Part 9 (1/2)
She was ”all the rage” that winter at the provincial capital. The men called her a ”deuced fine little woman.” The ladies said she was ”just the sweetest wildflower.” Whereas she was really but an ordinary, pale, dark girl who spoke slowly and with a strong accent, who danced fairly well, sang acceptably, and never stirred outside the door without her husband.
Charlie was proud of her; he was proud that she had ”taken” so well among his friend, proud that she bore herself so complacently in the drawing-rooms of the wives of pompous Government officials, but doubly proud of her almost abject devotion to him. If ever human being was wors.h.i.+pped that being was Charlie McDonald; it could scarcely have been otherwise, for the almost G.o.dlike strength of his pa.s.sion for that little wife of his would have mastered and melted a far more invincible citadel than an already affectionate woman's heart.
Favorites socially, McDonald and his wife went everywhere. In fas.h.i.+onable circles she was ”new”--a potent charm to acquire popularity, and the little velvet-clad figure was always the centre of interest among all the women in the room. She always dressed in velvet. No woman in Canada, has she but the faintest dash of native blood in her veins, but loves velvets and silks. As beef to the Englishman, wine to the Frenchman, fads to the Yankee, so are velvet and silk to the Indian girl, be she wild as prairie gra.s.s, be she on the borders of civilization, or, having stepped within its boundary, mounted the steps of culture even under its superficial heights.
”Such a dolling little appil blossom,” said the wife of a local M.P., who brushed up her etiquette and English once a year at Ottawa. ”Does she always laugh so sweetly, and gobble you up with those great big gray eyes of her, when you are togetheah at home, Mr. McDonald? If so, I should think youah pooah brothah would feel himself terrible _de trop_.”
He laughed lightly. ”Yes, Mrs. Stuart, there are not two of Christie; she is the same at home and abroad, and as for Joe, he doesn't mind us a bit; he's no end fond of her.”
”I'm very glad he is. I always fancied he did not care for her, d'you know.”
If ever a blunt woman existed it was Mrs. Stuart. She really meant nothing, but her remark bothered Charlie. He was fond of his brother, and jealous for Christie's popularity. So that night when he and Joe were having a pipe, he said:
”I've never asked you yet what you thought of her, Joe.” A brief pause, then Joe spoke. ”I'm glad she loves you.”
”Why?”
”Because that girl has but two possibilities regarding humanity--love or hate.”
”Humph! Does she love or hate _you_?”
”Ask her.”
”You talk bosh. If she hated you, you'd get out. If she loved you I'd _make_ you get out.”
Joe McDonald whistled a little, then laughed.
”Now that we are on the subject, I might as well ask--honestly, old man, wouldn't you and Christie prefer keeping house alone to having me always around?”
”Nonsense, sheer nonsense. Why, thunder, man, Christie's no end fond of you, and as for me--you surely don't want a.s.surances from me?”
”No, but I often think a young couple--”
”Young couple be blowed! After a while when they want you and your old surveying chains, and spindle-legged tripod telescope kickshaws, farther west, I venture to say the little woman will cry her eyes out--won't you, Christie?” This last in a higher tone, as through clouds of tobacco smoke he caught sight of his wife pa.s.sing the doorway.
She entered. ”Oh, no, I would not cry; I never do cry, but I would be heart-sore to lose you Joe, and apart from that”--a little wickedly--”you may come in handy for an exchange some day, as Charlie does always say when he h.o.a.rds up duplicate relics.”
”Are Charlie and I duplicates?”
”Well--not exactly”--her head a little to one side, and eyeing them both merrily, while she slipped softly on to the arm of her husband's chair--”but, in the event of Charlie's failing me”--everyone laughed then. The ”some day” that she spoke of was nearer than they thought. It came about in this wise.
There was a dance at the Lieutenant-Governor's, and the world and his wife were there. The n.o.bs were in great feather that night, particularly the women, who flaunted about in new gowns and much splendor. Christie McDonald had a new gown also, but wore it with the utmost unconcern, and if she heard any of the flattering remarks made about her she at least appeared to disregard them.
”I never dreamed you could wear blue so splendidly,” said Captain Logan, as they sat out a dance together.
”Indeed she can, though,” interposed Mrs. Stuart, halting in one of her gracious sweeps down the room with her husband's private secretary.
”Don't shout so, captain. I can hear every sentence you uttah--of course Mrs. McDonald can wear blue--she has a morning gown of cadet blue that she is a picture in.”
”You are both very kind,” said Christie. ”I like blue; it is the color of all the Hudson's Bay posts, and the factor's residence is always decorated in blue.”