Madeline. Oh! but the worst of it is, that it will prevent our going to the play to-night. We had engaged seats with the Rosemores, in a delightful box. We were going to see the Belle's Stratagem, with the masquerade, and the song, and the minuet, and the new French dancers. I would not have missed such an entertainment for a hundred dollars. How very provoking that the bad news did not arrive one day later. If it had not come till to-morrow I should not have cared, for then our charming evening at the theatre would have been over. And now, to think that instead of going to the play, I must stay at home and look at my father grieving for old aunt Medford. There now, Juliet, your face is again in the style of Ned's. Positively, if you are so particular, I shall cut your acquaintance. Those that I consider my friends must enter into all my "whims and oddities," and not expect me to act according to rule. I hate hypocrisy. Why should I pretend to grieve for aunt Medford when I have never seen her since I was six years old?
Juliet. But sympathy for your father—
Madeline. Why, where is the use of sympathy? When people are in grief, sympathy only makes them worse.
Juliet. If you yourself were in affliction, Madeline, you would find the sympathy of your family and friends very gratifying.
Madeline. Wait till I am in affliction and then I will tell you. "Toujours gai," is my motto, and "vive la bagatelle" for ever.
So saying, she danced out of the room, and went home; but in a short time she returned, looking very mysterious, and peeping in at the door to ascertain if Juliet was alone. "Juliet, love," said Madeline in a low voice, "come with me into the back parlour, lest we should be interrupted. I have something of great consequence to tell you."
As Madeline often dealt in mysteries, Juliet thought this new secret nothing more than usual, and accompanied her into the back parlour, where Madeline cautiously bolted the folding-doors and locked the side door. "Now, Juliet," said she in an under voice, "I know I may depend on your secrecy." "Certainly you may," replied Juliet.
Madeline. Well then, I must confide to you a plan that has just struck me. I cannot bear the idea of giving up the play to-night, and you know it is out of the question for any of the family to be seen there.
Juliet. Of course none of you can go to the theatre when your house is shut up for the death of a near relation, and when Mr. Malcolm is in such deep affliction.
Madeline. It is certainly a great pity that aunt Medford died; particularly just at the time she did, as it will spoil all our gayety for the winter. No more plays, and balls, and parties this season. People ought always to die in the summer. But you know, dear Juliet, I have not seen my aunt Medford for ten years, and I really have forgotten all about her. So, how can you expect me to be inconsolable? And I cannot endure the thought of being disappointed in going to the theatre. I might as well go, as stay at home and think about it all the evening.