University of Virginia Library

16. CHAPTER XVI.
KATY.

MUCH which Bell had written of Katy was true.
She had been in New York nearly four months,
drinking deep draughts from the cup of folly and
fashion held so constantly to her lips; but she
cloyed of it at last, and what at first had been so eagerly
grasped, began, from daily repetition, to grow insipid
and dull. To be the belle of every place, to know that
her dress, her style, and even the fashion of her hair
was copied and admired, was gratifying to her, because
she knew it pleased her husband, who was never happier
or prouder than when, with Katy on his arm, he entered
some crowded parlor and heard the buzz of admiration
as it circled round, while Katy smiled and blushed
like a little child, wondering at the attentions lavished
upon her, and attributing them mostly to her husband,
whose position she understood, marveling more and
more that he should have chosen her to be his wife.
That he had so honored her made her love him with a
strange kind of grateful, clinging love, which as yet
would acknowledge no fault in him, no wrong, no error;
and if ever a shadow did cloud her heart she was the one
to blame, not Wilford; he was right—he the idol she
worshiped—he the one for whose sake she tried to drop
her country ways and conform to the rules his mother
and sister taught, submitting with the utmost good nature

to what Bell called the drill, but never losing that natural,
playful, airy manner which so charmed the city people
and made her the reigning belle. As Marian Hazelton
had predicted, others than her husband had spoken
words of praise in Katy's ear; but such was her nature
that the shafts of flattery glanced aside, leaving her unharmed,
so that her husband, though sometimes disquieted,
had no cause for jealousy, enjoying Katy's success
far more than she did herself, urging her out when she
would rather have staid at home, and evincing so much
annoyance if she ventured to remonstrate, that she gave
it up at last and floated on with the tide.

Mrs. Cameron had at first been greatly shocked at
Katy's want of propriety, looking on aghast when she
wound her arms around Wilford's neck, or sat upon his
knee; but to the elder Cameron the sight was a pleasant
one, bringing back sunny memories of a summer-time
years ago, when he was young, and a fair bride had for a
few brief weeks made this earth a paradise to him. But
fashion had entered his Eden—that summer time was
gone, and only the dun leaves of autumn lay where the
buds which promised so much had been. The girlish
bride was a stately matron now, doing nothing amiss, but
making all her acts conform to a prescribed rule of etiquette,
and frowning majestically upon the frolicsome,
impulsive Katy, who had crept so far into the heart of
the eccentric man that he always found the hours of her
absence long, listening intently for the sound of her
bounding footsteps, and feeling that her coming to his
household had infused into his veins a better, healthier
life than he had known for years. Katy was very dear
to him, and he felt a thrill of pain when first the toning
down process commenced. He had heard them talk
about it, and in his wrath he had hurled a cut-glass goblet
upon the marble hearth, breaking it in atoms, while
he called them a pair of precious fools, and Wilford a
bigger one because he suffered it. So long as his convalescence
lasted, he was some restraint upon his wife, but
when he was well enough to resume his duties in his Wall
Street office, there was nothing in the way, and Katy's
education progressed accordingly. For Wilford's sake
Katy would do anything, and she submitted to much

which would otherwise have been excessively annoying.
But she was growing tired now, and it told upon her
face, which was whiter than when she came to New
York, while her figure was, if possible, slighter and more
airy; but this only enhanced her loveliness, Wilford
thought, and so he paid no heed to her complaints of
weariness, but kept her in the circle which welcomed her
so warmly, and would have missed her so much.

Little by little it had come to Katy that she was not
quite as comfortable in her husband's family as she
would be in a house of her own. The constant watch
kept over her by Mrs. Cameron and Juno irritated and
fretted her, making her wonder what was the matter, and
why she should so often feel lonely and desolate when
surrounded by every luxury which wealth could purchase.
“It is his folks,” she always said to herself when
cogitating upon the subject. “Alone with Wilford I shall
feel as light and happy as I did in Silverton.”

