Volume Ii Part 104 (1/2)
Everybody who has travelled on the great route from Pattaqua.s.set to New York, knows that the scenery is not striking. Pleasant it is, and fresh, in fresh seasons of the year; cornfields and hayfields and sparkling little rivers always make up a fair prospect: but, until the towers of Quilipeak rise upon the sight, with their leafy setting of green, there is nothing to draw much notice. And less, afterwards. The train flies on, past numberless stopping-posts, over bridges, through towns; regaling its pa.s.sengers with hay, salt water, bony fish, and (in the season) dust; until the matchless flats, marshes, pools, sights, and smells crowd thick about Haarlem river, and lure the traveller on through the sweet suburbs of New York. Hither, business demanded that the ”wooden horse” should come for a day or two; here they were to be received by one of the many old friends who were claiming, all over the country, a visit from Mr. Linden and his bride. Through the dark tunnel the train puffed on, the pa.s.sengers winking and breathing beneath the air-holes, dark and smothered where air-holes were not; then the cars ran out into the sunlight, and, in a minute more, two of the pa.s.sengers were transferred to the easy rolling coach which was in waiting for them, and drove away. Past warm brick fronts and pavements; past radish boys and raspberry girls; past oranges, pineapples, vegetables, in every degree of freshness except fresh. Of all which, even the vegetables, Faith's eyes took most curious and intent notice--for one minute; then the Avenue and fruit stalls were left behind; the carriage had turned a corner, and, in another minute or two, drew up before an imposing front in Madison Square. And there, at the very steps, was a little raspberry girl. How Faith looked at her!
”Raspberries to-day, ma'am?” said the child, encouraged by the look, or the sweet face.--”No, dear, I don't want any.”
Faith went gravely up the steps. It was her first introduction to New York. But Mr. Linden's face wore a smile. There was no time to remark on it, for the door opened and a second introduction awaited her. An introduction to another part of the world. A magnificent house, every square yard of which, perhaps, taken with its furniture and adornments, had cost as much as the whole of Faith's old home. A palace of luxury, where no want of any kind, material, could be known or fancied. In this house they were welcomed with a great welcome by a stately lady, Mr.
Linden's old friend and his mother's; and by her family of sons and daughters, who were in another style, and whose vivacious kindness seemed disposed to take up Faith bodily and carry her off. It was a novel scene for Faith, and she was amused. Amused too with the overpowering curiosity which took the guise, or the veil, of so much kindness, and beset her, because--Mr. Linden had married her. Yet Faith did not see the hundredth part of their curiosity. Mr. Linden, whose eyes were more open, was proportionably amused, both with that and with Faith's simplicity, which half gratified and at least half baffled it.
The young ladies at last took Faith up to her room; and, after lavis.h.i.+ng all sorts of attentions upon her, and making various vain efforts to understand her, gave her the information that a good deal of company was expected to dinner, and left her, baffled and attracted almost in an equal degree.
They did not seem to have as puzzling an effect on Faith; for when Mr.
Linden came out of his own dressing-room, he found her ready, and looking as fresh and cool as if she had just come up from the sands at Bankhead. She was dressed in a light muslin, but no more elaborately than she used to be at Pattaqua.s.set; only that this time her ruffles were laces. She was a little more dainty for the dinner-party. Mr.
Linden came with a knot of glowing geraniums--”Jewess,” and ”Perfection,” and ”Queen of the Fairies;” which, bound together as they were with white ribband, he first laid against her dress to try the effect (well deserving his smile of comment) then put in her hand to make fast. They set off all the quiet elegance of her figure after their own style, which was not quiet.
”Now, Mignonette,” he said, ”I suppose you know that I am to have the pleasure of introducing my wife to sundry people?”--”I heard they were coming,” said Faith.
”If you will only stand by and look on, it will amuse you very much.”
”It will amuse me anyway,” said Faith, ”if,”--and what a rose colour came up into her face--”if, Endy, you are satisfied.”
Mr. Linden folded his arms and looked at her. ”If you say anything against my wife, Mrs. Linden, her husband will not like it--neither will yours.”
”That is all I care about, not pleasing those two gentlemen,” said Faith, laughing.
”Is that all? I shall report your mind at rest. Come, it is time this little exotic should appear.” Faith thought as she went with him, that she was anything but an _exotic;_ she did not speak her thoughts.
There was a large dinner company gathered and gathering; and the ”pleasure” Mr. Linden had spoken of--introducing his wife--was one enjoyed, by him or somebody, a great many times in the course of the evening. This was something very unlike Pattaqua.s.set or anything to be found there; only in Judge Harrison's house little glimpses of this sort of society might be had; and these people seemed to Faith rather in the sphere of Dr. Harrison than of his father and sister. People who had rubbed off every particle of native simplicity that ever belonged to them, and who, if they were simple at all--as some of them were--had a different kind of simplicity, made after a most exquisite and refined worldly fas.h.i.+on. How it was made or worn, Faith could not tell; she had an instinctive feeling of the difference. If she had set on foot a comparison, she would soon have come to the conclusion that ”Mr.
Linden's wife” was of another pattern altogether. But Faith never thought of doing that. Her words were so true that she had spoken, she cared so singly to satisfy one person there, and had such an humble confidence of doing it, that other people gave her little concern. She had little need, for no word or glance fell upon Faith that did not show the eye or the speaker won or attracted. The words and glances were very many, but Faith never found out or suspected that it was to see _her_ all this party of grand people had been gathered together.
She thought they were curious about ”Mr. Linden's wife;” and though their curiosity made her shy, and her sense of responsibility gave an exquisite tenderness to her manner, both effects only set a grace upon her usual free simplicity. That was not disturbed, though a good deal of the time Faith was far from Mr. Linden's kelp or protection. A stranger took her in to dinner, and among strangers she made her way most of the evening. But though she was shy, Faith was afraid never but of one person, nor much of him.
For him--among old acquaintances, beset with all manner of inquiries and congratulations--he yet heard her voice whenever it was possible, and knew by sight as well as hearing all the admiration she called forth. He might have said as at Kildeer river, that he found ”a great deal of Mignonette.” What he _did_ tell her, when the evening was over, was that people were at a loss how to name the new exotic.
”How to name _me_, Endecott?”--”As an exotic.”
”I don't wonder!” said Faith with her merry little laugh. ”Don't philosophers sometimes get puzzled in that way, Endecott?”--”Scientific philosophers content themselves with the hardest names they can find, but in this case such will not suit. Though Dr. Campan may write you in his books as 'Lindenethia Pattaqua.s.setensis--exotic, very rare. The flower is a double star--colour wonderful.'”
Faith stopped to laugh.
”What a blunder he will make if he does!” she said. ”It will show, as Mr. Simlins says--that he don't understand common vegetables.”
”Well translated, Mignonette. How will it show that, if you please?”--”He has mistaken one for a trumpet creeper.”
”A scarlet runner, I suppose.”
”Was I?” said Faith seriously.
”According to you. I am in Dr. Campan's predicament.”
”I should think _you_ needn't be,” said Faith, simply. ”Because you know, Endy I never knew even how to climb till you showed me.”