For a time everything went smoothly, and Rose was a happy girl. The world seemed a beautiful and friendly place, and fulfillment of her brightest dreams appeared to be a possibility. Of course this could not last, and disappointment was inevitable, because young eyes look for a Paradise and weep when they find a workaday world which seems full of care and trouble till one learns to gladden and glorify it with high thoughts and holy living.
Those who loved her waited anxiously for the disillusion which must come in spite of all their cherishing, for till now Rose had been so busy with her studies, travels, and home duties that she knew very little of the triumphs, trials, and temptations of fashionable life. Birth and fortune placed her where she could not well escape some of them, and Dr. Alec, knowing that experience is the best teacher, wisely left her to learn this lesson as she must many another, devoutly hoping that it would not be a hard one.
October and November passed rapidly, and Christmas was at hand, with all its merry mysteries, home gatherings, and good wishes.
Rose sat in her own little sanctum, opening from the parlor, busily preparing gifts for the dear five hundred friends who seemed to grow fonder and fonder as the holidays drew near. The drawers of her commode stood open, giving glimpses of dainty trifles, which she was tying up with bright ribbons.
A young girl's face at such moments is apt to be a happy one, but Rose's was very grave as she worked, and now and then she threw a parcel into the drawer with a careless toss, as if no love made the gift precious. So unusual was this expression that it struck Dr. Alec as he came in and brought an anxious look to his eyes, for any cloud on that other countenance dropped its shadow over his.
“Can you spare a minute from your pretty work to take a stitch in my old glove?” he asked, coming up to the table strewn with ribbon, lace, and colored papers.
“Yes, Uncle, as many as you please.”
The face brightened with sudden sunshine; both hands were put out to receive the shabby driving glove, and the voice was full of that affectionate alacrity which makes the smallest service sweet.
“My Lady Bountiful is hard at work, I see. Can I help in any way?” he asked, glancing at the display before him.
“No, thank you, unless you can make me as full of interest and pleasure in these things as I used to be. Don't you think preparing presents a great bore, except for those you love and who love you?” she added in a tone which had a slight tremor in it as she uttered the last words.
“I don't give to people whom I care nothing for. Can't do it, especially at Christmas, when goodwill should go into everything one does. If all these 'pretties' are for dear friends, you must have a great many.”
“I thought they were friends, but I find many of them are not, and that's the trouble, sir.”
“Tell me all about it, dear, and let the old glove go,” he said, sitting down beside her with his most sympathetic air.
But she held the glove fast, saying eagerly, “No, no, I love to do this! I don't feel as if I could look at you while I tell what a bad, suspicious girl I am,” she added, keeping her eyes on her work.
“Very well, I'm ready for confessions of any iniquity and glad to get them, for sometimes lately I've seen a cloud in my girl's eyes and caught a worried tone in her voice. Is there a bitter drop in the cup that promised to be so sweet, Rose?”
“Yes, Uncle. I've tried to think there was not, but it is there, and I don't like it. I'm ashamed to tell, and yet I want to, because you will show me how to make it sweet or assure me that I shall be the better for it, as you used to do when I took medicine.”
She paused a minute, sewing swiftly; then out came the trouble all in one burst of girlish grief and chagrin.
“Uncle, half the people who are so kind to me don't care a bit for me, but for what I can give them, and that makes me unhappy, because I was so glad and proud to be liked. I do wish I hadn't a penny in the world, then I should know who my true friends were.”
“Poor little lass! She has found out that all that glitters is not gold, and the disillusion has begun,” said the doctor to himself, adding aloud, smiling yet pitiful, “And so all the pleasure is gone out of the pretty gifts and Christmas is a failure?”
“Oh, no not for those whom nothing can make me doubt! It is sweeter than ever to make these things, because my heart is in every stitch and I know that, poor as they are, they will be dear to you, Aunty Plen, Aunt Jessie, Phebe, and the boys.”
She opened a drawer where lay a pile of pretty gifts, wrought with loving care by her own hands, touching them tenderly as she spoke and patting the sailor's knot of blue ribbon on one fat parcel with a smile that told how unshakable her faith in someone was. “But these,” she said, pulling open another drawer and tossing over its gay contents with an air half sad, half scornful, “these I bought and give because they are expected. These people care only for a rich gift, not one bit for the giver, whom they will secretly abuse if she is not as generous as they expect. How can I enjoy that sort of thing, Uncle?”