And so Katy caught eagerly at the prospect of a release
from the restraint of No. —, seeming so anxious
that Wilford, almost before he was aware of it himself,
became the owner of one of the most desirable situations
on Madison Square. Of all the household after Katy,
Juno was perhaps the only one glad of the new house.
It would be a change for herself, for she meant to spend
much of her time on Madison Square, where everything
was to be on the most magnificent style. Fortunately
for Katy, she knew nothing of Juno's intentions
and built castles of her new home, where mother could
come with Helen and Dr. Grant. Somehow she never
saw Uncle Ephraim, nor his wife, nor Aunt Betsy there.
She knew how out of place they would appear, and how
they would annoy Wilford; but surely to her mother
and Helen there could be no objection, and when she
first went over the house she designated this room as
mother's, and another one as Helen's, thinking how each
should be fitted up with direct reference to their tastes,
Helen's containing a great many books, while her mother's
should have easy-chairs and lounges, with a host of
drawers for holding things. And Wilford heard it all,
making no reply, but considering how he could manage
best so as to have no scene, for he had not the slightest

intention of inviting either Mrs. Lennox or Helen to
visit him, much less to become a part of his household.
That he did not marry Katy's relatives was a fact as fixed
as the laws of the Medes and Persians, and Katy's anticipations
were answering no other purpose than to divert
her mind for the time being, keeping her bright and
cheerful.

Very pleasant indeed were the pictures Katy drew of
the new house where Helen was to come, but pleasanter
far were her pictures of that visit to Silverton, to occur
in April. Poor Katy! how much she thought about that
visit when she should see them all and go with Uncle
Ephraim down into the meadows, making believe she was
Katy Lennox still—when she could climb the ladder in
the barn after new-laid eggs, or steal across the fields to
Linwood, talking with Morris as she used to talk in the
days which seemed so long ago. Morris she feared was
not liking her as well as of old, thinking her very frivolous
and silly, for he had only written her one short note
in reply to the letter she had sent, telling him of the parties
she had attended, and the gay, happy life she led, for
to him she would not then confess that in her cup of joy
there was a single bitter dreg. All was bright and fair,
she said, and Morris had replied that he was glad, “But
do not forget that death can find you even amid your
splendor, or that after death the judgment comes, and
then what shall it profit you if you gain the whole world
and lose your own soul.”

These words had rung in Katy's ears for many a day,
following her to the dance and to the opera, where even
the music was drowned by the echo of the words, “lose
your own soul.” But the sting grew less and less, till
Katy no longer felt it, and now was only anxious to talk
with Morris and convince him that she was not as thoughtless
as he might suppose, that she still remembered his
teachings, and the little church in the valley, preferring
it to the handsome, aristocratic house where she went
with the Camerons once on every Sunday.

“One more week and then it is April,” she said to
Wilford one evening after they had retired to their room,
and she was talking of Silverton. “I guess we'd better
go about the tenth. Shall you stay as long as I do?”

Wilford bit his lip, and after a moment replied,

“I have been talking with mother, and we think April
is not a good time for you to be in the country; it is so
wet and cold, and I want you here to help order our furniture.”

“Oh, Wilford!” and Katy's voice trembled, for from
past experience she knew that for Wilford to object to
her plans was equivalent to a refusal, and her heart
throbbed with disappointment as she tried to listen while
Wilford urged many reasons why she should not go, convincing
her at last that of all times for visiting Silverton,
spring was the worst; that summer or autumn were better,
and that it was her duty to remain where she was
until such time as he saw fit for her to do otherwise.

This was the meaning of what he said, and though his
manner was guarded, and his words kind, they were very
conclusive, and with one gasping sob Katy gave up Silverton,
charging it more to Mrs. Cameron than to Wilford,
and writing next day to Helen that she could not
come just then, but that after she was settled they might
surely expect her.

With a bitter pang Helen read this letter to the three
women who had anticipated Katy's visit so much, and
each of whom cried quietly over her disappointment,
while Uncle Ephraim went back to his work that afternoon
with a heavy heart, for now his labor was not
lightened by thoughts of Katy's being there so soon.

“Please God she may come to us sometime,” he said,
pausing beneath the butternut in the meadow, and remembering
just how Katy looked on that first day of her
return from Canandaigua, when she sat on the flat stone
while he piled up his hay and talked with her of different
paths through life, one of which she must surely tread.

She had said, “I will choose the straight and pleasant,”
and some would think she had; but Uncle Ephraim was
not so sure, and leaning against a tree, he asked silently
that whether he ever saw his darling again or not, God
would care for her and keep her unspotted from the
world.