University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.
THE PARTY.

Well, let us proceed to tell how the eventful
evening drew on, — how Mary, by Miss Prissy's
care, stood at last in a long-waisted gown flowered
with rose-buds and violets, opening in front
to display a white satin skirt trimmed with lace
and flowers, — how her little feet were put into
high-heeled shoes, and a little jaunty cap with a
wreath of moss-rose-buds was fastened over her
shining hair, — and how Miss Prissy, delighted,
turned her round and round, and then declared
that she must go and get the Doctor to look at
her. She knew he must be a man of taste, he
talked so beautifully about the Millennium; and
so, bursting into his study, she actually chattered
him back into the visible world, and, leading the
blushing Mary to the door, asked him, point-blank,
if he ever saw anything prettier.

The Doctor, being now wide awake, gravely
gave his mind to the subject, and, after some consideration,
said, gravely, “No, — he didn't think he

ever did.” For the Doctor was not a man of compliment,
and had a habit of always thinking, before
he spoke, whether what he was going to say
was exactly true; and having lived some time in
the family of President Edwards, renowned for
beautiful daughters, he naturally thought them
over.

The Doctor looked innocent and helpless, while
Miss Prissy, having got him now quite into her
power, went on volubly to expatiate on the difficulties
overcome in adapting the ancient wedding-dress
to its present modern fit. He told her that
it was very nice, — said, “Yes, Ma'am,” at proper
places, — and, being a very obliging man, looked
at whatever he was directed to, with round, blank
eyes; but ended all with a long gaze on the laughing,
blushing face, that, half in shame and half in
perplexed mirth, appeared and disappeared as Miss
Prissy in her warmth turned her round and showed
her.

“Now don't she look beautiful?” Miss Prissy
reiterated for the twentieth time, as Mary left the
room.

The Doctor, looking after her musingly, said to
himself, — “`The king's daughter is all glorious
within; her clothing is of wrought gold; she shall
be brought unto the king in raiment of needle-work.'”

“Now, did I ever?” said Miss Prissy, rushing

out. “How that good man does turn everything!
I believe you couldn't get anything, that he wouldn't
find a text right out of the Bible about it. I mean
to get the linen for that shirt this very week, with
the Miss Wilcox's money; they always pay well,
those Wilcoxes, — and I've worked for them, off
and on, sixteen days and a quarter. To be sure,
Miss Scudder, there's no real need of my doing it,
for I must say you keep him looking like a pink, —
but ony I feel as if I must do something for such
a good man.”

The good doctor was brushed up for the evening
with zealous care and energy; and if he did
not look like a pink, it was certainly no fault of
his hostess.

Well, we cannot reproduce in detail the faded
glories of that entertainment, nor relate how the
Wilcox Manor and gardens were illuminated, —
how the bride wore a veil of real point-lace, — how
carriages rolled and grated on the gravel walks,
and negro servants, in white kid gloves, handed
out ladies in velvet and satin.

To Mary's inexperienced eye it seemed like an
enchanted dream, — a realization of all she had
dreamed of grand and high society. She had her
little triumph of an evening; for everybody asked
who that beautiful girl was, and more than one
gallant of the old Newport first families felt himself
adorned and distinguished to walk with her

on his arm. Busy, officious dowagers repeated to
Mrs. Scudder the applauding whispers that followed
her wherever she went.

“Really, Mrs. Scudder,” said gallant old General
Wilcox, “where have you kept such a beauty
all this time? It's a sin and a shame to hide
such a light under a bushel.”

And Mrs. Scudder, though, of course, like you
and me, sensible reader, properly apprised of the
perishable nature of such fleeting honors, was, like
us, too, but a mortal, and smiled condescendingly
on the follies of the scene.

The house was divided by a wide hall opening
by doors, the front one upon the street, the back
into a large garden, the broad central walk of
which, edged on each side with high clipped hedges
of box, now resplendent with colored lamps, seemed
to continue the prospect in a brilliant vista.

The old-fashioned garden was lighted in every
part, and the company dispersed themselves about
it in picturesque groups.

We have the image in our mind of Mary as she
stood with her little hat and wreath of rose-buds,
her fluttering ribbons and rich brocade, as it were
a picture framed in the door-way, with her back
to the illuminated garden, and her calm, innocent
face regarding with a pleased wonder the unaccustomed
gayeties within.

Her dress, which, under Miss Prissy's forming

hand, had been made to assume that appearance
of style and fashion which more particularly characterized
the mode of those times, formed a singular,
but not unpleasing contrast to the sort of dewy
freshness of air and mien which was characteristic
of her style of beauty. It seemed so to represent
a being who was in the world, yet not of it, —
who, though living habitually in a higher region
of thought and feeling, was artlessly curious, and
innocently pleased with a fresh experience in an
altogether untried sphere. The feeling of being in
a circle to which she did not belong, where her
presence was in a manner an accident, and where
she felt none of the responsibilities which come
from being a component part of a society, gave to
her a quiet, disengaged air, which produced all the
effect of the perfect ease of high breeding.

While she stands there, there comes out of the
door of the bridal reception-room a gentleman with
a stylishly-dressed lady on either arm, with whom
he seems wholly absorbed. He is of middle height,
peculiarly graceful in form and moulding, with that
indescribable air of high breeding which marks the
polished man of the world. His beautifully-formed
head, delicate profile, fascinating sweetness of smile,
and, above all, an eye which seemed to have an
almost mesmeric power of attraction, were traits
which distinguished one of the most celebrated
men of the time, and one whose peculiar history

yet lives not only in our national records, but in
the private annals of many an American family.

“Good Heavens!” he said, suddenly pausing in
conversation, as his eye accidentally fell upon Mary.
“Who is that lovely creature?”

“Oh, that,” said Mrs. Wilcox, — “why, that is
Mary Scudder. Her father was a family connection
of the General's. The family are in rather
modest circumstances, but highly respectable.”

After a few moments more of ordinary chit-chat,
in which from time to time he darted upon
her glances of rapid and piercing observation, the
gentleman might have been observed to disembarrass
himself of one of the ladies on his arm, by
passing her with a compliment and a bow to another
gallant, and, after a few moments more, he
spoke something to Mrs. Wilcox, in a low voice,
and with that gentle air of deferential sweetness
which always made everybody well satisfied to do
his will. The consequence was, that in a few
moments Mary was startled from her calm speculations
by the voice of Mrs. Wilcox, saying at
her elbow, in a formal tone, —

“Miss Scudder, I have the honor to present to
your acquaintance Colonel Burr, of the United
States Senate.”