University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.
THE SPRINGS.

Mr. Hastings and Dora were engaged. Mrs. Hastings,
the mother, and Mrs. Elliott, the sister, had signified their
entire approbation, while Uncle Nat, with a hand placed on
either head of the young people, had blessed them as his
children, hinting the while that few brides e'er went forth as
richly dowered as should Dora Deane. The marriage was not
to take place until the following October, as Mr. Hastings
wished to make some improvements at Rose Hill, which was
still to be his home proper, though Uncle Nat insisted upon
buying a very elegant house in the city for a winter residence,
whenever they chose thus to use it. To this proposal Mr.
Hastings made no objection, for though he felt that his
greatest happiness would be in having Dora all to himself in
Dunwood, he knew that society in the city would never have
the effect upon her which it did upon Ella, for her tastes,
like his own, were domestic, and on almost every subject
she felt and thought as he did.

Immediately after his engagement he imparted to Uncle
Nat a knowledge of the double surprise he had planned for
Eugenia, and the old gentleman at last consented, saying,
though, that “'twas doubtful whether he could hold himself
together when first he met the young lady. Still, with
Mr. Hastings's presence as a check, he would try.”

So it was arranged that in Dunwood, where Mr. Hastings's
return was still unknown, Uncle Nat should pass as a Mr.
Hamilton, whom Mr. Hastings had picked up in his travels.
Four years of his earlier life had been spent in South
America, and whenever he spoke of any particular
place of abode it was to be of Buenos Ayres, where he had
once resided. By this means he could the more easily learn
for himself the character and disposition of his relatives,
and feeling now more eager than ever to meet them, he here
started with Mr. Hastings for Dunwood. It was morning
when they reached there, and with a dark, lowering brow,
he looked curiously at the house which his companion designated
as Locust Grove. It was a pleasant spot, and it
seemed almost impossible that it should be the home of a
woman as artful and designing as Eugenia. About it now,
however, there was an air of desertion. The doors were
shut and the blinds closed, as if the inmates were absent.

On reaching Rose Hill, where he found his servants overwhelmed
with delight at his unexpected return, Mr. Hastings
casually inquired of Mrs. Leah if the Deanes were at
home. A shadow passed over the old lady's face, and folding
her arms, she leaned against the door and began: “I
wonder now, if you're askin' after them the first thing! I
don't know but they are well enough, all but Eugenia. I
believe I never disliked anybody as I do her, and no wonder,
the way she's gone on. At first she used to come up
here almost every week on purpose to ask about you, though
she pretended to tumble over your books, and mark 'em all
up with her pencil. But when that scapegrace Stephen
Grey came, she took another tack, and the way she and he
went on was scandalous. She was a runnin' up here the
whole time that he wasn't a streakin' it down there.”

“Stephen Grey been here? When and what for?” interrupted

Mr. Hastings, who, as his father-in-law, during his
absence, had removed to Philadelphia, knew nothing of the
family.

“You may well ask that,” returned Mrs. Leah, growing
very much excited as she remembered the trouble the fast
young man had made her. “Last fall in shootin' time, he
came here, bag, baggage, guns, dogs and all—said it didn't
make a speck of difference, you being away—'twas all in the
family, and so you'd a' thought, the way he went on, drinkin,'
swearin', shootin', and carousin' with a lot of fellers who staid
with him here a spell, and then, when they were gone, he took
a flirtin' with Eugenia Deane, who told him, I'll bet, more'n
five hundred lies about an old uncle that, she says, is rich
as a Jew, and has willed his property to her and Alice.”

“The viper!” muttered Uncle Nat to himself; and Mrs.
Leah continued, “I shouldn't wonder if old Mr. Grey was
gettin' poor, and Steve, I guess, would marry anybody who
had money; but Lord knows I don't want him to have her,
for though he ain't an atom too good, I used to live in the
family, and took care of him when he was little. I should
a' written about his carryin's on to Mrs. Elliott, only I knew
she didn't think any too much of the Greys, and 'twould
only trouble her for nothin'.”

“But where are they now—Mrs. Deane and her daughters?”
asked Mr. Hastings; and Mrs. Leah replied, “Gone
to Avon Springs; and folks do say they've done their own
work, and ate cold victuals off the pantry shelf ever since last
November, so as to save money, to cut a swell. I guess Eugenia'll
be mighty glad if that old uncle ever dies. For my
part, I hope he won't! or, if he does, I hope he won't leave
her a dollar.”

