“Don’t consider this my farewell appearance,” he said. “I merely wished to tell you that my friends have inveigled me into giving an informal party Tuesday evening, at which I shall expect you all to appear.”
He talked glibly, for him, and gave us an outline sketch of his proposed tour. I thought he seemed strangely restless and nervous, and I pitied him.
His “informal party” was really a noteworthy affair, and the wealth and respectability of the city were well represented. Bessie could not go, on account of the baby, so I acted as escort to Mrs. Pinkerton, who made herself amazingly agreeable. There were not many young people present, and the affair was quiet and genteel in the extreme. Bank presidents, capitalists, professional men, and “solid” men, with their wives, attired in black silks, formed the majority of the guests. They were Mr. Desmond’s personal friends. My mother-in-law was in congenial company, and I believe she enjoyed the evening remarkably. Most of the conversation turned, very naturally, upon European travel. Americans who are possessed of wealth always have done “the grand tour,” and they invariably speak of “Europe” in a general way, as if it were all one country.
“When I returned from my first tour abroad, a friend said to me that he ‘supposed it was a fine country over there,’” said Mr. Desmond to me, laughing.
Some one asked him where he had decided to go.
“I shall land at Havre, and go straight to Paris,” he answered. “I flatter myself I am a good American, and as I have been comparatively dead since my niece left me, I am entitled to a place in that terrestrial paradise.”
I thought I had never seen Mrs. Pinkerton appear to so good advantage as she did on this occasion. Her natural good manners and her intelligence made her attractive in such a company, and she was the centre of a bright group of middle-aged Brahmins throughout the entire evening. Mr. Desmond appeared grateful for the assistance she rendered in making his party pass off pleasantly, and as for me, I began to feel that I had never quite appreciated her best qualities. She was a woman that one could not wholly know in a year, perhaps not in a lifetime. “Who knows?” I thought; “perhaps I have wronged my mother-in-law.”
CHAPTER XIII.
A SURPRISE.
We were feeling a little solemn at the cottage. George, with his lively ways, and Clara, with her sparkling vivacity, were away on their wedding tour, and our good friend, Mr. Desmond, to whom we had taken a great liking, was about to sail for an indefinite absence in foreign lands. Though the mother-in-law’s presence was less oppressive than formerly, there was now a pensiveness, an air of departed glory about it, that was not cheerful. There was danger of settling down to a humdrum sort of life, free from strife, perhaps, but at the same time devoid of that buoyancy which should make the home of a young couple joyous.
I was a little doubtful of making a vacation in the country this summer. To be sure, when George went away, it was agreed that after he had gone the round of the White Mountains, the attractions of Canada, Niagara Falls, and Saratoga, he would return for a quiet stay of a few weeks, at the close of the season, to the little resort which we had visited a year ago, and there, if Bessie’s health would permit, and I could arrange for a sufficient absence from business, we would join them. But I almost dreaded taking Mrs. Pinkerton with us, and doubted whether she would go; at the same time, I did not like to propose leaving her behind to take care of the cottage. I was in perplexity, and, notwithstanding my splendid new prospects in business, was not feeling cheerful.