A STORY OF VALENTINE'S DAY.
BY MRS. ABDY.
Two young girls were seated in the drawing-room of a handsome house in the neighborhood of Belgrave Square, engaged in earnest conversation. Of them it might truly be said, in the words of Lord Byron, that
"Both were young, and one was beautiful."
Nature had been a lavish benefactress to the one, and a churlish niggard to the other; and Fortune had followed in her sister's wake, and shown just as great an amount of partiality in the distribution of her favors. Philippa Roxby and Janet Penson were the wards of Mr. Chetwode, a good-natured, warm-hearted man, who, having no wife, child, or sister of his own, was expected by the little world of his acquaintance to take unlimited interest in the wives, children, and sisters of other people, and to perform unlimited services in their behalf. About a year had elapsed since the death of two of his friends within a few weeks of each other; the wealthy widower, Mr. Roxby, and the narrowly-jointured widow, Mrs. Penson, conferred on him the somewhat startling responsibility of becoming guardian to two girls of the respective ages of eighteen and nineteen.
Philippa Roxby was "a lass wi' golden dower and golden hair," beautiful enough to inspire a poet or painter, and rich enough to satisfy the calculations of the most scheming of heiress-hunters. Janet Penson was remarkably plain; in fact, it would have been somewhat difficult, in this age of bright eyes, luxuriant tresses, and graceful forms, to find any one so, thoroughly destitute of attraction. Her features were irregular; her pale cheek and heavy eye indicated the want of that health which, when combined with youth and cheerfulness, may be said to offer a tolerable substitute for beauty; and worse than all, Janet was palpably deformed, beyond the power of Amesbury to remedy, or of Mrs. Geary to conceal. Perhaps some of my readers will think that the worst still remains to be told, when I add that Janet's fortune was very small; two-thirds of the income of Mrs. Penson expired with her, and a hundred a year was all that remained for the provision of the orphan. Mr. Chetwode, however, was as kind and feeling a man as the most enthusiastic of his friends believed him to be. He made no distinction in his manner between the lovely heiress and her less fortunate companion; the comforts of his house, his carriage, his attentive servants, his pleasant circle of visitors, extended alike to each; but how different were their thoughts and feelings! The one looked at society through a Claude Lorraine glass, the other through a screen of dark crape. Janet, although all immediately connected with her were kind and considerate, had often the trial of encountering, in mixed company, the look of ridicule and the whisper of scorn; she pined for the fond and dear mother by whom she was so tenderly beloved, notwithstanding her personal deficiencies; nor could she, like most young women, suffering under a similar loss, anticipate the time when she should become the object of a still more precious and valuable love; she felt, bitterly felt, that the delight of a calm home, the language of loving eyes, the homage of a true heart—all must be ever withheld from her; and could she only have possessed "the fortune of a face," there was no possible amount of poverty and hardship which she would not have gladly welcomed as its accompaniment. She was, however, agreeably surprised in the character and manners of her constant associate, Philippa Roxby; she had pictured her as scornful and repelling, and found her unassuming and kind-hearted. I am of opinion that people in general treat heiresses with a great deal of injustice; dramatists and novelists are especially fond of showing them up in an unamiable light; but, so far as my knowledge of them goes, it is greatly in their favor. Philippa Roxby (and I am disposed to think she was a tolerably fair specimen of the generality of heiresses) was pleasing and unaffected in her manners, and remarkably simple in her tastes. Accustomed from childhood to an elegantly supplied table, she felt an indifference to luxuries which can never be known by those who manufacture their dainties with their own hands, and pay for them from their own scanty purses; she had never been obliged to economize in dress, therefore did not, like many young persons, live in a world of shreds and patches, and pant with perpetual eagerness to unravel the ever-recurring mystery of the "last new fashion;" all such matters she wisely left to Fashion's high priestess, the milliner. She drew, sang, and played well, and perfectly understood French, Italian, and German: but these acquirements inspired her with no vanity; she felt that, having had from an early age the most accomplished of governesses, and the best of masters, it would have been very inexcusable if she had not profited by their instructions.
Praise be to the first pastrycook who discovered the important fact that giving novices the unlimited range of the tarts and cakes for a few days is the certain way to insure their subsequent temperance! Philippa had enjoyed the sugarplums and confections of society without restriction, and rated them at their real value. When first introduced to Janet, she felt considerably disappointed; she had hoped (for she was incapable of envy) that her companion would have been still livelier and more attractive than herself; but faithful to her habit of always looking on the sunny side of a question, she soon took warm interest in the poor, timid, sorrowful girl who felt such warm gratitude for her kindness. She cheered her with smiles and kind words, divided with her the fruits and flowers presented to her by her suitors, and was even anxious to divide with her their attentions; for soft looks and flattering speeches were so liberally bestowed on Philippa, that she did not prize them as those do to whom they are seldom and sparingly administered. Few men, however, are willing to be transferred on loan to a young lady of crippled proportions and stunted fortune; and poor Janet was compelled to sustain a great deal of rudeness and inattention from the lords of the creation, and indeed only met with kindness and civility from one of them—the handsome and intellectual Heathcote, of whom more anon.
I will now return to the point at which my story began. It was the morning of St. Valentine's Day, that strange, mysterious day, when men go out of their national character, become tender, sentimental, and manœuvring, purchase exquisite sheets of paper embellished with wreaths of flowers, write love verses on them in a studiously neat, prim hand, seal them with a fanciful device, and drop them into a post-office a mile or two from their own residence. Philippa was seated at a small table covered with these little fanciful productions, some of which were yet unopened; she was laughing in the exuberance of youthful spirits at the hyperbole contained in one of them.
"And yet, Philippa," said Janet, "I could almost feel disposed to envy you even for such light-passing tokens of admiration as are now lying before you; it is hard, in the very spring of youth, to feel one's self quite slighted and forgotten."
"Dear Janet," said the heiress good-humoredly, "can you really attach any importance to such a graceful gallantry of society as a valentine? Depend upon it, the greater number of those who send them do it merely in observance of the courteous custom of the day, and forget, in the formal realities of the next morning, the fascinations of the goddess whom they have so recently deified in poetry, or I should rather say in rhyme."