“To be sure it does, mamma,” replied Annette; “you have hit the nail on the head this time! It takes you to see what folks are about behind the scenes. Lottie, did you get any particulars about this person out of Mr. Style, coming home—whether he ever saw her—whether she is rich and fashionable, so it will do for us to notice her—”
“No, Annette, I did not learn any thing about her, though I asked questions enough in all conscience,” fretted Charlotte. “But I think we had better write immediately to Mrs. Tyler and find out something,” she continued. “I declare, mamma,” and the tears started to her eyes for very vexation and disappointment, “Mr. Style would not speak only on the most indifferent subjects coming home, and if I don’t bring him to the point soon, I don’t believe one of us will ever be married in the world, and I will go to a convent! I will!”
“Don’t say so, Lottie! don’t dear,” soothed the mamma—“only think what good aim money takes at the hearts of men, and are we not rich, child; and are not my daughters fine dashing girls, dressing as well as the best of ’em, and wont they finally marry jest as they please? The chaff always blows away first, they used to say when I was young!”
“Well, who wants to wait forever, mother, for all that?” said Annette, who really had waited a reasonable time, with her purse and her heart in her hand, and yet no bidders.
“I for one, want to wait till I am sought,” said Adelaide, “and not make such a ridiculous matter of it as Charlotte does, in her pursuit of Mr. Style. The girls all laughed at your speeches, Lottie, till I am heartily vexed and ashamed about the whole game. Do be a little wiser in your demonstrations—”
“I guess I’ll come and borrow some of the wisdom you have to spare, Miss,” retorted Charlotte, very angrily, as she rose and whisked out of the room, slamming the door violently after her.
Mrs. Varley and the three sisters, Annette, Almeda, and Cynthia, all pounced upon Adelaide, who was really more shrewd and sensible than they all, till she diverted them from the attack by a narration of what was always interesting, the gossip she had gathered from one and another, together with her own active surmises during the evening.
“If you had seen how Emilie Jones acted, mamma—I could not help thinking Mr. Style and Mrs. Tower were both delighted with her impudence,” said Adelaide. “For my part, I think she is one of the sauciest and most sarcastic imps I ever saw. If Capt. Jones was not so rich and his family so influential, I would cut her acquaintance.”
“And a mighty deal would she care for that,” replied Annette, “so long as Mrs. Tower makes such friends of her and her mother. But did she tell you that her father and George are coming home directly? Mrs. Jones was here to-night, and she said so.”
“No—she did not say a word about it. She makes no disclosures to me,” returned Adelaide. “There will be another mark for our beautiful Charlotte—the young lieutenant—if she does not succeed in her ‘ecclesiastical measures,’ ” she added, biting her lips in expectation of a torrent of displeasure from her mother and sisters. It came, of course, and in a fit of resentment and passion, she too flirted off to bed.