Part 17 (2/2)

Did he strike her? What! strike a woman! Shame! Oh, no; but he caught her in his arms, before she could be aware of the movement, and such a kiss! such, a good, hearty kiss as he gave her. Ah, well! who would not?

She was a nice, sweet girl, not quite so pretty as Athalia, but one that a colder heart than his might relish in just such a case. She pouted a little, and talked about great liberty in a stranger; but who took the first liberty? True; but ”that was a mistake.”

”Then count the other a mistake too.”

”No, that was done on purpose.”

”So it was, and I should like to do it again, but I will not, so rudely.

Pray forgive me.”

What had she to forgive? what to be angry about. How could she hold out against that, ”I should like to do it again?”

After all she was not half so angry as Athalia. And what was she angry about? That he had kissed Jeannette instead of her? Take care, little heart, jealousy is creeping in among thy pulsations. Take care, big heart, for just now Charley enters the scene, and before he has observed that a stranger is in the room, he has kissed Athalia.

Mischief has broke loose to-night. What is in the men? What is in Walter Morgan, that a kiss given to that girl, for the first time seen that night, should send a pang to his heart? How it goes throbbing through every nerve, and p.r.i.c.ks into the very core of sensation. Take care, big heart and little heart, nature is at her sports and she always makes pleasures sweet by contrast with pain.

Finally, all are reconciled. How they do laugh over the queer mistakes.

Jeannette would have sooner struck a bear than him, yet he did not bite her. Charley would have sooner kissed that same bear, and risked the hug, than have kissed Athalia before a stranger, for he is a good boy, a little mischievous, but would never do a thing to hurt the feelings of another, particularly a woman.

How they did sit, and talk, and laugh, and enjoy happiness, such as Walter had never found in rose-wood furnished parlors. What would his proud sisters say, if they knew how ”low he had sunk himself, to keep company with sewing girls?” But he would not tell them. Take care, young man, you are breaking in upon the conventionalities of life. You must stick to your _caste_, in America as well as India. You may lay your heart at the feet of anything that is old and ugly, even as your sisters, so that she is _ton_ and of the _ton_--the upper _ton_. But offer to love one who lives, barely lives, by her needle, and see how your own flesh and blood will hate you.

So pa.s.sed the evening away. Then Walter would go. But he wanted to hear Athalia sing once more. No. She had no piano. His hand was in his pocket again. How he would like to send her one to-morrow, but he dared not say so. He did look around the room, to see where he could set it. There was no room. She could not sing any more to-night. Ask Jeannette. She sings a beautiful little song while we are at work. No, she could not. She was afraid to sing before strangers. But Charley asked her, in his blandest manner, and then she would sing one verse if he would go right home. How anxious she was to get rid of him. So she sung:

”Why bitter life with useless tears, With mourning unavailing?

Why bitter hope with ceaseless fears, Of shoals where we are sailing?

With lively song and music peals, Make life just like the ocean, When flapping sails a zephyr steals, To toss us with its motion, Motion, motion, motion.

To toss us with its motion.”

”There now, I hope you are satisfied. If not you may go, for I shall not sing another word to-night. I don't know how I came to do that.”

No, they were not satisfied. Who ever knew a man that was? Who ever got one favor of a woman, that did not ask for two more? So they both asked both the girls to go to the theatre to-morrow night, and both promised.

More false steps. How many will it take to reach the end?

Walter went home, never more happy. You have seen how he was taken to task. He had defied the laws of caste.

It did not require stronger Argus eyes than his two sisters possessed to see how deeply he was enamored with Athalia. How they did wish they knew whether she had dared to look up to him, as he had down to her. How should they find out. It does not take mischief-makers long to contrive their plot. If one woman wants to ruin another one, there is one always ready to a.s.sist her in her wicked design. No doubt he was the father of millinery, for he caused the first ap.r.o.n to be made, and he has a.s.sisted largely in all the designs of female apparel from that day to this.

Sometimes his fas.h.i.+on is very fig-leafish, barely hiding a portion of the body, while the limbs, head, neck, shoulders, and other ”excitements,” are left exposed to Adam's rude gaze. Then he contrives his fas.h.i.+on of so much cloth, that those who follow it may lose their souls in its attainment, and those who make them may feel, as they

”Work, work, work, Till the stars s.h.i.+ne through the roof,”

That they are weaving a web with sin for the woof, ”Till the brain begins to swim, Till the eyes grow heavy and dim, Sewing at once, with a double thread, A dress for the living and dead.”

Mischief is always busy. It must be so with an envious wicked woman.

The Morgans changed their tactics, and adopted those more wicked than I could invent.

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