“Not a dime!” thought Uncle Nat, who, not being supposed
to feel interested in Eugenia Deane, had tried to appear

indifferent, holding hard the while upon the rounds of
his chair “to keep himself together.”

Alone with Mr. Hastings, his wrath burst forth, but after
a few tremendous explosions, he grew calm, and proposed
that they too should go at once to Avon. “We shall then
see the lady in all her glory,” said he, “and maybe hear
something about her old uncle, though you'll have to keep
your eye on me, or I shall go off on a sudden, and shake
her as a dog would a snake! We'll send for Mrs. Elliott
and Dora to join us there,” he continued; “it will be fun
to bring them together, and see what Eugenia will do.”

“I am afraid you could not restrain yourself,” said Mr.
Hastings; but Uncle Nat was sure he could, and after a few
days they started for Avon, where “Miss Eugenia Deane,
the heiress,” was quite a belle.

For a long time after Mr. Hastings's departure for Europe,
she had remained true to him, feeding on the remembrance
of his parting words, that “he had more reasons for
remembering her than she supposed;” but when, as months
went by, he sent her neither letter, paper nor message, she
began to think that possibly he had never entertained a
serious thought concerning her, and when Stephen Grey
came, she was the more ready to receive his attentions, and
forgive his former neglect. He was a reckless, unprincipled
fellow, and feeling this time rather pleased with the bold
dashing manner of Eugenia, backed as it was by the supposed
will of Uncle Nat, he made some advances, which
she readily met, making herself and him, as Mrs. Leah had
said, “perfectly ridiculous.” When he left Dunwood he
went west, telling her playfully, that, “if he found no one
there who suited him better than she, he would the next summer
meet her at Avon, and perhaps propose! He was
disgusted with Saratoga, Newport, Nahant, and all those

stupid places,” he said “and wished to try something
new.”

To spend several weeks at Avon, therefore, was now
Eugenia's object. She had succeeded in coaxing her mother
to withhold from Dora the thousand dollars, a part of which
was safely invested for their own benefit, but this alone
would not cover all their expenses, for Mrs. Deane, growing
gay and foolish as she grew older, declared her intention of
going to Avon also. “The water would do her good,” she
said, “and 'twas time she saw a little of society.”

To this plan Eugenia did not particularly object, “for it
would indicate wealth,” she thought, for the whole family to
spend the summer at a watering place. Still it would cost
a great deal, and though Uncle Nat's remittance came at
the usual time, they did not dare to depend wholly upon
that, lest on their return there should be nothing left with
which to buy their bread. In this emergency, they hit
upon the expedient of dismissing their servant, and starving
themselves through the winter and spring, for the purpose
of making a display in the summer; and this last
they were now doing. Eugenia fluttered like a butterfly,
sometimes in white satin, sometimes in pink, and again in
embroidered muslin; while her mother, a very little disgusted
with society, but still determined to brave it through,
held aside her cambric wrapper and made faces over three
glasses of spring water in the morning, drowned herself in a
hot bath every other day, rode twice a day in crowded
omnibuses to and from the springs, through banks of sand
and clouds of dust, and sat every evening in the heated
parlors, with a very red face, and a very tight dress, wondering
if everybody enjoyed themselves as little in society
as she did, and thinking ten dollars per week a great deal
to pay for being as uncomfortable as she was!

For her disquietude, however, she felt in a measure
repaid when she saw that Eugenia was the most showy
young lady present, and managed to keep about her a cross-eyed
widower, a near sighted-bachelor, a medical student
of nineteen, a broken down merchant, a lame officer, a
spiritualist, and Stephen Grey! This completed the list of
her admirers, if we except a gouty old man, who praised her
dancing, and would perhaps have called her beautiful, but
for his better half, who could see nothing agreeable or
pleasing in the dashing belle. True to his promise, Stephen
Grey had met her there, and they were in the midst of quite
a flirtation, when Mr. Hastings and Uncle Nat arrived;
the latter registering his name as Mr. Hamilton; and taking
care soon after to speak of Buenos Ayres, as a place where
he formerly lived. The ruse was successful, and in less than
half an hour, it was known through the house, that “the
singular looking old gentleman was a South American, a
bachelor, and rich undoubtedly, as such men always
were!