“You cannot, but perhaps you do some of them injustice, my dear. Don't let the envy or selfishness of a few poison your faith in all. Are you sure that none of these girls care for you?” he asked, reading a name here and there on the parcels scattered about.
“I'm afraid I am. You see I heard several talking together the other evening at Annabel's, only a few words, but it hurt me very much, for nearly everyone was speculating on what I would give them and hoping it would be something fine. 'She's so rich she ought to be generous,' said one. 'I've been perfectly devoted to her for weeks and hope she won't forget it,' said another. 'If she doesn't give me some of her gloves, I shall think she's very mean, for she has heaps, and I tried on a pair in fun so she could see they fitted and take a hint,' added a third. I did take the hint, you see.” And Rose opened a handsome box in which lay several pairs of her best gloves, with buttons enough to satisfy the heart of the most covetous.
“Plenty of silver paper and perfume, but not much love went into that bundle, I fancy?” And Dr. Alec could not help smiling at the disdainful little gesture with which Rose pushed away the box.
“Not a particle, nor in most of these. I have given them what they wanted and taken back the confidence and respect they didn't care for. It is wrong, I know, but I can't bear to think all the seeming goodwill and friendliness I've been enjoying was insincere and for a purpose. That's not the way I treat people.”
“I am sure of it. Take things for what they are worth, dear, and try to find the wheat among the tares, for there is plenty if one knows how to look. Is that all the trouble?”
“No, sir, that is the lightest part of it. I shall soon get over my disappointment in those girls and take them for what they are worth as you advise, but being deceived in them makes me suspicious of others, and that is hateful. If I cannot trust people I'd rather keep by myself and be happy. I do detest maneuvering and underhanded plots and plans!”
Rose spoke petulantly and twitched her silk till it broke, while regret seemed to give place to anger as she spoke.
“There is evidently another thorn pricking. Let us have it out, and then I'll kiss the place to make it well as I used to do when I took the splinters from the fingers you are pricking so unmercifully,” said the doctor, anxious to relieve his pet patient as soon as possible.
Rose laughed, but the color deepened in her cheeks as she answered with a pretty mixture of maidenly shyness and natural candor.
“Aunt Clara worries me by warning me against half the young men I meet and insisting that they want only my money. Now that is dreadful, and I won't listen, but I can't help thinking of it sometimes, for they are very kind to me and I'm not vain enough to think it is my beauty. I suppose I am foolish, but I do like to feel that I am something besides an heiress.”
The little quiver was in Rose's voice again as she ended, and Dr. Alec gave a quick sigh as he looked at the downcast face so full of the perplexity ingenuous spirits feel when doubt first mars their faith and dims the innocent beliefs still left from childhood. He had been expecting this and knew that what the girl just began to perceive and try modestly to tell had long ago been plain to worldlier eyes. The heiress was the attraction to most of the young men whom she met. Good fellows enough, but educated, as nearly all are nowadays, to believe that girls with beauty or money are brought to market to sell or buy as the case may be.
Rose could purchase anything she liked, as she combined both advantages, and was soon surrounded by many admirers, each striving to secure the prize. Not being trained to believe that the only end and aim of a woman's life was a good match, she was a little disturbed, when the first pleasing excitement was over, to discover that her fortune was her chief attraction.
It was impossible for her to help seeing, hearing, guessing this from a significant glance, a stray word, a slight hint here and there, and the quick instinct of a woman felt even before it understood the self-interest which chilled for her so many opening friendships. In her eyes love was a very sacred thing, hardly to be thought of till it came, reverently received and cherished faithfully to the end. Therefore, it is not strange that she shrank from hearing it flippantly discussed and marriage treated as a bargain to be haggled over, with little thought of its high duties, great responsibilities, and tender joys. Many things perplexed her, and sometimes a doubt of all that till now she had believed and trusted made her feel as if at sea without a compass, for the new world was so unlike the one she had been living in that it bewildered while it charmed the novice.
