Richard Vandermarck Part 30

Nor they unblest, Who underneath the world's bright vest With sackcloth tame their aching breast, The sharp-edged cross in jewels hide.

_Keble_.

From eighteen to twenty-four--a long step; and it covers the ground that is generally the brightest and gayest in a woman's life, and the most decisive. With me it was, in a certain sense, bright and gay; but the deciding events of my life seemed to have been crowded into the year, the story of which has just been told. Of the six years that came after, there is not much to tell. My character went on forming itself, no doubt, and interiorly I was growing in one direction or the other; but in external matters, there is not much of interest.

I had "no end of money," so it seemed to me, and to a good many other people, I should think, from the way that they paid me court. I don't see why it did not turn my head, except that I was what they call religious, and dreadfully afraid of doing wrong. I was not my own mistress exactly, either, for I had some one to direct my conscience, though that was the only direction that I ever had. I had not the smallest restriction as to money from Richard (to whom the estate was left in trust); and it had been found much to exceed his expectations, or those of anybody else.

I had the whole world before me, where to go and what to choose; not very much stability of character, and the greatest ignorance; a considerable share of good looks, and the love of pleasure inseparable from youth and health; absolutely no authority, and any amount of flattery and temptation. I think it must be agreed, it was a happy thing for me that I was brought under the influence of Sister Madeline, and that through her I was made to feel most afraid of sin, and of myself; and that the life within, the growth in grace, and the keeping clear my conscience, was made to appear of more consequence than the life without, that was so full of pleasures and of snares.

I often think now of the obedience with which I would give up a party, stay at home alone, and read a good book, because I had been advised to do it, or because it was a certain day; of the simplicity with which I would pat away a novel, when its interest was at the height, because it was the hour for me to read something different, or because it was Friday, or because I was to learn to give up doing what I wanted to.

These things, trivial in themselves, and never bound upon my conscience, only offered as advice, had the effect of breaking up the constant influence of the world, giving me a little time for thought, and opportunity for self-denial. I cannot help thinking such things are very useful for young persons, and particularly those who have only ordinary force and resolution. At least, I think they were made a means of security to me. I was so in earnest to do right, that I often thought, in terror for myself, in the midst of alluring pleasures and delights, it was a pity they had not let me be a Sister when I wanted to at first.

(I really think I had more vocation than they thought: I could have _given up_, to the end of life, without a murmur, if that is what is necessary.) As to the people who wanted to marry me, I did not care for any of them, and seemed to have much less coquetry than of old. They simply did not interest me, (of course, in a few years, I had outgrown the love that I had supposed to be so immortal.) It was very pleasant to be always attended to, and to have more constant homage than any other young woman whom I saw. But as to liking particularly any of the men themselves, it never occurred to me to think of it.

I was placed by my fortunate circ.u.mstances rather above the intrigue, and detraction, and heart-burning, that attends the social struggle for life in ordinary cases. If I were envied, I did not know it, and I had small reason to envy anybody else, being quite the queen.

I enjoyed above measure, the bright and pleasant things that I had at my command: the sunny rooms of my pretty house: the driving, the sailing, the dancing: all that charms a healthy young taste, and is innocent. I took journeys, with the ecstasy of youth and of good health. I never shall forget the pleasure of certain days and skies, and the enjoyment that I had in nature. In society, I had a little more weariness, as I grew older, and found a certain want of interest, as was inevitable.

Society isn't all made up of clever people, and even clever people get to be tiresome in the course of time. But at twenty-four I was by no means _blase_, only more addicted to books and journeys, and less enthusiastic about parties and croquet, though these I could enjoy a little yet.

I had a pretty house (and re-furnished it very often, which always gave me pleasure). I had no care, for Richard had arranged that I should have a very excellent sort of person for duenna, who had a good deal of tact, and didn't bore me, and was shrewd enough to make things very smooth. I liked her very much, though I think now she was something of a hypocrite. But she had enough principle to make things very respectable, and I never took her for a friend. We had very pretty little dinners, and little evenings when anybody wanted them, though the house wasn't very large. My duenna (by name Throckmorton) liked journeys as well as I did, and never objected to going anywhere. Altogether we were very comfortable.

The people whom I had known in that first year of my social existence, had drifted away from me a good deal in this new life. Sophie I could not help meeting sometimes, for she was still a gay woman, but I naturally belonged to a younger set, and did not go very long into general society. We still disliked each other with the cordiality of our first acquaintance, but I was very sorry for it, and had a great many repentances about it after every meeting. Kilian I met a good deal, but we rather avoided each other, at short range, though exceedingly good friends to the general observation.

Mary Leighton I seldom saw; no doubt she was consumed with envy when she heard of me, for they were poor, and not able to keep up with gay life as would have pleased her. She still maintained her intimacy with Kilian, for he had not the resolution to break off a flirtation of which, I was sure, he must be very tired.

Henrietta had married very well, two years after I saw her at R----, and was the staid, placid matron that she was always meant to be.

Charlotte Benson was the clever woman still: a little stronger-minded, and no less good-looking than of old, and no more. People were beginning to say that she would not marry, though she was only twenty-six. She did not go much to parties, and was not in my set. She affected art and lectures, and excursions to mountains, and campings-out, and unconventionalities, and no doubt had a good time in her way. But it was not my way: and so we seldom met. When we did, she did not show much more respect for me than of old, which always had the effect of making me feel angry.

