Influenced by time, place, and the
earnest pleading of her admirer, Alice Page had, on
that summer afternoon by the mill-pond, stepped a
little from her pedestal of pride. In a way, too,
her feelings were touched, at least enough to give
her many an hour’s heartache afterwards while
she was resolutely putting the sweet illusion out of
her mind. But no one, not even her brother, knew
it, and only Aunt Susan suspected, and she wisely
kept her counsel, hoping that all would come right
in the end.
The proposed change did not seem to
disturb her much, although Alice noticed that she
was more quiet than ever and avoided that subject.
“I’m ready an’ willin’
to go if you think best,” she said; “and
I’ll do my best as long as I can. I hain’t
got long to stay, and if I see you two happy, I’m
content.”
It was the pathos of old age, and
it touched Alice’s heart.
Two weeks before Christmas came a
cordial letter from Blanch, reminding Alice of her
promise to visit her during the holidays and insisting
that she do so now. With it was enclosed an equally
cordial but brief note of invitation from Mrs. Nason.
Alice replied to both in due form and with profuse
thanks, also stating that she had promised her brother
she would visit him during her vacation, and hoped
to have one or two evenings with them at that time.
“I will let them see I am not
a deserted tabby-cat,” she said to herself,
“waiting around in the cold until some one opens
a door for me.” And then this proud little
country girl enclosed both notes to her brother and
told him he had best inform the Nasons of her intended
visit in a matter-of-fact way. “But mind,”
she added, “you do not let on that you know
they have invited me to visit them. We will do
just as we talked, go there and spend one or two evenings,
or perhaps I may meet them at a theatre, which would
be much better.”
By return mail came his assurance
of obedience and a sizable check. “Use
it all, my dear sis,” he wrote, “and for
your own needs, too. I do not want you to feel
ashamed of your gowns when you come to Boston.”
“Bless his dear heart,”
said Alice, when she read the letter, “what a
prize that island girl will get in him!” And
then she came near crying at the thought of that possible
outcome. But when Christmas came and she kissed
Aunt Susan good-by, she was near giving up the trip
altogether. It may have been the sad face of
her aunt that brought the irresolution, or a feeling
that meeting Frank would re-awaken the little heartache
she had for five months been trying to conquer; for
this proud girl had firmly made up her mind that she
would utter a very decided “no” if Frank
proposed again. When she reached Boston she was
met by her brother, and for three days he devoted
his entire time to her.
“I have not told Frank, even,
when you were coming,” he observed, “and
shall not let them know you are here until we call.”
Then he added, smiling, “I want you to myself
for a few days, because after Frank knows you are
here I am sure to be one too many most of the time.”
“Not on his account, you’ll
not be,” replied Alice with a snap, and it is
likely that moment she meant it too.
And what a gallant escort that brother
was! And what a change from the dull monotony
of her home life those days were to Alice!
They hunted for houses and visited
art galleries mornings, lunched at Parker’s
at noon, and devoted the afternoons and evenings to
theatres. Then after that usually a tete-a-tete
supper at a cozy place where the best was to be had,
and a little chat in his or her room before retiring.
It was during one of these brief visits that she noticed
some of the pictures that hung in his room.
“Who painted that shipwreck
scene?” she asked, looking at one. “It
is a gem, and those poor sailors clinging to the ice-covered
rigging are enough to make one shiver. And those
awful waves, too, are simply terrifying. And
what a pretty scene is this wild tangle of rocks with
a girl leaning on one and looking out on the ocean
where the sun is setting or rising,” she continued
as she viewed the next one. Then as she examined
it a little closer she added, “Who is E. T.?”
Albert made no answer and she passed to a third one
showing a little rippled cove with the ocean beyond
and a girl seated in the shade of a small spruce tree.
“Why, this is by E. T. too,”
she exclaimed, and turning to her brother she repeated,
“who is E. T.?”
“Well,” he answered, “I
will take you down to the island some time and introduce
you to her. She will be glad to meet my sister,
you may be certain.”
Then it all flashed over Alice, and
the brief history of this girl, as her brother had
told it, came back to her in an instant. “So
that was the wreck she floated ashore from, was it,
Bert?” she asked; “and can she paint like
that? Why, I am astonished! And who is the
girl leaning on the rock?” she added; “and
what an exquisitely molded figure! And what a
pretty pose! Who is she?”
“That is your possible sister-in-law,”
answered Albert with a touch of pride, “and
the pictures were done by her from sketches I first
made myself. They are true to life so far as
all details go, only I failed to catch her expressive
face in the one that shows a front view of her.”
“And so that was the way you
wooed your island goddess, was it?” observed
Alice with a roguish look; “made her pose for
a sketch while you said sweet things to her.”
