At last, however, Katharine determined to speak to her mother. She had seen the latter in close conversation with Crowdie. That was natural enough. Crowdie thought more of beauty than of any other gift, and if Mrs. Lauderdale had been a doll, which she was not, he would always have spent half an hour with her if he could, merely for the sake of studying her face. She was very beautiful to-night, and there was no fear of a repetition of the scene which had occurred by the fireplace in Clinton Place on Monday night. It seemed as though she had recalled the dazzling freshness of other days—not long past, it is true—by an act of will, determined to be supreme to the very end. She knew it, too. She was conscious that the lights were exactly what they should be, that the temperature was perfect, that her gown could not fit her better and that she had arrived feeling fresh and rested. Charlotte’s visit had done her good, also, for Charlotte had made herself very charming on that afternoon, as will be remembered by those who have had the patience to follow the minor events of the long day. Even her husband had been more than usually unbending and agreeable at dinner, and it was probably her appearance which had produced that effect on him. Like most very strong and masculine men, whatever be their characters, he was very really affected by woman’s beauty. For some time he had silently regretted the change in his wife’s appearance, and this evening he had noticed the return of that brilliancy which had attracted him long ago. He had even kissed her before his daughter, when he had put on her cloak for her, which was a very rare occurrence. Crowdie had seen Mrs. Lauderdale as soon as he had left Hester to her first partner and had been at liberty to wander after his own devices, and had immediately gone to her. Katharine had observed this, for she had good eyes and few things within her range of vision escaped her. Naturally enough, too, she had glanced at her mother more than once and had seen that the latter was evidently much interested by some story which Crowdie was telling. Her own mind being entirely occupied with Ralston, it was not surprising that she should imagine that they were talking of him.
She watched her opportunity, and when Crowdie at last left her mother’s side, went to her immediately. They were a wonderful pair as they stood together for a few moments, and many people watched them. Mrs. Lauderdale, who was especially conscious of the admiration she was receiving that night, felt so vain of herself that she did not attempt to avoid the comparison, but drew herself up proudly to her great height in the full view of every one, and as though remembering and repenting of the bitter envy she had felt of Katharine’s youth even as lately as the previous day, she looked down calmly and lovingly into the girl’s face. Katharine was not in the least aware that any one was looking at them, nor did she imagine any comparison possible between her mother and herself. Her faults of character certainly did not lie in the direction of personal vanity. Many people, too, thought that she was not looking her best, as the phrase goes, on that evening, while others said that she had never looked as well before. She was transparently pale, with that fresh pallor which is not unbecoming in youth and health when it is natural, or the result of an emotion. The whiteness of her face made her deep grey eyes seem larger and deeper than ever, and the broad, dark eyebrows gave a look of power to the features, which was striking in one so young. Passion, anxiety, the alternations of hope and fear, even the sense of unwonted responsibility, may all enhance beauty when they are of short duration, though in time they must destroy it, or modify its nature, spiritualizing or materializing it, according to the objects and reasons from which they proceed. The beauty of Napoleon’s death mask is very different from that of Goethe’s, yet both, perhaps, at widely different ages, approached as nearly to perfection of feature as humanity ever can.
“Well, child, have you come back to me?” asked Mrs. Lauderdale, with a smile.
There was nothing affected in her manner, for she had too long been first, yet she knew that her smile was not lost on others—she could feel that the eyes of many were on her, and she had a right to be as handsome as she could. Even Katharine was struck by the wonderful return of youth.
“You’re perfectly beautiful to-night, mother!” she exclaimed, in genuine admiration.
There was something in the whole-hearted, spontaneous expression of approval from her own daughter which did more to assure the elder woman of her appearance than all Crowdie’s compliments could have done. Katharine rarely said such things.
“You’re not at all ugly yourself to-night, my dear!” laughed Mrs. Lauderdale. “You’re a little pale—but it’s very becoming. What’s the matter? Are you out of breath? Have you been dancing too long?”
“I didn’t know that I was pale,” answered Katharine. “No, I’m not out of breath—nor anything. I just came over to you because I saw you were alone for a moment. By the bye, mother, have you seen Jack anywhere?”
It was not very well done, and it was quite clear that she had crossed the big ball-room solely for the purpose of asking the question. Mrs. Lauderdale hesitated an instant before giving any answer, and she had a puzzled expression.
“No,” she said, at last. “I’ve not seen him. I don’t believe he’s here. In fact—” she was a truthful woman—“in fact, I’m quite sure he’s not. Did you expect him?”