Beulah Part 56

"Home, sir."

"What! so soon tired?"

"Yes; heartily tired," said she, wrapping her shawl about her.

"Have you spoken to Eugene to-night?"

"No."

Her guardian looked at her very intently, as if striving to read her soul, and said slowly:

"Child, he and Antoinette are sitting in the front parlor. I happened to overhear a remark as I pa.s.sed them. He is an accepted lover; they are engaged."

A quick s.h.i.+ver ran over Beulah's frame, and a dark frown furrowed her pale brow, as she answered:

"I feared as much."

"Why should you fear, child? She is a beautiful heiress, and he loves her," returned Dr. Hartwell, without taking his eyes from her face.

"No; he thinks he loves her, but it is not so. He is fascinated by her beauty; but I fear the day will come when, discovering her true character, he will mourn his infatuation. I know his nature, and I know, too, that she cannot make him happy."

She turned away; but he walked on with her to the carriage, handed her in, and said "Good-night" as coldly as usual. Meantime, the rattle of plates, jingle of forks and spoons, in the supper room, would have rendered all conversation impossible had not the elevation of voices kept pace with the noise and confusion. At one end of the table Cornelia Graham stood talking to a distinguished foreigner who was spending a few days in the city. He was a handsome man, with fine colloquial powers, and seemed much interested in a discussion which he and Cornelia carried on, relative to the society of American cities as compared with European. A temporary lull in the hum of voices allowed Cornelia to hear a remark made by a gentleman quite near her.

"Miss Laura, who did you say that young lady was that Mrs. Asbury introduced me to? The one with such magnificent hair and teeth?"

His companion was no other than Laura Martin, whose mother, having built an elegant house and given several large parties, was now a "fas.h.i.+onable," par excellence. Laura elevated her nose very perceptibly, and answered:

"Oh, a mere n.o.body! Beulah Benton. I can't imagine how she contrived to be invited here. She is a teacher in the public school, I believe; but that is not the worst. She used to hire herself out as a servant. Indeed, it is a fact, she was my little brother's nurse some years ago. I think ma hired her for six dollars a month." She laughed affectedly, and allowed her escort to fill her plate with creams.

Cornelia grew white with anger, and the stranger asked, with a smile, if he should consider this a sample of the society she boasted of. Turning abruptly to Laura, she replied, with undisguised contempt:

"The Fates forbid, Mr. Falconer, that you should judge American society from some of the specimens you may see here to-night!

Misfortune placed Miss Benton, at an early age, in an orphan asylum, and while quite young she left it to earn a support. Mrs. Martin (this young lady's mother) hired her as a nurse; but she soon left this position, qualified herself to teach, and now, with a fine intellect thoroughly cultivated, is the pride of all who can appreciate true n.o.bility of soul and, of course, an object of envy and detraction to her inferiors, especially to some of our fas.h.i.+onable parvenus, whose self-interest prompts them to make money alone the standard of worth, and who are in the habit of determining the gentility of different persons by what they have, not what they are."

Her scornful glance rested witheringly on Laura's face, and, mortified and enraged, the latter took her companion's arm and moved away.

"I have some desire to become acquainted with one who could deserve such eulogy from you," answered the foreigner, somewhat amused at the course the conversation had taken and quite satisfied that Americans were accustomed to correct false impressions in rather an abrupt manner.

"I will present you to her with great pleasure. She is not here; we must search for her."

She took his arm, and they looked for Beulah from room to room; finally, Dr. Hartwell informed Cornelia that she had gone home, and, tired and out of humor, the latter excused herself and prepared to follow her friend's example. Her father was deep in a game of whist, her mother unwilling to return home so soon, and Eugene and Antoinette--where were they? Dr. Hartwell saw her perplexed expression, and asked:

"Whom are you looking for?"

"Eugene."

"He is with your cousin on the west gallery. I will conduct you to them, if you wish it."

He offered his arm, and noticed the scowl that instantly darkened her face. Unconsciously her fingers grasped his arm tightly, and she walked on with a lowering brow. As they approached the end of the gallery Cornelia saw that the two she sought stood earnestly conversing. Eugene's arm pa.s.sed round Antoinette's waist. Dr.

Hartwell watched his companion closely; the light from the window gleamed over her face and showed it gray and rigid. Her white lips curled as she muttered:

"Let us take another turn before I speak to them."

"Surely you are not surprised?"

"Oh, no! I am not blind!"

"It was an unlucky chance that threw your cousin in his path," said the doctor composedly.

"Oh, it is merely another link in the chain of fatality which binds my family to misfortune. She has all the family traits of the Labords, and you know what they are," cried Cornelia.

He compressed his lips, and a lightning glance shot out from his eyes; but he stilled the rising tempest, and replied coldly:

"Why, then, did you not warn him?"

"Warn him! So I did. But I might as well grasp at the stars yonder as hope to influence him in this infatuation."

Once more they approached the happy pair, and, leaning forward, Cornelia said hoa.r.s.ely:

"Eugene, my father is engaged; come home with me."

He looked up, and answered carelessly: "Oh, you are leaving too early. Can't you entertain yourself a little longer?"

"No, sir."

Her freezing tone startled him, and for the first time he noticed the haggard face, with its expression of angry scorn. Her eyes were fixed on Antoinette, who only smiled and looked triumphantly defiant.

"Are you ill, Cornelia? Of course I will take you home if you really desire it. Doctor, I must consign Miss Dupres to your care till I return."

Eugene by no means relished the expression of his sister's countenance. She bade Dr. Harwell adieu, pa.s.sed her arm through her brother's, and they proceeded to their carriage. The ride was short and silent. On reaching home, Eugene conducted Cornelia into the house, and was about to return when she said imperiously:

"A word with you before you go."

She entered the sitting room, threw her wrappings on a chair, and began to divest herself of bracelets and necklace. Eugene lighted a cigar and stood waiting to hear what she might choose to communicate. Fastening her brilliant black eyes on his face, she said sneeringly:

"Eugene Graham, did you learn dissimulation in the halls of Heidelberg?"

"What do you mean, Cornelia?"

"Where did you learn to deceive one who believed you pure and truthful as an archangel? Answer me that." Her whole face was a glare of burning scorn.

"Insulting insinuations are unworthy of you and beneath my notice,"

he proudly replied.

"Well, then, take the more insulting truth! What crawling serpent of temptation induced you to tell me you expected to marry Beulah? No evasion! I will not be put off! Why did you deceive me with a falsehood I was too stupidly trusting to discover until recently?"

"When I told you so I expected to marry Beulah; not so much because I loved her, but because I supposed that she rather considered me bound to her by early ties. I discovered, however, that her happiness was not dependent on me, and therefore abandoned the idea."

"And my peerless cousin is to be your bride, eh?"