Kate Beaumont :: :: University of Virginia Library

“It 's astonishing you never discovered it
before,” replied Bent, ironically smiling on
the side of his mouth which was farthest
from Mrs. Chester and hidden from her
vision.

Kate Beaumont wild? Bent knew better,
and Mrs. Chester ought to know better, and
he believed that she did know better. But
the lady was quite in earnest, for she had
been scared by the fact of her niece receiving
Frank McAlister alone, and her
alarm had given rise to a sudden suspicion,
almost amounting to a belief that the girl
was a daring coquette.

“I have an idea that you like wild girls,”
continued Mrs. Chester.

“Well, I hang about you a good deal,”
answered Bent, one side of his face all seriousness,
and the other full of satire.

“O, pshaw!” returned the lady, not
however ungrateful. “I alluded to your
fancy for that dreadful coquette, your cousin
Jenny.”

“Jenny is so happy in being my cousin,
that she does n't want to be anything nearer,”
said Bent. “And I am equally contented.”

“Then you are pretty sure to fall in love
with this other wild piece,” pursued cunning
Mrs. Chester. “Well, you might do
worse. Kate has her good qualities.”

Armitage turned grave; the lady had
plainly broached a subject which to him
was serious; and joker as he was, he had
no jest ready for the occasion.

“Your brother married her half-sister,”
said Mrs. Chester, guessing that her batteries

were beginning to tell. So they were;
the young man was no longer laughing at
her; he was listening to her eagerly and
even anxiously; he was ready at the moment
to look to her as a friend and counsellor.

“It would be so natural!” she went on.
“I don't think any one would be astonished.
She would not go out of the family.”

Armitage was too profoundly moved, and
we might even say disturbed, to be able to
answer. The one thing that he had in his
mind, or for the moment could have there,
was this fact, that Mrs. Chester approved
of his wooing her niece. He dropped away
from her presently; in fact, he was encouraged
to take his leave; and before long he
was doing just what Mrs. Chester wanted
him to do; that is, he was sauntering about
the house to look for Kate. Not that he
meant to propose to her; O no, he knew
that things were not by any means far
enough advanced for that; but he wanted
to be near her and to try to begin a courtship.

It must be understood that social matters
were unusually lively in these days at the
Beaumont place. Colonel Kershaw rode
over often to take dinner or to pass the
night; not a talkative man, for his good
old heart was apt to utter itself mainly
through his air of venerable benignity; his
remarks being at once infrequent and admirable,
like the rare opening of bottles of
precious wine. With him always came Major
Lawson, his puckered face and twinkling
eyes beaming sympathy upon all, and his
attuned voice fluting universal praises.
(The ironical Vincent pretended to marvel
that the Major did not have a slave stand
behind him with a pitchpipe, like Tiberius
Gracchus; and asserted that he was capable
of paying extravagant compliments to the internal
fires, apropos of earthquakes and other
destructive convulsions.) Furthermore, the
McAlisters, especially the women, and
Frank, made their calls now and then, laboring
to keep up the entente cordiale. Of
other visitors, whom we have not time to
know familiarly, a large proportion were
dashing young fellows on horseback, attracted
by the fame of a girl who was already
reputed the bell of the district.

But no one was on hand so often or stayed
so long as Bent Armitage. As we ought perhaps
to have stated before, he was sojourning
with his aunt, Mrs. Devine, the mother
of Jenny, whose plantation was only two
miles away. He dropped in diurnally upon
the Beaumonts, sometimes with, but oftener
without, his coquettish cousin, talking his
copious, light-minded slang serenely to all
visitors, telling countless queer stories which
were the delight of the master of the house,
and paying more or less sidelong, cautious
courtship to Kate. Mrs. Chester helped
him; she arranged traps which ended in
tête-à-têtes between the two; she did her
best to get the girl's head full of this admirer.
In these days Mr. Frank McAlister was
sometimes gloomily jealous of Mr. Bentley
Armitage.

