Richard Vandermarck Part 7

"No, I do not want anything; I wish you would not say anything more about it; it only hurt me for a moment."

"Will you go into the parlor, then?"

"No--yes, that is," I said, and capriciously went, alone, for he did not follow me.

I was wanted for cards, but I would not play, and sat down by one of the windows, a little out of the light. This window opened upon the piazza.

After a little while Richard, walking up and down the piazza, stopped by it, and said to me: "I hope you won't think it unreasonable in me to ask, Pauline; but how in the world did you happen to be making tea for that--that man in there?"

"I happened to make tea for Mr. Langenau because your sister asked me to," I said angrily; "you had better speak to her about it."

"You may be sure I shall," he said, walking away from the window.

Presently the tutor came in from the hall by the door near the piano, and sat down by it without being asked, and began to play softly, as if not to interrupt the game of cards. I could not help thinking in what good taste this was, since he had promised not to wait for any more importunities. The game at cards soon languished, for Charlotte Benson really had an enthusiasm for music, and was not happy till she was at liberty to give her whole attention to it. As soon as the players were released, Kilian came over and sat beside me. He rather wearied me, for I wanted to listen to the music, but he was determined not to see that, and chattered so that more than once Charlotte Benson turned impatiently and begged us not to talk. Once Mr. Langenau himself turned and looked at us, but Kilian only paused, and then went on again.

Mary Leighton had fled to the piano and was gazing at the keys in a rapt manner, hoping, no doubt, to rouse Kilian to jealousy of the tutor.

"Please go away," I said at last, "this is making me seem rude."

"Do not tell me," he exclaimed, "that you are helping Mary Leighton and Sophie to spoil this German fellow. I really did not look for it in you. I--"

"I can't stay here and be talked to," I said, getting up in despair.

"Then come on the piazza," he exclaimed, and we were there almost before I knew what I was doing.

I suppose every one in the room saw us go out: I was in terror when I thought what an insult it would seem to Mr. Langenau. We walked about the piazza for some time; I am afraid Mr. Kilian found me rather dull, for I could only listen to what was going on inside. At last he was called away by a man from the stable, who brought some alarming account of his beloved Tom or Jerry. If I had been his bride at the altar, I am sure he would have left me; being only a new and very faintly-lighted flame, he hurried off with scarcely an apology.

I sat down in a piazza-chair, just outside the window at which we had been sitting. I looked in at the window, but no one could see me, from the position of my chair.

Presently Mr. Langenau left the piano, and Mary Leighton, talking to him with effusion, walked across the room beside him, and took her seat at this very window. He did not sit down, but stood before her with his hat in his hand, as if he only awaited a favorable pause to go away.

"Ah, where did Pauline go?" she said, glancing around. "But I suppose we must excuse her, for to-night at least, as he has just come home. I imagine the engagement was no surprise to you?"

"Of what engagement do you speak?" he said.

"Why! Pauline and Richard Vandermarck; you know it is quite a settled thing. And very good for her, I think. He seems to me just the sort of man to keep her steady and--well, improve her character, you know. She seems such a heedless sort of girl. They say her mother ran away and made some horrid marriage, and, I believe, her uncle has had to keep her very strict. He is very much pleased, I am told, with marrying her to Richard, and she herself seems very much in love with him."

All this time he had stood very still and looked at her, but his face had changed slowly as she spoke. I knew then that what she had said had not pleased him. She went on in her babbling, soft voice:

"His sister Sophie isn't pleased, of course, so there is nothing said about it here. It _is_ rather hard for her, for the place belongs to Richard, and besides, Richard has been very generous to her always. And then to see him marry just such a sort of person--you know--so young--"

"Yes--so young," said Mr. Langenau, between his teeth, "and of such charming innocence."

"Oh, as to that," said Mary Leighton, piqued beyond prudence, "we all have our own views as to that."

The largess due the bearer of good news was not by right the meed of Mary Leighton. He looked at her as if he hated her.

"Mr. Richard Yandermarck is a fortunate man," he said. "She has rare beauty, if he has a taste for beauty."

"Men sometimes tire of that; if indeed she has it. Her coloring is her strong point, and that may not last forever;" and Mary's voice was no longer silvery.

"You think so?" he said. "I think her grace is her strong point, '_la grace encore plus belle que la beaute_,' and longer-lived beside. Few women move as she does, making it a pleasure to follow her with the eyes. And her height and suppleness: at twenty-five she will be regal."

"Then, Mr. Langenau," she cried, with sudden spitefulness, "you _do_ admire her very much yourself! Do you know, I thought perhaps you did.

How you must envy Mr. Vandermarck!"

