University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

The Soirée to be given on Wednesday evening,
—, of October, 18—, by the wealthy and fashionable
Mrs. Rainsford, was the great topic of conversation
in all the higher circles of the gay city. All
the world—which, in the vocabulary of good society,
means all the exclusives; for in fashionable life
there

were on the qui vive; for as it was the first of the
season, so it was expected to eclipse its successors in
all the requisites of a brilliant, recherche, and exclusive
evening party. Milliners, dress-makers, and artificial
florists, were in requisition in every fashionable
street, and the beautiful assistants of Mrs. Thompson's
emporium in Broadway, declared that their delicate
fingers were nearly transformed to the consistency
of the marble whose whiteness they emulated,
by plying the needle so unremittingly; while their
sparkling eyes, that made such fearful havoc among
the beaux, were now fairly veiled by weariness in
tracing the exquisite proportions of their own tasteful
creations.

The more respectable hacks were entirely monopolized
for the happy occasion; and the unlucky wight
who failed to receive Mrs. Rainsford's invitation card,
found the circle of his fashionable acquaintances
marvellously curtailed of its fair proportions on the
following day.

The elements of fashionable society are in all
countries and at all times essentially the same; modified,
indeed, by taste and circumstances, but exhibiting,
in all their varied lights and shadows, certain
leading characteristics that cannot be mistaken.

The talisman at whose touch the gilded portals
of its sanctuary are unbarred, has, on the contrary,
experienced the ordinary mutations incident to the
idols of human ambition. During the age of chivalry,
military prowess was the dagon of fashionable
idolatry; at a later period, rank and title were invested
with the attributes of sovereignty, and were succeeded
by the dazzling reign of intellectual eminence,
until, at our own day, wealth with golden key has
snatched the sceptre from all rivals!

Master spirits have indeed arisen at various epochs
whose resistless genius has burst the conventional
barriers that encircle the empire of fashion, but they
must be considered brilliant exceptions to the general
rule.

We are not among those who believe that the
votaries of fashion in the main follow more fleeting
or unsubstantial meteors than their fellows; for if
we extend our observation to the pursuits which absorb
the attention of the majority of all ranks in society,
we shall be led to exclaim, “What shadows
we are! what shadows we pursue!” Analyze
wealth, fame, glory, and decide whether the frivolities
of the beau monde are in their essence less
legitimate objects of ambition than those beneath
the juggernaut wheels of which the mass of mankind
prostrate their health, happiness, and energies?

Among the favoured individuals whose good fortune
had procured them an invitation our hero was
numbered. While occupied in the transaction of
some business of his employer's at a distance from the
city, he accidentally became the travelling companion
of Mr. Rainsford, the husband of the fair hostess,
who was distinguished for his intelligence and
love of literary pursuits, and who conceived so warm
an attachment for Clifton, that he desired him thereafter
to visit his house at all times, and to consider
him as his firm friend.

At length the happy evening arrived, and the
fashionable precincts of Carroll Place resounded to

the clang of horses' hoofs and the deep roll of carriage-wheels.
As Clifton entered, he found a brilliant
and fashionable assemblage already congregated,
while two magnificent pier and the like
number of mantel mirrors, flashed back the dazzling
light of costly chandeliers, and reproduced the
gay pageant with all its array of fair forms, wreathed
head-dresses, jewelled zones, waving plumes,
and speaking countenances.

After tendering his respects to the fair entertainer,
a lively and agreeable lady of about thirty years of
age, Clifton met De Lyle who was not a little surprised
at his procuring an invitation to so exclusive a party.

While they were conversing Ellingbourne joined
them; and as Clifton's back was momentarily turned
towards the door, the former hastily inquired:
“De Lyle, who is that beautiful girl now entering?
I mean the one with auburn ringlets, who is reclining
on the left arm of the small gentleman in blue.
I do not recollect of ever having seen her face before,
but now I am sure I shall never forget it.”

As the words fell from his lips the lady and her
company passed; and on turning after saluting Mrs.
Rainsford, Clifton recognized his beloved Julia.
Their eyes instantly met; and although both were
mutually embarrassed, yet in a moment he was at
her side, and was introduced by Miss Borrowdale to
Miss Elwell, her cousin, and to Mr. Morse.

“May I have the pleasure of dancing with Miss
Borrowdale if not engaged?” said Clifton.