By similar managements and enchantments
Mrs. Chester obtained various interviews
with the handsome giant, about whom
she had gone bewitched. If there is a human
figure more pitiably ludicrous than an
old beau crazy after fresh girls, who sack
him and avoid him and giggle at him, it is
surely an old belle angling for the attentions
of young men who bear with her wrinkled
oglings simply because she is a woman.
But laughable as such a creature is, she may
be very inconvenient. The honest, courteous,
kind-hearted Frank was as much incommoded
by his alert admirer as a horse by
a gadfly. He could not shake her off; for
in the first place he had not the unfeeling
levity which helps some men to do such
things; and in the second place he was instinctively
eager to stand well with all
Kate's relatives. But his patience under the
load of Mrs. Chester did some damage by
leading her to believe that he liked to
hold her. So she gave him much of her
company and of her gratitude, and one might
perhaps say, speaking loosely, of her love.

We are absolutely driven to risk being
tedious concerning this eccentric, this almost
irrational woman. Amid the many
callers, and especially the many young men
who now frequented the Beaumont house,
she disported herself as one who is in her
element, darting and dodging and chattering
like a swallow. All hospitality, she rang
for refreshments at every new arrival, and
seriously bothered several youthful heads
with the Beaumont madeira and cognac.
Her voice could be heard rising above all
others, except when her brother struck in
with his clangorous trumpet. Loud laughter,
slappings with her fan, smart pattings
on the floor with the toe of her bootee, and
bridlings which imitated sweet sixteen, testified
to her relish of the wit of the gentlemen.
She was a woman who got intoxicated
with conversation, especially when
there was a flavoring of flirtation in it. She
was capable of dignity; but that was generally
when she was miserable or angry; in
her good humors she was excited, mercurial,
noisy. All day she was as busy as a bee;
for when there was no company she prepared
for it; shutting herself in her room
to remodel and adorn old dresses; attending
to the job personally in her own characteristic
fashion; dashing breadths together
awry, and then flinging them at Miriam to
be set right, — being very proud of the
rapidity with which she did things very
badly. And out of all this hurly-burly she
drew the only happiness that she knew.

Of course, specks of gloom would sail in
among the sunshine. Once, when Mrs. Chester
was perhaps a little unwell, Miriam found
her shedding tears over the recollection of
the trunks full of fine clothes which had
gone down in the Mersey. At times she
fell into great rages because certain wilful
young gentlemen had showed plainly that
they preferred to talk to Kate rather than
to her. When sorrows like these crushed
her she pouted in her room, snapped at
Miriam, sniffed at her niece, and would not
speak at table. Philosophically speaking,
it was amazing that the same woman could
be at one time such a sunburst of hilarity
and at another such a cloud of sulking and
snarling. Vincent once lost his temper so
far as to tell her that when she was not a
cataract she was a dismal swamp. But seesawing
was her nature; she was nothing if
not mercurial. Had some power suddenly
blessed her with equanimity, she would
have ceased to be Mrs. Chester.

This curious woman and her incommodious
flirtation had been a subject of study
with Major Lawson. The sly, good-hearted
old beau had had experience enough in flirtation
to comprehend the sly, selfish old
belle. He perceived that she was smitten
with Frank McAlister, and he guessed that
her ancient, made-over coquetries must
be very embarrassing to the youngster,
although the latter bore himself under them
with the serenity and sweetness of a martyr.
Moreover, the somewhat sentimental Major
wanted to see his Romeo and Juliet drama
played out happily; he wanted the Montagues
and Capulets of Hartland District
united in lasting peace by a marriage
between Frank and Kate. By Jove, what a
delightful story it would be to recount to
his lady friends in Charleston And by
Jove, too, sir, it would be a good thing, an
eminently beneficent event, sir, a result
that any gentleman might desire and labor
for.

