Part 28 (2/2)
CHAPTER XIII
KEITH IN NEW YORK
Keith and Norman Wentworth had, from time to time, kept up a correspondence, and from Dr. Templeton's Keith went to call on Norman and his mother.
Norman, unfortunately, was now absent in the West on business, but Keith saw his mother.
The Wentworth mansion was one of the largest and most dignified houses on the fine old square--a big, double mansion. The door, with its large, fan-shaped transom and side-windows, reminded Keith somewhat of the hall door at Elphinstone, so that he had quite a feeling of old a.s.sociation as he tapped with the eagle knocker. The hall was not larger than at Elphinstone, but was more solemn, and Keith had never seen such palatial drawing-rooms. They stretched back in a long vista. The heavy mahogany furniture was covered with the richest brocades; the hangings were of heavy crimson damask. Even the walls were covered with rich crimson damask-satin. The floor was covered with rugs in the softest colors, into which, as Keith followed the solemn servant, his feet sank deep, giving him a strange feeling of luxuriousness. A number of fine pictures hung on the walls, and richly bound books lay on the s.h.i.+rting tables amid pieces of rare bric-a-brac.
This was the impression received from the only glance he had time to give the room. The next moment a lady rose from behind a tea-table placed in a nook near a window at the far end of the s.p.a.cious room. As Gordon turned toward her she came forward. She gave him a cordial hand-shake and gracious words of welcome that at once made Keith feel at home. Turning, she started to offer him a chair near her table, but Keith had instinctively gone behind her chair and was holding it for her.
”It is so long since I have had the chance,” he said.
As she smiled up at him her face softened. It was a high-bred face, not always as gentle as it was now, but her smile was charming.
”You do not look like the little, wan boy I saw that morning in bed, so long ago. Do you remember?”
”I should say I did. I think I should have died that morning but for you. I have never forgotten it a moment since.” The rising color in his cheeks took away the baldness of the speech.
She bowed with the most gracious smile, the color stealing up into her cheeks and making her look younger.
”I am not used to such compliments. Young men nowadays do not take the trouble to flatter old ladies.”
Her face, though faded, still bore the unmistakable stamp of distinction. Calm, gray eyes and a strong mouth and chin recalled Norman's face. The daintiest of caps rested on her gray hair like a crown, and several little ringlets about her ears gave the charm of quaintness to the patrician face. Her voice was deep and musical. When she first spoke it was gracious rather than cordial; but after the inspective look she had given him it softened, and from this time Keith felt her warmth.
The easy, cordial, almost confidential manner in which she soon began to talk to him made Keith feel as if they had been friends always, and in a moment, in response to a question from her, he was giving quite frankly his impression of the big city: of its brilliance, its movement, its rush, that keyed up the nerves like the sweep of a swift torrent.
”It almost takes my breath away,” he said. ”I feel as if I were on the brink of a torrent and had an irresistible desire to jump into it and swim against it.”
She looked at the young man in silence for a moment, enjoying his sparkling eyes, and then her face grew grave.
”Yes, it is interesting to get the impression made on a fresh young mind. But so many are dashed to pieces, it appears to me of late to be a maelstrom that engulfs everything in its resistless and terrible sweep.
Fortune, health, peace, reputation, all are caught and swept away; but the worst is its heartlessness--and its emptiness.”
She sighed so deeply that the young man wondered what sorrow could touch her, intrenched and enthroned in that beautiful mansion, surrounded by all that wealth and taste and affection could give. Years afterwards, that picture of the old-time gentlewoman in her luxurious home came back to him.
Just then a cheery voice was heard calling outside:
”Cousin?--cousin?--Matildy Carroll, where are you?”
It was the voice of an old lady, and yet it had something in it familiar to Keith.
Mrs. Wentworth rose, smiling.
”Here I am in the drawing-room,” she said, raising her voice the least bit. ”It is my cousin, a dear old friend and schoolmate,” she explained to Keith. ”Here I am. Come in here.” She advanced to the door, stretching out her hand to some one who was coming down the stair.
”Oh, dear, this great, grand house will be the death of me yet!”
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