The Deanes were that afternoon riding with Stephen
Grey, and did not return until after supper, a circumstance
which Eugenia greatly lamented when she learned that their
numbers had been increased by the arrival of an elegant
looking stranger from New York, together with an old
South American, whose name was Hamilton. The name of
the other Eugenia's informant did not know, for he had not
registered it, but “he was a splendid-looking man,” she
said, and with more than usual care, Eugenia dressed herself
for the evening, and between the hours of eight and
nine, sailed into the parlor with the air of a queen.

From his window in an upper chamber Uncle Nat had
seen the ladies, as they returned from their ride; and when
Mr. Hastings, who at that time was absent from the room,

came back to it, he found the old gentleman hurriedly
pacing the floor and evidently much excited.

“I've seen her,” said he, “the very one herself—Eugenia
Deane! I knew her mother in a moment, and I knew her
too, by her evil eyes. I could hardly refrain from pouncing
upon her, and I believe I did shake my fist at her! But
it's over now,” he continued, “and I am glad I have seen
her, for I can meet her and not betray myself; though,
Hastings, if at any time I am missing, you may know that
I've come up here to let myself off, for my wrath must evaporate
somehow.”

Feeling confident that he could trust him, Mr. Hastings
ere long accompanied him to the parlor, where his gentlemanly
manners, and rather peculiar looks procured for
him immediate attention; and when Eugenia entered the
room, he was conversing familiarly with some gentlemen
whose notice she had in vain tried to attract. At a little
distance from him and nearer the door was Mr. Hastings,
talking to Stephen Grey. Eugenia did not observe him
until she was directly at his side, then, turning pale, she
uttered an exclamation of surprise, while he, in his usual
polite, easy manner, offered his hand, first to her mother, and
then to herself and Alice, saying, in reply to their many
inquiries as to when he returned, that he reached Dunwood
a few days before, and finding they were all at Avon, had
concluded to follow. At this remark the pallor left Eugenia's
cheek, and was succeeded by a bright glow, for “Mr. Hastings
must feel interested in her, or he would not have followed her
there;” and the black eyes, which a few hours before had
smiled so bewitchingly upon Stephen Grey, now shone with a
brighter lustre, as she talked with Mr. Hastings of his European
tour, asking him why he had staid so long, and telling
him how natural it seemed to have him home once more.

“By the way,” she continued, “they say there is an old
South American here—a queer old fellow—did he come
with you?”

“Yes,” answered Mr. Hastings, glancing towards Uncle
Nat, whose eyes had never for a moment lost sight of
Eugenia; “I found him in my travels, and liking him very
much, brought him home with me. Allow me to introduce
you, for though rather eccentric, he's a fine man, and quite
wealthy, too.”

“Wealth is nothing! I wouldn't think any more of him
for that,” returned Eugenia, taking Mr. Hastings's arm, and
advancing toward Uncle Nat, whose left hand grasped
tightly one side of his blue coat, while the other was offered
to Eugenia.

With a slight shudder, he dropped her hand as soon as it
was touched; then, pressing his fingers together so firmly,
that his long nails left marks in his flesh, he looked curiously
down upon her, eyeing her furtively as if she had been a wild
beast. Nothing of all this escaped Eugenia, who, feeling
greatly amused at what she thought to be his embarrassment,
and fancying he had never before conversed with so
fine a lady as herself, she commenced quizzing him in a
manner excessively provoking to one of his excitable temperament.
Lifting up first one foot, and then the other, he
felt his patience fast giving way, and at last, as her ridicule
became more and more marked, he could endure it no longer,
but returned it with a kind of sarcasm far more scathing than
anything she could say. Deeply chagrined, and feeling that
she had been beaten with her own weapons, she was about
to leave the “old bear,” as she mentally styled him, when
remembering that he was Mr. Hastings's friend, and, as such,
worthy of more respect than she had paid him, she said playfully,
“I have a mother and sister here, whom you may

like better than you do me. I'll introduce them,” and
tripping across the room, she made known her wishes to her
mother, adding that “there was a chance for her, as he
was an old bachelor.”

Long and searchingly the old man looked in the face of
the widow, thinking of the time when she had called Fannie
her sister; but of this Mrs. Deane did not know; and remembering
what Eugenia had said, she blushed crimson,
and as soon as possible, stole away, leaving him alone with
Alice, with whom he was better pleased, talking with her so
long that Eugenia, who was hovering near Mr. Hastings,
began to laugh at what she called her sister's conquest.
Nothing had escaped Mr. Hastings, and thinking this a good
opportunity for rebuking the young lady, he spoke of Mr.
Hamilton in the highest terms, saying that “he should consider
any disrespect paid to his friend a slight to himself.”
This hint was sufficient, and wishing to make amends for
her rudeness, Eugenia ere long sought the stranger, and
tried to be very agreeable; but there was no affinity between
them, and to Mr. Hastings, who was watching them,
they seemed much like a fierce mastiff, and a spiteful cat,
impatient to pounce upon each other!