Dr. Alec understood the mood in which he found her and did his best to warn without saddening by too much worldly wisdom.
“You are something besides an heiress to those who know and love you, so take heart, my girl, and hold fast to the faith that is in you. There is a touchstone for all these things, and whatever does not ring true, doubt and avoid. Test and try men and women as they come along, and I am sure conscience, instinct, and experience will keep you from any dire mistake,” he said, with a protecting arm about her and a trustful look that was very comforting.
After a moment's pause she answered, while a sudden smile dimpled around her mouth and the big glove went up to hide her telltale cheeks: “Uncle, if I must have lovers, I do wish they'd be more interesting. How can I like or respect men who go on as some of them do and then imagine women can feel honored by the offer of their hands? Hearts are out of fashion, so they don't say much about them.”
“Ah, ha! That is the trouble, is it? And we begin to have delicate distresses, do we?” said Dr. Alec, glad to see her brightening and full of interest in the new topic, for he was a romantic old fellow, as he had confessed to his brother.
Rose put down the glove and looked up with a droll mixture of amusement and disgust in her face. “Uncle, it is perfectly disgraceful! I've wanted to tell you, but I was ashamed, because I never could boast of such things as some girls do, and they were so absurd I couldn't feel as if they were worth repeating even to you. Perhaps I ought, though, for you may think it proper to command me to make a good match, and of course I should have to obey,” she added, trying to look meek.
“Tell, by all means. Don't I always keep your secrets and give you the best advice, like a model guardian? You must have a confidant, and where find a better one than here?” he asked, tapping his waistcoat with an inviting gesture.
“Nowhere so I'll tell all but the names. I'd best be prudent, for I'm afraid you may get a little fierce you do sometimes when people vex me,” began Rose, rather liking the prospect of a confidential chat with Uncle, for he had kept himself a good deal in the background lately.
“You know our ideas are old-fashioned, so I was not prepared to have men propose at all times and places with no warning but a few smiles and soft speeches. I expected things of that sort would be very interesting and proper, not to say thrilling, on my part but they are not, and I find myself laughing instead of crying, feeling angry instead of glad, and forgetting all about it very soon. Why, Uncle, one absurd boy proposed when we'd met only half a dozen times. But he was dreadfully in debt, so that accounted for it perhaps.” And Rose dusted her fingers, as if she had soiled them.
“I know him, and I thought he'd do it,” observed the doctor with a shrug.
“You see and know everything, so there's no need of going on, is there?”
“Do, do! Who else? I won't even guess.”
“Well, another went down upon his knees in Mrs. Van's greenhouse and poured forth his passion manfully, with a great cactus pricking his poor legs all the while. Kitty found him there, and it was impossible to keep sober, so he has hated me ever since.”
The doctor's “Ha! Ha!” was good to hear, and Rose joined him, for it was impossible to regard these episodes seriously, since no true sentiment redeemed them from absurdity.
“Another sent me reams of poetry and went on so Byronically that I began to wish I had red hair and my name was Betsy Ann. I burnt all the verses, so don't expect to see them, and he, poor fellow, is consoling himself with Emma. But the worst of all was the one who would make love in public and insisted on proposing in the middle of a dance. I seldom dance round dances except with our boys, but that night I did because the girls laughed at me for being so 'prudish,' as they called it. I don't mind them now, for I found I was right, and felt that I deserved my fate.”
“Is that all?” asked her uncle, looking “fierce,” as she predicted, at the idea of his beloved girl obliged to listen to a declaration, twirling on the arm of a lover.
“One more but him I shall not tell about, for I know he was in earnest and really suffered, though I was as kind as I knew how to be. I'm young in these things yet, so I grieved for him, and treat his love with the tenderest respect.”
Rose's voice sank almost to a whisper as she ended, and Dr. Alec bent his head, as if involuntarily saluting a comrade in misfortune. Then he got up, saying with a keen look into the face he lifted by a finger under the chin: “Do you want another three months of this?”
“I'll tell you on New Year's Day, Uncle.”
“Very well. Try to keep a straight course, my little captain, and if you see dirty weather ahead, call on your first mate.”
