Chapter II

I had been at Breezy Brook, that beautiful summer resort which you all know, about a month: it was now July, and nothing had happened worth relating since my arrival. During the past winter I had not been idle—attending parties, balls and operas without number, but without success. This summer I made up my mind to be tranquil and to let events take their course, for, as Fortune had given me every other good, she would no doubt in time provide me with a good wife. I had therefore every reason to be patient.

I was in an unsociable mood one afternoon; so, taking a cigar and book, I sauntered up the mountain. There is an arbor halfway to its top, and I have a lounging-place near by, where the roots of an old tree make a comfortable nest just above a steep precipice, and the place is hidden from intruders by rocks and foliage. 'Tis a discovery of mine I pride myself upon, and I go there when I want to collect my thoughts and enjoy my own company.

Hardly had I made myself comfortable in my retreat when I heard voices in the arbor below. It was Mrs. Fluffy and her sister, Mrs. J.K.B. Stunner. I knew them in a moment, though they were not visible. Panting for breath, Mrs. F. invited the other to take a seat: she was very stout and soon tired. The sisters were examples of opposite schools of art. Mrs. Stunner, dark, hard and sharp-faced, was a widow with all her daughters "well settled" in life—i.e., married to wealthy husbands—and was considered "fortunate" among the matrons. Mrs. Fluffy was soft and florid, without an angular point, physically or mentally: much younger and prettier than her sister, she was always spoken of as "poor Mrs. Fluffy," though she was not badly off that I could see. She had two daughters "out" this season, and a third casting longing looks in the same direction.

Thinking they would move on shortly, as the arbor was only a halting-place for people walking to the summit, I lay snug and waited. Presently the widow, among other commonplaces, began to discuss the young ladies at The Brook.

"By the by, Sarah," she said, "I don't see that your girls are doing much this season: I really must say you do not seem to manage well at all. You may be playing a very deep game, but I can discover no signs of it, and there is little that escapes me in such matters."

"Oh, Jane!" panted Mrs. F., "if you only knew the trouble of having two daughters 'out' at once!"

"As if I didn't know!" snuffed Mrs. Stunner.

"True, true," replied Sarah in a conciliatory tone. "But you seemed to have so little anxiety."

"Seemed!" echoed the Stunner contemptuously. "Of course I seemed, and the difficulty it required to seem! Do you think I was so witless as to let my manoeuvres be seen? I wonder at you, Sarah!"

"Well, well," said the other, yielding the point, "I know you have a talent for such things, and can manage well, but I don't know what to do."

"I—should—think—you—did—not," replied her sister, tapping the ground slowly with her foot.

"What have I done that you should speak like that, Jane?" asked the meek Sarah, bridling up.

"Tell me," answered Jane after an ominous silence that was quite thrilling, "where is Eva at this moment?"

"Oh,", replied Sarah with a sigh of relief, "she is walking with Mr. Hardcash. You introduced him at the last ball."

"I introduced him to dance with, not to walk with," said Jane severely.

"Goodness me, sister! what's the difference?"

"She asks me 'What's the difference?' Are you a child? Why, just the difference between dancing and walking."

From the pause that followed I knew that Mrs. F. was looking with both her round eyes, intent on seeing it. I suppose she did not succeed, as her sister continued, emphasizing each word clearly, "Mr. Hardcash has not a penny," as if that at once explained the knotty question.

"Why did you introduce him if you don't approve of him?" asked Mrs. Fluffy, with a feeble attempt to throw the blame on her sister.

"Have I not told you? In a ball-room girls need plenty of partners—plenty of men about them. It makes them look popular and fascinating, and if the gentlemen are handsome and stylish-looking, so much the better. Mr. Hardcash is just the size to waltz well with Eva—he shows her off to advantage—but he is not a man to encourage afterward. She should not be seen walking or talking intimately with a gentleman who has less than ten thousand a year." Mrs. Stunner delivered this ultimatum with the tone of a just judge who will hear of no appeal.