“If you dare venture the loss of caste in fashionable
life by selecting a partner so little qualified to
compete with the city belles, I certainly may not
refuse,” replied Julia with a smile.

As she accepted the arm of Clifton in exchange
for that of Mr. Morse, he espied two vacant seats in
a corner of the room rather behind the crowd, and
escorted Julia thither. As they seated themselves
he said, “Miss Borrowdale, do you know that I
recognized you on Monday evening at the theatre;
and pardon me, I was so near to you that I almost
imagined you had forgotton the countenance of so
obscure a person as myself.” Here, in despite of
himself, a tear started in his eye, which was not
unperceived by his auditor.

“Mr. Clifton,” she replied, with an emotion little
less visible than his own, “how could you for a moment
suppose that I would ever forget one to whom
I owe so much? Oh, did you but know how often,
very often”—here she paused, and a crimson flush
suffused every feature, until it spread over her alabaster
neck—“how often,” she continued, recovering
her self-possession, “you have been the subject
of conversation at our country fire-side, you would
not have judged so harshly.”

The blush, the pause, the agitation, were not unperceived
by Clifton, who trembled with delight.
“She loves me; she certainly loves me;” were his
thoughts; “and what care I for all the world
beside?”

As may be imagined, so favourable an opportunity
of divulging his passion did not pass unimproved;
but although scenes of this description are so
thrilling in their effects as to leave their impress on
the mind while other emotions have faded in oblivion,
yet to a third party the detail would be of
questionable interest. Suffice it to state, that before
the cotillion was concluded, he had poured into her
ear those honeyed words—love's glowing messengers—that,
dear and beautiful lady reader, you presume
the handsome cavalier at your side will
address to you on some delightful evening, with no
witnesses but those radiant luminaries which at creation's
jubilee sang together for joy: and although
the lady blushed and hesitated; declared the hour
most untimely for such a revelation; spoke of parents'
wishes and filial duty; now chiding and again smiling,
yet did the enraptured lover from this interview,
feed the torch of hope, which, like a beacon,
shed its beams over his solitary way through many
an after scene of trial, peril, and despondency.

The cotillion was over, the music ceased, and yet,
in accents inaudible to any but the fair listener, he
continued to reiterate sentiments of affection already
a hundred times repeated, until Julia, with woman's
delicate instinct, perceived that a longer tête-à-tête
would not fail to be remarked; and rising,
she said, sportively, “Mr. Clifton, if I do not mistake,
a gentleman much resembling yourself, solicited
my hand for a cotillion; but now I perceive

that one has already passed, and if I do not sue
where, as a lady I should command, we shall not
be in time for the next.”

“Forgive me, Miss Borrowdale,” was the reply;
“if in your presence, this goodly company, dance,
music, all were forgotten; but I trust, under your
sweet guidance, to make amends for my delinquency;”
and this apology delivered, he led her to
a place in the cotillion.

It will be recollected that Ellingbourne pointed out
Julia to the notice of De Lyle on her entrance; and
from the time that she reclined on Clifton's arm
until the close of the evening's amusement, his
eyes continued to follow their motions: and perceiving
him conducting her to a seat in a secluded corner,
he placed himself sufficiently near to observe
the blushes which indicated the nature of Clifton's
avowal, and the pleasure with which it was received.

Deeply enamoured of the grace and beauty of
the lovely stranger, the fire of jealousy now mingled
with the hate that rankled in his bosom.

“Reptile,” he muttered to himself, “your destruction
shall hereafter be the object of my thoughts by
day, and my dreams by night; for this, every energy
I possess shall be taxed to its utmost limit; and
if money can compass your ruin, it shall flow like
water.” Thus soliloquizing, he observed Clifton
and Julia join the dance, and sought his own neglected
associates in another part of the room.

As he approached a group of ladies, and gentlemen,
who were at the moment “lookers on in Vienna,”
he heard an acquaintance named Mrs. Tibbs
inquiring, “Who can be that young lady in white
satin dancing with the tall, dark-eyed young
man in black?—though I ought to know all the
fashionables, I do not recognize her features.”

De Lyle replied, “The lady I have not the pleasure
of knowing, but the gentleman is an old
acquaintance. He happens to be a clerk whom
my father took into our mercantile establishment
from motives of charity.”

