 | CHAPTER XXII.
HELEN IN SOCIETY. The Cameron pride, or, Purified by suffering |  |
22. CHAPTER XXII.
HELEN IN SOCIETY.
IT was three days before Christmas, and Katy was
talking confidentially to Mrs. Banker, whom she
had asked to see the next time she called.
“I want so much to surprise her,” she said,
speaking in a whisper, “and you have been so kind to us
both that I thought it might not trouble you very much
if I asked you to make the selection for me, and see to
the engraving. Wilford gave me fifty dollars, all I
needed, as I had fifty more of my own, and now that I
have a baby, I am sure I shall never again care to go
out.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Banker said, thoughtfully, as she rolled
up the bills, “you wish me to get as heavy bracelets as I
can find—for the hundred dollars.”
“Yes,” Katy replied, “I think that will please her,
don't you?”
Mrs. Banker did not reply at once, for she felt certain
that the hundred dollars could be spent in a manner
more satisfactory to Helen. Still she hardly liked to interfere,
until Katy, observing her hesitancy, asked again
if she did not think Helen would be pleased.
“Yes, pleased with anything you choose to give her,
but—excuse me, dear Mrs. Cameron, if I speak as openly
as if I were the mother of you both. Bracelets are suitable
for you who have everything else, but is there not
something your sister needs more? Now, allowing me to
suggest, I should say, buy her some furs, and let the
bracelets go. In Silverton her furs were well enough,
but here, as the sister of Mrs. Wilford Cameron, she is
deserving of better.”
Katy understood Mrs. Banker at once, her cheeks reddening
as there flashed upon her the reason why Wilford
had never yet been in the street with Helen, notwithstanding
that she had more than once requested it.
“You are right,” she said. “It was thoughtless in me
not to think of this myself. Helen shall have the furs,
me of it. You are as kind as my own mother,”
and Katy kissed her friend fondly as she bade her good-bye,
charging her a dozen times not to let Helen know
the surprise in store for her.
There was little need of this caution, for Mrs. Banker
understood human nature too well to divulge a matter
which might wound one as sensitive as Helen. Between
the latter and herself there was a strong bond of friendship,
and to the kind patronage of this lady Helen owed
most of the attentions she had as yet received from her
sister's friends, while Mark Ray did much toward lifting
her to the place she held in spite of the common country
dress, which Juno unsparingly criticised, and which, in
fact, kept Wilford from taking her out as his wife so often
asked him to do. And Helen, too, keenly felt the
difference between herself and those with whom she
came in contact, crying over it more than once, but never
dreaming of the surprise in store for her, when on
Christmas morning she went as usual to Katy's room,
finding her alone, her face all aglow with excitement, and
her bed a perfect show-case of dry goods, which she
bade Helen examine and say how she liked them.
Wilford was no niggard with his money, and when
Katy had asked for more it had been given unsparingly,
even though he knew the purpose to which it was to be
applied.
“Oh, Katy, Katy, why did you do it?” Helen cried,
her tears falling like rain through the fingers she clasped
over her eyes.
“You are not angry?” Katy said, in some dismay, as
Helen continued to sob without looking at the handsome
furs, the stylish hat, the pretty cloak, and rich patterns
of blue and black silk, which Mrs. Banker had selected.
“No, oh no!” Helen replied. “I know it was all
meant well; but there is something in me which rebels
against taking this from Wilford, and placing myself under
so great obligation to him.”
“It was a pleasure for him to do it,” Katy said, trying
to reassure her sister, until she grew calm enough to examine
and admire the Christmas gifts upon which no
expense had been spared. Much as we may ignore
yet about it an influence for good, when the heart of the
wearer is right, holding it subservient to all higher, holier
affections. At least Helen Lennox found it so, when
clad in her new garments, she drove with Mrs. Banker,
or returned Sybil Grandon's call, feeling that there was
about her nothing for which Katy need to blush, or even
Wilford, who was not afraid to be seen with her now,
and Helen, while knowing the reason of the change, did
not feel like quarreling with him for it, but accepted with
a good-natured grace all that made her life in New York
so happy. With Bell Cameron she was on the best of
terms; while Sybil Grandon, always going with the tide,
professed for her an admiration, which, whether fancied
or real, did much toward making her popular; and when,
as the mistress of her brother's house, she issued cards
of invitation for a large party, she took especial pains to
insist upon Helen's attending, even if Katy were not able.