"How can I know how much the gentlemen are worth?" said Sarah pettishly.

"It is your duty as a mother to discover it," replied the virtuous widow.

"But how?"

"The visitors' book will tell where a man is from; you can easily get acquainted with some old lady or gentleman from the same place; and—"

"What! and ask about them!"

"Nonsense! Speak of them, praise them if you wish, and let the others talk: you have only to be an interested listener" (here I could imagine Mrs. S. smiling grimly), "and you can soon hear enough. For instance, commence in this way: 'Fine fellow, Mr. T. from your part of the country.' As a general rule the old gentleman will then give you his whole history. Another time you may say, 'What a pleasant young man that Mr. B. is! but rather inclined to be wild, eh?' If he is you will soon know it. You can also cross-question the man himself. Speak of a little girl he has at home: if he blushes he is netted already, and lures are useless. See how he eats his dinner: that is a good test to judge his position by; not that a few gaucheries will matter if he is very wealthy—for a judicious mother-in-law can soon correct them—but for every impropriety he should have a thousand added to his income. Such things are so intolerable in a poor man!"

"I don't think Eva would obey me if I did interfere in her affairs," objected Mrs. Fluffy.

"Her affairs, indeed! It is your affair. Of course you want a son-in-law who can keep a comfortable house for you to live in. You have brought up Eva badly, Sarah, and there is one thing I must tell you about her—she is entirely too familiar and sisterly with gentlemen."

"She has a great many beaux," interrupted Mrs. F.

"It is one of her worst faults," continued Jane, not listening to her. "If a girl gets into those sisterly habits with a man, it will never come into his head to marry her. She may be his chief confidante; he will talk of his lady-love to her, and she may end by being first bridesmaid at his wedding, but nothing nearer. I don't approve of it. One of my maxims is, that a man ought not be well acquainted with the girl he is to marry until the ceremony is performed."

"Well, you cannot disapprove of Laura," said Mrs. Fluffy, trying to turn the conversation. "I left her in her room reading."

"'Disapprove' of her? The word is not strong enough for my feelings. Neither of your girls has the least bit of common sense; but I don't wonder, with such a mother! A girl who gets a reputation for being learned and saying brilliant things might just as well give up matrimony altogether. Men are either afraid of them or detest them: gentlemen don't like to puzzle their brains over a witticism, nor do they admire chaffing that is beyond their comprehension. Courtship should be made easy. My Jane was clever, and vexed me a great deal in consequence, daughters of that kind are so unmanageable: give me the most stupid in preference. It is pleasant to a husband to feel his superiority, to look down on his wife. The mediocre is the girl I take most delight in. There are so many mediocre men that they are sure to get suited without giving you much anxiety."

"Jane," exclaimed Mrs. Fluffy with a burst of admiration, "you are so clever I wonder you ever were married. Did Mr. Stunner appreciate that kind of women?"

"La! no. I had the sense to conceal my talents. Take my word for it, superior people as a class are never liked, unless they do as I did—conceal it, conceal it."

"I am glad I was not born talented: I fear I could not succeed in hiding it as you do." Mrs. F. was too stupid for sarcasm, else I should have thought—

"Now be frank with me, Sarah," broke in Mrs. Stunner, scattering my thoughts: "who is paying attention to Eva now?"

"Well," replied the other, appearing to recollect, "there is Mr. Rich: he asked her to ride with him."

"More than once?"

"No, not more, but it was only day before yesterday."

"Ah! he may ask her again: once means nothing. A gentleman may ask her for pastime, or to make some one else jealous, or out of good-nature, but to a girl properly brought up once is a chance—it is a good start." (Mrs. S.'s late husband was fond of racing.) "It rests entirely with her to make the once twice, the twice thrice, and so on; for if she is amusing and don't talk love, he will be sure to ask her again."

