unconsciously be guilty of an impropriety. I pitied her last night, when, after she was ready for the opera, she came into my room, where I was indulging in the luxury of a loose dressing gown, with my feet on the sofa. Latterly she has taken to me, and now sitting down before the fire into which her blue eyes looked with a steady stare, she said:
"I wish I might stay here with you to-night. I have heard this opera before, and it will be so tiresome. I get so sleepy while they are singing, for I never care to watch the acting. I did at first, when it was new, but now it seems insipid to see them make-believe, while the theatre is worse yet," and she gave a weary yawn.
In less than three months she has exhausted fashionable life, and I looked at her in astonishment, asking what would please her if the opera did not. What would she like?
Turning her eyes full upon me, she exclaimed:
"I do like it some, I suppose, only I get so tired. I like to ride, I like to skate, I like to shop, and all that; but, oh, you don't know how I want to go home to mother and Helen. I have not seen them for so long, but I am going in the spring—going in May. How many days are there in March and April? Sixty-one," she continued; "then I may safely say that in eighty days I shall see mother, and all the dear old places. It is not a grand home like this. You, Bell, might laugh at it. Juno would, I am sure, but you do not know how dear it is to me, or how I long for a sight of the huckleberry hills and the rocks where Helen and I used to play, Helen is a darling sister, and I know you will like her."
Just then Will called to say the carriage was waiting, and Katy was driven away, while I sat thinking of her and the devoted love with which she clings to her home and friends, wondering if it were the kindest thing which could have been done, transplanting her to our atmosphere, so different from her own.
March 1st.—As it was in the winter, so it is now; Mrs. Wilford Cameron is the rage—the bright star of society—which quotes and pets and flatters, and even laughs at her by turns; and Wilford, though still watchful, lest she should do something _outré_, is very proud of her, insisting upon her accepting invitations, sometimes two for one evening, until the child is absolutely worn out, and said to me once, when I told her how well she was looking and how pretty her dress was: "Yes, pretty enough, but I am so tired. If I could lie down on mother's bed, in a shilling calico, just as I used to do!"
Mother's bed seems at present to be the height of her ambition—the thing she most desires; and as Juno fancied it must be the feathers she is sighing for, she wickedly suggests that Wilford either buy a feather bed for his wife, or else send to that Aunt Betsy for the one which was to be Katy's setting out! They go to housekeeping in May, and on Madison Square, too, I think Wilford would quite as soon remain with us, for he does not fancy change; but Katy wants a home of her own, and I never saw anything more absolutely beautiful than her face when father said to Wilford that No. —— Madison Square was for sale, advising him to secure it. But when mother intimated that there was no necessity for the two families to separate at present—that Katy was too young to have charge of a house—there came into her eyes a look of such distress that it went straight to father's heart, and calling her to him, he said:
"Tell me, sunbeam, what is your choice—to stay with us, or have a home of your own?"
Katy was very white, and her voice trembled as she replied:
"You have been kind to me here, and it is very pleasant; but I guess—I think—I'm sure—I should like the housekeeping best. I am not so young, either. Nineteen in July, and when I go home next month I can learn so much of Aunt Betsy and Aunt Hannah."
Mother looked at Wilford then; but he was looking into the fire, with an expression anything but favorable to that visit home, fixed now for April instead of May. But Katy has no discernment, and believes she is actually going home to learn how to make apple dumplings and pumpkin pies. In spite of mother, the house is bought, and now she is gone all day, deciding how it shall be furnished, always leaving Katy out of the question, as if she were a cipher, and only consulting Wilford's choice. They will be happier alone, I know. Mrs. General Reynolds says that it is the way for young people to live; that her son's wife shall never come home to her, for of course their habits could not be alike; and then she looked queerly at me, as if she knew I was thinking of Lieutenant Bob and who his wife might be.
Sybil Grandon is coming home in April or May, and Mrs. Reynolds wonders will she flirt as she used to do. Just as if Bob would care for a widow. There is more danger from Will, who thinks Mrs. Grandon a perfect paragon, and who is very anxious that Katy may appear well before her, saying nothing and doing nothing which shall in any way approximate to Silverton and the shoes which Katy told Esther she used to bind when a girl. Will need not be disturbed, for Sybil Grandon was never half as pretty as Katy, or half as much admired. Neither need Mrs. General Reynolds fret about Bob, as if he would care for her. Sybil Grandon, indeed!