CHAPTER IX
WITH THE EYES OF YOUTH
The place was like a picture by some fine artist, and the midsummercoloring, the shade of the tall trees, the great beds of flowers madeit lovely, indeed. There was a space of greensward that ran down tothe river, then a series of steps up the terrace, where a large levellawn with another row of steps led and a wide porch, with flutedcolumns. The house was large, and hospitable of aspect. Now it wasfilled with graceful figures, flitting to and fro, of all ages, itseemed. For it was quite a notable occasion.
There were two Pemberton sons, one married; then Miss Bessy, who waseighteen; Mary of sixteen, and Belinda, a growing girl, whose birthdaywas the same as Bessy's, though there was five years between them.This is why young people are asked to the birthday party. And themothers of the girls, the brothers, and other young men. The tableswill be set out on the lawn, three of them.
Bessy was to be married early in the autumn, and lovers in those dayswere in no wise abashed by their engagement. Mr. Morris hovered abouthis betrothed, young Mr. and Mrs. Pemberton had not outlived theirhoneymoon. There were other engaged couples, and quite a merry crowdof children.
Betty Wharton glanced over the group, as they ascended the steps. Nota girl was as handsome as her _protegee_. They had come in a coach,and the child had just a light scarf thrown over her shoulders. Herfrock was of some white crapy stuff, the bodice cut square in the neckafter the fashion of the day, and edged with a bit of lace; the shortwaist defined with a soft blue silk sash. Her curls were caught uphigh on her head, with a blue bow, and every movement seemed to shakeoff a shower of gold. Where the chin melted in her neck, and the necksloped to her shoulder, there were exquisite lines.
"That's the little girl from Pittsburg," exclaimed Anton Wetherell. "Ididn't suppose they could raise anything like that. She's not solittle, either; why, she must be well on to fifteen. Some connectionof that old French lawyer, de Ronville. I wonder if he means to makeher his heir? I fancy there's a good deal of money."
"Miss Wharton has been making much of her, it seems, and she isn't theone to fall into a mistake."
The elder ladies greeted her cordially. There was such a charmingsimplicity about her and her enjoyment of everything was infectious.She gravitated to the younger girls, and Belinda was reallyfascinated with her. They played some games, and she was so ready toassent to what they proposed, so frank to admit her ignorance of somethings, that they were all ready to help her and explain. Presentlythey sat on the grass in a little ring, and asked her about Pittsburg.Was it a great city?
"Oh, you would think it very queer," she said laughingly. "Only therivers are beautiful, and the hills, and the woods over opposite. Butthe people"--then she flushed a little, but she was too honest toembellish--"well, they are Scotch, and Irish, and English, and a fewfrom the East, but now those folks are going out to Ohio. And----"
"But you're French," said one of the girls. "Though I thought allFrench people were dark."
"Mother and grandmere have beautiful dark eyes and hair. So has mylittle brother Felix. But my father has blue eyes, and I don't knowwhere the yellow hair came from. That was why my mother called meDaffodil."
"What an odd, pretty name. And your hair is beautiful, like silk. Doesit curl that way without----"
For little girls and big ones, too, had their hair put up in curlpapers, or the hairdresser used tongs.
"Oh, yes, it curls naturally, and tangles, too. When I was little Iwanted it cut off, there were such awful pulls. But mother wouldn't,because father was away soldiering, and when he came home he wouldn'thear to it. One grandfather used to call me Yellowtop."
The nearest girl was petting one of the soft, silky curls. Anothersaid, "Can you talk French? I'm studying it at school. It's awful hardand queer."
"Oh, yes. You see, I learned to talk in both languages. Then I had alovely great-grandfather, who lived to be almost a hundred, and hetaught me to read quite well. There are some French Acadians, who comein to see us now and then. But their speech has been mixed up so much.I've been reading a little with uncle. After grandfather died, Ialmost forgot."
"And are there fine stores and churches, and do you have plays, andentertainments, and parties?"
"Oh, no. It's queer and plain, quite rough, though now they are makingnice streets, and people are spinning and weaving. Some of the womenmake beautiful lace. There's always a May party and a dance; and thena time when the new year begins, and tea drinkings, and some birthdaysare kept. No, you wouldn't like it, after such a beautiful city."
"Oh, you won't want to go back!"
"Mother and all my people are there," she answered simply. "But if Ihad always lived in a beautiful city like this, I wouldn't want to."
By this time the tables were arranged, and they were summoned to therepast. Several young lads had joined the company, and Mary took thehead of the children's table. The lawn was a picturesque sight.Afterward some lanterns were strung about, but it was clear andmoonlight, which added to the beauty of the scene, and presentlydancing began. There was much rambling around.