"'Don't talk love'? Why, Jane, you surprise me! I thought that was the proper thing to do."

"Just where people mistake. The most stupid man can talk love if he feels love. Let girls be agreeable, sweet and charming, but without especial effort to appear so, and when gentlemen are captivated they will do their own love-making."

"Dear me!" was the reply.

"Yes, I protest against young ladies throwing themselves at the head of every marriageable gentleman they see. They should think of the effect it will have."

"But they are so unworldly that they don't think of effect," said Mrs. Fluffy.

"Humph!" ejaculated the widow in a tone of incredulity.

"You seem to have a very poor opinion of women, Jane."

"They want to marry, all of them: you admit that, don't you?" asked Mrs. Stunner severely.

"I think not," objected Mrs. F. in a feeble voice. "There is Miss Furnaval: they say she has refused—"

"Then," interrupted her sister, not heeding her, "if they want to marry, why not take the proper means? It is inconceivable to me how women, after thinking about it all their lives, blunder into it in the end, just as if it was an entirely unforeseen event. A little good sense is requisite in everything, I think."

"They are not all anxious to marry," reiterated Mrs. Fluffy, gaining courage: "there's Miss Furnaval—"

"A great example to give one!" remarked her sister contemptuously. "She is making a fool of herself as fast as she can. Among all the young ladies who marry badly, the fascinating ones prosper the worst. No girl can refuse a good offer with impunity: a day of reckoning will come. Society has its laws, which must be obeyed: if not, gare! Mark my words," continued Mrs. Stunner solemnly: "Miss Furnaval has some outlandish un-society principles, and practically they will not work. Why, she is quite as well contented talking to a poor man as to a rich one, and she is always encouraging worthless, amusing, handsome fellows—talented men, instead of men whose position dispenses with the necessity of their having brains. Those fellows she has about her are the pests of society. If you hear of a runaway match, you may be sure it is with one of them; if a daughter is obstinate, you may be sure some ineligible jackanapes has prompted her to it. Blanche will end badly. She will fall in love with one of them some day, and finish by marrying him."

"If Miss Furnaval loves one of that kind of gentlemen, I don't see why she might not be happy with him."

"You don't see anything, Sarah. You don't see the nose on your face, though I see 'tis a very big one. I will make it evident to you. He will be poor, Blanche is rich: if she gives him her money, he will spend it. Never having had any of his own, he won't know how to take care of it. If, on the other hand, she don't give it to him, he will think she does not care for him—will get jealous, likely take to drink: your clever man always does. They will quarrel; then her clever husband will use his clever tongue to tease her, and his clever brain to thwart and provoke her—which a stupid man would never think of doing—and, worse than all, she will never get the least chance to have her own way in anything."

"Poor Blanche! I pity her," sighed Mrs. Fluffy.

"I don't, in the least," snapped the other. "Such an example will serve to make other girls more sensible. Only you take it as a warning to your own Eva."

After quite a long silence, in which I suppose Mrs. Fluffy was considering, she said pathetically, "I wish you would tell me what to do with Eva."

"Marry her as soon as possible," was the prompt and decided reply. "It is her second summer 'out,' and she should at least be engaged."

"I can do nothing. What do you advise, Jane?"

"In the first place, stop her being with such gentlemen as Mr. Hardcash."

"Eva is so high-spirited," groaned Mrs. Fluffy, "I fear she would not listen to me."

"You mean obstinate, Sarah. Tell her seriously that she has had two very gay seasons—that you can't afford another—that she must make up her mind now. Then think over all the most eligible gentlemen you know, and cultivate their acquaintance."

"Couldn't you help me, Jane?" asked the other timidly. "I shall not know what to do."

"Let me see," continued Mrs. S. in a musing tone. "If you had a country-house you could manage better. Elderly gentlemen are usually pleased with domestic attractions, and there are many little attentions that you and Eva could show them which in any other position would look like courting them. Then there would be no danger of competition. Indeed, if a pretty girl has a gentleman all to herself for a week or two at a romantic country-house, a wedding is sure to follow. But there must be no jarring, fretting, bad cooking or any household ill whatever—no talk of poor servants or dishonest grooms: everything must be couleur de rose."

