 | CHAPTER XIII.
KATY'S FIRST EVENING IN NEW YORK. The Cameron pride, or, Purified by suffering |  |
13. CHAPTER XIII.
KATY'S FIRST EVENING IN NEW YORK.
THE elder Cameron was really better, and more
than once he had regretted recalling his son, who
he knew had contemplated a longer stay abroad.
But that could not now be helped. Wilford had
arrived in Boston, as his telegram of yesterday announced
—he would be at home to-day; and No.— Fifth Avenue
was all the morning and a portion of the afternoon the
scene of unusual excitement, for both Mrs. Cameron and
her daughters wished to give the six months wife a good
impression of her new home. At first they thought of
inviting company to dinner, but to this the father objected.
“Katy should not be troubled the first day,”
he said; “it was bad enough for her to meet them all;
they could ask Mark if they chose, but no one else.”
And so only Mark Ray was invited to the dinner, gotten
up as elaborately as if a princess had been expected
about four P. M., Wilford awoke her at the depot and
whispered, “Come, darling, we are home at last.”
“Why do you shiver so?” he asked, wrapping her
cloak around her, and almost lifting her from the car.
“I don't—know. I guess—I'm cold,” and Katy drew
a long breath as she thought of Silverton and the farm-house,
wishing that she was going into its low-walled
kitchen, instead of the handsome carriage, where the
cushions were so soft and yielding, and the whole effect
so grand.
“What would our folks say?” she kept repeating to
herself as she drove along the streets, where they were
beginning to light the street lamps, for the December
day was dark and cloudy. It seemed so like a dream,
that she, who once had picked huckleberries on the Silverton
hills, and bound coarse heavy shoes to buy herself
a pink gingham dress, should now be riding in her
carriage toward the home which she knew was magnificent;
and Katy's tears fell like rain as, nestling close to
Wilford, who asked what was the matter, she whispered,
“I can hardly believe that it is I—it is so unreal.”
“Please don't cry,” Wilford rejoined, brushing her
tears away. “You know I don't like your eyes to be
red.”
With a great effort Katy kept her tears back, and was
very calm when they reached the brown-stone front, far
enough up town to save it from the slightest approach
to plebeianism. In the hall the chandelier was burning,
and as the carriage stopped a flame of light seemed suddenly
to burst from every window as the gas heads were
turned up, so that Katy caught glimpses of rich silken curtains
and costly lace as she went up the steps, clinging
to Wilford and looking ruefully around for Esther, who
had disappeared through the basement door. Another
moment and they stood within the marbled hall, Katy
conscious of nothing definite—nothing but a vague atmosphere
of refined elegance, and that a richly-dressed
lady came out to meet them, kissing Wilford quietly and
calling him her son; that the same lady turned to her
saying kindly, “And this is my new daughter?”
Then Katy came to life, and did that, at the very
had taught her the temerity of the act—she
wound her arms impulsively around Mrs. Cameron's neck,
rumpling her point lace collar, and sadly displacing the
coiffure of the astonished lady, who had seldom received
so genuine a greeting as that which Katy gave her, kissing
her lips and whispering softly, “I love you now, because
you are Wilford's mother, but by and by because
you are mine. And you will love me some because I am
his wife.”
Wilford was horrified, particularly when he saw how
startled his mother looked as she tried to release herself
and adjust her tumbled head-gear. It was not what he
had hoped, nor what his mother had expected, for she
was unaccustomed to such demonstrations; but under
the circumstances Katy could not have done better.
There was a tender spot in Mrs. Cameron's heart, and
Katy touched it, making her feel a throb of affection for
the childish creature suing for her love.
“Yes, darling, I love you now,” she said, removing
Katy's clinging arms and taking care that they should
not enfold her a second time. “You are tired and
cold,” she continued; “and had better go at once to your
rooms. I will send Esther up. There is plenty of time
to dress for dinner,” and with a wave of her hand she
dismissed Katy up the stairs, noticing as she went the
exquisite softness of her fur cloak; but thinking it too
heavy a garment for her slight figure, and noticing, too,
the graceful ankle and foot which the little high-heeled
gaiter showed to good advantage. “I did not see her
face distinctly, but she has a well-turned instep and
walks easily,” was the report she carried to her daughters,
who, in their own room over Katy's, were dressing
for dinner.
“She will undoubtedly make a good dancer, then, unless,
like Dr. Grant, she is too blue for that,” Juno said,
while Bell shrugged her shoulders, congratulating herself
that she had a mind above such frivolous matters as
dancing and well-turned insteps, and wondering if Katy
cared in the least for books.