“My de-ar fellow, allow me,” he at last
said to Frank, drawing him mysteriously
to one side and patting him tenderly on
the sleeve. “You are injudicious — you
really are — excuse me. Why, you should n't
come here alone. A wise general does not
advance all his forces in one column. He
sends up a feint attack to draw the enemy's
fire. He occupies the hostile attention by
side movements while he delivers the real
assault on the vital point. My de-ar fellow,
you certainly will excuse me, you must try
to excuse me. I am giving advice. It is an
assumption. It is an offence. Promise me
that you won't be annoyed. Well, confiding
in your good-nature, I venture to go on.
When you call, bring an ally. Bring your
brother Wallace, for instance. Let him ask
for Mrs. Chester and talk to Mrs. Chester,
while you ask for some one else and talk to
some one else.”

The young man had begun by blushing
to his forehead, but he ended by bursting
into a paroxysm of laughter. He laughed
with the wonder and amusement of an unsophisticated
countryman to whom some
one explains the mystery of the pea under
the thimble.

But the hint was not lost upon him. The
next time he set out for the Beaumont
house he was preceded by a feinting column
in the person of the good-natured, self-sacrificing
Wallace, fully instructed as to the
stratagem which he was to execute, and
grinning to himself over the same. On
arriving, Wallace asked for Mrs. Chester,
and immediately took that lady off on a
drive. Twenty minutes later Frank made
his appearance, and of course saw Miss
Kate, “with no one nigh to hinder.” This
trick was played repeatedly; the brothers
seeking to allay suspicion by coming sometimes
separately and sometimes together;
but the elder one always possessing himself
of the aunt, while the other was assiduous
about the niece.

“I say, Frank, this is rather heavy on
me,” Wallace at last remonstrated. “Sometimes
the old girl is devilish sulky, and
sometimes she is too loving. I don't know,
by George, but what I shall have the misfortune
to cut you out yet in her affections.
I occasionally fear she 'll make a grab at me,
in spite of my bald head. (Bald at twenty-eight,
by George!) I wish you 'd hurry
up your little matter. I don't feel as if I
could stand above four or five more races
with Mauma Chester in the saddle. She 's
a remarkably worrying jockey to go under,
by George.”

“O, hold on, Wally!” begged Frank,
who was not making so much progress as
he desired in his “little matter.” Miss
Kate, we have sentimental reason to fear,
was in some respects an old head on young
shoulders. She no doubt liked Frank better
than any other young men; but she
did not yet like him enough to risk all other
means of happiness for his sake. Suppose
she should become engaged to him, and perhaps
go so far as to marry him; and suppose
that then there should be another outbreak
of that old, mighty feud, so full of
angering memories? Where would she be
with reference to her father and brothers
and grandpapa? Separated from them?
Their enemy? Not to be thought of! Impossible!

Meantime Mrs. Chester, not quite a fool
in a general way, and in love matters not
easily imposed upon except by herself, made
out to see through the catthroat game of
which she was the victim. For one whole
night and the following forenoon she brooded

over the discovery with alternate ragings
and tears. In the afternoon, when Wallace
McAlister called and sent up his compliments
to know if she would ride, she had a
spasm of desire to rush down stairs and pull
out what hair was left him, and she with
difficulty so far controlled herself as to send
back regrets that she could see no one on
account of a headache.

“Hurrah!” thought Wallace, and cantered
away to call on Jenny Devine, totally
forgetting to warn the coming Frank that
Mrs. Chester would be at home. That infuriated
lady watched him out of sight, and
then watched for the appearing of his
brother.

“Miriam!” she suddenly called. “There
comes Frank McAlister to court my niece.
I won't have this thing going on. Those
McAlisters! Low, mean, nasty `crackers'!
I won't have it. It 's my duty to prevent it.
Hurry down and tell him Miss Kate is out.
Do you hear me? Hurry!”

Now Miriam knew two things: she knew,
in the first place, that Miss Kate was
at home; in the second place she knew
her mistress's silly weakness for juvenile
beaux.