During the evening the three were standing together, and
Eugenia suddenly remembering Dora, asked Mr. Hastings
how she was, saying she seldom wrote to them, and when
she did, her letters amounted to nothing. With a warning
glance at Uncle Nat, whose face grew very dark, Mr.
Hastings replied that she was well, and had, he thought,
improved under his sister's care.

“I am glad,” said she, “for there was need enough of
improvement. She was so unrefined, always preferring the
kitchen to the parlor, that we couldn't make anything of
her.”

A sudden “Ugh!” from Uncle Nat stopped her, and she
asked him what was the matter.

“Nothing, nothing,” said he, wiping his face, “only I'm
getting pretty warm, and must cool off.”

The next moment he was gone, and when, at a late hour,
Mr. Hastings repaired to his room, he knew by the chairs,
boots, brushes, and books scattered over the floor, that
Uncle Nat, snoring so loudly in bed, had cooled off!

“I had to hold on, to keep from falling to pieces right
before her,” he said, next morning, in speaking of the last
night's adventure; “but I shall do better next time. I am
getting a little accustomed to it.”

And he was right, for only twice during the entire day and
evening did he disappear from the room. Once when Eugenia
sat down to play, and once when he heard her telling Stephen
Grey, who asked her to ride again, that, “he really must
excuse her, as she had a letter to write to Uncle Nat, who
undoubtedly wondered why she was so tardy. And you
know,” she said, “it won't do to neglect him!”

Uncle Nat knew it was a farce to get rid of Stephen Grey,
who was nothing compared with his brother-in-law, but
his indignation was not the less; and Mr. Hastings, when
he saw the long blue coat flying up the stairs, smiled
quietly, though he pitied the poor old man, who was thus
kept vibrating between his chamber and the parlor.

In this manner several days passed away, during which
time Uncle Nat's temper was severely tested, both by Eugenia's
remarks concerning Dora, and by what she said of
himself, for he more than once heard her speaking of “Old
Uncle Nat,” who sent her money to buy the various articles
of jewelry which she wore. On such occasions it seemed
almost impossible for him to restrain his anger, and he often
wished he had never promised to keep silent; but by frequent

visits to his chamber, which witnessed many a terrific
storm, he managed to be quiet, so that Eugenia had no suspicion
whatever, though she disliked him greatly, and wished
he had never come there. Mr. Hastings troubled her, too,
for she felt very uncertain as to the nature of his feelings towards
her. He treated her politely, but that was all, and
no management on her part could draw from him any particular
attention.

“Maybe he's jealous of Stephen Grey,” she thought, and
then she became so cold towards the latter individual, that
had he not remembered Uncle Nat's will, in which he firmly
believed, he would have packed his trunk at once, and left
her in disgust.

But Stephen's necessities were great. There was standing
against him a long list of bills, which his father refused
to pay, and he was ready to marry the first purse which was
offered. Had Eugenia been altogether agreeable to him, he
would have proposed ere this, but without knowing why, he
felt afraid of her. Added to this was the memory of his
mother's threat, that his father should disinherit him if he
disgraced them by marrying that Deane girl, in whose expected
fortune she did not believe. So halting between
two opinions, he allowed himself to be taken up and cast
off whenever the capricious Eugenia chose.

In the meantime, Uncle Nat had cultivated the acquaintance
of Mrs. Deane and Alice, finding the latter quite a
pleasant girl, and feeling disposed to think more favorably
of the former when he heard her speak kindly of Dora, as
she always did. Matters were in this state, when, one
afternoon, in compliance with her brother's written request,
Mrs. Elliott arrived, together with Dora. Most of the visitors
were at the springs, and as Eugenia never let an opportunity
pass for showing herself to the guests of the different

