10. CHAPTER X.
THE VISIT.
Evelyn Bland came down on this morning in a charming negligé,
which made her undeniable beauty more attractive than usual.
From head to foot the young lady was dazzling with youth, health
and loveliness. The morning-dress which she wore clearly defined
the fine outline of her slender figure; the small feet which peeped
out from the skirt of her dress were clad in morocco slippers, with
high heels and large red rosettes; and her head was a cluster of
brown curls, beneath which appeared a pair of red cheeks, rosy lips,
and the deep blue eyes, tinted with purple, which looked into your
own with an expression of candor and innocence which made you
love her, and look upon her as you look upon a bud from the flower-border,
fresh with the dews of morning.
She ran into her grandma's room—a large apartment on the
ground-floor of Blandfield—and found that aged lady long since
up, in her great elbow chair, with the roomy seat and high back,
busily knitting. Judge Bland was riding out on the estate; the
chamber was already set to rights, and grandma was looking from
beneath her silver spectacles on a small host of young and old
Africans, cutting out and basting “full cloth” for the servants'
clothes.
“Good morning, dear!” said the tall, straight, gray-haired old
lady, in her black dress, smiling sweetly as she spoke; her voice
was as sweet as her smile, and had a silvery intonation. “Good
morning! And how has my little girl slept?”
“As well as could be expected, after our terrible accident,
grandma.”
Evelyn put her arms around the aged lady's neck and kissed her
as she spoke.
“Yes, yes, my child, very terrible! And you were saved by young
Harley?”
“Yes, grandma.”
“A very fine-looking young man when I remember him; it was
ten years ago, I think. Was it ten years? How time does fly!”
“Yes indeed, grandma.”
“And young Harley has been to Europe?”
“For a long time, I believe.”
“It used to be more the fashion than at present. William Byrd,
of Westover, was away for many years—ah! he was very elegant.
They have his portrait at Westover, and Evelyn Byrd's too, your
cousin and your namesake, my dear—a very good likeness and very
pretty.”
“It is exquisite, grandma. I have seen it. You know Colonel
Byrd very well, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes! It seems strange; but I was young once, and we were
all boys and girls together.”
Grandma took up a stitch.
“Ah! my dear,” she continued, “we had a delightful society in
Virginia when I was a girl—a little too much given, perhaps, to
merry-making, and rather thoughtless, but a friendly, kindly set
of people.”
“What could be better? And I'm sure you are enough to make
anybody fall in love with that generation, you dear old grandma!
Do you know I think we are growing stupid, and the young men
awkward? Positively not one can dance the minuet now decently.”
“It is a pity; no dance is more stately; and I knew some admirably
graceful performers in old times. Edmund Randolph was
famous for his grace, and so was Henry Harley, of Huntsdon, the
father of your friend.”
“He must have been an elegant person, grandma.”
“Very elegant, indeed—tall, distinguished, and remarkably cordial
in his manners. Mrs. Harley—she was his second wife—was Ellen
Hartright, a younger sister of Mr. George Hartright—a beautiful
young girl. The young men Justin and St. George Harley are her
children. St. George, I remember, was a lovely baby, and Justin
was always noted for his goodness.”
“You remember all the kind things about people, dear grandma,
and that is because you yourself are so kind. And so the returned
traveller, Mr. Justin Harley, was a very good boy, was he?”
“A good child and a good boy.”
“What is his age, grandma?
“Let me see. His mother died in—no, in—well, my poor memory
is failing. But the young man must be thirty, I suppose. It is
time he should be married if he is going to be.”
“Married! Always something about marriage!” said a voice behind
the young lady; and Miss Clementina Bland came into the
room, gently waving a large fan, her inseparable companion in all
seasons, hot or cold. Miss Clementina was a lady of “uncertain
age;” but that fact did not prevent her from paying assiduous attention
to personal decoration. Her hair was elaborately curled—
also elaborately powdered—also pierced with two silver arrows, and
decorated with a string of pearls. In addition, her neck, which
was a handsome one, was half displayed, and she wore light slippers
and numerous ribbons. She came in elaborately,—the word
best describes her motions—as though entering a saloon filled with
company.
“Of whom were you speaking, my child?” said Miss Clementina,
with an elderly air.
“Of Mr. Harley,” said Evelyn.
“A most horrid young man I hear,” said the lady.
“He saved my life!” exclaimed Evelyn.
“Ah! Well, I suppose he did make himself useful. What has he
come back from Europe for? Has he brought his wife with him?”
“His wife!” exclaimed Evelyn, laughing. “You do not mean
that he is married?”
“I really don't know. Wasn't he married? I must have heard
the report somewhere. All men are alike, and all women—geese!
