University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.
THE NEW HOUSE.

IT was a cruel thing for Wilford Cameron to try to
separate Katy from the hearts which loved her so
much; and, as if he felt reproached, there was an
increased tenderness in his manner toward her,
particularly as he saw how sad she was for a few days after
his decision. But Katy could not be sorry long, and in
the excitement of settling the new house her spirits rallied,
and her merry laugh trilled like a bird through the
rooms where the workmen were so busy, and where Mrs.
Cameron was the real superintendent, though there was
sometimes a show of consulting Katy, who nevertheless
was a mere cipher in the matter. In everything the mother
had her way, until it came to the room designed for
Helen, and which Mrs. Cameron was for converting into
a kind of smoking or lounging room for Wilford and his
associates. Katy must not expect him to be always as
devoted to her as he had been during the winter, she said.
He had a great many bachelor friends, and now that he
had a house of his own, it was natural that he should have
some place where they could spend an hour or so with him
without the restraint of ladies' society, and this was just
the room—large, airy, quiet, and so far from the parlors
that the odor of the smoke could not reach them.

Katy had submitted to much without knowing that she
was submitting; but something Bell had dropped that
morning had awakened a suspicion that possibly she was
being ignored, and the wicked part of Helen would have
enjoyed the look in her eye as she said, not to Mrs. Cameron,
but to Wilford, “I have from the very first decided
this chamber for Helen, and I cannot give it up for a
smoking room. You never had one at home. Why did
you not, if it is so necessary?”

Wilford could not tell her that his mother would as
soon have brought into her house one of Barnum's shows,
as to have had a room set apart for smoking, which she
specially disliked; neither could he at once reply at all,

so astonished was he at this sudden flash of spirit. Mrs.
Cameron was the first to rally, and in her usual quiet
tone she said, “I did not know that your sister was to
form a part of your household. When do you expect
her?” and her cold grey eyes rested steadily upon Katy,
who never before so fully realized the distance there was
between her husband's friends and her own. But as the
worm will turn when trampled on, so Katy, though hitherto
powerless to defend herself, roused in Helen's behalf,
and in a tone as quiet and decided as that of her
mother-in-law, replied, “She will come whenever I write
for her. It was arranged from the first. Wasn't it,
Wilford?” and she turned to her husband, who, unwilling
to decide between a wife he loved and a mother
whose judgment he considered infallible, affected not to
hear her, and stole from the room, followed by Mrs.
Cameron, so that Katy was left mistress of the field.

After that no one interfered in her arrangement of
Helen's room, which, with far less expense than Mrs.
Cameron would have done, she fitted up so cosily that
Wilford pronounced it the pleasantest room in the house,
while Bell went into ecstasies over it, and even Juno
might have unbent enough to praise it, were it not for
Mark Ray, who, from being tacitly claimed by Juno, was
frequently admitted to their counsels, and had asked the
privilege of contributing to Helen's room a handsome
volume of German poetry, such as he fancied she might
enjoy. So long as Mark's attentions were not bestowed
in any other quarter Juno was comparatively satisfied,
but the moment he swerved a hair's breadth from the
line she had marked out, her anger was aroused; and
now, remembering his commendations of Helen Lennox,
she hated her as cordially as one jealous girl can hate
another whom she has not seen, making Katy so uncomfortable,
without knowing what was the matter, that she
hailed the morning of her exit from No. — as the
brightest since her marriage.

It was a very happy day for Katy, and when she first
sat down to dinner in her own home, her face shone with
a joy which even the presence of her mother-in-law could
not materially lessen. She would rather have been alone
with Wilford, it is true, but as her choice was not consulted

she submitted cheerfully, proudly taking her
rightful place at the table, and doing the honors so well
that Mrs. Cameron, in speaking of it to her daughters,
acknowledged that Wilford had little to fear if Katy always
appeared as much at ease as she did that day. A
thought similar to this passed through the mind of Wilford,
who was very observant of such matters, and that
night, after his mother was gone, he warmly commended
Katy, but spoiled the pleasure his commendations would
have given by tolling her next, as if one thought suggested
the other, that Sybil Grandon had returned, that
he saw her on Broadway, accepting her invitation to
a seat in her carriage which brought him to his door.
She had made many inquiries concerning Katy, expressing
a great curiosity to see her, and saying that as she
drove past the house that morning, she was strongly
tempted to waive all ceremony and run in, knowing she
should be pardoned for the sake of Auld Lang Syne,
when she was privileged to take liberties with the Camerons.
All this Wilford repeated to Katy, but he did
not tell her how at the words Auld Lang Syne, Sybil had
turned her fine eyes upon him with an expression which
made him color, for he knew she was referring to the
time when her name and his were always coupled together.