“Aye, aye, sir. I'll remember.”
The old glove lay upon the floor forgotten while Rose sat musing, till a quick step sounded in the hall and a voice drew near, tunefully humming.
sang Rose as the voice paused and a tap came at the door.
“Good morning, Rosamunda, here are your letters, and your most devoted ready to execute any commissions you may have for him,” was Charlie's greeting as he came in looking comely, gay, and debonair as usual.
“Thanks. I've no errands unless you mail my replies, if these need answering, so by your leave, Prince,” and Rose began to open the handful of notes he threw into her lap.
“Ha! What sight is this to blast mine eyes?” ejaculated Charlie, as he pointed to the glove with a melodramatic start, for, like most accomplished amateur actors, he was fond of introducing private theatricals into his daily talk and conversation.
“Uncle left it.”
“'Tis well. Methought perchance a rival had been here,” and, picking it up, Charlie amused himself with putting it on the head of a little Psyche which ornamented the mantelpiece, softly singing as he did so, another verse of the old song:
Rose went on reading her letters, but all the while was thinking of her conversation with her uncle as well as something else suggested by the newcomer and his ditty.
During the three months since her return she had seen more of this cousin than any of the others, for he seemed to be the only one who had leisure to “play with Rose,” as they used to say years ago. The other boys were all at work, even little Jamie, many of whose play hours were devoted to manful struggles with Latin grammar, the evil genius of his boyish life. Dr. Alec had many affairs to arrange after his long absence; Phebe was busy with her music; and Aunt Plenty still actively superintended her housekeeping. Thus it fell out, quite naturally, that Charlie should form the habit of lounging in at all hours with letters, messages, bits of news, and agreeable plans for Rose. He helped her with her sketching, rode with her, sang with her, and took her to parties as a matter of course, for Aunt Clara, being the gaiest of the sisters, played chaperon on all occasions.
For a time it was very pleasant, but, by and by, Rose began to wish Charlie would find something to do like the rest and not make dawdling after her the business of his life. The family was used to his self-indulgent ways, and there was an amiable delusion in the minds of the boys that he had a right to the best of everything, for to them he was still the Prince, the flower of the flock, and in time to be an honor to the name. No one exactly knew how, for, though full of talent, he seemed to have no especial gift or bias, and the elders began to shake their heads because, in spite of many grand promises and projects, the moment for decisive action never came.
Rose saw all this and longed to inspire her brilliant cousin with some manful purpose which should win for him respect as well as admiration. But she found it very hard, for though he listened with imperturbable good humor, and owned his shortcomings with delightful frankness, he always had some argument, reason, or excuse to offer and out-talked her in five minutes, leaving her silenced but unconvinced.
Of late she had observed that he seemed to feel as if her time and thoughts belonged exclusively to him and rather resented the approach of any other claimant. This annoyed her and suggested the idea that her affectionate interest and efforts were misunderstood by him, misrepresented and taken advantage of by Aunt Clara, who had been most urgent that she should “use her influence with the dear boy,” though the fond mother resented all other interference. This troubled Rose and made her feel as if caught in a snare, for, while she owned to herself that Charlie was the most attractive of her cousins, she was not ready to be taken possession of in this masterful way, especially since other and sometimes better men sought her favor more humbly.
These thoughts were floating vaguely in her mind as she read her letters and unconsciously influenced her in the chat that followed.
“Only invitations, and I can't stop to answer them now or I shall never get through this job,” she said, returning to her work.
“Let me help. You do up, and I'll direct. Have a secretary, do now, and see what a comfort it will be,” proposed Charlie, who could turn his hand to anything and had made himself quite at home in the sanctum.
“I'd rather finish this myself, but you may answer the notes if you will. Just regrets to all but two or three. Read the names as you go along and I'll tell you which.”
“To hear is to obey. Who says I'm a 'frivolous idler' now?” And Charlie sat down at the writing table with alacrity, for these hours in the little room were his best and happiest.
“Order is heaven's first law, and the view a lovely one, but I don't see any notepaper,” he added, opening the desk and surveying its contents with interest.
“Right-hand drawer violet monogram for the notes, plain paper for the business letter. I'll see to that, though,” answered Rose, trying to decide whether Annabel or Emma should have the laced handkerchief.