“Couldn't you see her face at all, mother?” Juno
asked.
“Scarcely; but the glimpse I did get was satisfactory.
I think she is pretty.”
And this was all the sisters could ascertain until their
toilets were finished, and they went down into the library
where their brother waited for them, kissing them
both affectionately, and complimenting them on their
good looks.
“I wish we could say the same of you,” Juno answered,
playfully pulling his moustache; “but upon my word,
Will, you are fast setting down into an oldish married
man, even turning grey,” and she ran her fingers through
his dark hair, where there was now and then a thread of
silver. “Disappointed in your domestic relations, eh?”
she continued, looking him archly in the face.
Wilford was rather proud of his good looks, and during
his sojourn abroad, Katy had not helped him any in
overcoming this weakness, but on the contrary had fed
his vanity by constant flattery. And still he was himself
conscious of not looking quite as well as usual just now,
for the sea voyage had tired him as well as Katy, but he
did not care to be told of it, and Juno's ill-timed remarks
roused him at once, particularly as they reflected somewhat
on Katy.
“I assure you I am not disappointed,” he answered,
“and the six months of my married life have been the
happiest I ever knew. Katy is more than I expected
her to be.”
Juno elevated her eyebrows slightly, but made no direct
reply, while Bell began to ask about Paris and the
places he had visited.
Meanwhile Katy had been ushered into her room,
which was directly over the library, and separated from
Mrs. Cameron's only by a range of closets and presses, a
portion of which were to be appropriated to her own use.
Great pains had been taken to make her rooms attractive,
and as the large bay window in the library below extended
to the third story, it was really the pleasantest
chamber in the house. To Katy it was perfect, and her
first exclamation was one of delight.
“Oh, how pleasant, how beautiful!” she cried, skipping
across the soft carpet to the warm fire blazing in the
I shall be happy here.”
But happy as she was, Katy could not help feeling
tired, and she sank into one of the luxurious easy-chairs,
wishing she could stay there all the evening instead of
going down to that formidable dinner with her new relations.
How she dreaded it, especially when she remembered
that Mrs. Cameron had said there would be plenty
of time to dress—a thing which Katy hated, the process
was so tiresome, particularly to-night. Surely her handsome
traveling dress, made in Paris, was good enough,
and she was about settling in her own mind to venture
upon wearing it, when Esther demolished her castle at
once.
“Wear your traveling habit!” she exclaimed, “when
the young ladies, especially Miss Juno, are so particular
about their dinner costume. There would be no end to
the scolding I should get for suffering it,” and she began
good-naturedly to remove her mistress's collar and pin,
while Katy, standing up, sighed as she said, “I wish
I was in Silverton to-night. I could wear anything
there. What must I put on? How I dread it!” and
she began to shiver again.
Fortunately for Katy, Esther had been in the family
long enough to know just what they regarded proper,
as by this means the dress selected was sure to please.
It was very becoming to Katy, and having been made in
Paris was not open to criticism.
“Very pretty indeed,” was Mrs. Cameron's verdict,
when at half-past five she came in to see her daughter,
kissing her cheek and stroking her head, wholly unadorned
except by the short, silken curls which could not
be coaxed to grow faster than they chose, and which had
sometimes annoyed Wilford, they made his wife seem so
young beside him. Mrs. Cameron was annoyed too, for
she had no idea of a head except as it was connected
with a hair-dresser, and her annoyance showed itself as
she asked,
“Did you have your hair cut on purpose?”
But when Katy explained, she answered pleasantly,
“Never mind, it is a fault which will mend every day,
only it makes you look like a child.”
“I am eighteen and a half,” Katy said, feeling a lump
rising in her throat, for she guessed that her mother-in-law
was not quite pleased with her hair.
For herself, she liked it, it was so easy to brush and
fix. She should go wild if she had to submit to all
Esther had told her of hair-dressing and what it involved.
Mrs. Cameron had asked if she would not like to see
Mr. Cameron, the elder, before going down to dinner,
and Katy had answered that she would; so as soon as
Esther had smoothed a refractory fold and brought her
handkerchief, she followed to the room where Wilford's
father was sitting. He might not have felt complimented
could he have known that something in his appearance
reminded Katy of Uncle Ephraim. He was
not nearly as old or as tall, nor was his hair as white,
but the resemblance, if there were any, lay in the smile
with which he greeted Katy, calling her his youngest
child, and drawing her closely to him.
