Part 5 (1/2)
”I'm not going to have a maid,” said Elizabeth. ”I can cook, and I like to.”
Miss Tripp whirled about and caught the girl in her arms with an amused laugh. ”You dear, romantic child!” she cried. ”Did it have the _prettiest_ dreams about love in a cottage, and the young wife with her sleeves rolled up cooking delicious impossibilities for a doting husband? That's all very well, my dear; but, seriously, it won't do in a Boston apartment-house. You won't have a minute to yourself after the season once begins, and of course after a while you'll be expected to entertain--quite simply, you know, a luncheon or two, with cards; possibly a dinner; you can do it beautifully with all these lovely things for your table. _I'll_ help you; so don't get frightened at the idea. But _fancy_ your doing all that without a maid! You mustn't _think_ of it! And I am sure dear Mrs. Van Duser will give you the same advice.”
The soft pink in Elizabeth's cheeks deepened to rose. ”Mrs. Van Duser isn't coming to the wedding,” she said, in a faintly defiant tone.
”Oh! Did she send you----”
”She sent regrets,” said Elizabeth coldly.
Miss Tripp's eyebrows expressed the profoundest disappointment. ”I am so _sorry_,” she murmured, suddenly aware that she was exceedingly weary of the North wedding. ”It will _spoil everything_.”
”I can't see why,” returned Elizabeth with spirit, not realising that Miss Tripp's comment applied solely to her own feelings. ”It won't prevent my being married to Sam; and Sam says he is glad she is not coming. She must be a stiff, pokey sort of a person, and I am sure it will be pleasanter without her. She isn't hardly any relation to Sam, anyway, and I don't think I care to know her.”
”My _dear_!” expostulated Miss Tripp, ”you'll see things _very_ differently some day, I _hope_. And I am glad to say that these relations.h.i.+ps _do_ count in Boston, if not in other parts of the world, and you cannot prevent people from knowing that they exist.”
Like a skilful general Miss Tripp was sweeping her field clear of her disappointment, preparatory to marshalling her forces for a new campaign. ”Did Mrs. Van Duser send cards, or did she----”
”She wrote a note--a stiff, disagreeable note.”
”Would you mind showing it to me, dear?”
Elizabeth produced a thick white envelope from the little embroidered pocket at her belt. ”You may read it,” she said; ”then I mean to tear it up.”
Miss Tripp bent almost wors.h.i.+pful eyes upon the large, square sheet.
”Mrs. J. Mortimer Van Duser” (she read) ”begs to convey her acknowledgments to Dr. and Mrs. North for their invitation to the marriage of their daughter, and regrets that she cannot be present. Mrs.
Van Duser begs to add that she will communicate further with Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Brewster upon their arrival in Boston upon a matter of moment to them both.”
”Isn't that a disagreeable-sounding note?” demanded Elizabeth, her pretty chin tilted at an aggressive angle. ”I just know I shouldn't like her from that letter. But I'm sure I can't think what she wants to say to us 'upon our arrival in Boston.'”
”_My dear!_” exclaimed Miss Tripp, with a horrified stare, ”what _can_ you be thinking of? That note is in the most perfect form. I am _so_ glad you showed it to me! 'Something of moment to you both,' what can it mean but a gift--perhaps a generous cheque, and _undoubtedly_ a reception to introduce you. My _dear_! Mrs. Van Duser is said to be worth _millions_, and what is more, and far, _far_ better, she moves in the most _exclusive_ society. You dear, lucky girl, I _congratulate_ you upon the recognition you have received. _Tear it up_--indeed, you will do nothing of the sort! I'll put it here right by this cut-gla.s.s vase, where every one will see it.”
Elizabeth pouted. ”Mother didn't like it,” she said, ”and grandma laughed over it, and Sam told me to forget it; I don't see why you----”
”_Because I know_,” intoned Miss Tripp solemnly. ”I only hope you won't forget poor little me when you're fairly launched in Mrs. Van Duser's set.”
Elizabeth gazed reflectively at her friend. ”Oh, I couldn't forget you,”
she said; ”you've been so good to me. But,” she added, with what Miss Tripp mentally termed delicious navete, ”I don't suppose we shall give many large parties, just at first.”
CHAPTER VI
”I am of the opinion,” wrote the sapient Dr. Johnson, ”that marriages would in general be as happy, and often more so, if they were all made by the Lord Chancellor, upon a due consideration of the circ.u.mstances and characters, without the parties thereto having any choice in the matter.”
That this radical matrimonial reform did not find favour in the eyes of his own or any succeeding generation brands it as visionary, impracticable, not to be seriously entertained, in short, by any one not a philosopher and not himself in love. But could the benevolent shade of Dr. Johnson be let into the details of a fas.h.i.+onable modern wedding, it is safe to predict that he might recommend a new civic function to be administered either by the Lord Chancellor, or by some equally responsible person for the purpose of regulating by sumptuary law the bridal trousseau and the wedding presents. The renowned Georgian sage could not fail to recognise the relation which these too often unconsidered items bear to the welfare of the private citizen in particular and to the weal of mankind in general. And who can deny that all legislation is, or should be, centred chiefly on these very ends.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Never had there been such a wedding in Innisfield”]