Miss Wharton found her, and asked if she was having a good time. Shehad been dancing with two of the boys. "And Mr. Wetherell wants thepleasure of dancing with the young lady from Pittsburg;" laughing.
"But I am not a real young lady. And I don't know all the dances;" ina hesitating tone.
"You do it at your own risk, Anton," Betty said to the young man. "Youhave been warned."
"I'll take the risk."
He piloted her through very skilfully. Then young Mr. Pemberton askedher. She met Mr. Bartram in this quadrille, and he talked to herafterward. She wished he would ask her to dance, but he seemed verymuch occupied with the older girls. And presently she spied out unclede Ronville, and went over to the step of the porch, where he wassitting in a chair. He felt very proud of her. She was so full ofenjoyment she fairly bubbled over with delight, as she detailed thepleasures.
"And we must be thinking of going home. That is one of the penaltiesof old age."
"Oh," with a kind of _riant_ sweetness in her voice, "if you could goback halfway, and I could come on halfway, wouldn't it be delightful!But I get sleepy often in the evening, not like to-night;" as anafterthought. "I suppose that comes of living in a country place,where people go to bed at nine! But you sometimes go to bed quitelate."
Yes, if they could meet halfway! Oh, what a foolish old man!
It has been a delightful evening, and Miss Wharton joins them."Daffodil, you have had honors enough to turn your head. M. deRonville, are we spoiling her?"
He gave her a fatherly look, and taking her soft little hand in his,they rose together.
"Will you go home in our coach?" he asked of Miss Wharton.
"Very glad, indeed, my dear sir, I am rather tired. Our party beganearly."
There were a good many adieus to make, and some very flatteringinvitations for Daffodil. They put Mistress Betty down at her owndoor, and when they reached home M. de Ronville gave her a tendergood-night.
"It was splendid, Jane," she said as the finery was being removed."And I danced with several of the young men. I didn't quite know how,but I thought of Norry's stories about the fairy dances in themoonlight, and I guess the real moonlight helped."
"I don't believe there was as pretty a girl among them all," declaredJane admiringly.
It was late when Mr. Bartram came in, and he had enjoyed himself aswell.
But it was not all dissipation. There were evenings when Daffodil readFrench to her host, and he corrected any faulty pronunciation. Atother times it was the newspaper. She had such a clear young voice,and she did everything with such charming cheerfulness. The rides withhim in the morning were a delight. And though her figure had notrounded out, there was something exquisite in the virginal lines. Shedid not realize herself that she was a big girl now, so gradual wasthe change, and she had been a little girl all her life to those athome. He thought it was the French blood, as he could recall the g
irlsof his youth, with their pretty deference, but it is the littleadmixture of Irish that makes her so winsome and frank.
Yet there were times when Daffodil was surprised at herself, and thestrange feelings and stronger emotions that would flash across her.Was it the wider life, the variety of people and incident, the deeperand more comprehensive tone of the talk, and the new pleasures of thehigher type?
There was no special dividing line in those days. Little girls woreankle-length frocks, so the tucks were let out as they grew taller.After a little the hair was put up high with a pretty comb discardedby an older sister. When she had a lover, the next younger girl cameto the fore.
"If the child was two years older I might make an excellent match forher," thought Betty Wharton. "But she isn't thinking about lovers oradmiration. She will be very lovely presently, when she knows how touse those heart-breaking eyes and that dangerous smile. When she comesagain--of course, it would be a sin to bury such a girl alive in thatdozy, drowsy old Pittsburg!"
The days flew by so rapidly. Letters did not come frequently, postagewas high, and there was a sort of secret faith in most people thatthings were going on well, according to the old adage that "no newswas good news." But when a rare letter came, she cried over itsecretly for two or three days, and was rather grave, but she thoughtit ungracious not to be bright and happy when so much was being donefor her. Mrs. Craig was planning to go before the autumnal rains setin, and she took it for granted that it was her place to returnDaffodil.
The child had been talking this over one afternoon, and a flood ofhome love had overwhelmed her. Mrs. Jarvis had an old friend to supperand to spend the evening, Jane had gone out, and M. de Ronville hadgone to a sort of sociable dinner, with some of the citizens who wereinterested in the library project. It had proved a rather lonesomeevening, and she had really longed for home. She wandered aboutaimlessly, and presently settled herself in the corner of thevine-covered porch, and yielded to the beauty and fragrance of thenight. Everything had a richer aspect and meaning to her. It wasmoonlight again. The tall trees seemed outlined in silver, and theflower-beds were transformed into fairy haunts. Only a few stars wereout, they were larger and more golden than usual. She drank in thehoneyed fragrance all about her, and it seemed a land of enchantment.