It was remarked of Mr. Cameron that since their babyhood
he had never kissed one of his own children; but
when Katy, who looked upon such a salutation as a matter
of course, put up her rosy lips, making the first advance,
he kissed her twice. Hearty, honest kisses they
were, for the man was strongly drawn towards the
young girl, who said to him timidly,
“I am glad to have a father—mine died before I could
remember him. May I call you so?”
“Yes, yes; God bless you, my child,” and Mr. Cameron's
voice shook as he said it, for neither Bell nor Juno
were wont to address him just as Katy did—Katy, standing
close to him, with her hand upon his shoulder and
her kiss fresh upon his lips.
She had already crept a long way into his heart, and
he took her hand from his shoulder and holding it between
his own, said to her.
“I did not think you were so small or young. You
are my little daughter, my baby, instead of my son's
wife. How do you ever expect to fulfill the duties of
Mrs. Wilford Cameron?”
“It's my short hair, sir. I am not so young,” Katy
answered, her eyes filling with tears as she began to
was at its height.
“Never mind, child,” Mr. Cameron rejoined playfully.
“Youth is no reproach; there's many a one would give
their right hand to be young like you. Juno for instance,
who is—”
“Hus-band!” came reprovingly from Mrs. Cameron,
spoken as only she could syeak it, with a prolonged buzzing
sound on the first syllable, and warning the husband
that he was venturing too far.
“It is time to go down if Mrs. Cameron sees the
young ladies before dinner,” she said, a little stiffly;
whereupon her better half startled Katy with the exclamation,
“Mrs. Cameron! Thunder and lightning! wife, call
her Katy, and don't go into any nonsense of that
kind.”
The lady reddened, but said nothing until she reached
the hall, when she whispered to Katy, apologetically,
“Don't mind it. He is rather irritable since his illness,
and sometimes makes use of coarse language.”
Katy had been a little frightened at the outburst, but
she liked Mr. Cameron notwithstanding, and her heart
was lighter as she went down to the library, where Wilford
met her at the door, and taking her on his arm led
her in to his sisters, holding her back as he presented
her, lest she should assault them as she had his mother.
But Katy felt no desire to hug the tall, queenly girl
whom Wilford introduced as Juno, and whose black eyes
seemed to read her through as she offered her hand and
very daintily kissed her forehead, murmuring something
about a welcome to New York. Bell came next,
broad-faced, plainer-looking Bell, who yet had many
pretentions to beauty, but whose manner, if possible, was
frostier, cooler than her sister's. Of the two Katy liked
Juno best, for there was about her a flash and sparkle
very fascinating to one who had never seen anything of
the kind, and did not know that much of this vivacity
was the result of patient study and practice. Katy
would have known they were high bred, as the world
defines high breeding, and something in ther manner
reminded her of the ladies she had seen abroad, ladies
help feeling uncomfortable in their presence, especially
as she felt that Juno's black eyes were on her constantly.
Not that she could ever meet them looking at her,
for they darted away the instant hers were raised, but
she knew just when they returned to her again, and how
closely they were scanning her.
“Your wife looks tired, Will. Let her sit down,” Bell
said, herself wheeling the easy-chair nearer to the fire,
while Wilford placed Katy in it; then, thinking she
would get on better if he were not there, he left the
room, and Katy was alone with her new sisters.
Juno had examined her dress and found no fault with
it, simply because it was Parisian make; while Bell had
examined her head, deciding that there might be something
in it, though she doubted it, but that at all events
short hair was very becoming to it, showing all its fine
proportions, and half deciding to have her own locks
cut away. Juno had a similar thought, wondering if it
were the Paris fashion, and if she would look as young in
proportion as Katy did were her hair worn on her neck.
With their brother's departure the tongues of both the
girls were loosened, and standing near to Katy they began
to question her of what she had seen, Juno asking if
she did not hate to leave Italy, and did not wish herself
back again. Wholly truthful, Katy answered, “Oh, yes,
I would rather be there than home.”
“Complimentary to us, very,” Bell murmured audibly
in French, blushing as Katy's eyes were lifted quickly to
hers, and she knew she was understood.
If there was anything which Katy liked more than
another in the way of study, it was French. She had
excelled in it at Canandaigua, and while abroad had
taken great pains to acquire a pure pronunciation, so
that she spoke it with a good deal of fluency, and readily
comprehended Bell.
“I did not mean to be rude,” she said, earnestly. “I
liked Italy so much, and we expected to stay longer; but
that does not hinder my liking to be here. I hope I did
not offend you.”