"Jane, it appears to me you are talking very silly," said Mrs. Fluffy, glad of a chance to attack her superior sister. "You know I have no country-house, and I can't buy one just to marry Eva and Laura from."

"I merely said if you had. I thought you might be pleased to hear my theory," replied Mrs. Stunner stiffly, "The next best thing for you is to have a parlor here, get up picnics and drives, make card-parties with suppers—gentlemen so like to eat!—and do not spare expense when you have a good investment in view. You can limit the invitations to two or three gentlemen who are especially eligible: make these some little compliment, such as 'You will come of course—our little party would not be complete without you.' Contrive that they take care of the girls, and you can entertain the others. Occasionally include some young ladies in your evenings, so that the world may not say you are afraid of them, but don't let them become intimate."—Here Mrs. Stunner paused for breath.

"It sounds easy enough," said poor Mrs. F. dolefully.

"It is not easy at all," sharply replied her sister, "but if we manage well we sha'n't have to go through with it more than one summer."

"Then you will help me?"

"I suppose I must sacrifice myself for the good of the family," said the Stunner in an heroic tone, "but you must let me have my own way entirely."

"Oh yes, Jane—certainly. I am so much obliged!" replied Mrs. Fluffy with effusion.

"Then it is not necessary to explain my plans further: I shall be there and will manage."

"But whom do you think we should invite, Jane dear?" asked Mrs. F. anxiously.

"You spoke of Mr. Rich. I approve of him: I know he has twenty thousand a year. Yes, he shall be one."

"I am afraid Eva won't like him," Mrs. Fluffy timidly remarked.

"Eva shall not interfere with my plans, and don't you commence with such nonsense as liking and disliking; I won't have it," retorted Mrs. S. in a louder voice than she would have used had she known I was so near.

"But there might be some nicer gentleman just as wealthy, might there not?" suggested the weak sister.

"There is David Todd, with thirty thousand a year: I wonder if he would suit the dainty Eva?" said Mrs. Jane, sneering.

"I think she would like Mr. Highrank to be invited," observed pink Mrs. Fluffy, waiving the question.

I sat up and listened attentively when I heard my own name mentioned, not forgetful of the adage that listeners hear no good of themselves, but of course I had nothing to fear.

"More sensible than I thought Eva could be," the Stunner rejoined. "Forty thousand a year and entailed, so that he can't get through with it. I have observed him a good deal for several seasons, and I find that though he is such a fool, the sharpest girls can do nothing with him. When so many are after him I suppose no single one can have a fair chance. Yes, we will invite him, but I hope Eva will not think of falling in love with him unless he should propose. Indeed, I think a modest girl ought never to fall in love. It seems to me indecorous, at least before marriage—after, they can do as they like about it. You must warn Eva on the subject. If any other gentleman should ask for her, she must not refuse, because we could not count on Highrank making up his mind: I have an idea that he is too weak to form a resolution of any kind."

I thought the old woman must be bilious. "Me a fool!"—a philosopher rather. But I have always known that exalted worth is a fault in the estimation of narrow-minded people, who can't appreciate it. Little Eva has more sense—would like me to visit her: of course the poor child is in love with me. I wish I could tease that ridiculous old lady in some way. I have a confounded mind to run off with Eva. No, that, I fear, would please Aunt Stunner. But I am missing all her trash: better listen. It is really not worth getting heated over.

"The others I will see about," continued Aunt Jane. "It is very little consequence who they are. Only one thing: I won't have that Hardcash about: he and Eva have been entirely too much together."

"She is rough on Ned," thought I in ambush.

"I am afraid you won't be able to manage Eva, my dear Jane."