Some one came into the library, but did not make a light. She heard M.de Ronville's low, but clear-toned, voice.
"I have wanted to talk this matter over with you. There need be nohurry, one or two years here will answer. You see, I am getting to bean old man. Latterly I have come to long for some one of my own, thatI could go down the valley of life with, and who would care to makethe journey more cheerful. You have been almost like a son to me. Ishould like you to be that, indeed. And this child has grown very dearto me. To think of you both going on here in the old house when I haveleft it, would give me my heart's desire. She is lovely, she is sweet,and has a most admirable temper. Then those people are in comfortablecircumstances, and of the better class. You know it is a trait of ournation to be deeply interested in the marriage of our children, toadvise, often to choose for them, with our wider experience."
"But she is such a child, eager, unformed, and I have thought of someone, companionable, with a wider education----"
That was Mr. Bartram's voice.
"We can remedy all that. I could have her here, and I think she is anapt scholar. She is well up in French, and that is quite in demandnow. She could be trained in music, she has a sweet voice. And she isvery graceful. If you could see the indifferent manners of most peoplein that queer, backward town, you would wonder at her refinement, hernice adjustment. Her mother, the Duvernay people, are high-bred, yetin no wise pretentious."
There was a brief silence, then the young man began.
"Mr. de Ronville, you have been the best and kindest friend a youngman could have. I owe you a great deal. But I would not like to bindmyself by any such promise. I have an old-fashioned notion that onemust or should choose for one's self, and another perhaps foolish one,that I should like to win the woman I marry, not have her take mebecause some one else desired it. She would naturally beimpressionable----"
All this talk was about her. She just realized it. She had listened asif some one was reading out of a book. She started now, and light andfleet as a deer flashed across the porch and up to her own room, in aqueer, frightened state, hardly knowing what it meant, and yet vaguelysuspicious. She had not been especially drawn to Mr. Bartram. Hetreated her quite as a child, sometimes teased, and evoked quick,mirthful replies, at others passed her by indifferently. All herexperience had been with boys, and men of middle age, and she had noidea of lovers. Did uncle de Ronville mean that she should come hereand love, and then be married to Mr. Bartram!
She was suddenly and unreasonably homesick for ugly old Pittsburg. Theshops and the drives, the gayeties and delights, had lost their charm.If she could fly home to her mother's arms! If she could sit on herfather's knee and have him hug her to his heart, or even grandad'srough love. And Norah, and Felix, and grandfather Bradin, who took herout in his boat, and sang funny sea-going songs. No, she couldn't comehere to live!
Yet it was curious the next morning. Everything seemed exactly thesame. Uncle said, "Will you get ready for your ride?" in that gentle,courtly manner, and they went off together. Mr. Bartram had been veryquiet, she had hardly ventured to raise her eyes to him.
Oh, maybe she had fallen asleep and dreamed it.
Mary Pemberton came over early. A host of girls were going to have apicnic up the river, and Belinda wanted her. They would bring her backby five in the afternoon. It was to be just a girls' party, only herbrother would be there to see that Darius, the black servitor,attended to them properly.
It was a bright, jolly day, with swinging, and a gipsy campfire,playing tag and telling riddles, and even running races. And she wasso joyous talking it all over that evening, M. de Ronville felt hecould never let her go. Could he persuade her to stay? Young peoplewere fond of pleasure, and after this Pittsburg would be dull.
All the week the desire in Daffodil's heart had grown into absolutelonging to go home. Yet she cares so much for them here: Uncle, Mrs.Jarvis, Miss Wharton, and a number of other people. But how could thereturn be planned. No one had suggested such a thing.
Providence comes to her assistance, opening the way in the shape ofMrs. Craig, who stays to supper, as she has a matter to lay before M.de Ronville. And that is, that she has finished her visit, and desiresto return before the autumnal rains set in, while the going is stillgood. And she will take Daffodil.
"I am afraid we can't spare her," returned M. de Ronville. "She hasbecome such a part of our household."
"But I must go home sometime," said the child with a quick gasp in herbreath.
"Are you tired of us?"
"Tired!" She came and placed her arm caressingly over his shoulder."Oh, I have never been tired, but there is mother and--the rest," witha tremble in her voice, while her eyes had the softness of comingtears. "Think how long I have been away!"
"And they've had many a heartache, I dare say. I don't know how theycould spare you long. Of course, where your daughters marry it is adifferent thing. You resign yourself to that," said Mrs. Craig.
"When did you think of starting?"