“Certainly not; you are an honest little puss,” Bell
replied, placing her hand caressingly upon the curly head
York we have a bad way of not telling the whole truth,
but you will soon be used to it.”
“Used to not telling the truth! Oh, I hope not!”
and this time the blue eyes lifted so wonderingly to Bell's
face had in them a startled look.
“Simpleton!” was Juno's mental comment, while Bell's
was, “I like the child,” as she continued to smooth the
golden curls and wind them round her finger, wondering
if Katy had a taste for metaphysics, that being the
last branch of science which she had taken up.
“I suppose you find Will a pattern husband,” Juno
said after a moment's pause, and Katy replied, “There
never could be a better, I am sure, and I have been very
happy.”
“Has he never said one cross word to you in all these
six months?” was Juno's next question, to which Katy
answered truthfully, “Never.”
“And lets you do as you please?”
“Yes, just as I please,” Katy replied, while Juno continued,
“He must have changed greatly then from what
he used to be; but marriage has probably improved him.
He tells you all his secrets, too, I presume?”
Anxious that Wilford should appear well in every light,
Katy replied at random, “Yes, if he has any.”
“Well, then,” and in Juno's black eyes there was a
wicked look, “perhaps you will tell me who was or is the
original of that picture he guards so carefully.”
“What picture?” and Katy looked up inquiringly,
while Juno, with a little sarcastic laugh, continued: “Oh,
he has not told you then. I thought he would not, he
was so angry when he saw me with it three or four years
ago. I found it in his room where he had accidentally
left it, and was looking at it when he came in. It was
the picture of a young girl who must have been very
beautiful, and I did not blame Will for loving her if he
ever did, but he need not have been so indignant at me
for wishing to know who it was. I never saw him so
angry or so much disturbed. I hope you will ferret the
secret out and tell me, for I have a great deal of curiosity,
fancying that picture had something to do with
his remaining so long a bachelor. I do not mean that
Katy grew. “It is not to be expected that a man can live
to be thirty without loving more than one. There was
Sybil Grey, a famous belle, whom I thought at one time
he would marry; but when Judge Grandon offered she
accepted, and Will was left in the lurch. I do not really
believe he cared though, for Sybil was too much of a flirt
to suit his jealous lordship, and I will do him the justice
to say that however many fancies he may have had, he
likes you the best of all;” and this Juno felt constrained
to say because of the look in Katy's face, which warned
her that in her thoughtlessness she had gone too far and
pierced the young wife's heart with a pang as cruel as it
was unnecessary.
Bell had tried to stop her, but she had rattled on until
now it was too late, and she could not recall her words,
however much she might wish to do so. “Don't tell
Will,” she was about to say, when Will himself appeared,
to take Katy out to dinner. Very beautiful and sad
were the blue eyes which looked up at him so wistfully,
and nothing but the remembrance of Juno's words, “He
likes you best of all” kept Katy from crying outright,
when he took her hand, and asked if she was tired.
“Let us try what dinner will do for you,” he said, and
in silence Katy went with him to the dining-room, where
the glare and the ceremony bewildered her, bringing a
homesick feeling as she thought of Silverton, and the
plain tea-table, graced with the mulberry set instead of
the costly china before her.
Never had Katy felt so embarrassed as she did when
seated for the first time at dinner in her husband's home,
with all those criticising eyes upon her. She had been
very hungry, but her appetite was gone and she almost
loathed the rich food offered her, feeling so glad when
the dinner was ended, and Wilford took her to the parlor,
where she found Mark Ray waiting for her. He had
been obliged to decline Mrs. Cameron's invitation to dinner,
but had come as early as possible after it, and Katy
was delighted to see him, for she remembered how he
had helped her during that week of gaiety in Boston,
when society was so new to her. As he had been then,
so he was now, and his friendly manner put Katy as
presence of Wilford's mother and sisters.
“I suppose you have not seen your sister Helen? You
know I called there,” Mark said to Katy; but before she
could reply, a pair of black eyes shot a keen glance at
luckless Mark, and Juno's sharp voice said quickly, “I did
not know you had the honor of Miss Lennox's acquaintance.”
Mark was in a dilemma. He had kept his call at Silverton
to himself, as he did not care to be questioned about
Katy's family; and now, when it accidentally came out,
he tried to make some evasive reply, pretending that he
had spoken of it, and Juno had forgotten. But Juno
knew better, and from that night dated a strong feeling
of dislike for Helen Lennox, whom she affected to despise,
even though she could be jealous of her. Wisely
changing the conversation, Mark asked Katy to play, and
as she seldom refused, she went at once to the piano,
astonishing both Mrs. Cameron and her daughters with
the brilliancy of her performance. Even Juno complimented
her, saying she must have taken lessons very
young.