A slight shrug of the shoulders and a slight low laugh; after which, he said, "No, I think not. I have not the courage that is necessary."

"The courage! why, what do you mean by that?"

"I mean that a man who ventures to love a woman in whom he cannot trust, has need for courage and for patience; perhaps Mr. Richard Vandermarck has them both abundantly. For me, I think the pretty Miss Pauline would be safer as an hour's amus.e.m.e.nt than as a life's companion."

The words stabbed, killed me. With an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n that could scarcely have escaped their ears, I sprang up and ran through the hall and up the stairs. Before I reached the landing-place, I knew that some one was behind me. I did not look or pause, but flew on through the hall till I reached my own door. My own door was just at the foot of the third-floor stairway. I glanced back, and saw that it was Mr. Langenau who was behind me. I pushed open my door and went half-way in the room; then with a vehement and sudden impulse came back into the hall and pulled it shut again and stood with my hand upon the latch, and waited for him to pa.s.s. In an instant more he was near me, but not as if he saw me; he could not reach the stairway without pa.s.sing so near me that he must touch my dress. I waited till he was so near, and said, "Mr. Langenau."

He raised his eyes steadily to mine and bowed low. I almost choked for one instant, and then I found voice and rushed on vehemently. "What she has told you is false; every word of it is false. I am not engaged to Richard Vandermarck; I never thought of such a thing till I came here, and found they talked about it. They ought to be ashamed, and I will go away to-morrow. And what she said about my mother is a wicked lie as well, at least in the way she meant it; and I shall hate her all my life. I have been motherless and lonely always, but G.o.d has cared for me, and I never knew before what evil thoughts and ways there were. I am not ashamed that I listened, though I didn't mean to stay at first.

I'm glad I heard it all and know what kind of friends I have. And those last cruel words you said--I never will forgive you, never--never--never till I die."

He had put his hand out toward me as if in conciliation, at least I understood it so. I pushed it pa.s.sionately away, rushed into my room, bolted the door, and flung myself upon the bed with a frightful burst of sobs. I heard his hand upon the latch of the door, and he said my name several times in a low voice. Then he went slowly up the stairs. And I think his room must have been directly over mine, for, for hours I heard some one walking there; indeed, it was the last sound I heard, when, having cried all my tears and vowed all my vows, I fell asleep and forgot that I was wretched.

CHAPTER VIII.

SUNDAY.

_La notte e madre di pensieri_.

Now tell me how you are as to religion?

You are a clear good man--but I rather fear You have not much of it.

_Faust_.

It was all very well to talk about going away; but the matter looked very differently by daylight. It was Sunday; and I knew I could not go away for a day or two, and not even then without making a horrid sort of stir, for which I had not the courage in cold blood. Besides, I did not even know that I wanted to go if I could. Varick-street! Hateful, hateful thought. No, I could not go there. And though (by daylight) I still detested Mary Leighton, and felt ashamed about Richard, and remembered all Mr. Langenau's words (sweet as well as bitter), everything was let down a great many degrees; from the heights of pa.s.sion into the plains of commonplace.

My great excitement had worked its own cure, and I was so dull and weary that I did not even want to think of what had pa.s.sed the night before.

If I had a sentiment that retained any strength, it was that of shame and self-contempt. I could not think of myself in any way that did not make me blush. When, however, it came to the moment of facing every one, and going down to breakfast, I began to know I still had some other feelings.

I was the last to go down. The bell had rung a very long while before I left my room. I took my seat at the table without looking at any one, though, of course, every one looked at me. My confused and rather general good-morning was returned with much precision by all. Somebody remarked that I did not look well. Somebody else remarked that was surely because I went to bed so early; that it never had been known to agree with any one. Some one else wanted to know why I had gone so early, and that I had been hunted for in all directions for a dance which had been a sudden inspiration.

"But as you had gone away, and the musician could not be found, we had to give it up," said Charlotte Benson, "and we owe you both a grudge."

"For my part, I am very sorry," said Mr. Langenau. "I had no thought that you meant to dance last night, or I should have stayed at the piano; I hope you will tell me the next time."

"The next time will be to-morrow evening," said Mary Leighton. "Now, Mr. Langenau, you will not forget--or--or get excited about anything and go away?"

I dared not look at Mr. Langenau's face, but I am sure I should not have seen anything pleasant if I had. I don't know what he answered, for I was so confused, I dropped a plate of berries which I was just taking from Kilian's hand, and made quite an uncomfortable commotion. The berries were very ripe, and they rolled in many directions on the table-cloth, and fell on my white dress.

"Your pretty dress is ruined, I'm afraid," said Kilian, stooping down to save it.