houses, she too was there, and thus failed to see how tenderly
Dora was greeted by Mr. Hastings, and how fondly
Uncle Nat clasped her in his arms, holding her hand all the
way up the stairs, and only releasing her when she reached
the door of the room, which had been previously engaged
for them by Mr. Hastings. Feeling slightly indisposed,
Mrs. Elliott did not go down to supper, and as Dora chose
to remain with her, neither of them were seen until evening.
Eugenia had heard of the arrival of two aristocratic looking
ladies, one of whom was young and very beautiful, and this
aroused her fears at once. Hitherto she had reigned without
a rival, for aside from her beauty, the generally believed
rumor of her being an heiress, procured for her attention
from many who otherwise would have been disgusted with
her overbearing manner and boisterous conduct; for, like
many others, she had fallen into the error of thinking that
to be fashionable, she must be bold and noisy, and no voice
in the drawing-room ever reached so high a note as hers.
Still she was tolerated and flattered, and when the friend,
who told her of the new arrivals, and who had caught a
view of Dora's face, laughingly bade her beware lest her
star should begin to wane, she curled her lip in scorn, as
if anything in Avon could compete with her, who “had
spent so many seasons at Saratoga and Newport, and who
would have gone there this summer, only she wanted a
change, and then it was more quiet for ma!”

This was one of her stereotyped remarks until Mr. Hastings
came, but he knew her, and in his presence she was less
assuming. She had heard that the new arrivals were his
friends, and thinking they must of course be somebody, she
arrayed herself for the evening with unusual care, wearing
her white satin and lace bertha, the most becoming and at
the same time the most expensive dress she had.

“I wish I had some pearls,” she said, glancing at her
raven hair; “they would look so much richer than these
flowers.”

“I should think an heiress like you would have everything
she wanted,” suggested Alice, mischievously, and Eugenia
replied, “Oh, pshaw! We shall never get more than five
hundred a year from Uncle Nat, but I don't much care.
Old Mr. Grey is wealthy, and if Mr. Hastings don't manifest
any more interest in me than he has since he came
here, I shall let that foolish Steve propose, much as I dislike
him.”

So saying, she clasped upon her arm a heavy bracelet,
for which the sum of forty dollars had been paid, and descended
with her mother and sister to the parlor. Mrs.
Elliott and Dora were there before her—the former leaning
on Mr. Hastings's arm, while the latter was already surrounded
by a group of admirers, a few of whom had met
her before. She was standing with her back towards Eugenia,
who singled her out in a moment, as her rival, noticing
first her magnificent hair, in which an ornament of any
kind would have been out of place, and which was confined
at the back of the head by a small and elegantly wrought
gold comb. Her dress was perfectly plain, consisting simply
of white India muslin, which fitted her admirably and
seemed well adapted to her youthful form.

“Who is she?” inquired Eugenia of Uncle Nat, who had
stationed himself near the door, on purpose to see how the
first sight of Dora would affect her.

“Who is she!” he replied. “Strange you don't know your
own cousin Dora Deane,” and a look of intense satisfaction
danced in his keen eyes, as he saw the expression of astonishment
which passed over Eugenia's face.

“Impossible!” she exclaimed, while a pang of envy shot

through her heart. “That stylish looking girl can't be
Dora! Why, I always supposed Mrs. Elliott made a half
servant, half companion of her. She never told us any
different;” and with a vague hope that the old South American
might be mistaken, she took a step or two forward,
just as Dora turned round, disclosing to view her face.

There was no longer any doubt, and with mingled feelings
of surprise, mortification, jealousy, and rage, Eugenia advanced
to meet her, wisely resolving as she did so to make
the best of it, and never let her cousin know how much annoyed
she was. Both Mrs. Deane and Alice were greeted
kindly by Dora, who could scarcely be more than polite to
Eugenia, and when the latter made a movement to kiss
her, she involuntarily drew back, feeling that she could not
suffer it.

“Grown suddenly very proud,” muttered Eugenia, at the
same time determining that her mother should insist upon
taking Dora home with them, and secretly exulting as she
thought how she should again work in the dark kitchen at
Locust Grove, as she had done before. “That'll remove
some of her fine airs, I reckon,” she thought, as, with bitter
hatred at her heart, she watched her young cousin, who,
throughout the entire evening, continued to be the centre of
attraction.

Everybody asked who she was; everybody pronounced
her beautiful, and everybody neglected Eugenia Deane, who,
greatly enraged, retired early, and vented her wrath in
tears, to think that the once despised Dora should now be
so far above her.

