As the season was nearly over, all who wished to see their friends were anxious to do so before the weather became too warm for such amusements. Of this number was Isabella Ingersol; and Matilda, of course, received a card of invitation. Though delighted at the thought of the visit, her pleasure was somewhat damped, when she recollected that Rosalba Pearson must of course be one of the party. It is true she had no reason to fear that Rosalba would in any way force herself upon her notice; but still there was a something about this girl that she half feared, half envied. That this was so, she certainly would not have acknowledged, though she frequently found herself arguing against it, as if it was a fact that she could not wholy deny. That she should ever for a moment look upon Rosalba as a rival, was altogether unaccountable. It was true they were school-mates, and might be said to be of the same age, for they were both in their thirteenth year; but then Rosalba was much smaller, and much more childish looking. And as to beauty, there could not be any comparison, for she had never heard that young lady’s warmest admirers pretend to say she was handsome, though all declared she had a remarkably sweet countenance; whilst on the other hand it required no great stretch of vanity, in her, to say she knew herself to be so; for the fact had been acknowledged by those with whom she was well assured she was not a favourite. Neither could Rosalba cope with her in respect to acquirements; for every teacher she had declared her to be his best scholar.
Why then should she feel anything like rivalry towards this young girl, whose unassuming manners she could not herself refuse to acknowledge? Mr. Pearson was not only a storekeeper, but had never testified any desire to step beyond his calling, and had often been heard to say, that he was determined to give his children the best education he could, as that would be the chief thing they would have to depend upon, and as it was a fortune that could not be taken away from them, he considered it the best investment for his money. How different, then, was a girl so situated from herself, the only child of one of the richest men in the city, whose wealth had descended to him by inheritance, and who of course belonged to one of the oldest families in the State!
Still, after all this arguing, Matilda was conscious that there was something about Rosalba Pearson of which she was afraid; and consequently, on entering her friend Isabella’s ballroom, felt extreme mortification, when the first object that met her view was Edd Wharton promenading, with Henrietta Lisle holding by one arm and Rosalba Pearson the other. It was to no purpose that she was received by Isabella and her mother with the utmost cordiality and kindness, the former not leaving her side till she saw her engaged with a number of her particular friends: the cankerworm of jealousy had found its way into the unhappy girl’s heart, and poisoned every better feeling. In vain she compared her own splendid dress, and the costly jewelry with which she was adorned, with the simple but conspicuously graceful attire of her unconscious rival, who, in all the innocent simplicity of her heart, sent her merry laugh to the ears of the writhing Matilda.
At length, the musicians took their places, and the dancing commenced. Charles Lisle had already engaged her for the first set, and at any other time Matilda would have been highly satisfied with her partner; but in the same quadrille, opposite to her, stood Rosalba by the side of Edd Wharton, who talked and laughed with her with the utmost cordiality. This was sufficient to destroy all Matilda’s enjoyment, and she moved through the dance with even less than her usual animation, though she was always careful to avoid any appearance of enjoying herself, as being altogether unfashionable and vulgar. Rosalba, on the contrary, danced as if she did so for the pleasure of the thing; and though her movements were at all times easy and graceful, she evidently thought of the amusement alone, and allowed herself to be happy without considering how she looked whilst she was so.
A succession of partners, such as Matilda could not find the slightest fault with, engaged her for each succeeding dance, so that she had not the least cause to complain of being neglected; but the only one that she had set her heart upon dancing with, never came to ask her. Edmund Wharton not only belonged to what Matilda termed the first circles, but he was the oldest and by much the handsomest boy in the room. She knew also that his talents were far beyond the ordinary standard, and that he was remarkably intelligent and manly for his age. On these accounts she deemed herself the most fitting companion to whom he could have attached himself for the evening. But instead of such a selection, he had only noticed her when they had met in the first dance, with a familiar “How d’ye do, Tilly?” without evincing the least disposition to come near her afterwards, whilst he frequently joined the various groups of which Rosalba Pearson formed a part.
At length, the musicians retired for a time, and refreshments were brought in, after which the piano was opened, and Isabella led the way for other more skilful performers, by playing a simple piece, which having done she called upon Matilda to take her place. After some few objections, Matilda complied, and played a sonata of considerable difficulty, with great neatness and execution; but her touch was hard, and her style altogether was skilful but cold. As she rose from the instrument, all expressed admiration at the ease with which she executed exceedingly difficult passages; but no one seemed to be anxious to retain her at her place.
In a minute or two afterwards, she heard Rosalba, who stood near, say, as if in reply to some request that young Wharton had made, “Oh, I could not think of it, after the music we have just been listening to;” and being convinced by the tone of her voice that Rosalba was really alarmed at the idea of playing after her, Matilda immediately determined that she should do so, and for the first time that evening felt something like pleasure, when she thought of the difference that Edmund, who was himself a good musician, would discover between their performances.
“I should not have ventured to sit down to the instrument,” said she, “if I had not hoped by that means to secure the pleasure of hearing Miss Pearson play.”
“Oh, you know I don’t pretend to be anything of a musician,” said Rosalba, with unaffected earnestness.
“You only want to surprise us;” said the haughty girl, endeavouring for once to put on a condescending and encouraging look. “You cannot but know that I shall prove a most excellent foil.”