“Confiding creature! Suppose I open the wrong drawer and come upon the tender secrets of your soul?” continued the new secretary, rummaging out the delicate notepaper with masculine disregard of order.
“I haven't got any,” answered Rose demurely.
“What, not one despairing scrawl, one cherished miniature, one faded floweret, etc., etc.? I can't believe it, Cousin,” and he shook his head incredulously.
“If I had, I certainly should not show them to you, impertinent person! There are a few little souvenirs in that desk, but nothing very sentimental or interesting.”
“How I'd like to see 'em! But I should never dare to ask,” observed Charlie, peering over the top of the half-open lid with a most persuasive pair of eyes.
“You may if you want to, but you'll be disappointed, Paul Pry. Lower left-hand drawer with the key in it.”
“'Angel of goodness, how shall I requite thee? Interesting moment, with what palpitating emotions art thou fraught!'” And, quoting from the “Mysteries of Udolpho,” he unlocked and opened the drawer with a tragic gesture.
“Seven locks of hair in a box, all light, for 'here's your straw color, your orange tawny, your French crown color, and your perfect yellow' Shakespeare. They look very familiar, and I fancy I know the heads they thatched.”
“Yes, you all gave me one when I went away, you know, and I carried them round the world with me in that very box.”
“I wish the heads had gone too. Here's a jolly little amber god with a gold ring in his back and a most balmy breath,” continued Charlie, taking a long sniff at the scent bottle.
“Uncle brought me that long ago, and I'm very fond of it.”
“This now looks suspicious man's ring with a lotus cut on the stone and a note attached. I tremble as I ask, who, when, and where?”
“A gentleman, on my birthday, in Calcutta.”
“I breathe again it was my sire?”
“Don't be absurd. Of course it was, and he did everything to make my visit pleasant. I wish you'd go and see him like a dutiful son, instead of idling here.”
“That's what Uncle Mac is eternally telling me, but I don't intend to be lectured into the treadmill till I've had my fling first,” muttered Charlie rebelliously.
“If you fling yourself in the wrong direction, you may find it hard to get back again,” began Rose gravely.
“No fear, if you look after me as you seem to have promised to do, judging by the thanks you get in this note. Poor old governor! I should like to see him, for it's almost four years since he came home last and he must be getting on.”
Charlie was the only one of the boys who ever called his father “governor,” perhaps because the others knew and loved their fathers, while he had seen so little of his that the less respectful name came more readily to his lips, since the elder man in truth seemed a governor issuing requests or commands, which the younger too often neglected or resented.
Long ago Rose had discovered that Uncle Stephen found home made so distasteful by his wife's devotion to society that he preferred to exile himself, taking business as an excuse for his protracted absences.
The girl was thinking of this as she watched her cousin turn the ring about with a sudden sobriety which became him well; and, believing that the moment was propitious, she said earnestly: “He is getting on. Dear Charlie, do think of duty more than pleasure in this case and I'm sure you never will regret it.”
“Do you want me to go?” he asked quickly.
“I think you ought.”
“And I think you'd be much more charming if you wouldn't always be worrying about right and wrong! Uncle Alec taught you that along with the rest of his queer notions.”
“I'm glad he did!” cried Rose warmly, then checked herself and said with a patient sort of sigh, “You know women always want the men they care for to be good and can't help trying to make them so.”
“So they do, and we ought to be a set of angels, but I've a strong conviction that, if we were, the dear souls wouldn't like us half as well. Would they now?” asked Charlie with an insinuating smile.
“Perhaps not, but that is dodging the point. Will you go?” persisted Rose unwisely.
“No, I will not.”
That was sufficiently decided and an uncomfortable pause followed, during which Rose tied a knot unnecessarily tight and Charlie went on exploring the drawer with more energy than interest.
“Why, here's an old thing I gave you ages ago!” he suddenly exclaimed in a pleased tone, holding up a little agate heart on a faded blue ribbon. “Will you let me take away the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh?” he asked, half in earnest, half in jest, touched by the little trinket and the recollections it awakened.
“No, I will not,” answered Rose bluntly, much displeased by the irreverent and audacious question.
