It is needless to say that she never looked lovelier. But this was not entirely owing to her attire, but was partly the consequence of her employment, which always throws such an atmosphere of home around a highbred woman. He is a hopeless bachelor, indeed, who can watch a graceful girl, engaged on some pretty piece of needle-work, without thinking how beautiful she would look as his wife, plying that small gold thimble with those delicate fingers, by the same fireside with him, on a cold, wintry night, chatting gayly as she nimbly worked, and continually looking up at him with the sweet, dear smile of confidence and love. Ah! miserable man, whoever you are, whose life is spent in hotels; who know nothing of the quiet overflowing bliss of domestic happiness; and whose only knowledge of women is obtained from belles at balls, or flirts at watering places;—we wish you could have seen Kate then. In our time, alas! the needle is almost obsolete, so that you have small chance of being conquered. Young ladies would scream now-a-days, if caught sewing, whose grandmothers won scores of hearts by this bewitching feminine art. The world is thought to be improving in every respect, but we are old-fashioned enough to think that the grandmothers understood our sex the best, and that they slew thousands with their pretty household graces, while their fair descendants, with all their Italian music, slay but tens.
Those good old times have gone forever. It is the cant of the present day to abuse them as stiff and formal. But when again shall we behold such highbred courtesy among men, such a sense of personal dignity, or such chivalrous deference to the fair? Our gentlemen—where are they? And the change is almost as much the fault of women as it is of her companion sex. In that day, ladies were known by their domestic virtues, quite as much as by their erect carriage, their swan-like movements, their robes of rich brocade, or their stomachers of lace. But now, while we have silly girls, or heartless coquettes, or artful establishment-hunters, or rampant woman’s rights agitators, we have few ladies like our grandmothers, highbred both in parlor and in kitchen. Men have lost reverence for women, because woman ceases to be true to herself. Lovers no longer count themselves in heaven if they are allowed to kiss the tips of their charmer’s fingers, or sue on bended knees, like Sir Charles Grandison, for the sweet affirmative; but thinking themselves very condescending to have the dear creatures at all, solicit them in a nonchalant manner, as much as to say, “It’s a bore anyhow, and I’d quite as lief you’d decline.” Young America has more sentiment for a fast trotter than for a fine woman. We have seen enthusiasm in bargaining for a “two-forty,” but never heard of it in asking a lady for her heart. “Oh!” cried Mrs. Warren, waking up with a little scream at the noise made by her book slipping to the floor, “I haven’t been asleep—have I?” And she got up and rubbed her eyes.
“About half an hour, this last time,” said Kate, laughing.
“This last time!” indignantly exclaimed her aunt. “I wasn’t asleep at all, but merely forgot myself for a moment, and only this once.”
Kate pulled out her watch.
“It’s just an hour and a half since we came in, and you’ve been nodding for more than an hour of that time. But hark! Didn’t the knocker sound?” And, as she spoke, a charming blush suffused her cheek and even neck.
“Yes; it’s some visitor. Who can it be? Dear me, it must be Major Gordon, for he hasn’t been here yet, though we’ve been expecting him every day; and there’s no one else to call. It’s considerate of him, I must say,” continued Mrs. Warren, sitting down, smoothing her dress, and otherwise putting herself into company trim, “to have deferred his visit till we had time to get up something of a wardrobe. What would our cousin, Lord Danville, have said, if he had known in what dishabille we’ve had to dine. Such shocking creatures as we’ve been till within a day never did exist, I suppose.”
“I don’t think Major Gordon judges people by their dress merely,” said Kate, softly, with another blush.
“Tut, child, what do you know about it? You’ve scarcely exchanged a dozen words with him. He’s a gentleman, however, and can make allowances; what a pity he’s a rebel.”
“Hush, aunt,” said Kate, raising her finger, her heart beating so that her boddice visibly throbbed, for the firm tread, which she fancied she recognized, was heard approaching the parlor.