Katy had dreaded the return of Sybil Grandon, of
whom she had heard so much, and now that she had
come, she felt for a moment a terror of meeting her
which she tried to shake off, succeeding at last, for perfect
faith in Wilford was to her a strong shield of defence,
and her only trouble was a fear lest she should fall in the
scale of comparison which might be instituted between
herself and Mrs. Grandon, who after a few days ceased
to be a bugbear, Wilford never mentioning her again,
and Katy only hearing of her through Juno and Bell, the
first of whom went into raptures over her, while the latter
styled her a silly, coquettish widow, who would appear
much better to have worn her weeds a little longer,
and not throw herself quite so soon into the market.
That she should of course meet her some time, Katy knew,
but she would not distress herself till the time arrived,
and so she dismissed her fears, or rather lost them in

the excitement of her new dignity as mistress of a
house.

In her girlhood Katy had evinced a taste for housekeeping,
which now developed so rapidly that she
won the respect of all the servants, from the man
who answered the bell to the accomplished cook, hired
by Mrs. Cameron, and who, like most accomplished
cooks, was sharp and cross and opinionated, but who did
not find it easy to scold the blithe little woman who
every morning came flitting into her dominions, not asking
what they would have for dinner, as she had been led
to suppose she would, but ordering it with a matter of
course air, which amused the usually overbearing Mrs.
Phillips. But when the little lady, rolling her sleeves
above her dimpled elbows and donning the clean white
apron which Phillips was reserving for afternoon, announced
her intention of surprising Wilford, with a pudding
such as Aunt Betsy used to make, there were signs
of rebellion, Phillips telling her bluntly that she couldn't
be bothered—that it was not a lady's place in the kitchen
under foot—that the other Mrs. Cameron never did it,
and would not like it in Mrs. Wilford.

For a moment Katy paused and looked straight at
Mrs. Phillips; then said, quietly, “I have only six eggs
here—the recipe is ten. Bring me four more, please.”

There was something in the blue eyes which compelled
obedience, and the dessert progressed without another
word of remonstrance. But when the door bell rang,
and word came down that there were ladies in the parlor
—Juno, with some one else—Philips would not tell her
of the flour on her hair; and as Katy, after casting aside
her apron and putting down her sleeves, only glanced
hastily at herself in the hall mirror as she passed it, she
appeared in the parlor with this mark upon her curls,
and greatly to her astonishment was presented to “Mrs.
Sybil Grandon,” Juno explaining, that as Sylbil was anxious
to see her, and they were passing the house, she
had presumed upon her privilege as a sister and brought
her in.

For a moment the room turned dark, it was so sudden,
so unexpected, and she so unprepared; but Sybil's familiar
manner quieted her, and she was able at last to look

fully at her visitor, finding her not as handsome as she
expected, nor as young, but in all other respects she had
not perhaps been exaggerated. Cultivated and self-possessed,
she was very pleasing in her manner, making
Katy feel wholly at ease by a few well-timed compliments,
which had the merit of seeming genuine, so perfect
was she in the art of deception.

To Katy she was very gracious, admiring her house,
admiring herself, admiring everything, until Katy wondered
how she could ever have dreaded to meet her,
laughing and chatting as familiarly as if the fashionable
woman were not criticising every movement, and every
act, and every feature of her face, wondering most at the
flour upon her hair!

Juno wondered, too, but knowing Katy's domestic
propensities, suspected the truth, and feigning some
errand with Phillips, she excused herself for a moment
and descended to the kitchen, where she was not long in
hearing about Katy's “queer ways, coming where she was
not needed, and making country puddings after some
heathenish aunt's rule.”