Charlie looked rather abashed for a moment, but his natural lightheartedness made it easy for him to get the better of his own brief fits of waywardness and put others in good humor with him and themselves.
“Now we are even let's drop the subject and start afresh,” he said with irresistible affability as he coolly put the little heart in his pocket and prepared to shut the drawer. But something caught his eye, and exclaiming, “What's this? What's this?” he snatched up a photograph which lay half under a pile of letters with foreign postmarks.
“Oh! I forgot that was there,” said Rose hastily.
“Who is the man?” demanded Charlie, eyeing the good-looking countenance before him with a frown.
“That is the Honorable Gilbert Murray, who went up the Nile with us and shot crocodiles and other small game, being a mighty hunter, as I told you in my letters,” answered Rose gaily, though ill pleased at the little discovery just then, for this had been one of the narrow escapes her uncle spoke of.
“And they haven't eaten him yet, I infer from the pile of letters?” said Charlie jealously.
“I hope not. His sister did not mention it when she wrote last.”
“Ah! Then she is your correspondent? Sisters are dangerous things sometimes.” And Charlie eyed the packet suspiciously.
“In this case, a very convenient thing, for she tells me all about her brother's wedding, as no one else would take the trouble to do.”
“Oh! Well, if he's married, I don't care a straw about him. I fancied I'd found out why you are such a hard-hearted charmer. But if there is no secret idol, I'm all at sea again.” And Charlie tossed the photograph into the drawer as if it no longer interested him.
“I'm hard-hearted because I'm particular and, as yet, do not find anyone at all to my taste.”
“No one?” with a tender glance.
“No one” with a rebellious blush, and the truthful addition “I see much to admire and like in many persons, but none quite strong and good enough to suit me. My heroes are old-fashioned, you know.”
“Prigs, like Guy Carleton, Count Altenberg, and John Halifax I know the pattern you goody girls like,” sneered Charlie, who preferred the Guy Livingston, Beauclerc, and Rochester style.
“Then I'm not a 'goody girl,' for I don't like prigs. I want a gentleman in the best sense of the word, and I can wait, for I've seen one, and know there are more in the world.”
“The deuce you have! Do I know him?” asked Charlie, much alarmed.
“You think you do,” answered Rose with a mischievous sparkle in her eye.
“If it isn't Pem, I give it up. He's the best-bred fellow I know.”
“Oh, dear, no! Far superior to Mr. Pemberton and many years older,” said Rose, with so much respect that Charlie looked perplexed as well as anxious.
“Some apostolic minister, I fancy. You pious creatures always like to adore a parson. But all we know are married.”
“He isn't.”
“Give a name, for pity's sake I'm suffering tortures of suspense,” begged Charlie.
“Alexander Campbell.”
“Uncle? Well, upon my word, that's a relief, but mighty absurd all the same. So, when you find a young saint of that sort, you intend to marry him, do you?” demanded Charlie much amused and rather disappointed.
“When I find any man half as honest, good, and noble as Uncle, I shall be proud to marry him if he asks me,” answered Rose decidedly.
“What odd tastes women have!” And Charlie leaned his chin on his hand to muse pensively for a moment over the blindness of one woman who could admire an excellent old uncle more than a dashing young cousin.
Rose, meanwhile, tied up her parcels industriously, hoping she had not been too severe, for it was very hard to lecture Charlie, though he seemed to like it sometimes and came to confession voluntarily, knowing that women love to forgive when the sinners are of his sort.
“It will be mail time before you are done,” she said presently, for silence was less pleasant than his rattle.
Charlie took the hint and dashed off several notes in his best manner. Coming to the business letter, he glanced at it and asked, with a puzzled expression: “What is all this? Cost of repairs, etc., from a man named Buffum?”
“Never mind that I'll see to it by and by.”
“But I do mind, for I'm interested in all your affairs, and though you think I've no head for business, you'll find I have if you'll try me.”
“This is only about my two old houses in the city, which are being repaired and altered so that the rooms can be let singly.”
“Going to make tenement houses of them? Well, that's not a bad idea such places pay well, I've heard.”