"Well, so as to miss the equinoctial." People pinned their faith toits coming regularly in those days. "And perhaps no one would care totake such a journey if they had no need, and she couldn't come alone."
"No;" in a grave, slow tone. "We must talk it over. I've thought ofher staying in the winter and going to school, perhaps. And you mightstudy music," glancing at her.
"Oh, you are very good. But--I ought to go."
"Yes. You've had a nice long time, and lots of going about, I'veheard. I hope you have not been spoiled. And you are the only girlyour mother has. Then she had you so long before Felix came and whileyour father was away, and I know she's missed you sorely."
The tears did come into Daf
fodil's eyes then.
After Mrs. Craig had gone, her guardian drew her down on the sofabeside him.
"Daffodil," he began, "I have come to love you very dearly. There hasbeen no one in my life to call forth any special affection. Theremight have been, I see now that there should have been. It is alongthe last of life that we feel most of the need of these ties. And ifyou could give me a little----"
"Oh, I do love you. You have been so kind, and given me so manypleasures. But not altogether for that. I liked you when you firstcame, you know. There was something--I can't quite express it--even ifI had not come to Philadelphia, I should have thought of you so often.And it has been such a delightful visit. But I know mother has missedme very much, and she has the first claim. And oh, I want to see her."
The longing and piteousness in her tone touched him. She was not alllightness and pleasure-loving.
"My dear, it is hard to give you up. Child, why can you not dividesome time between us, and let me do for you as a father would. Theyhave Felix--and each other. They have parents as well. And I am allalone. It would be a joy to my latter years to have some one to carefor, to share my almost useless fortune, and my home."
She leaned her golden head down on his shoulder, and he knew she wascrying.
"Oh," she sobbed, "it is very hard. I do love you. But, you see, theyhave the best right, and I love them. I am torn in two."
Yes, it was selfish to try her this way. He had dreamed of what mighthappen if he could keep her here, a girl sweet and lovely enough tocharm any one. But it was wrong thus to covet, to make it harder forher.
"My child, it shall be as you wish. Sometime you may like to comeagain. My home and heart will always be open to you, and I shall studyyour best interests. When you want any favor do not hesitate to askme. I shall be only too glad to do anything."
"Oh, do not think me ungrateful for all this love and kindness. Everyday I shall think of you. Yes," and the brightness in her tonethrilled him. "I may come again if you want me----"
"I shall always want you, remember that."
M. de Ronville was not the only one who made an outcry. Miss Whartontook her to task.
"Daffodil, you are not old enough to realize what a foolish girl youare, and so we must not be too severe. Mr. de Ronville is a rich man,a fine and noble one as well. I have no doubt but that he would leaveyou a handsome portion, for he loves you sincerely. And think of theadvantages of a city like this. But when you go back to Pittsburg, youwill see a great difference. If all is true, there is no society, nointerest for such a woman as you may become with proper training, suchas you would get here. You are--yes, I will say it, too lovely to bewasted on a place like that. I am really vexed with you."
The tears stood in her beautiful eyes.
"Oh, one can't be angry with you, you are so sweet! A year or twohence you could have no end of admirers at your feet, and take yourpick of them. I hate to give you up. I want to see you a queen insociety, you lovely, winsome, short-sighted thing! I don't believe youhave a bit of vanity, and they say no girl child was ever born withoutit. I shall make your uncle, as you call him, keep track of you, for Ishall want to know where you throw away your sweetness. I believe if Iwas Mr. de Ronville I would offer to buy you from your father."
"Oh, he couldn't."
It sounded as if she said it exultantly.
Jane bemoaned the proposed departure as well.
"The house will feel just like a funeral when you have gone out of it,Miss Daffodil. You've been like the sunshine floating up and down. Wenever missed it on the rainiest day, for there was your flashinggolden head. And, oh, I wish you could stay and, grow up a youngwoman, and go to parties, and then have a splendid lover. Oh, dear!"and then Jane broke down crying.
Poor Daffodil's heart was torn by the regrets. It seemed as if unclewas the only one who was like to help her bear the parting, and he wasso tender that at times she almost relented. Mr. Bartram did notcount. He was polite, and to a degree sympathetic. He did not teaseher, nor laugh about Pittsburg, that would have made her indignantnow.
She had come with such a little parcel, now there was a trunk to bepacked. M. de Ronville slipped in some dainty little boxes that werenot to be opened until she reached home. And at last the day came, andthere were sad enough good-by's.
There was a new Post coach in its shining paint, and four stouthorses. Mr. de Ronville pressed Daffodil's hand the last one, but heturned his eyes away. Yes, the light of his house had gone. But hecould not give up all hope.