“Was it Aunt Betsy?” Juno asked, her face betokening
its disgust when told that she was right, and her
manner on her return to the parlor was very frigid towards
Katy, who had discovered the flour on her hair, and was
laughing merrily over it, telling Sybil how it happened—
how cross Phillips was—and lastly, how “our folks”
often made the pudding, and that was why she wished
to surprise Wilford with it.

There was a sarcastic smile upon Sybil's lip as she
wished Mrs. Cameron success and then departed, leaving
Katy to finish the dessert, which, when ready for the
table, was certainly very inviting, and would have tempted
the appetite of any man who had not been listening to
gossip not wholly conducive to his peace of mind.

On his way home Wilford had stopped at his father's,
where Juno was relating the particulars of her call upon
his wife, and as she did not think it necessary to stop for
him, he heard of Katy's misdoings, and her general appearance
in the presence of Sybil Grandon, whom she
entertained with a description of “our folks' ” favorite
dishes, together with Aunt Betsy's recipes. This was

the straw too many, and since his marriage Wilford had
not been as angry as he was while listening to Juno, who
reported Sybil's verdict on his wife, “A domestic little
body and very pretty.”

Wilford did not care to have his wife domestic; he did
not marry her for that, and in a mood anything but
favorable to the light, delicate dessert Katy had prepared
with so much care, he went to his luxurious home, where
Katy ran as usual to meet him, her face brimming with
the surprise she had in store for him, and herself so
much excited that she did not at first observe the cloud
upon his brow, as he moodily answered her rapid
questions. When the important moment arrived, and
the dessert was brought on, he promptly declined it,
even after her explanation that she made it herself, urging
him to try it for the sake of pleasing her, if nothing
more. But Wilford was not hungry then, and even had
he been, he would have chosen anything before a pudding
made from a recipe of Betsy Barlow, so the dessert
was untasted even by Katy herself, who, knowing now
that something had gone wrong, sat fighting back her
tears until the servant left the room, when she timidly
asked, “What is it, Wilford? What makes you seem
so—” She would not say cross, and so substituted
“queer,” while Wilford plunged at once into the matter
by saying, “Juno tells me she called here this afternoon
with Mrs. Grandon.”

“Yes, I forgot to mention it,” Katy answered, feeling
puzzled to know why that should annoy her husband;
but his next remarks disclosed the whole, and Katy's
tears flowed fast as Wilford asked what she supposed
Mrs. Grandson thought, to see his wife looking as if fresh
from the flour barrel, and to hear her talk about Aunt
Betsy's recipes and “our folks.” “That is a bad habit of
yours, Katy,” he continued, “one of which I wish you to
break yourself, if possible. I have never spoken to you
directly on the subject before, but it annoys me exceedingly,
inasmuch as it is an indication of low breeding.”

There was no answer from Katy, whose heart was too
full to speak, and so Wilford went on, “Our servants
were selected by mother with a direct reference to your
youth and inexperience, and it is not necessary for you

to frequent the kitchen, or, indeed, to go there oftener
than once a week. Let them come to you for orders,
not you go to them. Neither need you speak quite so
familiarly to them, treating them almost as if they were
your equals. Try to remember your true position—that
whatever you may have been you are now Mrs. Wilford
Cameron, equal to any lady in New York.”

They were in the library now, and the soft May breeze
came stealing through the open window, stirring the
fleecy curtains and blowing across the tasteful bouquet
which Katy had arranged; but Katy was too wretched
to care for her surroundings. It was the first time Wilford
had ever spoken to her in just this way, and his
manner hurt her more than his words, making her feel
as if she were an ignorant, ill-bred creature, whom he
had raised to a position she did not know how to fill.
It was cruel thus to repay her attempts to please, and
so, perhaps, Wilford thought, as with folded arms he sat
looking at her weeping so bitterly upon the sofa; but he
was too indignant to make any concession then, and he
suffered her to weep in silence until he remembered that
his mother had requested him to bring her round that
evening, as they were expecting a few of Juno's friends,
and among them Sybil Grandon. If Katy went he
wished her to look her best, and he unbent so far as to
try to check her tears. But Katy could not stop, and
she wept so passionately that Wilford's anger subsided,
leaving only tenderness and pity for the wife he soothed
and caressed, until the sobbing ceased, and Katy lay passively
in his arms, her face so white, and the dark rings
about her eyes showing so distinctly that Wilford did not
press her when she declined his mother's invitation. He
could go, she said, urging so many reasons why he should
that, for the first time since their marriage, he left her
alone, and went where Sybil Grandon smiled her sunniest
smile, and put forth her most persuasive powers to
keep him at her side, expressing so much regret that he
did not bring “his charming little wife, who completely
won her heart, she was so child-like and simple-hearted,
laughing so merrily when she discovered the flour on her
hair, but not seeming to mind it in the least. Really,
she did not see how it happened that he was fortunate