“I don' go for to do it,” she said to herself,
as she walked away. “I don' tell no
lies, an' I don' help out no foolishness. If
Miss Marian is gwine to court young men
an' gwine to hender true lovers, she may
jess work at it alone. I 'se a square woman,
I is. I has a conscience, bless de Lord!”

As she passed Kate's room she opened
the door softly, beckoned the girl to approach,
put her finger to her lips, and whispered,
“Come, Miss Katy. Come down to
the front do', quick. I 'se got suthin' to
show ye.”

Kate was of course curious; she glided
down to the front door; the negress opened
it; there was Frank!

“Can't tell him now she ain't to home,”
thought the conscientious Miriam; and
walked back to her mistress with the truthful
report, “Miss Kate was at the do' herself.”

“Waiting for him!” almost shrieked
Mrs. Chester.

“Did n' know he was thar,” declared
Miriam. “The dear chile was puffec'ly
s'prised.”

“I won't have this,” asseverated Mrs.
Chester. “I must interfere. I am going
down.”

“Laws, honey. you 'se got a headache,”
said Miriam. “You jess better lie down.”

In reply Mrs. Chester flew at her chattel,
boxed her ears and drove her out of the
room. Then, sobbing with rage, she threw
herself on a sofa; got up presently, bathed
her face and looked at it in the glass; went
back to the sofa in despair and remained
there.

On the evening of that day, having
dragged her brother out into the moonlit
garden, she began upon him with, “Well,
Peyton Beaumont! You are managing
things finely, I should say.”

“Hullo! What 's the row now?” demanded
Peyton, scenting battle at once and
charging with all his eyebrows.

“I 'll tell you what 's the row,” continued
the sister. “Here is this Kershaw estate
going straight out of the family.”

“What the devil is the Colonel going to
do with his estate?” asked the alarmed
Beaumont. “Not going to cut Kate off.”

“Kate will be the heir of it, won't she?
Well, Kate is being courted, and Kate will
get married.”

“I suppose she will, some day,” sighed
the father. “I suppose she will. Girls do.
But how can I keep the Kershaw estate in
the family! My boys can't marry their
own sister.”

“There is Bentley Armitage, the brother
of your son-in-law. That would be in the
family.”

Beaumont uttered a sound between a
groan and a grunt. As near as he could
make out from what he heard, the brother
of Bentley Armitage was not a model
of husbands, and did not render his
daughter Nellie very happy. Bent was a
jolly fellow; he told hosts of capital stories;
he was very amusing; he soothed the gout.
But for all that, Beaumont did not find that
he hankered after any more Armitages for
sons-in-law.

“But you don't want a McAlister?”
furiously remonstrated the lady.

“How a McAlister?” inquired Beaumont,
with something like a shaking of the
mane at the sound of the so long detested
name. “What McAlister?”

“Frank,” gasped Mrs. Chester, her
naughty, sensitive old heart giving one
great throb of tenderness over the monosyllable,
mighty as was her jealousy and spite.

“Frank!” echoed the father, — “Frank!”

He broke away, walked a few steps in
silence, turned back suddenly, and repeated
in a gentle voice, “Frank?”

“Yes,” trembled Mrs. Chester.

“Why, good God, Marian, he saved her
life! Why, good God, what could I say to
him?”

“O, it has n't gone so far as that,”
laughed the lady, a bit hysterically.
“There is time yet to stop it from going
so far as that. I don't think she cares for
him yet. You can stop her from learning
to care for him. You can send her off
visiting.”

Beaumont made no answer; he did not
want to send her off visiting; he could not
spare the sight of her.

“Would you make her miserable for

life?” argued the anxious aunt. “Suppose
she should marry this man, and then the
old feud should break out again?”

“Good God, I might lose my daughter forever,”
returned Beaumont, aghast. “Good
God, I must send her away. Well, she must
go to Randolph Armitage's. She must go
to her sister.”

“We can send her up under the care of
Bentley Armitage,” slyly added Mrs. Chester.