Then with a woman’s curiosity she added, “Have
you a picture of her?”
“No, I am sorry to say I have
not,” he replied; “remember, she has been
hidden away on an island all her life, and I doubt
if she ever had a picture taken.”
“And when will you take me to
see her?” asked Alice. “I am so anxious
to meet this fairy of the shore who has stolen my
brother’s heart. Can’t we go down
there before I return home?”
“We can,” he added, “but
I think we’d better wait until spring.”
The next day he informed her he had
secured a box at the Tremont for that evening, and
had invited the Nasons to join them. “I
thought it would relieve your mind a little, Alice,”
he added, “to meet your bogie on neutral ground.”
And it did.
But Mrs. Nason was a long way from
being the haughty spectre Alice had conjured up, and
like many excellent mothers was simply interested to
see that her only and impetuous son did not make a
mésalliance. While she had wisely made no
comment regarding her son’s apparent disappointment,
what Blanch had said, together with that fact, had
won for Alice a respect she was totally unaware of.
That a poor and pretty country schoolma’am was
proud enough to discourage that son’s attentions
because of the difference in their positions was an
unusual experience to her and one that awakened her
curiosity. “I should like to meet Miss
Page,” she said to Blanch when the latter had
asked if she might invite her to visit them, “and
see what she is like. A girl that shows the spirit
she does is certainly worth cultivating, and as she
entertained you so nicely, by all means let us return
the obligation.”
When Alice’s cool but polite
note reached Mrs. Nason, she was piqued to even a
greater degree of curiosity, and when Albert’s
courteous letter, inviting “Mrs. Nason and family
to share a box at the Tremont for the purpose of meeting
my sister” was received, she returned a cordial
acceptance by bearer.
To Alice the proposed meeting was
a source of dread, and when the carriage called for
Albert and herself she was in an excited state of
mind, and maybe it was not all on account of Mrs. Nason
either. They had barely taken their seats in
the box, and the orchestra had only just begun the
overture, when the usher knocked and Blanch, followed
by the rest of the family, entered. That young
lady greeted Alice with an effusive kiss at once,
and the next instant she found herself shaking hands
with a rotund and gray-haired lady of dignified bearing,
but of very kind and courteous manner. An introduction
to Edith followed, and then Frank acknowledged her
polite “How do you do, Mr. Nason?” with
his very best bow.
Their meeting was the most formal
of any, as Alice evidently wished it to be, since
she did not offer her hand, and then she insisted that
Mrs. Nason and her two daughters occupy the front
chairs.
“You are our guests this evening,”
said Alice with quiet dignity, when Blanch urged her
to take one, “and so must pardon me for insisting.”
Then the play began, and by the time
the first act was over Alice had taken a mental inventory
of her “bogie” and made up her mind that
she was no bogie at all. When the curtain fell,
Mrs. Nason began chatting with Alice in the pleasantest
way possible, and with seemingly cordial interest
in all she said, while Blanch wisely kept quiet and
Edith devoted herself to Albert. It was after
the second curtain when Mrs. Nason said: “I
must insist that you divide your visit with us, Miss
Page, and allow us to return a little of your hospitality.
Of course I understand that your brother comes first,
and rightly too, but we must claim a part of your
time.”
“I had promised myself one or
two evenings at your home,” Alice answered quietly,
“but I do not feel that I ought to desert Bertie
more than that.”
Then for the first time Blanch put
in her little word: “Now do not offer your
brother as an excuse,” she said, “for it
will not do a bit of good. I have been anticipating
your promised visit for a long time, and no brother
is going to rob me of it. I shall come around
to-morrow forenoon with the coachman, and if you are
not ready to go back with me, bag and baggage, I will
take your baggage, and then you will have to come.”
Alice smiled at this vehement cordiality.
“I do not see why you cannot
see your brother and visit with him just as well at
our house,” put in Mrs. Nason; “he is always
welcome there, and he knows it, I am sure.”
Alice turned to her brother, remarking:
“It is nice of you to insist, and I am more
than grateful, but it must be as he says.”
Then she added prettily: “He is my papa
and mamma now, and the cook and captain bold, and
mate of the ‘Nancy’ brig as well.”
“I will stir up a mutiny on
the ‘Nancy’ brig if he does not consent,”
laughed Blanch, “so there is an end to that;
and you must be ready at ten to-morrow.”
“Well, what do you think of
the ‘haughty mother’ now?” observed
Albert, after the Nasons had rolled away in their
carriage. “Is she the awful spectre you
imagined?”
“Oh, she’s nice enough,”
answered Alice, “only it is just as well to let
her see I need a little urging.”