“When I was ten,” Katy answered. “Cousin Morris
gave me my first exercise himself. He plays sometimes.”
“Yes, I knew that,” Juno replied. “Does your sister
play as well as you?”
Katy knew that Helen did not, and she answered
frankly, “Morris thinks she does not. She is not as
fond of it as I am.” Then feeling that she must in some
way make amends for Helen, she added, “But she knows
a great deal more than I do about books. Helen is very
smart.”
There was a smile on every lip at this ingenuous remark,
but only Mark and Bell liked Katy the better for
it. Wilford did not care to have her talking of her
friends, and he kept her at the piano, until she said her
fingers were tired and begged leave to stop.
It was late ere Mark bade them good night; so late
that Katy began to wonder if he would never go, yawning
once so perceptibly that Wilford gave her a reproving
glance, which sent the hot blood to her face and
drove from her every feeling of drowsiness. Even after
sat chatting with Wilford until the city clock struck
twelve and Katy was nodding in her chair.
“Poor child, she is very tired,” Wilford said, apologetically,
gently waking Katy, who begged them to excuse
her, and followed her husband to her room, where
she was free to ask him what she must ask before she
could ever be quite as happy as she had been before.
Going up to the chair where Wilford was sitting before
the fire, and standing partly behind him, she said timidly,
“Will you answer me one thing truly?”
Alone with Katy, Wilford felt all his old tenderness returning,
and drawing her into his lap he asked her what
it was she wished to know.
“Did you love anybody three or four years ago, or ever
—that is, love them well enough to wish to make them
your wife?”
Katy could feel how Wilford started, as he said, “What
put that idea into your head? Who has been talking to
you?”
“Juno,” Katy answered. “She told me she believed
that it was some other love which kept you a bachelor so
long. Was it, Wilford?” and Katy's lips quivered in a
grieved kind of way as she put the question.
“Juno be—”
Wilford did not say what, for he seldom swore, and
never in a lady's presence. So he said instead,
“It was very unkind in Juno to distress you with matters
about which she knew nothing.”
“But did you?” Katy asked again. “Was there not a
Sybil Grey, or some one of that name?”
At the mention of Sybil Grey, Wilford looked relieved,
and answered her at once.
“Yes, there was a Sybil Grey, Mrs. Judge Grandon
now, and a dashing widow. Don't sigh so wearily,” he
continued, as Katy drew a gasping breath. “Knowing
she was a widow I chose you, thus showing which I preferred.
Few men live to be thirty without more or less
fancies, which under some circumstances might ripen into
something stronger, and I am not an exception. I
never loved Sybil Grey, nor wished to make her my wife.
I admired her very much. I admire her yet, and among
care to have you make so good an impression as upon
her, nor one whose manner you could better imitate.”
“Oh, will she call? Shall I see her?” Katy asked, beginning
to feel alarmed at the very thought of Sybil Grey,
with all her polish and manner.
“She is spending the winter in New Orleans with her
late husband's relatives. She will not return till spring,”
Wilford replied. “But do not look so distresssd, for I
tell you solemnly that I never loved another as I love you.
Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” and Katy's head drooped upon his shoulder.
She was satisfied with regard to Sybil Grandon, only
hoping she would not have to meet her when she came
home. But the picture. Whose was that? Not Sybil's
certainly, else Juno would have known. The picture
troubled her, but she dared not speak of it, Wilford had
seemed so angry at Juno. Still she would probe him a
little further, and so she continued,
“I do believe you, and if I ever see this Sybil I will try
to imitate her; but tell me, if after her, there was among
your friends one better than the rest, one almost as dear
as I am, one whom you sometimes remember even now—
is she living, or is she dead?”
Wilford thought of that humble grave far off in St.
Mary's churchyard, and he answered quickly,
“If there ever was such an one, she certainly is not living.
Are you satisfied?”
Katy answered that she was, but perfect confidence in
her husband's affection had been terribly shaken, and
Katy's heart was too full to sleep even after she had retired.
Visions of Sybil Grey, blended with visions of
another whom she called the “dead fancy,” flitted before
her mind, as she lay awake, while hour after hour went
by, until tired nature could endure no longer, and just
as the great city was waking up and the rattle of wheels
was beginning to be heard upon the pavements, she fell
away to sleep.
| CHAPTER XIII.
KATY'S FIRST EVENING IN NEW YORK. The Cameron pride, or, Purified by suffering | |