But from this Helen shrank. She could not meet so
many strangers alone, she said, and so the matter was
dropped, until Mrs. Banker offered to chaperone her,
when Helen began to waver, changing her mind at last
and promising to go.
Never since the days of her first party had Katy been
so wild with excitement as she was in helping to dress
Helen, who scarcely knew herself when, before the mirror,
with the blaze of the chandelier falling upon her,
she saw the picture of a young girl arrayed in rich pink
silk, with an overskirt of lace, and the light pretty cloak,
just thrown upon her uncovered neck, where Katy's
pearls were shining.
“What would they say at home if they could only see
you?” Katy exclaimed, throwing back the handsome
cloak so as to show more of the well-shaped neck, gleaming
so white beneath it.
“Aunt Betsy would say I had forgotten half my dress,”
Helen replied, blushing as she glanced at the arms,
which never since her childhood had been thus exposed
to view, except at such times as her household duties
had required it.
Even this exception would not apply to the low neck,
at which Helen had long demurred, yielding finally to
would think, and if he would not be shocked. Mark
Ray had been strangely blended with all Helen's thoughts
as she submitted herself to Esther's practiced hands, and
when the hair-dresser, summoned to her aid, asked what
flowers she would wear, it was a thought of him which
led her to select a single water-lily, which looked as
natural as if its bed had really been the bosom of Fairy
Pond.
“Nothing else? Surely mademoiselle will have these
few green leaves?” Celine had said, but Helen would
have nothing save the lily, which was twined tastefully
amid the heavy braids of the brown hair, whose length and
luxuriance had thrown the hair-dresser into ecstasies of
delight, and made Esther lament that in these days of
false tresses no one would give Miss Lennox credit for
what was wholly her own.
“You will be the belle of the evening,” Katy said, as
she kissed her sister good night and then ran back to
her baby, while Wilford, yielding to her importunities
that he should not remain with her, followed Mrs. Banker's
carriage in his own private conveyance, and was soon
set down at Sybil Grandon's door.
Meanwhile, at the elder Cameron's there had been a
discussion touching the propriety of their taking Helen
under their protection, instead of leaving her for Mrs.
Banker to chaperone, Bell insisting that it ought to be
done, while the father swore roundly at Juno, who would
not “be bothered with that country girl.”
“You would rather leave her wholly to Mark Ray and
his mother, I suppose,” Bell said, adding, as she saw the
flush on Juno's face, “You know you are dying of jealousy,
and nothing annoys you so much as to hear people talk
of Mark's attentions to Miss Lennox.”
“Do they talk?” Mrs. Cameron asked quickly, while in
her grey eyes there gleamed a light far more dangerous
and threatening to Helen than Juno's open scorn.
Mrs. Cameron had long intended Mark Ray for her
daughter, and accustomed to have everything bend to her
wishes, she had come to consider the matter as certain,
even though he had never proposed in words. He had
done everything else, she thought, attending Juno constantly,
a standing joke for his friends to seek him there when he
was not at home or at his office. Latterly, however,
there had been a change, and the ambitious mother
could not deny that since Helen's arrival in New York
Mark had visited them less frequently and staid a
shorter time, while she had more than once heard of him
at her son's in company with Helen. Very rapidly a-train
of thought passed through her mind; but it did
not manifest itself upon her face, which was composed
and quiet as she decided with Juno that Helen should
not trouble them. With the utmost care Juno arrayed
herself for the party, thinking with a great deal of complacency
how impossible it was for Helen Lennox to
compete with her in point of dress.
“She is such a prude, I dare say she will go in that
blue silk, with the long sleeves and high neck, looking
like a Dutch doll,” she said to Bell, as she shook back
the folds of her rich crimson, and turned her head to see
the effect of her wide braids of hair.
“I am not certain that a high dress is worse than
bones,” Bell retorted, playfully touching Juno's neck,
which, though white and gracefully formed, was shockingly
guiltless of flesh.