enough to win such a domestic treasure. Where did he
find her?”

If Sybil Grandon meant this to be complimentary, it
was not received as such. Wilford, almost grating his
teeth with vexation as he listened to it, and feeling doubly
mortified with Katy, whom he found waiting for him,
when at a late hour he left the society of Sybil Grandon
and repaired to his home.

To Katy the time of his absence had seemed an age,
for her thoughts had been busy with the past, gathering
up every incident connected with her married life since
she came to New York, and deducing from them the conclusion
that “Wilford's folks” were ashamed of her, and
that Wilford himself might perhaps become so if he were
not already. That would be worse than death itself, and
the darkest hours she had ever known were those she
spent alone that night, sobbing so violently as to bring
on a racking headache, which showed itself upon her
face and touched Wilford at once.

Sybil Grandon was forgotten in those moments of contrition,
when he ministered so tenderly to his suffering
wife, whom he felt that he had wronged. But he could
not tell her so then. It was not natural for him to confess
his errors. There had always been a struggle between
his duty and his pride when he had done so, and now
the latter conquered, especially as Katy, grown more
calm, began to take the censure to herself, lamenting her
short-comings, and promising to do better, even to the
imitating of Sybil Grandon, if that would make him forget
the past and love her as before.

Wilford could accord forgiveness far more graciously
than he could ask it, and so peace was restored, and
Katy's face next day looked bright and happy when seen
in her new carriage, which took her down Broadway to
Stewart's, where she encountered Sybil Grandon, and
with her Juno Cameron.

From the latter Katy instinctively shrank, but she
could not resist the former, who greeted her so familiarly
that Katy readily forgave her the pain of which she had
been the cause, and spoke of her to Wilford without a
pang when he came home to dinner. Still she could not
overcome her dread of meeting her, and she grew more

and more averse to mingling in society, where she might
do many things to mortify her husband or his family,
and thus provoke a scene she hoped never again to pass
through.

“Oh, if Helen were only here!” she thought, as she
began to experience a sensation of loneliness she had
never felt before.

But Helen was not there, nor coming there at present.
One word from Wilford had settled that, convincing
Katy that it was better to wait until the autumn, inasmuch
as they were going so soon to Saratoga and Newport,
places which Katy dreaded, after she knew that
Mrs. Cameron and Juno were to be of the party, and
probably Sybil Grandon. Katy did not dislike the latter,
but she was never easy in her presence, while
she could not deny to herself that since Sybil's return
Wilford had not been quite the same as before. In company
he was more attentive than ever, but at home he
was sometimes moody and silent, while Katy strove in
vain to ascertain the cause.

They were not as happy in the new home as she had
expected to be, but the fault did not lie with Katy. She
performed her part and more, taking upon her young
shoulders the whole of the burden which her husband
should have helped her to bear. The easy, indolent life
Wilford had led so long as a petted son of a partial
mother unfitted him for care, and he was as much a
boarder in his own home as he had ever been in the hotels
in Paris, thoughtlessly requiring of Katy more than
he should have required, so that Bell was not far from
right when in her journal she described her sister-in-law
as “a little servant whose feet were never supposed to be
tired, and whose wishes were never consulted.” It is
true Bell had put it rather strongly, but the spirit of
what she said was right, Wilford seldom considering
Katy, or allowing her wishes to interfere with his own
plans; while accustomed to every possible attention from
his mother, he exacted the same from his wife, whose life
was not one of unmixed happiness, notwithstanding that
every letter home bore assurances to the contrary.