But there is breakfast.”
And forgetting her indignation against the institution of marriage,
and those who gave it countenance, in her fondness for tea, Miss
Clementina waved her fan with graceful deliberation before her face,
sailed from the room, and proceeded in the direction of breakfast.
The morning passed on. Evelyn spent it in idleness, strolling
indolently from room to room—from the drawing-room to the
porch—and looking down the avenue.
What was she thinking of? And was she expecting anybody?
It is difficult to follow the train of thought in the mind of a maiden
of nineteen. It is shown perhaps; it seldom expresses itself. Miss
Evelyn Bland was plainly expecting somebody, and at about one
o'clock this somebody came—Justin Harley.
Thereupon Miss Evelyn disappeared; she had seen him as he
entered the great gate, and going quietly to her chamber, began a
rapid toilet. In the midst thereof, the step of the visitor was heard
upon the portico; a servant came at his summons, and Evelyn,
listening, heard Harley ask for Judge Bland.
She left the window and threw herself upon a lounge, with an expression
of decided ill-humor and an elaborate pout. It was unpardonable!
Who could have believed it! A gentleman to violate
in this manner every rule of good society!—not to ask for the
ladies. Mr. Justin Harley might amuse himself as he could; certainly
she would not inflict her stupid society upon him!
Meanwhile Harley had been shown into the drawing-room; and
Judge Bland, who had been busy with some law papers in his study,
came down immediately.
Miss Evelyn Bland was piqued, and in a defiant state of mind, but
curiosity conquered. She opened her door very slightly, leaned
against the frame-work, and listened. There was no difficulty in
hearing the voices. The cordial old Judge greeted Harley with
great warmth, uttered a few feeling words in reference to the accident,
and Harley's instrumentality in saving the life of one very
dear to him, and then the conversation passed to politics, neighborhood
news, the prospect of the trouble with the Indians, and other
topics, which Miss Evelyn Bland evidently regarded as intensely
wearisome, for she closed her door, and taking up a book, proceeded
to pout at it, and read it upside down.
At the end of two hours, Harley rose, and declining the hospitable
urging of Judge Bland to stay longer, went toward the door. All
at once he stopped and bowed. Into the apartment sailed Miss
Clementina, who smiled sweetly upon the visitor, and began a flow
of talk which paralyzed him. Harley would have felt disposed to
indulge in satirical laughter if any one had said that he could not
leave an apartment at any moment that it was agreeable to him to
do so. And yet on this occasion he attempted four distinct times
to rise and take his departure, and each time Miss Clementina
literally talked him down into his seat again. Dreadful was the
flow of it—a ceaseless flood.
Diverted from one subject, Miss Clementina instantly flowed onward
in the new direction. When any one attempted to intrude an
observation, she drowned the speaker's voice by raising her own,
and plunging into a new subject; and Harley began to feel a species
of paralysis, when the dinner-bell rang.
Evelyn was compelled to appear; her absence was becoming discourtesy.
She came into the drawing-room, approached Harley
with the most cordial unconstraint, held out her hand, and said with
a smile:
“I am very glad to see you, Mr. Harley.”
Harley bowed.
“I ought to thank you,” said Evelyn, “for saving my life; but I
suppose you knight-errant people take pride in rescuing girls. I am
very much obliged to you indeed, and I am afraid I nearly suffocated
you in the water, when I clung to you. I was very much
frightened, and feared I was drowning.”
Judge Bland came up, smiling.
“Come, my dear, dinner is waiting,” he said.
Three hours afterward, Harley was still at Blandfield, absorbed in
the vivid and charming conversation of Judge Bland, who, seated
upon one of the rustic seats on the lawn, spoke of the father of
Harley, and the great men of his day. Harley listened with deep
attention. There was something delightful to him in the talk of
this elegant and distinguished gentleman. They were talking still,
toward twilight, when the harpsichord was touched, and Judge
Bland said—
“There is Evelyn.”
Harley rose, went to the harpsichord, and with an air of polite
indifference asked the young lady to sing. Evelyn did not seem
to observe the tone, smiled in her sweetest manner, and sang a
Scottish ditty, with such tenderness in her clear young voice, that
Harley lost his indifference, feeling something like a breath of
youth revisit him.
An hour afterward he was on his way back to Huntsdon. He
went along musing, allowing his horse to walk slowly.
“A gentleman of the highest distinction,” he said, “and a happy
household. It is lucky when marriage comes to that. A beauty,
this Miss Evelyn, as the world goes, and seems sincere. I wonder!
But what matter? Before I'll think again of any woman—”
He left the sentence unfinished, and rode on.