“That is just what I'm not going to do. I wouldn't have a tenement house on my conscience for a million dollars not as they are now,” said Rose decidedly.
“Why, what do you know about it, except that people live in them and the owners turn a pretty penny on the rents?”
“I know a good deal about them, for I've seen many such, both here and abroad. It was not all pleasure with us, I assure you. Uncle was interested in hospitals and prisons, and I sometimes went with him, but they made me sad so he suggested other charities that I could be of help about when we came home. I visited infant schools, working women's homes, orphan asylums, and places of that sort. You don't know how much good it did me and how glad I am that I have the means of lightening a little some of the misery in the world.”
“But, my dear girl, you needn't make ducks and drakes of your fortune trying to feed and cure and clothe all the poor wretches you see. Give, of course everyone should do something in that line and no one likes it better than I. But don't, for mercy's sake, go at it as some women do and get so desperately earnest, practical, and charity-mad that there is no living in peace with you,” protested Charlie, looking alarmed at the prospect.
“You can do as you please. I intend to do all the good I can by asking the advice and following the example of the most 'earnest,' 'practical,' and 'charitable' people I know so, if you don't approve, you can drop my acquaintance,” answered Rose, emphasizing the obnoxious words and assuming the resolute air she always wore when defending her hobbies.
“You'll be laughed at.”
“I'm used to that.”
“And criticized and shunned.”
“Not by people whose opinion I value.”
“Women shouldn't go poking into such places.”
“I've been taught that they should.”
“Well, you'll get some dreadful disease and lose your beauty, and then where are you?” added Charlie, thinking that might daunt the young philanthropist.
But it did not, for Rose answered, with a sudden kindling of the eyes as she remembered her talk with Uncle Alec: “I shouldn't like it. But there would be one satisfaction in it, for when I'd lost my beauty and given away my money, I should know who really cared for me.”
Charlie nibbled his pen in silence for a moment, then asked, meekly, “Could I respectfully inquire what great reform is to be carried on in the old houses which their amiable owner is repairing?”
“I am merely going to make them comfortable homes for poor but respectable women to live in. There is a class who cannot afford to pay much, yet suffer a great deal from being obliged to stay in noisy, dirty, crowded places like tenement houses and cheap lodgings. I can help a few of them and I'm going to try.”
“May I humbly ask if these decayed gentlewomen are to inhabit their palatial retreat rent-free?”
“That was my first plan, but Uncle showed me that it was wiser not make genteel paupers of them, but let them pay a small rent and feel independent. I don't want the money, of course, and shall use it in keeping the houses tidy or helping other women in like case,” said Rose, entirely ignoring her cousin's covert ridicule.
“Don't expect any gratitude, for you won't get it; nor much comfort with a lot of forlornities on your hands, and be sure that when it is too late you will tire of it all and wish you had done as other people do.”
“Thanks for your cheerful prophecies, but I think I'll venture.”
She looked so undaunted that Charlie was a little nettled and fired his last shot rather recklessly: “Well, one thing I do know you'll never get a husband if you go on in this absurd way, and by Jove! you need one to take care of you and keep the property together!”
Rose had a temper, but seldom let it get the better of her; now, however, it flashed up for a moment. Those last words were peculiarly unfortunate, because Aunt Clara had used them more than once when warning her against impecunious suitors and generous projects. She was disappointed in her cousin, annoyed at having her little plans laughed at, and indignant with him for his final suggestion.
“I'll never have one, if I must give up the liberty of doing what I know is right, and I'd rather go into the poorhouse tomorrow than 'keep the property together' in the selfish way you mean!”
That was all but Charlie saw that he had gone too far and hastened to make his peace with the skill of a lover, for, turning to the little cabinet piano behind him, he sang in his best style the sweet old song:
dwelling with great effect, not only upon the tender assurance that “My plaid should shelter thee,”
but also that, even if a king,
It was very evident that Prince Charming had not gone troubadouring in vain, for Orpheus himself could not have restored harmony more successfully. The tuneful apology was accepted with a forgiving smile and a frank “I'm sorry I was cross, but you haven't forgotten how to tease, and I'm rather out of sorts today. Late hours don't agree with me.”