There was an angry reply, and then, wrapping her
cloak about her, Juno went out to their carriage, and was
ere long one of the gay crowd thronging Sybil Grandon's
parlors. Helen had not yet arrived, and Juno was hoping
she would not come, when there was a stir at the
door and Mrs. Banker appeared, and with her Helen
Lennox, but so transformed that Juno hardly knew her,
looking twice ere sure that the beautiful young lady, so
wholly self-possessed, was the country girl she affected
to despise.
“Who is she?” was asked by many, who at once acknowledged
her claims to their attention, and as soon as
practicable sought her acquaintance, so that Helen suddenly
found herself the centre of a little court of which
she was the queen and Mark her sworn knight.
Presuming upon his mother's chaperonage, he claimed
the right of attending her, and Juno's glory waned as
to which New York paid homage.
Juno had been annoyed then, but now fierce jealousy
took possession of her heart as she watched the girl
whom all seemed to admire, even Wilford feeling a thrill
of pride that the possession of so attractive a sister-in-law
reflected credit upon himself.
He was not ashamed of her now, nor did he retain a
single thought of the farm-house or Uncle Ephraim as
he made his way to her side, standing protectingly at her
left, just as Mark was standing at her right, and at last
asking her to dance.
With a heightened color Helen declined, saying frankly
“I have never learned.”
“You miss a great deal,” Wilford rejoined, appealing
to Mark for a confirmation of his words.
But Mark did not heartily respond. He, too, had
solicited Helen as a partner when the dancing first commenced,
and her quiet refusal had disappointed him a
little, for Mark was fond of dancing, and though as a
general thing he disapproved of waltzes and polkas when
he was the looker-on, he felt that there would be something
vastly agreeable and exhilarating in clasping Helen
in his arm and whirling her about the room just as Juno
was being whirled by a young cadet, a friend of Lieutenant
Bob's. But when he reflected that not his arm alone
would encircle her waist, or his breath touch her neck, he
was glad she did not dance, and professing a weariness
he did not feel, he declined to join the dancers on the
floor, but kept with Helen, enjoying what she enjoyed,
and putting her so perfectly at her ease that no one would
ever have dreamed of the curdy cheeses she had made,
or the pounds of butter she had churned. But Mark
thought of it as he secretly admired the neck and arms,
seen once before, on that memorable day when he assisted
Helen in the labors of the dairy. If nothing else had
done so, the lily in her hair would have brought that
morning to his mind, and once as they walked up and
down the hall he spoke of the ornament she had chosen,
and how well it became her.
“Pond lilies are my pets,” he said, “and I have kept
one of those I gathered when at Silverton. Do you remember
look which made her blush as she answered yes; but she
did not tell him of a little box at home, made of cones
and acorns, where was hidden a withered water lily,
which she could not throw away, even after its beauty
and fragrance had departed.
Had she told him this, it might have put to flight the
doubts troubling Mark so much, and making him wonder
if Dr. Grant had really a claim upon the girl stealing
his heart so fast.
“I mean to sound her,” he thought, and as Lieutenant
Bob passed by, making some jocose remark about his
offending all the fair ones by the course he was taking,
Mark said to Helen, who suggested returning to the parlor,
“As you like, though it cannot matter; a person
known to be engaged is above Bob Reynolds's jokes.”
Quick as thought the blood stained Helen's face and
neck, for Mark had made a most egregious blunder, giving
her the impression that he was the engaged one
referred to, not herself, and for a moment she forgot the
gay scene around her in the sharpness of the pang with
which she recognized all that Mark Ray was to her.
“It was kind in him to warn me. I wish it had been
sooner,” she thought, and then with a bitter feeling of
shame she wondered how much he had guessed of her
real feelings, and who the betrothed one was. “Not
Juno Cameron,” she hoped, as after a few moments Mrs.
Cameron came up and, adroitly detaching Mark from her
side, took his place while he sauntered to a group of
ladies and was ere long dancing merrily with Juno.
“They are a well-matched pair,” Mrs. Cameron said,
assuming a very confidential manner towards Helen,
who assented to the remark, while the lady continued,
“There is but one thing wrong about Mark Ray. He
is a most unscrupulous flirt, pleased with every new face,
and this of course annoys Juno.”
“Are they engaged?” came involuntarily from Helen's
lips, while Mrs. Cameron's foot beat the carpet with a
very becoming hesitancy, as she replied, “That was settled
in our family a long time ago. Wilford and Mark
have always been like brothers.”
