"Ni l'un ni l'autre; it is my cousin, Helen Foster. I introduced you at Mrs. Parry's."
I had not time to say more; for the door opened at this juncture, and we were ushered into a large and elegantly furnished parlor, where sat two ladies—one old, and very charming in her old age; the other young and beautiful. Not lovely; there was nothing airy or fragile about her; but radiant, with a fresh, bright color in her cheeks that made one think of long walks taken on wintry mornings; with large brown eyes, which, while they did not fall or fear as they looked into yours, yet had a shade of reticence, almost bashfulness, in their untroubled depths; with a wealth of rippling hair, golden brown, crowning the well-poised head and defining the delicate ear; with a hand that felt warm, soft, and friendly, as mine closed over it.
"We have met before, I believe," she said, as Armitage repeated my name; then, turning to the other lady, "Mr. Moray, grandmamma, a friend of Fred's." And the dear little figure in the arm-chair rose and greeted me most kindly.
"Has there been no one here to-day, Helen?" asked Fred; "you look as though you were quite fresh, and not at all fatigued from the exchange of compliments, hand-shaking, etc."
"Oh! yes, there have been some few," she said. "But grandmamma lives entirely at home, and you know I patronize society but seldom; consequently, we have been spared the dear five hundred particular friends, and flatter ourselves we feel quite as comfortable, notwithstanding. Isn't it so, grandmamma?" And she placed her hand affectionately on the old lady's arm. As the tones of her clear, well-modulated voice reached my ear, a vision of lights and flowers and flying feet rose before me, and I almost heard the bewildering waltz-music float through the air. And then, lifting my eyes to the face of the lady before me, I recognized my rara avis of that evening—the girl of the period who did not dance round dances.
To say that I was not interested in her from the first, would be to say an untruth. Her personality affected me pleasantly, and somewhat strangely. There was a freshness and elasticity about her that did not proceed from inexperience or unacquaintance with the world; for dignity and self-possession characterized her every movement, and yet she seemed entirely unconscious of any claim to originality or naturalness; because she was so natural. Our call, that was to have been so short, lengthened itself into an hour. Fred and his cousin made themselves mutually agreeable. I addressed myself to the elder lady, now and then exchanging a few words with the others.
When Fred arose to take leave, I felt no disposition to join him, and very unaccountably and inconsistently reproached him in my own mind for being in a hurry.
For the first time in many months I had felt sociably disposed, and had endeavored to make myself agreeable; and I was reluctant to leave that quiet, home-like parlor and its occupants, both so different from the brilliant, giddy butterflies within the flutter of whose wings I had been vacillating all that day. As we passed out into the still, cold night, I looked up at the quiet stars with a kindly feeling. Fred talked in an unbroken stream until we reached my rooms. Arrived there, we spent the rest of the evening smoking and chatting. I expressed myself pleased with his cousin and her grandmother, whose only grandchild and sole heiress he informed me she was. The clock struck twelve as he rose to go. After I had come back to the fire, I remember the wholly strange, almost sorrowful feeling that possessed me. Gazing into the dying embers, I dreamed a half-waking dream, wherein the ghosts of other New Years dead and gone took form and shape, and with shadowy, reproachful gestures, seemed to beckon me away, back through old scenes and hopes and yearnings—faded—buried—vanished all for ever.
CHAPTER II.
One afternoon in early spring, I happened to pass the cathedral just as service was over. I had spent the previous evening with Miss Foster—an event of not unusual occurrence now, although I never called unless when accompanied by Armitage. The current of my thoughts flowed pleasantly as the crowd of devout worshippers issued forth from their devotions. A lady passed out of the gate, and I immediately recognized the figure as that of Miss Foster. "Eccentric, certainly," I thought; "just like what I would imagine she might do. Strange that some of our most intelligent and highly educated women can fancy this attending Catholic churches."