Part 17 (1/2)
”His name was Franz,” rejoined Flora; ”but Mamita called him Florimond, because he had such pink cheeks; and he liked Mamita so much, that he always writes his name Franz Florimond. We always had so many flowery names mixed up with our _olla-podrida_ talk. _Your_ name is flowery too. I used to say Mamita would have called you Lady Viola; but violet colors and lilac colors are cousins, and they both suit your complexion and your name, Mamita Lila.”
After dinner, she began to play and sing with more gayety than she had manifested for many a day. While her friend played, she practised several new dances with great spirit; and after she had kissed good-night, she went twirling through the door, as if music were handing her out.
Mrs. Delano sat awhile in revery. She was thinking what a splendid marriage her adopted daughter might make, if it were not for that stain upon her birth. She was checked by the thought: ”How I have fallen into the world's ways, which seemed to me so mean and heartless when I was young! Was _I_ happy in the splendid marriage they made for _me_? From what Flora lets out occasionally, I judge her father felt painfully the anomalous position of his handsome daughters. Alas! if I had not been so weak as to give him up, all this miserable entanglement might have been prevented. So one wrong produces another wrong; and thus frightfully may we affect the destiny of others, while blindly following the lead of selfishness. But the past, with all its weaknesses and sins, has gone beyond recall; and I must try to write a better record on the present.”
As she pa.s.sed to her sleeping-room, she softly entered the adjoining chamber, and, shading the lamp with her hand, she stood for a moment looking at Flora. Though it was but a few minutes since she was darting round like a humming-bird, she was now sleeping as sweetly as a babe. She made an extremely pretty picture in her slumber, with the long dark eyelashes resting on her youthful cheek, and a shower of dark curls falling over her arm. ”No wonder Alfred loved her so dearly,” thought she. ”If his spirit can see us, he must bless me for saving his innocent child.” Filled with this solemn and tender thought, she knelt by the bedside, and prayed for blessing and guidance in the task she had undertaken.
The unexpected finding of a link connected with old times had a salutary effect on Flora's spirits. In the morning, she said that she had had pleasant dreams about Rosabella and Tulee, and that she didn't mean to be homesick any more. ”It's very ungrateful,” added she, ”when my dear, good Mamita Lila does so much to make me happy.”
”To help you keep your good resolution, I propose that we go to the Athenaeum,” said Mrs. Delano, smiling. Flora had never been in a gallery of paintings, and she was as much pleased as a little child with a new picture-book. Her enthusiasm attracted attention, and visitors smiled to see her clap her hands, and to hear her little shouts of pleasure or of fun. Ladies said to each other, ”It's plain that this lively little _adoptee_ of Mrs. Delano's has never been much in good society.” And gentlemen answered, ”It is equally obvious that she has never kept vulgar company.”
Mrs. Delano's nice ideas of conventional propriety were a little disturbed, and she was slightly annoyed by the attention they attracted. But she said to herself, ”If I am always checking the child, I shall spoil the naturalness which makes her so charming.” So she quietly went on explaining the pictures, and giving an account of the artists.
The next day it rained; and Mrs. Delano read aloud ”The Lady of the Lake,” stopping now and then to explain its connection with Scottish history, or to tell what scenes Rossini had introduced in _La Donna del Lago_, which she had heard performed in Paris. The scenes of the opera were eagerly imbibed, but the historical lessons rolled off her memory, like water from a duck's back. It continued to rain and drizzle for three days; and Flora, who was very atmospheric, began to yield to the dismal influence of the weather. Her watchful friend noticed the shadow of homesickness coming over the sunlight of her eyes, and proposed that they should go to a concert. Flora objected, saying that music would make her think so much of Rosabella, she was afraid she should cry in public. But when the programme was produced, she saw nothing a.s.sociated with her sister, and said, ”I will go if you wish it, Mamita Lila, because I like to do everything you wish.”
She felt very indifferent about going; but when Mr. Wood came forward, singing, ”The sea, the sea, the open sea!” in tones so strong and full that they seemed the voice of the sea itself, she was half beside herself with delight. She kept time with her head and hands, with a degree of animation that made the people round her smile. She, quite unconscious of observation, swayed to the music, and ever and anon nodded her approbation to a fair-faced young gentleman, who seemed to be enjoying the concert very highly, though not to such a degree as to be oblivious of the audience.
Mrs. Delano was partly amused and partly annoyed. She took Flora's hand, and by a gentle pressure, now and then, sought to remind her that they were in public; but she understood it as an indication of musical sympathy, and went on all the same.
When they entered the carriage to return home, she drew a long breath, and exclaimed, O Mamita, how I have enjoyed the concert!”
”I am very glad of it,” replied her friend. ”I suppose that was Mr.
Blumenthal to whom you nodded several times, and who followed you to the carriage. But, my dear, it isn't the custom for young ladies to keep nodding to young gentlemen in public places.”
”Isn't it? I didn't think anything about it,” rejoined Flora. ”But Florimond isn't a gentleman. He's an old acquaintance. Don't you find it very tiresome, Mamita, to be always remembering what is the custom?
I'm sure _I_ shall never learn.”
When she went singing up stairs that night, Mrs. Delano smiled to herself as she said, ”What _am_ I to do with this mercurial young creature? What an overturn she makes in all my serious pursuits and quiet ways! But there is something singularly refres.h.i.+ng about the artless little darling.”
Warm weather was coming, and Mrs. Delano began to make arrangements for pa.s.sing the summer at Newport; but her plans were suddenly changed. One morning Flora wished to purchase some colored crayons to finish a drawing she had begun. As she was going out, her friend said to her, ”The sun s.h.i.+nes so brightly, you had better wear your veil.”
”O, I've been m.u.f.fled up so much, I do detest veils,” replied Flora, half laughingly and half impatiently. ”I like to have a whole world full of air to breathe in. But if you wish it, Mamita Lila, I will wear it.”
It seemed scarcely ten minutes after, when the door-bell was rung with energy, and Flora came in nervously agitated.
”O Mamita!” exclaimed she, ”I am so glad you advised me to wear a veil. I met Mr. Fitzgerald in this very street. I don't think he saw me, for my veil was close, and as soon as I saw him coming I held my head down. He can't take me here in Boston, and carry me off, can he?”
”He shall not carry you off, darling; but you must not go in the street, except in the carriage with me. We will sit up stairs, a little away from the windows; and if I read aloud, you won't forget yourself and sing at your embroidery or drawing, as you are apt to do.
It's not likely he will remain in the city many days, and I will try to ascertain his movements.”
Before they had settled to their occupations, a ring at the door made Flora start, and quickened the pulses of her less excitable friend. It proved to be only a box of flowers from the country. But Mrs. Delano, uneasy in the presence of an undefined danger, the nature and extent of which she did not understand, opened her writing-desk and wrote the following note:--
”MR. WILLARD PERCIVAL.
”Dear Sir,--If you can spare an hour this evening to talk with me on a subject of importance, you will greatly oblige yours,
”Very respectfully,
”LILA DELANO”
A servant was sent with the note, and directed to admit no gentleman during the day or evening, without first bringing up his name.