But all this time I have forgotten poor Kate Lorimer. She would have thought it strange that she ever should be remembered, especially when Clarence Ferrers was in one’s mind. Kate had seen Clarence Ferrers introduced to her beautiful sister, and had felt a glow of pleasure as she marked his look of genuine admiration. She had listened to words of graceful compliment, so unlike the vapid flattery of others. She had heard the tones of that thrilling voice, whose musical accents had been able to move alike the wild Arab, and the wilder Cossack, by their melody. She sat alone in the only shadowy corner of a gay and crowded saloon, but she would not have exchanged places with the most flattered and courted of the guests; for she could listen unobserved to the gifted traveler, and look unnoticed upon his expressive countenance. She had heard of him from childhood; for Aunt Bell had been one of Mrs. Ferrers’ earliest friends, and the story of his early struggles, his devoted love for his mother, and his subsequent good fortune, had been one of Aunt Isabel’s favorite themes. But he was a man when Kate was still in the nursery, and was but a shy girl of fourteen when, as she remembered, he called to pay his farewell visit to his mother’s friend previous to his departure. To the unappreciated girl, living in the midst of an ungenial though not unhealthy moral atmosphere, the picture of perfect sympathy and affection, as it had existed between the gentle mother and her gifted son, was one which, unconsciously, left its reflection within her soul, and became a sort of ideal to her half-developed nature. She did not retain the slightest remembrance of his actual appearance, but so vivid an image of his mental and moral gifts was traced upon her memory, that she felt she needed not the intercourse of social life to make her know him better. Yet as the beauty and vivacity of her sister attracted him closer to her side, it was impossible for Kate, with all her shyness, to avoid becoming acquainted with him; and it sometimes happened that when the beautiful Louisa was led off to the dance by one of her host of admirers, she would leave Kate to entertain Mr. Ferrers till her return, thus flattering him by her evident desire to retain his society, and, at the same time securing him from all rival belles.
Clarence Ferrers was now eight-and-thirty, an age when a man, however gifted, will not be insensible to the evident admiration of a very young and extremely pretty woman. He was still a fine looking man, but he was no longer youthful in his appearance. His teeth were fine, and his eyes, those soft, bright, tender eyes, were as beautiful as in boyhood, when his mother loved nothing so well as to kiss those full, heavily-fringed lids for the sake of the beaming look which rewarded the caress. But Clarence had not escaped the touch of Time; his luxuriant locks were thinned, and the silver threads were mingled among those dark chestnut curls. He appeared full as old as he really was; but who could look on his magnificent brow, watch the play of his flexible lips, or listen to the tones of his exquisite voice, and think of the ravages of Time?
Kate Lorimer was one of the best listeners in the world. There was a certain negligent ease with which she inclined herself toward the speaker, and a look of quiet attention on her countenance which always gratified the self-love of those who conversed with her. To be sure, in nine cases out of ten, this pleasant manner arose only from her indolent good humor, which found a kind of luxurious repose in the monotonous hum of a busy talker. But when listening to Clarence Ferrers, (for she seldom talked with him, except as much as common politeness required,) Kate soon found that his conversation did not afford her a mere cushion for mental repose. Not that Clarence dealt much in the marvelous, or excelled much in narration, although he abounded in illustrative anecdotes and reminiscences on every subject; but he had the art—so rare and so delightful—of waking up every faculty in the mind of those with whom he conversed. He imparted knowledge in such a manner as to make his hearer feel as if the ideas were his own, and the corroborative facts only were the results of the traveler’s observation. Yet he was no flatterer, he only, as I said before, had the power of arousing and stimulating the intellect of his hearers.
If Clarence Ferrers had been at first struck with the extreme beauty of Louisa, he was not less sensible to the “surprises of sudden joy” with which he beheld the dawning of Kate’s peculiar qualities of character. Her moral nature he had read at a glance, and it inspired him with respect and esteem, but her intellectual being, which was a mystery even to herself, became a study to the man of science and research. There was so much freshness of thought in her hitherto slumbering mind; such clearness of perception when she was unconsciously led to exercise her mental vision; such harmony of movement between the reasoning and the imaginative faculty, that Clarence became daily more interested in the “lumpish” Kate, despite the attractions of her beautiful sister.
“Mamma, I do not believe I can put off Frank Dormer any longer; he is desperately in love, and determined to make a declaration,” said Louisa, one morning, as she sat assisting Kate to trim a ball-dress with which she expected to charm all eyes.
“It would be a pity to lose so rich and generous an admirer, Lou,” was the reply of the prudent mother.
“But suppose I should accept him, mamma?”
“That you would not do; Frank Dormer is only rich in expectancy, while Clarence Ferrers has both wealth and fame.”
“I like Frank best;” said the young lady, coolly.
“My dear Louisa, have you lost your senses?”