“I saw it all in your face when we were in the omnibus,” said she; “it is of no use for you to deny it,” adding, as she burst into tears, “but you cannot regret your marriage more than I do mine, and you needn’t feel so smart either, for your father was a poor shoemaker in Maine, and when you went to college you rang the bell in part payment of your tuition.”
This was a phase of married life for which the doctor was wholly unprepared, and during the first part of his wife’s speech he stood confounded, but by the time she had finished, his mind was pretty well made up to box her ears! This, however, he did not do, though he bade her “shut up her head,” repenting the harsh words the moment they were uttered, and having manliness enough to tell her so. Winding his arm around her, he talked to her calmly and rationally until she came out of her pet, and agreed “to make up.” This process we leave to the imagination of the reader, only suggesting that no one who saw the handsome, loving pair, which half an hour after went down to dinner, would have dreamed of the dark cloud which had so recently lowered on their matrimonial horizon.
Here, wishing the doctor success in procuring patients, we leave them for a time, while we go back to Meadow Brook, where our house was one day thrown into a state of unusual excitement by the arrival of a letter from Aunt Charlotte, which contained an invitation for Anna and myself to spend the remainder of the autumn and the whole of the coming winter with her in the city. “Rosa,” she wrote, “could go to school, while Anna would be introduced into society.”
Of course we were greatly surprised, wondering what had come over our haughty aunt, who, as the reader will recollect, once spent a Thanksgiving with us. She must have changed, we thought, or else there was some mistake about the invitation. But this could not be, for there it was in black and white, written evidently in all sincerity, while added to it was a postscript from Uncle Joseph, who also joined in the request. That, if nothing more, proved that the invitation was genuine, for there was no mistaking my uncle’s peculiar handwriting, and it only remained for us to decide whether we would accept or not. Anna and myself said “Yes,” at once, and after a grave deliberation in grandma’s room, the same conclusion was also reached by my parents, who, after giving us abundance of good advice, (not a word of which I heard, as I was wondering if I should ever meet the doctor and Dell), enjoined it upon Anna, first, never to dance at the parties which she might sometimes attend; second, never to wear her dresses indecently low, as some of the city girls did; and third, not to flirt with Herbert Langley. For this last injunction they probably fancied there was little need, it being now five years since she had seen him, and as they knew nothing of the perfumed, gilt-edged notes which lay hidden in her work-box, they very naturally supposed she had forgotten him. I thought so, too, for hers was the last letter, which had been unanswered for many months, and Anna, I knew, was far too proud to care for one who had forgotten her.
Occasionally we had heard of him through others, and it was always the same story, viz., that he was going down to a drunkard’s grave, as fast as daily drams and weekly sprees could carry him; but if these reports produced any effect upon Anna, it was imperceptible. She was now twenty years of age, and was a fair, delicate looking girl, whom some called proud, others cold, and a few selfish; but this last I deny, for though she might appear so to strangers, there was not in our whole family, if I except brother Charlie, one who would sacrifice more of their own comfort for that of another than would my sister Anna; neither was there one whom I loved better, for though she was six years my senior, she always treated me as one nearer her own age, while I looked up to her as my oracle, thinking that whatever she did must necessarily be right.
When it was decided that we were to go, the next important, and to me, most delightful task, was the looking over and fixing up of our wardrobes, which kept us busy for some time. As Anna was to go into society, she of course had nearly all the new things, and much as I loved her, I must confess to a feeling of envy when I saw the black silk, blue merino, crimson and brown delaine, etc., which were purchased for her, while I was put off with her old dresses, “made over as good as new,” but when I too, was presented with a blue merino by Charlie, who was now a clerk in one of the Meadow Brook stores, all my bad feelings left me, and with great alacrity I assisted in the preparations.
It was a lovely day late in October, that old Sorrel stood at the door ready to convey us to the dépôt. This was the first time I had really left home, and when I saw the tears in my mother’s eyes, and the trembling of grandma’s whole body; when Juliet held me so long to her bosom; when Lizzie and Carrie stole from me a hasty kiss, and then ran off to hide their grief; when Charlie and John, who were both clerks, came down to the dépôt to bid us good-bye, affecting to be very manly, notwithstanding that their chins quivered; and when, last of all, my father’s fervent “God bless you, my children,” resounded in my ears, I began to have a faint idea of the bitterness there is in parting, be it but for a few months. As we expected, we found our uncle’s carriage at the dépôt in Boston, and ere long we had reached his house in Beacon street.
I remember the thrill of delight which I experienced, when first I entered my Aunt Charlotte’s stylish house, and felt that it was to be my home, at least for a time. Everything was in perfect order, and for an instant I looked around me in silent wonder, almost forgetting to reply to the greeting of my aunt, who, in heavy brocade and long blue streamers depending from her head, met us kindly and hoped we were well. She had changed since last I saw her, but it was more the work of care than of time. She was much thinner, and the crow-tracks around her eyes were now decidedly deep-cut wrinkles, while her hair was here and there streaked with more than one silver thread.
My uncle was still the same good-humored, pleasant man, a little afraid of his wife, it may be, but evidently master of his own house. I glanced around for Herbert, but he was not there, and when, on Anna’s account more than my own, I asked for him, I was told that he was down street, but would soon be home. Ringing a bell, my aunt bade the girl who appeared, “show the young ladies to their rooms,” which proved to be a large airy chamber with a bedroom, dressing-room, and closet adjoining. After a hasty toilet we again returned to the parlor, where we found a tall, richly dressed young man, whom I should never have recognized as Herbert Langley. He was much altered from when I last saw him: there was a deep flush on his cheeks, which had reached even to his nose; while the eyes I had once thought so handsome were watery and unsteady in their movement. On the whole, however, he was still what some would call good-looking. He was sitting with his back to the door, but at the sound of our footsteps he turned around, and coming towards us, welcomed us most cordially to Boston, calling us “cousins,” and claiming a cousin’s privilege of kissing us—me once, and Anna three times, if not four.