CHAPTER XIV.
This decree of the doctor’s threw the household into a great bustle. I was requested to call on the Don’s landlord, explain his long absence, and have his trunk sent up to Leigh Street. The girls were in a great flutter at the prospect of breakfasting with the mysterious stranger next morning; which announcement they had no sooner heard than they flew across the street to give Mary the news; and the air grew misty with interjections.
“We have arranged it all, Mary. Mr. Whacker and Mr. Frobisher, who, as you know, are to leave our house this evening, will come up to breakfast with the Don, of course, and you will just make the party complete. Proper? Of course, Mary. Why, there will be just one apiece,—so nice! You and Mr. Frobisher, Lucy and—ahem!—Mr. Whacker, and the Don and myself. No! that’s the way it shall be. Of course I’ll let you girls look at him,—even exchange a few words with him,—but I!—” And dropping into a chair by a table, she made as though mincing at an imaginary breakfast, whilst ogling, most killingly, an invisible gallant by her side.
That day, the girls thought, would never end. They could neither talk nor think of anything save the coming breakfast, wandering aimlessly from room to room, and from story to story, romping, yawning, giggling, and were so exhausted by nightfall that they all went to bed at an early hour, just as children do on Christmas Eve, to make the morning come sooner.
You must remember that they were hardly eighteen years of age.
The morning came. Charley and I met Mary at the front door and we entered together. “I am so excited,” said she. “It is all so like a real adventure.”
A few minutes afterwards Mrs. Carter begged me to go up and assist the Don down-stairs, if necessary. He walked down-stairs very well, however, and we entered the dining-room, where I expected to find the whole family, but the girls had not yet put in an appearance. Alice, it seems, had gotten the other girls into so hilarious a state by her mad drolleries—enacting scenes that were to take place between herself and the Don—that they had to remain some time in the upper chamber in order to resume control of their countenances; and her performances in the halls and on the stairways were such that they had to call a halt several times before they reached the dining-room door. We were all seated at the table, and breakfast had begun, when the door was partly opened, then nearly closed, then opened a little way again, while a faint rustling of female garments was the only sound that broke the stillness. Presently, Mary, followed by Lucy, popped into the room with a suddenness that suggested a vigorous push from some one in the rear, while their features, of necessity instantly composed, were in that state of unstable equilibrium which may be observed in the faces of boys when the teacher reappears in the school-room after a few moments’ absence. Alice followed, demure as a Quakeress.
The introductions over, and Alice and Lucy having thanked the Don for his gallant rescue of them from danger, the girls took their seats, Alice next the Don. It will be easily imagined that, under the peculiar circumstances of the case, no word, no gesture, no look of our new friend passed unobserved. No bride, coming among her husband’s relations, was ever more searchingly scrutinized. Naturally, we compared notes upon the first occasion that offered, and it was interesting to observe that, various as were the estimates placed upon our enigma, each of the ladies held, in the main, to her first impression. It is no secret, in fact, that if a woman sees a man passing in front of a window at which she is sitting, or hears him utter three sentences, the impression formed upon her mind is often next to ineradicable.
“I do not know,” said Mrs. Carter, “when I have seen a manner so elegant and distinguished. It shows the combined effect of gentle birth and much travel. How charming—and how rare nowadays—is that deference towards our sex that he manages to combine with perfect dignity and repose of manner! By the way, Mr. Whacker, did you not notice how subdued Alice was throughout breakfast? I have never seen her so quiet and demure.”
“Never mind,” said Alice, “I am feeling my way. Wait till I get a little better acquainted with him. I must say, however, that I don’t think our hero promises much in the way of fun. I doubt whether he would know a joke if he met one on the highway.”
“No,” said Mary, “his nature is too absorbed, too intense, for—”
“And his eyes too starry. Did you not observe, Mary, how they dilated when first they bended their light on the dish of stewed oysters?”
“Alice, I believe that if you could, you would jest at your own funeral.”
“No; at that pageant you may count on me as chief mourner.”
“Ob, Alice!” said Lucy, reprovingly.
“Never mind, my dear; I am not so wicked as I seem. Besides, I am rather reckless and desperate just at this moment.”
“Why, what is the matter?”
“All my aspirations dashed to the ground during one short breakfast!” Alice rested her chin upon her hand, and gazed pensively upon the floor.
“What new farce is this?” asked Lucy, amused.
“And it is you who ask me that!” And Alice raised her eyes with a sad, reproachful look to those of her friend. “And you call it a farce? You!” And she sighed. “Of course,” resumed Alice, quickly raising her head and looking from face to face,—“of course you all noticed it. It was perfectly obvious. Yes, this Miss from the rural districts has swooped down and carried off the prey without an effort.”
“I, at least,” said Lucy, coloring, “saw nothing of the kind. In the first place, I sat at one end of the table and he at the other, and I am sure I hardly exchanged a dozen words with him.”
“Alas!” sighed Alice, “it is precisely there that the sting lies. I sat by him and had every advantage over you,—and I used every advantage. Didn’t you remark the tone in which I called his attention to the omelet? Could a siren have urged upon him, more seductively, a second cup of coffee? And how gently did I strive to overwhelm his soul with buckwheat cakes! And was the marmalade sweeter than the murmur in which I recommended it? And yet,”—Alice paused for a lull in the tumultuous laughter,—“and yet,” she continued, “strive as I would, I could not keep his eyes from wandering to your end of the table.”
