15. CHAPTER XV.
BONNYBEL LOOKS IN A MIRROR AND LAUGHS.
The ladies were assembled in the cheerful breakfast room,
and half a dozen servants were placing on the broad table a
profusion of smoking edibles, contributing to the perfection
of that most perfect of inventions, a Virginia breakfast.
St. John mixed a julep with the skill and rapidity of an
old practitioner, and the ladies, having each taken a sip, the
parties were soon seated around the board, Miss Bonnybel
behind the urn.
“Did Mr. Alston commence his toilet when you did?”
asked the young lady, innocently, of St. John, glancing, as
she spoke, demurely at the stately Helen; “he takes as
long to dress as a girl, and Bel Tracy said, the other day,
that he was no better than one, with his curls and perfumes!”
Helen, with a dignified toss of the head, intimates her
opinion of this attack upon her admirer, but says nothing.
“Just think of Mr. Alston on horseback!” continues Bonnybel,
pouring out, “with musquetoon, and saber, heavy
boots, and pistols, going to the wars! Now you all frown
at me, as if it was treason to doubt that the elegant Mr.
Alston would leap out of his bed, and be ready at sunrise,
if the trumpet called to horse!”
“I doubt that myself, my dear Miss Bonnybel,” said the
subject of the conversation, behind the young lady; “ 't is
only the breakfast bell that rouses me.”
And Mr. Alston, in snowy ruffles, and serene smiles, saunters
in and distributes a comprehensive salute.
“Was I the subject of discussion?” he says, amiably.
“Chocolate, if you please, Miss Bonnybel.”
“ 'T was Miss Tracy's epigram about you that was repeated,”
says St. John.
“Ah, Miss Tracy?” replies his friend. “A fine girl, Miss
Tracy—told me she wished she was a man, the other day.”
“Well, Tom, she said she regarded you no more than a
girl. 'T is only reasonable to suppose that she wishes to
change her condition with her sex and marry you. Mr.
Bel Tracy, on the 10th, to Miss Thomas Alston, daughter
of, and so forth, in the `Gazette!' ”
Mr. Alston replies, serenely,
“Delighted to marry Miss Bell Tracy, but not to change
my sex.”
“I would,” says Bonnybel.
“You!” says St. John; “pray why?”
“Oh we'd have such glorious fox-hunts—I and the other
boys!” cries Bonnybel, “and such a jolly frolic afterwards!”
The air of the young lady, while she utters these words,
is so excellent a farce that even Aunt Mabel laughs.
“But, you will permit me,” says Mr. Alston; “what
would be the state of mind of your adorers, Miss Bonnybel,
for doubtless you wish to marry a young gentleman.”
“No, sir! Pray whom?”
“Why, let us say, Will Roan—why not espouse that
gentleman?”
“For a very good reason—he's not asked me!” laughs
the young lady; “besides, I would n't if he did. I've no
desire to go halves in his affections with the thorough-bred
he's had the goodness, I am told, to call `Bonnybel,' after
me, forsooth!”
“Well, Roan is fond of horses. But there's Buck Ranton.
He's a fine fellow; though I heard an aristocratic
little lady in town, the other day, declare that Mr. Ranton's
family were scarcely `good enough for her—he was n't an
F. F. V.' ”
“An F. F. V.? I hate that new-fangled phrase!” cries
Bonnybel, “and I think the young lady was a goose! I say
Mr. Ranton's every inch a gentleman, and I do n't care a fig
about his family!”
“Why not have him then, my dear Madam?” urges Mr.
Alston, gently.
Bonnybel is silent—Mr. Ranton's misadventure being very
recent.
“Or Charley Fox,” continues the gentleman, smiling, and
sipping his chocolate; “he at least does not fill his mind
with horses like Mr. Roan.”
“But he does with his namesakes, the foxes!” says Bonny
bel. “ 'T is even more humiliating to divide with fox-hounds
than horses. Mr. Fox's wife is sure to be the keeper
of the kennels!”
“Say Mr. Lindon, then.”
The girl's face clouds, and she says, coldly,
“I do not like Mr. Lindon.”
“Well, well,” says Mr. Alston, “then I will not further
annoy you, unless you will permit me to suggest the names
of your friends, Mr. Randolph, Mr. Page, Mr. Pendleton,
or Mr. Braxton; I believe they all come occasionally to
see you, do they not?”
