The little Althea then, who is our heroine, when we shall come to her, had been entrusted, somewhat unwillingly, to her aunt, Juliet St. Leger Temple; Juliet never wrote her name only in full, as above. She was proud of her maiden name. St. Leger was romantic, high-sounding, aristocratic. Temple—well, Temple had been well enough in the early days of her courtship. She thought she loved John Temple so very profoundly that she would have married him even if he went by Smith or Jones. She had read Charlotte Temple, and she knew people by that name of great respectability; but since her marriage, she had discovered, on the same street with her, a family of Temples who were snobbish and vulgar. This put her out of conceit with her husband's name. John Temple! so almost the same as James Temple, only a few squares below. Who was to distinguish her, Mrs. Juliet St. Leger Temple, from the fat, dowdyish, over-dressed, gaudy Mrs. Temple, who wore a wig, and whose eyes squinted? Who, she questioned, when both went by the name of Mrs. J. Temple, of M—— street? Her early married life was clouded by this one grievance. She had still another; her husband was a Roman Catholic, and would not go with her to St. Mark's Church. True, she had known him to be a Catholic when she married him; but she had not known or dreamed that these Catholics were so set and obstinate in their religion. He had been so reticent upon the subject that she had supposed him quite indifferent. Once married, she could convert him; O, that would be a very easy matter. He need go to St. Mark's but once to be so delighted that he would wish to go there ever after. She had consented to be married first by the priest in order that John Temple might see the delightful difference between being married by Father Duffy at low Mass in the early morning, while fashionables were still folding their hands in slumber, and being married five hours after by the elegant Dr. Browne, assisted by the Rev. Drs. Knickerbocker and Breck—with a brilliant group of bridesmaids and groomsmen, and only the very élite of fashion, full-dressed and perfumed, in attendance.
"I hope he will be captivated now; and that here will ooze out the last gasp of his love for the religion of St. Patrick," the young bride had said mentally.
But neither Dr. Browne, nor his beaming assistants, nor all the splendor of St. Mark's made upon John Temple the least apparent impression.
The Sunday following the marriage witnessed quite a contention.
"And you say this positively, John, that you will not go with me to St. Mark's, and on the very first Sunday, too?" cried Juliet, incredulous. "I have told you all along that I would not go to your church," replied John.
"But what possible harm could there be in your going just this once? Any other man in the world would be proud to go with me in all my beautiful bridal array. I assure you there is not another wardrobe in the city so recherché as mine. You yourself said you never saw such a love of a hat, and my point-lace might be the pride of a princess. But, John, if you would only go, I would be more proud of you than even anything and all of my elegant dress. Now, John, dear, please say yes," and she laid her hand on his arm, and looked up, as she vainly hoped, irresistibly in his face.
But John shook off her hand impatiently, not deigning even to respond to her look.
"Silence gives consent, and you will go," she said.
"Have I not told you once, twice, and thrice that I cannot go with you?"
"O, John, but I did not think you in such terrible earnest, and you are not, I am sure. I thought you loved me so well you would do anything to please me. Come now, just this once, this first Sunday after our marriage. Think how it will look, and what will people say to see me walk into church all alone—and our pew is far up in front?"