"It was, Richmond, that I had never married you!"
CHAPTER XV.
SOWING THE WIND.
erry days those were in Richmond House, with the old halls resounding with music and laughter, and the hum of gay voices, from morning till night. Astonished and awed were the people of Burnfield by the glittering throng of city fashionables, who promenaded their streets and swept past them in the sweeping amplitude of flashing silks and rich velvets and furs. As for our city friends themselves, the ladies pronounced the place "horrid stupid;" but as the young gentlemen, with one or two exceptions, found the country girls exceedingly willing to be flirted with, they rather liked it than otherwise.
A proud man was the Reverend Mr. Barebones the first Sunday after their arrival, when the bewildering throng flashed into the meeting-house, and, with a great rustle of silks and satins, and an intoxicating odor of eau de Cologne, filled the two large front pews that from time immemorial had belonged to Richmond House. It was not religion altogether that brought them—at least, not all. Languid Miss Reid, for instance, went because the rest did, and it was less trouble to go than to form excuses for staying; and that quintessence of exquisiteness, Mr. Adolphus Lester, who was tender on that young lady, went because she did. Miss Harper went because Captain Arlingford was going, and Miss Freddy Richmond went because she was a very discreet young lady and it was "proper" to attend divine worship, and Miss Richmond never shocked the proprieties. Georgia went because she had to, and Lieutenant Gleason and his father went to kill time, which always hung heavy on their hands, on Sunday. Of the whole party, only Master Henry Gleason and Mr. Curtis were absent; Master Henry, having pronounced the whole establishment of Christian churches on earth and their attendant Christian ministers "horrid old bores," declared his intention of staying at home and having a "jolly good snooze."
Every one seemed to have enjoyed themselves the last week at Richmond House but its young mistress. There were rides, and drives, and excursions during the day, and sailing parties on the river in Mr. Wildair's yacht; and there were dancing, and music, and acting charades, and all sorts of amusements for the evening, into which all the young people entered with eager zest—all but Georgia.
Those days, few as they were, had wrought a marked change in her. The flush of her health and happiness had faded from her cheeks, leaving only two dark purple spots, that burned there like tongues of flame; her eye had lost its sparkle, her brow was worn and haggard, and her step was slow and weary. She lived in daily martyrdom, such as none but a spirit so morbidly proud and keenly sensitive can comprehend. Slights, insults, insolence, and little galling acts of malice, "making up in number what they wanted in weight," were daily to be borne now from her supercilious mother-in-law and her malicious, insolent shadow and echo, Miss Richmond. And these were offered openly, in the presence of all; not an opportunity was allowed to escape of mortifying her; until sometimes, wild and nearly maddened, she would fly up to her room, and, alone and frenzied, struggle with the storm raging in her heart.
Richmond, absorbed in attending to the comfort and amusement of his guests, knew nothing of all this. It was not their policy to let him suspect their dislike—yes, hatred of his bride; and, as they well knew, the rest, who saw it all, would not venture to speak on so delicate a subject to their proud host. It is true, he saw the change in Georgia's face, and the freezing coldness her manners were assuming to all, even to him; but from some artfully dropped hints of immaculate Miss Freddy's, he set it down to stubborn sullenness. And believing her to be incorrigible in her disagreeableness and insubordination, he grew markedly reserved and cold when alone in her society; and thus the misunderstanding between them daily widened.