Wilson Wibird had made up his mind to marry Kitty Ross, even before her return from Europe. There was no other mate for him in Cyrus, he confided to his one intimate, the greenish mirror that hung over his dressing table. She was lovely; she was accomplished; she had Mind and Taste; she could appreciate him, and on her the name of Wibird might be bestowed without derogation from its high descent. He saw himself in fancy—Wilson lived largely in fancy—the master of Ross House, welcoming his guests (and Kitty's) with the stately courtesy of a gentleman of the old school.
"Katrine and I bid you welcome!" he would say to the mirror. "The simple comforts of our home are yours as long as you care to share them!"
His air was very noble, he thought, as he waved his guests in. Now, Wilson was forced to acknowledge that up to this time Kitty had shown little sense of the honor he proposed to do her. He had met her several times, and walked with her along the street, but whenever he bestowed on her what he called a flower of speech, he found that she had an errand in the store they were passing. Sometimes he waited for her, and she never came out, being indeed well acquainted with the back door of every store on the street—sometimes he "punished" her by stalking on with bended brows. (Wilson loved bended brows; he sometimes bended them so far that his little eyes could hardly be seen; but this is by the way.) When he called in the evening, Kitty was apt to be busy waiting on her aunt, or else those Chanter girls were there. Altogether, Wilson felt that his suit was not prospering as it should: this, he told the mirror, must cease. She would set her will to his, forsooth! pretty birdling! She should see what it meant to thwart a man with a chin like that. He motioned toward his image. He must assert himself. Some lines of poetry came to his mind; lines which he had felt, the first time he read them, to describe himself:
"He was a strong man from the north,
Light-locked, with eyes of dangerous gray."
The poem went on to tell how the strong man took the lady in his strong white arms and bore her on his horse away. It was a fine poem. That, Wilson felt, was the attitude for him; he had been too gentle, too debonair; now she must feel his power. He had thought to impress it upon her by dancing with her through the entire evening. He had seen himself folding her in his strong white arms (decently hid in conventional black) floating through the glittering halls to the sound of voluptuous music. Now the music was sounding; old Meltiah Torrence scraping away at his old fiddle, his son Jabez squeaking on the cornet. It was our own, our only "music"; we loved it, but voluptuous is hardly the word for it. The music was sounding, and Wilson Wibird, instead of carrying out his program, was standing against the wall with folded arms and bended brows.
Mr. Mallow saw him and crossed the room to where he stood. "Why ain't you dancin', Wilse?" he inquired; and without waiting for a reply: "Go and take Lissy out for a turn! Nobody's asked her, and she admires dancin'. Ain't enough boys to go round. You go and take her out! Oh! hemp! nothin' at all, Very! nothin' at all!"
Mr. Jordano, backing down the room with Miss Almeria Bygood, had come to the end of it sooner than he expected, and his heel had come down with some force on Mr. Mallow's toe. Wilson took advantage of his uncle's momentary anguish to slip away, but he did not take Melissa out. He folded his arms and bended his brows against another part of the wall, where Kitty could not fail to see him as she passed. It was good Bobby Chanter who took Melissa out; I rather think he would have done it even without Kitty's breathless little, "Oh, no, Bobby; I must stop now. Do take out Melissa, there's a dear!" Bobby was a kind boy, and Melissa's face had been very wistful as she watched the dancing. A pretty face, if it could be filled out a little; the thin cheeks were flushed to-night, and the hazel eyes sparkled above the pretty pink challis, Uncle Marshall's gift.
"You make it tasty!" he bade Anne Peace. "Make it as tasty as any of 'em! put on plenty of gimp, or galloon, or whatever the style is. I want Lissy dressed as nice as any gal there. You make her look like Venus Dimedici, that travelin' man was talkin' about. He said she was great."
Mr. Mallow's rendering of the title of Venus made every i long. Miss Peace had her own opinion of Venus, but reserved it, and promised to do her best; which she certainly had done.
People came and came, and came. All Cyrus, of course, in its shining best: Mrs. Scatter in green poplin, Miss Pringle in blue; the Misses Caddie dressed alike in "that brown silk that was so fashionable one season—don't you remember? And then went out so sudden, and Hanks has been trying to get rid of the piece ever since. He put it down to half price directly Madam Flynt's invitations were out, and the Caddies took it and made it up themselves. There was four yards more than the pattern called for, but they took it all, so they could make over; and then if they didn't put every scrap of it into the skirt so 'twould fade alike! They stand out like penwipers, don't they?"