And as for Richard, we could not have been much further apart, if he had lived "in England and I at Rotterdam." For a year, while he was settling up the estate, he was closely in the city. I did not see him more than once or twice, all business being transacted through his lawyer, and the clerk of whom he had spoken to me. After the business matters of the estate were all in order, he went away, intending, I believe, to stay a year or two. But he came back before many months were over, and settled down into the routine of business life, which now seemed to have become necessary to him.

Travel was only a weariness to him in his state of mind; and work, and city-life, seemed the panacea. He did not live with Sophie, but took apartments, which he furnished plainly; and seemed settling down, according to his brother, into much of the sort of life that Uncle Leonard had led so many years in Varick-street.

Sophie still went to R----, and I often heard of the pleasant parties there in summer. But Richard seldom went, and seemed to have lost his interest in the place, though I have no doubt he spent more money on it than before. I heard of many improvements every year.

And Richard was now a man of wealth, so much so that people talked about him; and the newspapers said, in talking about real-estate, or investments, or inst.i.tutions of charity--"When such men as Richard Vandermarck allow their names to appear, we may be sure," etc., etc. He was now the head of the firm, and one of the first business men of the city. He seemed a great deal older than he was; thirty-seven is young to occupy the place he held.

Such a _parti_ could not be let alone entirely. His course was certainly discouraging, and it needs tough hopes to live on nothing. But stranger things had happened; more obdurate men had yielded; and unappropriated loveliness hoped on. The story of an early attachment was afloat in connection with his name. I don't know whether I was made to play a part in it or not.

I saw him, perhaps, twice a year, not oftener. His manner was always, to me, peculiarly grave and kind; to every one, practical and unpretending.

I had many letters from him, particularly when I was away on journeys.

He seemed always to want to know exactly where I was, and to feel a care of me, though his letters never went beyond business matters, and advice about things I did not understand.

As my guardian, he could not have done less, nor was it necessary that he should do more; still I often wished it would occur to him to come and see me oftener, and give me an opportunity of showing him how much I had improved, and how different I had become. I had the greatest respect for his opinion; and he had grown, unconsciously to myself, to be a sort of oracle with me, and a sort of hero, too.

I was apt to compare other men with him, and they fell very far short of his measure in my eyes. That may have been because I saw him much too seldom, and the other men much too often.

CHAPTER XXV.

BIEN PERDU, BIEN CONNU.

Keep, therefore, a true woman's eye, And love me still, but know not why; So hast thou the same reason still To doat upon me ever!

"It's very nice to be at home again," I said to Mrs. Throckmorton, as I broke a great lump of coal in pieces, and watched the flames with pleasure.

"Yes," said Mrs. Throckmorton, putting another piece of sugar in her coffee, for she was still at the table. "That is, if you call this home; I must confess it doesn't feel so to me altogether."

"Well, it's our own dear, noisy, raging, racketing, bustling old city, if it isn't our own house, and I'm sure we're very comfortable."

"Very," said Mrs. Throckmorton, who was always pleased.

"Every time I hear the tinkle of a car-bell, or the roar of an omnibus, I feel a thrill of pleasure," I said; "I never was so glad to get anywhere before."

"That's something new, isn't it?" said Mrs. Throckmorton, briefly.

"I don't know; I think I am always glad to get back home."

"And very glad to go away again too, my dear."

"I don't think I shall travel any more," I returned. "The fact is, I am getting too old to care about it, I believe."

Mrs. Throckmorton laughed, being considerably over forty, and still as fond of going about as ever.

We were only _de retour_ two days. We had started eighteen months ago, for at least three years in Europe, and I had found myself unaccountably tired of it at the end of a year and a half; and here we were.

Our house was rented, but that I had not allowed to be any obstacle, though Mrs. Throckmorton, who was very well satisfied with the easy life abroad, had tried to make it so. I had secured apartments which were very pretty and complete. We had found them in order, and we had come there from the steamer. I was eminently happy at being where I wanted to be.

"How odd it seems to be in town and have n.o.body know it," I said, thinking, with a little quiet satisfaction, how pleased several people I could name would be, if they only knew we were so near them.

"n.o.body but Mr. Vandermarck, I suppose," said Mrs. Throckmorton.

"Not even he," I answered, "for he can't have got my letter yet; it was only mailed the day we started. It was only a chance, you know, our getting those staterooms, and we were in such a hurry. I was so much obliged to that dear, old German gentleman for dying. We shouldn't have been here if he hadn't."

"Pauline, my dear!"

"Well, I can't think, as he's probably in heaven, that he can have begrudged us his tickets to New York."

"I should think not," said Mrs. Throckmorton, with a little sigh. For New York was not heaven to her, and she had spent a good deal of the day in looking up the necessary servants for our establishment, which, little as it was, required just double the number that had made us comfortable abroad.

She had too much discretion to trouble me with her cares, however, so she said cheerfully, after a few moments, by way of diverting my mind and her own--

"Well, I heard some news to-day."

"Ah!"--(I had been unpacking all day; and Mrs. Throckmorton in the interval of servant-hunting had not been able to refrain from a visit or two, _en pa.s.sant_ to dear friends.)