"Don't worry. When I have a duty to perform I go through with it. Let us walk on to the summit."

"Just as you like: I am sufficiently rested, and we can talk as we go."

There was a rustling of silk and a crunching of gravel, and all was quiet.

I lay there thinking for a long while: I wonder if my poor mother, were she living, would take as much trouble to procure me a wife as Mrs. Stunner is going to take to provide Eva with a husband. I wonder mothers don't help their sons to marry, and let their daughters help themselves. Girls are so much sharper about such things than men are. Everything is against us. I suppose women think they deceive us for our good, but they should continue to do so after marriage. 'Pon honor! I have seen the sweetest, most amiable girl turn as sour as could be a few months after the ceremony. The dressiest ones often get dowdy, the most musical can't abide music, the most talkative have the dumps. A man has no chance of judging how they are going to turn out. He is duped by the daughters, inveigled by their mothers, and, what is worse still, as soon as he is married they both undeceive him. It would not matter if a fellow was cheated if he never knew it, but that's where it hurts.

I shouldn't wonder if that pair of old plotters would catch me yet if I don't take care. I will tease them a bit, any way: I'll pay a deuced lot of attention to Eva, and keep the other fellows away. No man would try to win her if he thought I was serious.

Blanche Furnaval is an odd girl, I went on musing. They said she would end badly—hope she won't, though. Bewitching girl, but she don't seem to care if people admire her or not. I never can quite understand her. Once I wrote a few verses and gave them to her—compared her to an ice-covered stream, quiet on the surface, but all motion and tumult below. Well, she never even thanked me for them, though she said she liked that simile, it was so new. There was another couplet about her name—Blanche and snow and cold: when she read it she laughed and said, "Though my name means white, it does not mean cold. You know there are some white things that are very warm, Mr. Highrank—my ermine muff, for instance." But I made a clever answer. I said, "The muff looks cold, and so does Miss Blanche, but if I could be so fortunate as to touch the heart of either I might find warmth." "My muff has no heart," she answered, looking at me as if she did not understand. "And is its owner in the same condition?" I asked tenderly. (I make it a rule to speak tenderly to all girls, it is so sad for them to love me when I cannot return it.) "In a poetical sense I believe she is," she replied, "but for all practical purposes she has one that serves very well."

Sometimes she would be invisible for two or three days together: no one would see her, either at meals or at the evening ball. When asked what she had been doing, she would smile that sweet smile of hers and say she had been enjoying herself. She was very talented, but not a bit ostentatious. To give you an example: It was rumored that she had a wonderful voice, and though we had been begging her to sing for at least a month, she steadily refused to gratify us. One day there was a queer old Italian chap came to The Brook for his health. He looked like an organ-grinder, and had been once actually on the stage. Well, do you know she allowed him to be introduced to her, and talked to him with as much deference as if he had been a prince, when she ought not have spoken to him at all, you know; and in that gibberish, too, that no one can understand. One evening, after entertaining him for about an hour, she walked with him the whole length of the room, not noticing any one, though every eye was upon her. He sat down at the piano which stood in a corner, struck a few chords, and then, with no coaxing whatever, she sang; and such a song! Her gray eyes grew dark, and her voice quivered, deepened, expanded into a melody that made you think the heavens had suddenly opened. Every other sound ceased; the doors and windows were filled with eager faces; the dancers ended in the middle of a quadrille, and the band came in a body to listen. I saw one fat Dutchman holding his fiddle in one hand while he wiped the tears from his eyes with the other. When the song was ended the old Italian took both her hands in his and kissed them, talking at the same time with impossible rapidity; and she smiled and looked as happy as if she had won a prize, turning her back on every one else who wished to congratulate her. It showed how very odd she was. The next evening I asked her to sing, and she flatly refused without the least excuse, saying, "No: a refusal will be a pleasant novelty in your life, Mr. Highrank."

ITA ANIOL PROKOP.

[TO BE CONTINUED]