“Disappointment must come to all, mother; but in the exciting occupation you describe there is much happiness to be found. The days of all must fall into the ‘sere and yellow leaf,’ but the man of genius can at least look back with pleasure to his toil, and reflect with just pride on the rewards he has won. Ah how superior are such memories to those hoarded by the mere butterflies of fashion, of a petty triumph over some insignificant person whose wealth lifts them into ephemeral notoriety.”
“Child—Child! how you are running on! Your cheek is flushed, and your eyes sparkling.—This will never do. I hope this young painter has not made what romantic young ladies call ‘an impression’ on your heart, for in that case my doors must be closed on him.”
Julia was calm in a moment. The pupil of the fashionable Madame Lecompte had been assiduously taught the art of controling the outward show of emotion, and young as she was, Julia Selwyn did not shame the lessons of her preceptress.
“My dear mother, how can you have such a fancy! Mr. Mervin does not make love to me without I construe his verses into declarations. Do you fear that I shall be so unmaidenly as to give my heart unsought? He knows that a union between us is impossible, but that does not prevent this frail fading beauty from being his inspiration and his muse. A few fleeting years, and some younger and fairer face will claim his homage, while I shall pass down the stream of time only remembered as the ci-devant belle. When his fame is at its zenith, I shall be forgotten.”
“I am glad that you have so much common sense, my dear. When we can speak calmly of being forgotten by an admirer, it is a sure sign that the feelings are not deeply interested in him. You were never intended for the wife of a poor man, and there is one—but I must not betray your father’s plans. He will never force you to accept any one who is disagreeable to you, but there is a person in view who is so suited in age, fortune, and in short, every thing, that we have set our hearts on seeing you his bride. I will not name him, lest the knowledge of our wishes should make you shy. I shall leave him to make his own way, love—no questions—I am silent as death. Good-bye—I must see the new case of millinery opened at Madam ——’s. I will bring you a Parisian hat of the newest style.”
Julia buried her face in her hands and remained in deep and painful thought. She had instinctively known all that her mother had just expressed relative to Mervin; yet she would not reflect on it.
A year had passed since the first impassioned declaration of the young painter. His lips had uttered no word of love in that time, but his devotion of manner had expressed all that the most exacting mistress could have asked. Julia fancied that she received his homage merely as the incense due to her unrivaled charms—that her own heart was still unscathed—yet why did she listen for his step, and turn listlessly away from her usual occupations until shared by him? Why did the faint crimson steal to her cheeks as he sat beside her and spoke in those low, earnest tones, so different from the persiflage of the set in which she habitually lived? Enthusiasm ever finds in the hearts of the young a chord which vibrates to the touch of him who possesses it, and before she was aware of her danger, that of Julia Selwyn was devotedly attached to Mervin.
Nature and education were at war within her. The consent of her parents would never be given to her union with him she well knew—and too much of worldliness still clung to her, to be willing to descend from her high estate to link her fortunes with those of her poor, though gifted lover. Yet her heart shrank from the sacrilege of giving herself to another. She might for years remain the idol of the hour, until her beauty began to wane, and in those years, perhaps Mervin might achieve a degree of celebrity that must lead to fortune—if not—she could then fulfill the desire of her parents in bestowing her hand on some wealthy suitor.
The lover destined for her by her parents made his appearance, and in spite of her mother’s determination not to reveal his name, Julia at once detected the anxiety of her parents that Mr. Herbert should succeed in winning her. He was young, and rather handsome, with quiet, gentlemanly manners; but when compared with the young painter he appeared very commonplace.