“It is very strange,” said Lucy, wiping her eyes, “that all this was lost on me.”
“And then,” added Alice, “your most—some one will please attend to the fat lady; she seems in a fit—your most trivial remark, even though not addressed to him, seemed to rivet his attention. To confess the humiliating truth, Mary, I don’t believe he would recognize either of us, should he meet us in the street; but every lineament of Lucy’s face is graven—you know how they say it in novels. It is a regular case of love at first sight, my dear.”
Alice’s eyes ran along the circle of faces surrounding her as she spoke, and it so happened that when she paused at the words “my dear” she was looking Charley full in the face. Charley, as I have before remarked, had seen very little of young ladies, and I had several times observed that when Alice was speaking in her sparkling way he would watch her all the while out of the corners of his eyes, with an expression of wondering interest. Charley rarely laughed. I think his self-control in this regard amounted to somewhat of an affectation, and he had acquired a sort of serene moderation even in his smiles. But Alice’s bright, rattling talk seemed to have a sort of fascination for him, and to hurry him out of himself, as it were. And on this occasion I had been slyly watching his features moving in sympathy with the changing expression of her exceedingly mobile countenance. Entirely absorbed as he was in watching the play of her countenance, and thinking of I know not what, when he found her bright eyes resting full upon him, and himself seemingly addressed as “my dear,” he was suddenly startled out of his revery, and not knowing what to say:
“I beg pardon,” said he, quickly, “were you speaking to me?”
A shout of laughter greeting this ingenuous question, Charley’s face reddened violently, Alice’s generally imperturbable countenance answering with a reflected glow.
“Not exactly,” said she; “my remarks were addressed to the company at large.”
“Oh!” said he, blushing more deeply still.
“But, Mr. Frobisher,” continued Alice, willing to relieve the embarrassment of the woman-hater, “don’t you agree with me? Wasn’t the Don obviously captivated by Lucy?”
“I am sure, if he was not, it would be hard to understand the reason why. But the fact is, Mrs. Carter’s capital breakfast—”
“Oh, you monster!”
Half an hour later, finding myself alone with Lucy: “So you do not claim or even admit,” I happened casually to remark, “that you have made a conquest.”
“No, indeed!” replied she, with a frank look in her eyes. “Far from it. Alice is all wrong.”
“But Miss Alice was not alone in her observation of the facts of the case. We all saw what she described. I did most certainly.”
“And so did I.”
“Well?”
“I saw, of course, how often he glanced towards me, and I was conscious that even while I was speaking to others his eyes were upon me. But there are looks and looks. You men don’t understand anything about such matters.”
“And where, pray, did you learn all this mysterious language of looks and looks?”
“I am a woman.”
“So is Alice.”
“Ah, yes; but, Alice—well, girls like to say that kind of thing to each other,—it’s encouraging, you know. Why do you smile? It is pleasant, of course, to be told that we have destroyed some man’s peace of mind, though we know it to be highly improbable in point of fact. I shall reciprocate, at the first opportune, by telling Alice with what sweet pain she has filled the breast of dear good Mr. Frobisher.”
“Do you think so?” I exclaimed. “That would be too good! The woman-hater! Capital!”
“Stranger things have happened. Did you not see how he blushed just now? But as to the Don, do you know he is a greater mystery to me now than ever? Every woman instinctively knows what a man’s looks mean.”
“Well, what did the Don’s glances signify?”
“I cannot for the life of me imagine.”
“What! Although every woman instinctively knows, and so forth.”
“Ah,” said she, smiling, “I meant that they always knew when the looks meant—pshaw! you know very well what I mean.”
“You would have me to understand that the Don’s looks, though they meant something, did not mean nascent love.”
“Yes. Do you not remember that sudden and intense look he gave me when we met him on the sidewalk? Well, when I came to turn that incident over in my mind I came to the conclusion that he mistook me for some one else. Now I am all at sea again. He knows, now, that I am Lucy Poythress, and not any one else.”
“Naturally.”
“Don’t be silly,—and still—”
“And still?”
“And yet—oh, you know what I mean.”
“Upon my word I do not.”
“Well, he seemed to me to be studying me as a kind of problem,—no, not that,—he appeared—ah, this is my idea—he seemed to me to survey me just as I have seen mothers look at their sons after a session’s absence. ‘Has he grown? Has he changed? Has he improved?’ Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly.”
“What are you laughing at? What do I mean, then?”
“I gather from all you say that your impression is that this Mystery, this Enigma, this Sphinx, this Don Miff—longs to be a mother to you.”
“Mr. W-ha-c-k-e-r!”
I could never understand why a man must not laugh at his own witticisms; and my hilarity on this occasion immediately drew the other girls and Mrs. Carter into the front parlor, where Lucy and I were sitting. By rapidly interposing a succession of chairs between that young woman and myself, I succeeded in giving the ladies an enlarged and profusely illustrated edition of Lucy’s views of the state of the Don’s feelings and intentions in regard to herself, when, seizing my hat, I fled, leaving the three girls in uproarious glee, and Mrs. Carter collapsed in an arm-chair, weeping, while voiceless laughter rippled along her rotund form. As I passed in front of the window Lucy’s head appeared.
“Say your prayers twice to-night,” said she.