“But it shall not be,” she said, and then to her mother
she unfolded her plan of having Dora go home with them
immediately. “I'd as soon be in Joppa as to stay here with
her for a rival,” she said. “Mr. Hastings don't care for me,

I know, and I hate that old codger of a Hamilton, with his
sarcastic remarks and prying eyes. I've been here long
enough, and I mean to go home.”

To this proposition Mrs. Deane assented willingly; but
she expressed her doubts concerning her ability to make
Dora accompany them.

“Of course she'll go,” said Eugenia. “Her mother
placed her under your control, and she is bound to obey.”

Yielding at last, as she generally did, Mrs. Deane promised
to see what she could do, and the next day she
announced to Mrs. Elliott her intention of taking Dora
home with her. “I am grateful for all you have done for
her,” said she; “but we need her, and cannot spare her
any longer, so, Dora dear,” turning to her niece, “pack up
your things, and we will start to-morrow morning.”

Had Uncle Nat been there, he would, undoubtedly, have
exploded at once; but he was not present, neither was Mr.
Hastings, and it remained for Mrs. Elliott alone to reply,
which she did firmly and decidedly. “No, Mrs. Deane,
Dora cannot go. She was committed to your care, I know,
but you gave her up to me, and I shall not part with her
unless I am legally compelled to do so, or she wishes to go.
She can answer this last for herself,” and she turned towards
Dora, who, drawing nearer to her, replied, “I am sorry to
disobey you, Aunt Sarah, but I cannot leave Mrs. Elliott.”

Mrs. Deane was not very courageous, and unwilling to
press her claim, she turned away and reported her ill-success
to Eugenia, who heaped a torrent of abuse upon both Mrs.
Elliott, Dora, the old South American, and Mr. Hastings,
who, she declared, were all leagued against them.

“But I don't care,” said she, “old Mr. Grey is quite as
wealthy as Mr. Hastings, and by saying the word, I can
marry Steve at any time; and I will do it, too,” she continued,

“and that proud Mrs. Elliott shall yet be obliged to
meet me on terms of equality, for she will not dare to
neglect the Greys!”

Somewhat comforted by this thought, she dried her tears,
and signified her willingness to start for home on the
morrow, even if Dora did not accompany her. As yet, she
had no suspicion whatever of the engagement existing
between Mr. Hastings and her cousin. There was nothing
in the manner of either to betray it, and when, next morning,
attired in her travelling dress, she stood with them upon
the piazza, she little thought how and where she would next
meet them. At her side was Stephen Grey. He had been
won over by her gracious smiles the night previous, and
was now going with her as far as Rochester, where, if a
favorable opportunity were presented, he intended offering
himself for her acceptance. Uncle Nat was not present,
and Eugenia was glad that it was so, for there was something
about him exceedingly annoying to her, and she always
felt relieved at his absence.

“Why do you go so soon? I thought you were intending
to spend the summer,” said one of her old admirers; and with
a scornful toss of her head, she replied, “It is getting so
insufferably dull here, that I can't endure it any longer.”

Just then the omnibus was announced, and with a hurried
good bye, she followed her baggage down the stairs, and
amid a cloud of dust was driven rapidly away, while Uncle
Nat, from his chamber window, sent after her a not very
complimentary or affectionate adieu. Arrived at the hotel
in Rochester, where Eugenia had once waited in vain for
Mr. Hastings, Stephen Grey managed to hear from her again,
that she had well-founded hopes of being one of the heirs of
Nathaniel Deane, who, she said, sent them annually a sum
of money varying from five to fifteen hundred dollars.

This was quite a consideration for one whose finances were
low, and whose father, while threatening to disinherit him,
was himself on the verge of bankruptcy, and thinking the
annual remittances worth securing, even if the will should
fail, Stephen found an opportunity to go down on his knees
before her after the most approved fashion, telling her that
“she alone could make him happy, and that without her he
should be wretched;” and she, knowing just how much in
earnest he was, promised to be his wife, intending the while
to break that promise if she saw in Mr. Hastings any signs
of renewed interest. So, when Stephen pressed her to name
an early day, she put him off, telling him she could not think
of being married until near the middle of autumn, and at the
same time requesting him to keep their engagement a secret,
for she did not wish it to be a subject of remark, as engaged
people always were. To this, Stephen consented willingly, as
he would thus escape, for a time, his mother's anger. And so
when, tired, jaded, cross and dusty, Eugenia Deane reached
Locust Grove, she had the satisfaction of knowing that her
trip to the Springs had been successful, inasmuch as it procured
for her “a husband, such as he was.”