Then he read aloud:
"'Mrs. Reid offered a dinner at her sumptuous residence in Commonwealth Avenue, last night, to the Countess of Clydesdale, Sir Mordaunt Ballinger, Bart., M.P., Miss Ballinger, and Mrs. Frampton. Some of our most prominent citizens were invited to meet the distinguished guests, and especial interest was felt in the presence of the son and daughter of an Englishman who was so firm a friend to America, and so honored here, as the late Sir Henry Ballinger. Of the countess, that advanced thinker, who recently addressed a large audience on woman's rights, it is needless to speak. Mrs. Frampton, Sir Mordaunt's aunt, is an elderly lady, evidently of great bodily and mental activity. The present baronet, like his father, is a Conservative in politics, and has the stalwart bearing and aristocratic air that we associate with the heroes of modern English romance. He is eager to acquire knowledge as to the natural resources of our country, and the urbanity of his manner and his brilliant social qualities'—ho! ho!—'must make him welcome wherever he goes. As to his sister, the accounts which had reached us of her beauty and charm do scant justice to this fascinating English belle, who is not only lovely to a fault, but can be impassioned in her eloquence when roused, and combines acuteness of intellect with the frankness of a child.'"
"Well done!" cried Mrs. Frampton. "You owe Lady Clydesdale something for having brought out your 'impassioned eloquence,' Gracey."
Then, seeing that her niece looked annoyed, while a flush mounted to the roots of the girl's hair, she felt it was unwise to have alluded to that scene, and tried to change the subject. But Grace, with a resolute disregard to pain, said presently,
"It was very nice of you, Mordy, to speak up as you did last night, feeling as you do on the subject. I am ashamed to have been so roused, aunty. I am ashamed to think such a woman could have it in her power to make me show what I felt. Passion should not be wasted on donkeys—even on malevolent donkeys. This one tries to knock you down, and ride over you. If she can find out where your heart is, she will plant her hoofs there. If not, she will kick at your brains. Nothing shall induce me ever to speak to her again."
Her aunt and her brother exchanged glances, but no word passed; and presently Mordaunt began discussing financial matters with Mrs. Frampton, expressing his intention of pushing on to Colorado as soon as possible. The relative merits of ranches, mines, and building property could only be investigated on the spot.
Grace had her own ideas as to what lay at the bottom of this increased alacrity to go west, but she held her peace.
Mrs. Courtly was to take them to the theatre that night, and to return to Brackly the following day. Mordaunt declared that the chief attraction of Boston for him would then be gone, and he proposed to start for Chicago the same morning.
Will either of the three ever forget that evening, when they witnessed Jefferson's performance in "The Heir at Law"? It will always live as an epoch in their dramatic experiences. His "Rip Van Winkle" is not a greater triumph, though in a different line; for the exquisite naturalness of this fine artist transforms an artificial and farcical impossibility into an eccentric character of flesh and blood, in which he persuades us to believe so implicitly that we should never be surprised to meet Dr. Pangloss walking down Beacon Street or Piccadilly. What a lesson to actors is here! The rigid fidelity to nature—the nature of intonation, expression, and gesture—never allowing the laughter of the "groundlings" to seduce him into exaggeration of any kind—this has its reward in our frank acceptance of, nay, our sympathy with, a very unreal personage. Played by an inferior actor, I can imagine nothing more tedious than Dr. Pangloss would be, with his endless quotations, his facile venality, his outrageous wig. What seemed funny to our grandfathers does not amuse us very much. It needs the genius of a Jefferson to vivify the dry bones of an antiquated farce.
They all bade Mrs. Courtly good-by with real regret.