A smile runs around the table, and for a moment there is
silence. Mr. Alston has given an accurate catalogue of the
slain and wounded, for whose condition Miss Bonnybel is
responsible—for all these gentlemen have met with bad
fortune at Vanely.
Bonnybel, however, is a true woman—that is to say, she
finds no difficulty in commanding her countenance.
“Did you ask if these gentlemen were my friends?” she
says, with the most dove-like innocence, “and if they ever
came to see me? Yes, they do, sometimes, sir.”
Mr. Alston gently inclines his head, sipping his chocolate.
“I thought I had seen them here once or twice,” he
replies, “though not very frequently of late. However, I
suppose they have one and all been detained by some little
accident.”
“Do you think so?” says Miss Bonnybel, with innocent
curiosity; “but while I think of it, pray how do you gentlemen
propose to spend the morning?”
Mr. Alston acquiesces in the change of topic, and says
with graceful ease,
“I think I shall bestow my poor society on Miss Helen,
if she is not afraid of being thrown into a fit of yawning.”
“And I will ride out with you if you wish,” says St. John
to Bonnybel.
This arrangement is acquiesced in, and the breakfast
ends. Aunt Mabel retires to her chamber to supervise the
“cutting out,” Miss Seraphina to peruse the last romance
brought from London, and the young men to smoke pipes
and look at the horses. The Vanely stables boast many
thorough-breds, and more than one racer in full training.
St. John had that passion for fine horses characteristic of
the soil, and with a corn-cob pipe between his lips, in the
midst of a crowd of stable-boys, who respectfully greeted
him as an old friend and favorite, discoursed at great length
to Tom Alston on the points of the animals, as they were
led out, and stepped proudly onward, in the sunshine.
The last was a bay filly of elegant proportions, and this he
ordered to be saddled for Bonnybel, whose property it was.
Soon afterwards—Tom Alston having sauntered back to
the drawing-room—the young man, mounted on his fine
“Tallyho,” was flying along a winding road of the Vanely
woods by the side of his cousin.
It is said that ball-rooms, parlors, and social haunts in
general, are unpropitious for certain emotions. Either
something distracts the attention or the atmosphere is
unfavorable to romance. It is added that it is extremely
dangerous, however, to a young man to ride alone, with
a lovely cousin in a beautiful forest.
In the case of Harry St. John this proved true. After
that ride, he felt with a sort of fearful happiness, a rueful
delight, that his fate was sealed. As they galloped on, his
eyes were unconsciously riveted on the mischievous little
beauty, who, with rosy cheeks and rippling curls, and slender
figure, undulating in the close-fitting riding-habit, resembled
rather a wild nymph of the woods than a mortal
maiden. Every word she uttered was a jest or an exclamation;
she performed a thousand anties on her steed; the
very spirit of the laughing audacious spring seemed to flush
her blood. The perfume of a thousand flowers crammed
the balmy air with fragrance; the birds sang joyfully from
the oakes and pines; the leaves whispered in the river
breeze, and cast a fitful shadow on them as they moved.
Our chronicle would grow to ponderous length, if we
paused to record the witty nothings uttered by Miss Bonnybel;
her careless and sparkling jests, pointed with laughter,
and bright glances of coquettish eyes. We must leave the
conversation unrecorded. All lived, however, in the young
man's recollection, and this ride became one of the most delightful
treasures of his memory.
Three hours were spent thus; then the heads of the horses
were turned toward home. At the great gate they encountered
the chariot, and were gaily greeted by the jovial old
colonel, who had been detained over night at the house of
one of his neighbors.
They stopped but a moment; leaving the ponderous chariot
to follow at its leisure, they sped up the hill, and the foaming
horses were checked before the great portico.
In helping the young lady to the ground, St. John did
even more than his duty. He quietly took her in his arms
and lifted her from the saddle, receiving a box on the cheek
for his pains, given and received with laughter.
Bonnybel then gathered her long skirt in her hand, and
ran up stairs to her chamber. It might have been supposed
that her object was to lay aside her habit, but her first proceeding
was singular. She went to the large mirror, turned
herself from side to side before it, surveying, from every
point of view, her graceful face, her curls, her cheeks, her
very dimples; then, with a proud and triumphant toss of
her little head, and a confidential nod, the maiden threw
aside her chip hat, and letting fall her beautiful brown hair,
uttered a low laugh.
Can any of our fair readers tell us what she meant?
