Unfortunately for me, on this very evening, a young gentleman of prepossessing appearance, and a stranger to me, called. Unfortunately in the dénouement, I mean. I was very much pleased with him, and thought him quite like Harry Lambert; although I wondered in what this likeness consisted, for there were no general points of resemblance either in person or manners between them. Very soon, however, I found it to consist in the fact that they were both lovers.
It is unpleasant to find one’s self completely thrown upon the back-ground. I know that I am not naturally envious; but I could not help feeling akin to chagrin and disappointment upon perceiving the state of things; yet it was not envy. I am sure I did not care one bit that Fanny and Caroline should each have some one so completely absorbed in their interests, as to be indifferent to every thing else, for it made them happy; and I like to see people enjoy themselves. But I did think it looked stupid, or narrow-minded, or something of the sort, of any persons to be so intent upon themselves, as to take no notice of others, and so I told the ladies after their visiters were gone, I said —
“Caroline, are the people here in the habit of giving invitations to tea?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied; “you will be overwhelmed with them, Marie, in a little time: but why do you ask?”
“Because I shall be very glad, in the words of the song,
‘——if any one invites me out to tea,
For ’tis very dull to stay at home with no one courting me,’ ”
I replied, poutingly.
Caroline looked at Fanny, and both laughed.
“Poor Mae,” the former said, in a coaxing tone, putting her arm around me, “it was too bad of us; but never mind, the next time we will behave better.”