Like Another Helen

by Sydney C. Grier

I was prodigiously relieved, since Miss Hamlin’s heart was so much set on the matter, to see that the gentleman played his part with such dexterity, neither startling her by too extravagant expressions of delight, nor wounding her punctilio by revealing the hints he had received from her aunt. And indeed, my dear, he is a most respectable person, of a high character, and polite and easy in his manners, and entirely devoted, as one may perceive, to his whimsical mistress. Not that I think Miss will find him like wax in her hands, for though he has borne so patiently with her strange notions hitherto, I can’t fancy he admires her humoursome ways, and I expect she’ll lay ’em aside of her own free-will to please him.

Well, when my pair of lovers had brought things to this happy conclusion, I hurried off to whisper to Mrs Hamlin to keep Mr Bellamy under her eye, and not suffer him to wander away into the gardens and talk politics with Mr Eyre and Mr Holwell. Dear me, Amelia! how much I was occupied with politics a day or two ago, and now I have no thought of the Soubahship, or anything but love-affairs. Next I sought out Miss Dorman, and startled her nearly out of her wits by telling her the part she was to play, though she retained sense enough to lament that she had not known of the wedding in time to put on her newest gown, and we two entered the saloon from the varanda with Miss Hamlin, Mr Hurstwood going round to the door. Advancing towards his bride as he entered, he took her hand with the finest bow imaginable, and led her up the room to Mr Bellamy, who had stationed himself beside a table. Warned by Mr Hamlin’s hints, the rest of the company perceived what was on foot, and came crowding round, all eagerness, although, thanks to the fierceness with which the good Padra glanced round on the assembly, the utmost decorum was preserved, as much as if the marriage had been performed in church. But never will I consent to a chamber-wedding when I am to be married, Amelia. The moment that Mr Bellamy ceased speaking, the tongues of the company began to wag, and almost before Mr Hurstwood had saluted his bride, she turned to the bystanders, and cried—

“Well, gentlemen, was I not right when I promised you such a wedding as was never seen in Calcutta before?”

“Why yes, madam,” said some one. ’Twas the vile Menotti. “But saving your presence, your promise en’t all fulfilled yet. We were assured that Calcutta was to be drove to desperation by beholding both its charmers wedded at one time, but Miss Freyne don’t seem in any hurry to carry out her part of the compact. Sure we ought not to leave this charming spectacle uncompleted. Sooner than that, I would put myself forward as the needed bridegroom.”

The horrible assurance of the man took me so entirely by surprise that I could only stare stupidly at him, but Mr Ranger was obliging enough to call out—

“Not so fast, sir! Who talks of a needed bridegroom when there en’t a man in the room but would be proud to stand up with Miss Freyne before the Padra? If it be the lady’s pleasure to end this surprising business in a manner still more surprising, let us draw lots for the honour of becoming her spouse, and so give every gentleman a fair chance.”

My dear, I was dazed with horror. It seemed to me that in a minute or two I should find myself married to some chance bridegroom, without having a word or a will in the matter. Of course, now that I can think over it quietly, I know that Mr Bellamy would never have consented to such a course, even had my papa not been within call, but at the moment I stood staring like a fool, unable to utter a word. It was the bride who ran forward and tore from Mr Ranger’s hand the piece of paper on which he was beginning to write down the gentlemen’s names.

“I admire your assurance, gentlemen!” she cried. “Is it possible that you’ve all missed the finest point in the surprise I designed for you? En’t there a solitary man that remembers a lady is privileged to change her mind? Have I permitted you all the honour of waiting upon me for six months, and yet not one of you perceives that when I say I’ll wait to marry until my Miss Freyne does, ’tis only a device to steal a march upon her? Oh, I have no patience with you! No, you’ll have no second wedding to-night, trust me. I don’t doubt but Miss Freyne will astonish you all another day, for she’s a most ingenious young lady, but when she does, she won’t permit you the honour of attempting to surprise her first.”

Thus was your poor trembling Sylvia saved, for the gentlemen all laughed prodigiously, saying they had feared lest Mrs Hurstwood should be in league with Mr Menotti, and they did not intend him to anticipate them in a matter which was now doubly near their hearts since Mr Hurstwood had carried off my only rival. But in such a state of apprehension was the simpleton who now writes to you, that she was forced to sit down on a couch, and suffer herself to be fanned by Captain Colquhoun, who finds himself perpetually in debt for new fans to the ladies for whom he performs this service, since he does it with all the lightness and grace of a blacksmith hammering on an anvil, though with the best will in the world. ’Twas not at first that I saw his cousin was standing behind him, close behind the couch to which I had retreated, but then I remembered that in the moment of silence after Mr Menotti’s speaking I had heard some one draw a sword, which some one else had thrust back into its scabbard. How I knew that it was Mr Fraser who had drawn his sword, and Captain Colquhoun that had forced him to put it up, I can’t tell, for I durst not look at either of them, but I was certain of it, and the sick terror which had seized me gripped me tighter still all the time that the gentlemen of the company were occupied in saluting the bride, and the bridegroom the ladies present. After that I had to rise, for it was time for the dancing to begin, and I could not be too thankful that my partner was Captain Colquhoun, who with Mr Holwell were to act as bride-men to us two poor maids, even though the good man is a vile dancer, and though he found himself obliged for very shame to crush the broken remnants of my fan into his pocket and promise to bring me a new one in a day or two.

And now comes the most mortifying event of this dreadful evening. Oh, my dearest Amelia, if Providence should never see fit to place you in the high situation which my dearest girl’s beauty and merits would so charmingly adorn, let me beg of you not to repine; for sure it’s a terrible thing to find oneself a toast. Your talents, my dear, would questionless enable you to manage better than I, but you know what a sad bungler I am by nature, and the trials of the evening had made of me an actual idiot. Well, we went through the minuet decorously enough (though if my partner and I, he so stiff and I so much alarmed, did not move the room to laughter, it must have been that the company had other things to think of), and we ladies retired to change our dresses for the country-dances. And here I may say that I wondered the less at Miss Hamlin’s strange fancy for forbidding her uncle and aunt to speak of her approaching marriage, when I heard the free talk in which Mr Hamlin was indulging with his guests. This gentleman’s jests are not like my good papa’s, which could never bring a blush to any the most modest cheek, and Mrs Hamlin’s talk with the married ladies was no less disagreeable, although there was no jest in it, but the most solemn earnest, indeed. Sure, my dear, this habit of free conversation is a dreadful evil, and I could wish that some of our moralists would direct their attention to it. Indeed, I am not sure that if I were in England I would not write under a feigned name to the ‘Gentleman’s Magazine’ in order that some more powerful pen might be inspired to treat the subject, as was done forty years back in the ‘Spectator.’ But to our country-dances. I have told you, my dear, what difficulties a lady here lies under if she wish to satisfy all the gentlemen who ask her to dance, but I’m not certain whether I mentioned that to grant a second dance to one gentleman is a proof of such high favour on her part that the happy man pretty frequently finds himself with several duels on his hands, for which reason this favour is never granted by any one that prides herself on her discretion.