“Then you won't feel like going to Mrs. Hope's tomorrow, I'm afraid,” and Charlie took up the last note with an expression of regret which was very flattering.
“I must go, because it is made for me, but I can come away early and make up lost sleep. I do hate to be so fractious,” and Rose rubbed the forehead that ached with too much racketing.
“But the German does not begin till late I'm to lead and depend upon you. Just stay this once to oblige me,” pleaded Charlie, for he had set his heart on distinguishing himself.
“No I promised Uncle to be temperate in my pleasures and I must keep my word. I'm so well now, it would be very foolish to get ill and make him anxious not to mention losing my beauty, as you are good enough to call it, for that depends on health, you know.”
“But the fun doesn't begin till after supper. Everything will be delightful, I assure you, and we'll have a gay old time as we did last week at Emma's.”
“Then I certainly will not, for I'm ashamed of myself when I remember what a romp that was and how sober Uncle looked as he let me in at three in the morning, all fagged out my dress in rags, my head aching, my feet so tired that I could hardly stand, and nothing to show for five hours' hard work but a pocketful of bonbons, artificial flowers, and tissue-paper fool's caps. Uncle said I'd better put one on and go to bed, for I looked as though I'd been to a French bal masque. I never want to hear him say so again, and I'll never let dawn catch me out in such a plight anymore.”
“You were all right enough, for mother didn't object and I got you both home before daylight. Uncle is notional about such things, so I shouldn't mind, for we had a jolly time and we were none the worse for it.”
“Indeed we were, every one of us! Aunt Clara hasn't gotten over her cold yet. I slept all the next day, and you looked like a ghost, for you'd been out every night for weeks, I think.”
“Oh, nonsense! Everyone does it during the season, and you'll get used to the pace very soon,” began Charlie, bent on making her go, for he was in his element in a ballroom and never happier than when he had his pretty cousin on his arm.
“Ah! But I don't want to get used to it, for it costs too much in the end. I don't wish to get used to being whisked about a hot room by men who have taken too much wine, to turn day into night, wasting time that might be better spent, and grow into a fashionable fast girl who can't get along without excitement. I don't deny that much of it is pleasant, but don't try to make me too fond of gaiety. Help me to resist what I know is hurtful, and please don't laugh me out of the good habits Uncle has tried so hard to give me.”
Rose was quite sincere in her appeal, and Charlie knew she was right, but he always found it hard to give up anything he had set his heart on, no matter how trivial, for the maternal indulgence which had harmed the boy had fostered the habit of self-indulgence, which was ruining the man. So when Rose looked up at him, with a very honest desire to save him as well as herself from being swept into the giddy vortex which keeps so many young people revolving aimlessly, till they go down or are cast upon the shore, wrecks of what they might have been, he gave a shrug and answered briefly: “As you please. I'll bring you home as early as you like, and Effie Waring shall take your place in the German. What flowers shall I send you?”
Now, that was an artful speech of Charlie's, for Miss Waring was a fast and fashionable damsel who openly admired Prince Charming and had given him the name. Rose disliked her and was sure her influence was bad, for youth made frivolity forgivable, wit hid want of refinement, and beauty always covers a multitude of sins in a man's eyes. At the sound of Effie's name, Rose wavered, and would have yielded but for the memory of the “first mate's” last words. She did desire to “keep a straight course”; so, though the current of impulse set strongly in a southerly direction, principle, the only compass worth having, pointed due north, and she tried to obey it like a wise young navigator, saying steadily, while she directed to Annabel the parcel containing a capacious pair of slippers intended for Uncle Mac: “Don't trouble yourself about me. I can go with Uncle and slip away without disturbing anybody.”
“I don't believe you'll have the heart to do it,” said Charlie incredulously as he sealed the last note.
“Wait and see.”
“I will, but I shall hope to the last.” And kissing his hand to her, he departed to post her letters, quite sure that Miss Waring would not lead the German.
It certainly looked for a moment as if Miss Campbell would, because she ran to the door with the words “I'll go” upon her lips. But she did not open it till she had stood a minute staring hard at the old glove on Psyche's head; then like one who had suddenly gotten a bright idea, she gave a decided nod and walked slowly out of the room.