Wives and Widows; or, The Broken Life. Ann S. Stephens

Hyde," I said, rather tired of these trivialities; "but Jessie, in the eagerness of her welcome, forgets that our guest has scarcely time to prepare for dinner."

      "Ah! is it so late?" said Mrs. Dennison.

      "Shall I show the way to your chamber?"

      "We will all go," said Jessie, circling her friend's waist with her arm and moving off.

      We crossed the hall, a broad, open passage, furnished with easy-chairs and sofas, for it was a favorite resort for the whole family, and opened into a square balcony at one end, which commanded one of the heavenly views I have spoken of. The widow stopped to admire it an instant, and then we entered the room I had been careful to arrange pleasantly for her reception.

      It was a square, pleasant chamber, which commanded a splendid prospect from the east; curtains like frostwork, and a bed like snow, harmonized pleasantly with walls hung with satin paper of a delicate blue, and fine India matting with which the floor was covered. We had placed vases and baskets of flowers on the deep window-sills, those of the richest fragrance we could find, which a soft, pure wind wafted through the room; the couch, the easy-chair, and the low dressing-chair were draped with delicate blue chintz, with a pattern of wild roses running over it.

      Mrs. Dennison made a pretty exclamation of surprise as she entered the room. She was full of these graceful flatteries, that proved the more effective because of their seeming spontaneousness. She took off her bonnet, and, sitting down before the toilet which stood beneath the dressing-glass, a cloud of lace and embroidery, began to smooth her hair between both hands, laughing at its disorder, and wondered if anybody on earth ever looked so hideous as she did.

      "This woman," I said, in uncharitable haste—"this woman is insatiable. She is not content with the flattery of one sex, but challenges it from all." Yet, spite of myself, I could not resist the influence of her sweet voice and graceful ways; she interested me far more than I wished.

      "Now," said Jessie, coming into the hall with her eyes sparkling pleasantly—"now what do you think? Have I praised her too much? Are you beginning to like her yet?"

      I kissed her, but gave no other answer. A vague desire to shield her from that woman's influence possessed me, but the feeling was misty, and had no reasonable foundation. I could not have explained why this impulse of protection sprung up in my heart, or how Jessie, the dear girl, guessed at its existence.

      But she was perfectly content with the approval which my kiss implied, and went into the parlor to await the coming of her guest. That moment Mrs. Lee's maid came down with a message from her mistress, and I went up-stairs at once.

CHAPTER IX.

       FANCIES AND PREMONITIONS.

       Table of Contents

      It seemed a wonder that Mrs. Lee ever could have been a beautiful woman like her daughter, for she had faded sadly during her illness. Her hair was still thick and long, but the mountain snow was not whiter. Her face, too, was of opaque paleness; while her delicate eyebrows were black as jet; and the large eyes beneath them had lost nothing of their penetrating brightness.

      Mrs. Lee was lying on the couch, in the light of a broad window which opened to the south; the balcony was as usual filled with plants, and every morning her couch was moved, and the window drapery put back that she might command some feature in the landscape over which her eye had not wearied the day before. It was a harmless enjoyment, and one which the whole family loved to encourage. Indeed, there was not a fancy or caprice of hers which was ever questioned in that house.

      "Ah, Martha, it is you; I am glad of it. For when I am ill at ease, you always do me good."

      She held out her little thin hand while speaking, and pressed mine almost imperceptibly.

      "What has happened, Martha? During the last half hour something oppresses me, as if the atmosphere were disturbed; yet it is a clear day, and the roses on the terrace look brighter than usual."

      "Nothing has happened, dear lady. Mr. Lee has come back from town, bringing the lady we all expected."

      "Mrs. Dennison?"

      "Yes, Mrs. Dennison. She has just gone to her room."

      Mrs. Lee closed her eyes a moment and opened them with a faint smile, which seemed to ask pardon for some weakness.

      "Have you seen her?"

      "Yes. I was in the parlor when she came, and went with her to her room."

      "And you like her better than at first, I hope?"

      I hesitated.

      "She is beautiful!"

      "Yes, in a certain way," I answered; "but when one has got used to our Jessie's style, nothing else seems to equal it."

      The mother smiled and held out her hand again.

      "You love Jessie?"

      I felt the tears filling my eyes. There was something so tender and sweet in this question that it made a child of me. The mother turned upon her couch, bent her lips to my hand, and dropped it gently from her hold.

      "Martha Hyde, what is this which troubles me?"

      "Indeed, I cannot tell."

      "Does Jessie seem happy with her friend?"

      "Very happy; I have seldom seen her so animated."

      "But you have not told me plainly. Do you like this lady?"

      "I—I cannot tell. She is beautiful; at least most people would think her so;—rich, I believe?"

      I rather put this as a question.

      "I think so. She had splendid rooms at the hotel, you know, and spent money freely, so Mr. Lee was told; but that is of little consequence; we want nothing of her riches if she has them."

      "Certainly not; but if she has expensive habits without the means of gratifying them within herself, it is an important proof of character," I said. "May I ask, dear lady, who really recommended Mrs. Dennison to you or your daughter?"

      "Oh! a good many people spoke highly of her; she was a general favorite!"

      "Yes; but did you meet any person who had known her long?—who had been acquainted with her husband, for instance?"

      "No, I cannot remember any such person."

      "And you invited her? she said so."

      "That is it. I cannot quite call to mind that I did invite her. Something was said about our house being among pleasant scenery, and she expressed a desire to see it. I may have said that I really hoped she would see it some time; and then she thanked me as if I had urged her to come. Still Jessie liked her so much that I was rather pleased than otherwise, and so it rested."

      "Well," I said, "if Jessie is pleased, that is everything, you know, madam. I sometimes think the dear girl ought to have the company of younger persons about her."

      "Yes, certainly; but with a girl like my Jessie, so sensitive, so proud, for she is very proud, Martha."

      "I know it," was my answer. "I have never seen more sensitive pride in any person of her age."

      "Well, with a disposition like that, the kind of young person she is intimate with is very important. This is the reason I wished to see you and learn if your opinion has not changed regarding our guests; my own feelings are strangely disturbed."

      "You are not as well as usual this morning," I replied. "Let me draw the couch nearer and open a leaf of the window."

      She assented, and I drew the couch so close to the window that with a sash open she could command a view of the richest corner of the flower-garden and a slope of the lawn. The wind swept pleasantly over the balcony, in which