CHAPTER IV.
The advent of a stranger was an event of importance in the small socialworld of Newville. Mr. Harrison Cordis, the new clerk in the drug-store,might well have been flattered by the attention which he excited atchurch the next day, especially from the fairer half of the congregation.Far, however, from appearing discomposed thereby, he returned it withsuch interest that at least half the girls thought they had captivatedhim by the end of the morning service. They all agreed that he wasawfully handsome, though Laura maintained that he was rather too prettyfor a man. He was certainly very pretty. His figure was tall, slight, andelegant. He had delicate hands and feet, a white forehead, deep blue,smiling eyes, short, curly, yellow, hair, and a small moustache, droopingover lips as enticing as a girl's. But the ladies voted his manners yetmore pleasing than his appearance. They were charmed by his easyself-possession, and constant alertness as to details of courtesy. Thevillage beaus scornfully called him "cityfied," and secretly longed to belike him. A shrewder criticism than that to which he was exposed would,however, have found the fault with Cordis's manners that, under a show ofsuperior ease and affability, he was disposed to take liberties with hisnew acquaintances, and exploit their simplicity for his ownentertainment. Evidently he felt that he was in the country.
That very first Sunday, after evening meeting, he induced Fanny Miller,at whose father's house he boarded, to introduce him to Madeline, andafterward walked home with her, making himself very agreeable, andcrowning his audacity by asking permission to call. Fanny, who went alongwith them, tattled of this, and it produced a considerable sensationamong the girls, for it was the wont of Newville wooers to make verygradual approaches. Laura warmly expressed to Madeline her indignation atthe impudence of the proceeding, but that young lady was sure she did notsee any harm in it; whereupon Laura lost her temper a little, and hintedthat it might be more to her credit if she did. Madeline repliedpointedly, and the result was a little spat, from which Laura issuedsecond best, as people generally did who provoked a verbal strife withMadeline. Meanwhile it was rumoured that Cordis had availed himself ofthe permission that he had asked, and that he had, moreover, been seentalking with her in the post-office several times.
The drug-store being next door to the post-office, it was easy for him,under pretence of calling for the mail, to waylay there any one he mightwish to meet. The last of the week Fanny Miller gave a little tea-party,to make Cordis more generally acquainted. On that occasion he singled outMadeline with his attentions in such a pronounced manner that the othergirls were somewhat piqued. Laura, having her brother's interest atheart, had much more serious reasons for being uneasy at the look ofthings. They all remarked how queerly Madeline acted that evening. Shewas so subdued and quiet, not a bit like herself. When the party brokeup, Cordis walked home with Madeline and Laura, whose paths lay together.
"I'm extremely fortunate," said he, as he was walking on with Laura, afterleaving Madeline at her house, "to have a chance to escort the two bellesof Newville at once."
"I'm not so foolish as I look, Mr. Cordis," said she, rather sharply. Shewas not going to let him think he could turn the head of every Newvillegirl as he had Madeline's with his city airs and compliments.
"You might be, and not mind owning it," he replied, making an excuse ofher words to scrutinise her face with a frank admiration that sent thecolour to her cheeks, though she was more vexed than pleased.
"I mean that I don't like flattery."
"Are you sure?" he asked, with apparent surprise.
"Of course I am. What a question!"
"Excuse me; I only asked because I never met any one before who didn't."
"Never met anybody who didn't like to be told things about themselveswhich they knew weren't true, and were just said because somebody thoughtthey were foolish enough to believe 'em?"
"I don't expect you to believe 'em yourself," he replied; "only vainpeople believe the good things people say about them; but I wouldn't givea cent for friends who didn't think better of me than I think of myself,and tell me so occasionally, too."
They stood a moment at Laura's gate, and just then Henry, coming homefrom the gun-shop of which he was foreman, passed them, and entered thehouse. "Is that your brother?" asked Cordis.
"Yes."
"It does one's eyes good to see such a powerful looking young man. Isyour brother married, may I ask?"
"He is not."
"In coming into a new circle as I have done, you understand, Miss Burr, Ioften feel a certain awkwardness on account of not knowing the relationsbetween the persons I meet," he said, apologizing for his questions.
Laura saw her opportunity, and promptly improved it.
"My brother has been attentive to Miss Brand for a long time. They areabout as good as engaged. Good-evening, Mr. Cordis."
It so happened that several days after this conversation, as Madeline waswalking home one afternoon, she glanced back at a crossing of the street,and saw Harrison Cordis coming behind her on his way to tea. At the rateshe was walking she would reach home before he overtook her, but, if shewalked a very little slower, he would overtake her. Her pace slackened.She blushed at her conduct, but she did not hurry.
The most dangerous lovers women have are men of Cordis's femininetemperament. Such men, by the delicacy and sensitiveness of their ownorganizations, read women as easily and accurately as women read eachother. They are alert to detect and interpret those smallest trifles intone, expression, and bearing, which betray the real mood far moreunmistakably than more obvious signs. Cordis had seen her backwardglance, and noted her steps grow slower with a complacent smile. It wasthis which emboldened him, in spite of the short acquaintance, to ventureon the line he did.
"Good-evening, Miss Brand," he said, as he over took her. "I don't reallythink it's fair to begin to hurry when you hear somebody trying toovertake you.
"I'm sure I didn't mean to," she replied, glad to have a chance to tellthe truth, without suspecting, poor girl, that he knew very well she wastelling it.
"It isn't safe to," he said, laughing. "You can't tell who it may be.Now, it might have been Mr. Burr, instead of only me."
She understood instantly. Somebody had been telling him about Henry'sattentions to her. A bitter anger, a feeling of which a moment before shewould have deemed herself utterly incapable, surged up in her heartagainst the person, whoever it was, who had told him this. For severalseconds she could not control herself to speak. Finally, she said--
"I don't understand you. Why do you speak of Mr. Burr to me?"
"I beg pardon. I should not have done so."
"Please explain what you mean.
"You'll excuse me, I hope," he said, as if quite distressed to havedispleased her. "It was an unpardonable indiscretion on my part, butsomebody told me, or at least I understood, that you were engaged tohim."
"Somebody has told you a falsehood, then," she replied, and, with a bowof rather strained dignity turned in at the gate of a house where amoment before she had not had the remotest intention of stopping. If shehad been in a boat with him, she would have jumped into the water soonerthan protract the inter-view a moment after she had said that.Mechanically she walked up the path and knocked at the door. Until thelady of the house opened it, she did not notice where she had stopped.
Good-afternoon, Madeline. I'm glad to see you. You haven't made me a callthis ever so long."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Tuttle, but I haven't time to stop to-day. Ha--have yougot a--a pattern of a working apron? I'd like to borrow it."