The next day Judge Houston, the uncle of the bridegroom, entertained the wedding party and a large company at dinner. And this was the signal for the commencement of a series of dinners, tea and card parties, and balls, given in honor of the bride, and which kept her and her coterie in a whirl of social dissipation for several weeks.
But from this brilliant entanglement let us draw out clearly the sombre thread of our own narrative.
Everywhere the resplendent beauty of Marguerite De Lancie was felt and celebrated. Every one declared that the star of fashion had emerged from her late eclipse with new and dazzling brilliancy. And ever, whether in repose or action; whether reclined upon some divan, she was the inspiration of a circle of conversationalists; or whether she led the dance, or, seated at the harpsichord, poured forth her soul in glorious song—she was ever the queen of all hearts and minds, who recognized in her magnificent personality a sovereignty no crown or sceptre could confer. All, in proportion to their depth and strength of capacity for appreciation, felt this. But none so much as one whose duty brought him ever to her side in zealous service, or deferential waiting.
Philip Helmstedt, almost from the first hour of his meeting with this imperial beauty, had felt her power. He watched her with the most reserved and respectful vigilance; he saw her ever the magnet of all hearts and eyes, the life of all social intercourse, the inspiration of poets, the model of painters, the worship of youth and love; shining for, warming, lighting, and enlivening all who approached her, yet with such impartiality that none ventured to aspire to especial notice. There was one exception, and not a favored one to his equanimity and that was Mr. Helmstedt himself; her manner toward him, at first affable, soon grew reserved, then distant, and at length repelling. Colonel Compton, who had taken it into his head that this haughty pair were well adapted to each other, watched with interest the progress of their acquaintance, noticed this, and despaired.
“It is useless,” he said, “and I warn you, Philip Helmstedt, not to consume your heart in the blaze of Marguerite De Lancie’s beauty! She is the invincible Diana of modern times. For seven years has Marguerite reigned in our saloons, with the absolute dominion of a beauty and genius that ‘age cannot wither nor custom stale,’ and her power remains undiminished as her beauty is undimmed. Year after year the most distinguished men of their time, men celebrated in the battles and in the councils of their country, men of history, have been suitors in her train, and have received their congé from her imperial nod. Can you hope for more than an Armstrong, a Bainbridge, a Cavendish?”
“I beseech you, sir, spare me the alphabetical list of Miss De Lancie’s conquests! I can well believe their name is legion,” interrupted Philip Helmstedt, with an air of scorn and arrogance that seemed to add, “and if it were so, I should enter the lists with full confidence against them all.”
“I assure you it is sheer madness, Philip! A man may as well hope to monopolize the sun to light his own home as to win Marguerite De Lancie to his hearth! She belongs to society, I think, also, to history. She requires a nation for her field of action. I have known her from childhood and watched with wonder her development. It is the friction of marvelous and undirected energies that causes her to glow and radiate in society as you see her. It is sheer frenzy, your pursuit of her! I tell you, I have seen a love chase worth ten of yours—Lord William Daw——”
“Lord—William—Daw!” interrupted Philip Helmstedt, curling his lip with ineffable scorn.
“Well, now, I assure you, Philip, the heir presumptive of a marquisate is not to be sneered at. He was besides a good-looking and well-behaved young fellow, except that he followed Miss De Lancie up and down the country like a demented man, in direct opposition, both to the clucking of an old hen of a tutor, and the coldness of his Diana. He was drowned, poor youth! but I always suspected that he threw himself overboard in desperation!”
“Lord—William—Daw,” said Mr. Helmstedt, with the same deliberate and scornful intonation, “may not have been personally the equal of the lady to whom he aspired. Very young men frequently raise their hopes to women ‘who are, or ought to be, unattainable’ by them. Miss De Lancie is not one to permit herself to be dazzled by the glitter of mere rank and title.”