Mrs. Cameron could not quite bring herself to a deliberate
falsehood, which, if detected, would reflect upon
her character as a lady, but she could mislead Helen,
and she continued, “It is not like us to bruit our affairs
abroad, and were my daughters ten times engaged the
world would be none the wiser. I doubt if even Katy
suspects what I have admitted; but knowing how fascinating
Mark can be, and that just at present he seems
to be pleased with you, I have acted as I should wish a
friend to act toward my own child. I have warned you
in time. Were it not that you are one of our family, I
might not have interfered, and I trust you not to repeat
even to Katy what I have said.”
Helen nodded assent, while in her heart was a wild
tumult of feelings—flattered pride, disappointment, indignation,
and mortification all struggling for the mastery—mortification
to feel that she who had quietly ignored
such a passion as love when connected with herself,
had, nevertheless, been pleased with the attentions
of one who was only amusing himself with her, as a
child amuses itself with some new toy soon to be thrown
aside—indignation at him for vexing Juno at her expense
—disappointment that he should care for such as Juno,
and flattered pride that Mrs. Cameron should include
her in “our family.” Helen had as few weak points as
most young ladies, but she was not free from them all,
and the fact that Mrs. Cameron had taken her into a
confidence which even Katy did not share, was soothing
to her ruffled spirits, particularly as after that confidence,
Mrs. Cameron was excessively gracious to her, introducing
her to many whom she did not know before, and
paying her numberless little attentions, which made
Juno stare, while the clear-seeing Bell arched her eyebrows,
and wondered for what Helen was to be made a
cat's paw by her clever mother. Whatever it was it did
not appear, save as it showed itself in Helen's slightly
changed demeanor when Mark again sought her society,
and tried to bring back to her face the look he had left
there. But something had come between them, and the
young man racked his brain to find the cause of this sudden
indifference in one who had been pleased with him
only a short half hour before.
“It's that confounded waltzing which disgusted her,”
he said, “and no wonder, for if ever a man looks like an
idiot, it is when he is kicking up his heels to the sound
of a fiddle, and whirling some woman whose skirts sweep
everything within the circle of a rod, and whose face
wears that die-away expression I have so often noticed.
I've half a mind to swear I'll never dance again.”
But Mark was too fond of dancing to quit it at once,
and finding Helen still indifferent, he yielded to circumstances,
and the last she saw of him, as at a comparative
early hour she left the gay scene, he was dancing again
with Juno. It was a heavy blow to Helen, for she had
become greatly interested in Mark Ray, whose attentions
had made her stay in New York so pleasant. But
these were over now;—at least the excitement they
brought was over, and Helen, as she sat in her dressing
room at home, and thought of the future as well as the
past, felt stealing over her a sense of desolation and loneliness
such as she had experienced but once before, and
that on the night when leaning from her window at the
farm-house where Mark Ray was stopping she had shuddered
and shrank from living all her days among the
rugged hills of Silverton. New York had opened an entirely
new world to her, showing her much that was vain
and frivolous, with much too that was desirable and
good; and if there had crept into her heart the thought
that a life with such people as Mrs. Banker and those
who frequented her house would be preferable to a life
in Silverton, where only Morris understood her, it was
but the natural result of daily intercourse with one who
had studied to please and interest as Mark Ray had
done. But Helen had too much good sense and strength
of will, long to indulge in what she would have called
“love-sick regrets” in others, and she began to devise
the best course for her to adopt hereafter, concluding
finally to treat him much as she had done, lest he should
suspect how deeply she had been wounded. Now that
she knew of his engagement, it would be an easy matter
so to demean herself as neither to annoy Juno nor vex
him. Thoroughly now she understood why Juno Cameron
had seemed to dislike her so much.
“It is natural,” she said, “and yet I honestly believe
some good beneath that proud exterior, or Mark would
never seek her.”
Still, look at it from any point she chose, it seemed a
strange, unsuitable match, and Helen's heart ached sadly
as she finally retired to rest, thinking what might have
been had Juno Cameron found some other lover more
like herself than Mark could ever be.
| CHAPTER XXII.
HELEN IN SOCIETY. The Cameron pride, or, Purified by suffering | |