“Handsome enough for the queen herself,” Mrs. Tiffe said, when all was done, and she walked complacently through the suite of rooms, sniffing occasionally as she passed the open closet, to see if there lingered yet the faintest approach to valerian or drug of any kind.
There did not. Paint and varnish had killed all that, and the air of the rooms was pure and sweet as the rooms themselves were beautiful and attractive. I used those days to be occasionally at the great house, and, as I never presumed upon my acquaintance with the ladies, or tried to force myself upon their notice, they treated me with a good deal of kindness, and seemed to like my society. So when, one Saturday morning after the repairs were finished, I met Miss Julia in the village, and she said, in her usual half-cordial, half-indifferent tone, “What an age it is since you were to see us. Suppose you come round this afternoon, and have a game of croquet, and stay to dinner,” I accepted the invitation, and at about 4 p.m. rang the bell at Schuyler Hill.
I did not suppose I was very early, especially as we were to play croquet; but the ladies, who always slept after lunch, were not yet dressed, and so I went with Mrs. Tiffe to the kitchen, to see some jelly she had been making, and which had “come beautifully.” As I was about returning to the parlor she said to me:
“Don’t you want to see them rooms?”
I knew what she meant, and answered that I did.
Taking me first into the green room, where the oak leaves in the rich velvet carpet looked as if you might pick them up, Mrs. Tiffe opened the doors through, and asked what I thought of the effect. It was beautiful beyond anything I had dreamed. Especially was I delighted with the parlor, where the carpet was of that soft chiné pattern so tasteful and exquisite; and the furniture was delicate drab, with trimmings of pale rose pink. There were rare pictures on the wall, and curtains of finely-wrought lace before the windows, with lambrequins of rose pink satin to match the furniture, while cushions, and easy-chairs, and ottomans, and inlaid tables, which almost told their price themselves, were scattered about in such a way as to give the room an air of cosey, home-like comfort as well as elegance.
How lovely it all was, and how like a dream it seemed to be looking at it, and knowing that it was real and not a mere illusion! Then, as I remembered what I had heard of the bride’s deformity and plainness, I thought it such a pity that the occupant of these rooms should not be lovely like them, and a fitting ornament for so much grandeur.
Lady Emily, with her pale, sallow face and expressionless eyes, would have looked better there, I said, or even Miss Rossiter herself, who when dressed and feeling well was still very attractive, and when I went down stairs and found her sitting on the veranda, in her white cambric dress, with the scarlet shawl she wore so much wrapped around her, her glossy black hair becomingly arranged, with a single white flower among the heavy braids, I thought the colonel would have done far better to have taken her than the bride he had chosen.
We had a very quiet, stupid, six-hand game of croquet, and the dinner was quieter, stupider still, for all the ladies seemed preoccupied and disinclined to talk. Not a word was said of the marriage by any one until I was leaving, when Emma came up to me, and whispered softly:
“They are in New York. We had a telegram this afternoon.”