“Did you ever!” said Mrs. Tibbs, tossing her
head till the tall plumes with which it was crowned
trembled as if a gale had swept over them. “I
can't see how poor, vulgar people can put on such
airs. How did the upstart get admitted, I wonder?”

The lady who thus spoke was the better half of
a dealer in pins and needles, who had, by industry
and good fortune, become possessed of great wealth;
and his help-mate, who was born and brought up
in the lowest station of life, could not resist the desire
of belonging to good society; and Mr. Rainsford,
who respected Mr. Tibbs for the integrity and modesty
of his character, had induced his lady to
furnish Mrs. and Mr. Tibbs with an invitation,
which was accepted most cheerfully by the lady,
but declined by the gentleman.

Priding herself on her wealth and exclusiveness,

she was not a little chagrined at her awkward mistake,
and from that moment Clifton was with her a
marked man. In height this fair original was precisely
five feet three; but her lack of altitude was
abundantly compensated by what seamen term
“breadth of beam;” and when laced to the extreme
of the mode, and elevated in her high heeled shoes,
she appeared not unlike a stuffed Lilliputian mounted
on stilts. Such rolling of eyeballs and elevating
of nasal organs; such rustling of silks and crumpling
of satins as followed De Lyle's exposure of the
low caste of our hero, were never surpassed; but
when the highborn and fashionable Mrs. Melton,
the lady of a distinguished senator from a neighbouring
state, who was reputed to be the leader of the
ton at the seat of government, remarked that she
saw no impropriety in associating with any person,
however humble his station, whose conduct was reputable,
and character above reproach, the shock to
Mrs. Tibbs and her coterie was tremendous.

“La me,” whispered Mrs. T. to her neighbour,
“I do wonder how great folks can so belower themselves.”

“But,” resumed Mrs. Melton, “if my eyes do not
deceive me, the lady just alluded to is my lovely
and accomplished friend, Julia Borrowdale of Boston.”

“Oh,” said Shafton, pushing himself forward,
“there's no mistake, the name is Borrowdale; I saw
the girl was pretty, made my way up to Clifton,—

gave him one of my most fascinating bows, and
stuck to his side till he gave me an introduction.—
Borrowdale is the name, upon my honour.”

“What,” said a tall, gaunt, single lady of unmentionable
age, “is that the great Boston heiress?
Now I see her more distinctly, she is certainly better
looking than I first thought, although her face is
somewhat childish. But she will improve as she
grows older; few ladies have a distingué air until
they are advanced beyond girlhood.”

At twelve o'clock supper was announced, and the
more substantial pleasures of the table temporarily
took precedence of the “poetry of motion.”

De Lyle had so far matured his plan of operations
as to determine on seeking an introduction to Miss
Borrowdale during the evening; and while Clifton
was escorting her to the sumptuous table prepared in
spacious apartments on the second floor of the mansion,
he joined them, and was introduced by our
hero as the son of his friend and patron.

On reaching the table he selected a situation sufficiently
near that of the lovers to observe their motions,
and occasionally share in a portion of their
conversation. Shafton and Ellingbourne procured
seats near De Lyle, but still further removed from
Clifton.

The well-ordered supper was destined to exhibit
a further illustration of the mutability of terrestrial
objects; the luscious wines travelled with marked celerity
to the place appointed for all fermented juices;

the wit of the company sparkled in emulation of the
champaigne, while the pauses in the conversation,
were enlivened by the soft, low melody with which
the skilful musicians relieved the tedium of their solitude
in the lower apartments.

With all the incentives to enjoyment, while at the
table, and confronted with the full gaze of hundreds
of fashionable roués, neither Julia nor Clifton experienced
that flow of spirits which had lent wings to
the passing moments in the saloon below. Indeed
the most successful suitor will acknowledge that
“the course of true love never did run smooth;” and
if no realities intervene to mar the happiness of
lovers, imagination will summon her shadowy
train of obstacles, and however unsubstantial may
be the array, they will serve to annoy at least during
the silent watches of the night, when deep sleep falls
on all—but love struck personages of either sex.

As the hour was late, after Julia had informed
Clifton that she would be found during her brief stay
in the city at the residence of her uncle, Mr. Elwell,
she left the party in company with Mr. Morse and
her cousin,—and Clifton, who felt no inclination to
remain, bowed his adieu to the hostess, and wended
his way to his residence.