10. CHAPTER X.
“BRONZE-COLOR: A GREYISH-YELLOW.”—Nicholson.
“Cards for a ball, a fancy ball, a masked ball, mes filles!” proclaimed
Mrs. Livingstone, taking three envelopes from the table and tearing them open,
as she and her guests entered the drawing-room, after their morning drive.
“How perfectly splendid! What a magnificent idea! O, Claudia, what
shall I wear?” exclaimed Francia, bounding up from the sofa, where she had
sunk, and quite forgetting her fatigue.
“The idea of disposing of such a question in a breath!” retorted Claudia.
“Why, we shall discuss it all the rest of to-day and all to-morrow, and shall
quarrel like the Three Furies before we are done with it. A proper costume
for a fancy ball is a serious question, petite.”
“The more reason why we should begin to discuss it at once,” exclaimed
Francia. “Neria, what are your most obvious sentiments upon the subject?”
“Of costume?” asked Neria, with her not unusual look of wistful perplexity;
“I have none at all.”
“As badly off as the old dominie, who pathetically remarked: `Locke says
the human mind is never entirely void of ideas; but I have been conscious of
long intervals of time in which my mind contained absolutely no ideas whatever,”'
suggested Claudia.
“I think I will be a gypsy,” said Francia, dubiously.
“I think you will nothing of the sort,” continued her cousin. “Wait till to-morrow,
and I will think about you. At present, I have an idea with which to
furnish poor Neria's empty mind. Neria, attention! You are Undine. You
will be dressed in a robe of sea-green gossamer over green satin, which will sparkle
through it just like the light in a wave. You will have your golden hair all
down your back, and be crowned with water-lilies, and wear pearls upon your
neck and arms. In your hand you will carry the chaplet of red and white
coral that Undine drew from the depths of the river to give to Bertha.”
“Beautiful! There couldn't be anything better suited to Neria. Your idea
is an inspiration, Claudia,” exclaimed Francia; but Neria shivered.
“Undine is an ominous character,” said she.
“Don't be afraid. There is no Bertha in the case, dear,” returned Claudia,
with a significant smile.
“Nor any knight Huldbrand, either,” added Francia.
“But to call myself Undine is to invite both,” said Neria, smiling.
“And if they come, my dear, I hope you will prove the superiority of a woman
over a mermaid by the manner in which you secure Huldbrand and circumvent
Bertha. Undine behaved like a fool,” remarked Claudia.
“And yet like a woman. It would be so much easier to quietly let one's
heart break, than to plot and labor to retain a love that wished to escape,” said
Neria, softly.
“Love! That is as it may be,” retorted Claudia; “But do you imagine any
woman with the spirit of a canary-bird would stand by and see another woman
steal away the man who had once vowed constancy to her, and never make an
effort to reclaim him? Why, I would kill such a woman, though the man were
one I never cared to see again.”
“Dr. Lutrell,” said the servant, opening the door of the drawing-room.
A gentleman upon the threshold bowed profoundly, and advanced into the
room.
Claudia, on hearing the name, had half uttered an exclamation, and started
from her chair. Instantly recovering herself, however, she restrained every
symptom of emotion except the deep color that flushed her face, and, advancing
a few steps toward her guest, extended her hand, saying, with a smile, courteous
even if artificial:
“I am glad to see you again, Dr. Lutrell, and also to hear such pleasant
things of you.”
“Thank you. I did not know that my modest nuptials would make sufficient
impression to be remembered after the brilliant wedding that made Mr. Livingstone
the happiest of men and an object of envy to all the rest of us. Accept,
in turn, my congratulations and good wishes.”
A fine tone of sarcasm rang through the careful modulations of his voice,
and was caught by Neria's sensitive ear. She turned to examine more particularly
this new guest, of whom she had never heard.
A slight and elegant figure, small hands and feet, a perfect toilet—all this
was well; but at the face Neria paused, and finally suspended judgment. Either
it was very handsome or utterly repulsive, and for the moment she was unable to
determine which. The clear-cut and regular features were almost faultless, the
dark hair suited well with the mat complexion; the frequent smile displayed exquisite
teeth, but the eyes—what was there in those furtive eyes that made Neria
shrink from their passing glance and shiver as she felt them again resting upon
her? The color was peculiar and indescribable, unless, perhaps, one named it
yellowish-bronze; but the expression was something more than peculiar, and
suggested to Neria vague ideas of hungry creatures lying ambushed for their
prey, of serpents sleeping in deep jungle grass, of a Thug waiting patiently for
hours behind his palm tree, while far down the valley the doomed victim comes
riding on, his eyes filled with memories of home and love, a smile upon his lips,
and hope whispering at his heart.
“Girls, let me present Dr. Lutrell. Miss Vaughn, Dr. Lutrell, and Miss
Francia Vaughn.”
Francia bowed with her usual smiling grace, and Neria, with an effort, raised
her eyes once more to those so steadily bent upon her. She was glad when she
had done so, for in this direct gaze she determined that, after all, there was
nothing so peculiar about these eyes, except, perhaps, the color; and with a little
feeling of self-reproach for her first impression, she exerted herself to answer,
with sufficient courtesy, the enquiries and remarks addressed to her.
“We were talking of Mrs. Minturn's fancy ball,” said Claudia, presently.
“You will be there?”
“We have cards, but I had not thought of going,” said Doctor Lutrell. “To
select a character for a fancy ball you must commit either a stupidity or an indiscretion.
Either you assume a disguise utterly incongruous with your personality,
and so, utterly wearisome, or you select one which betrays to the whole
world your own estimate of yourself, and so give Mrs. Grundy a rich opportunity
for the good-natured little remarks in which she delights.”
“I don't think people in general go so far as to measure the masker's own
character against that which he assumes,” said Claudia. “Most people don't
think at all, and of those who do, the majority are persons who will, at any rate,
be malicious. We are all fools or knaves.”
The two young girls turned startled eyes upon their cousin, then Francia
laughed, and even Neria's face swept a tide of color, showing that the deep
fountain of her emotions was touched.
Dr. Lutrell's eyes flashed across the face of either, read them more than
either knew, and came back to rest upon Claudia's with a meaning glance, which
she read and recklessly answered.
“O, these girls have come to me to learn society; you would not have me
turn out the pretty lambs to the wolves without warning them, as far as I may,
of the style of creature they are going among.”
Dr. Lutrell turned gaily toward the couch where Neria and Francia sat together.
“Don't believe a word she says, young ladies. Society, especially in this
city, is an assemblage of all that is great, wise, good and beautiful in the world.
Every one is amiable, every one is intelligent, every one speaks and lives the
exact truth. Come among us and see! Mrs. Livingstone knows all this as
well as I; but to-day she has the headache, or a dyspepsia, or was out too late
last night.”
He rose and bowed as he spoke, and passed down the long drawing-room.
His hostess accompanied him a few steps, and said in a low voice,
“Why do you wish to deceive them in what they will so soon learn for themselves?”
“Why do you put your vase of wild flowers in the shade, instead of in the
sun?” asked the guest, and went on his way with a smile in his tigerish eyes.
