Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 15 (6 page)

 
          
“Poor young lady!
I will do my best to aid your friendly
purpose— for Vane’s sake, if not for her own,” said
Douglas
, evidently continuing the subject, lest her
ladyship should revert to the former one.

 
          
“That
reminds me to give you one warning: Never speak to her or before her of the
colonel. He died three or four years ago; but when I mentioned him, she
implored me to spare her all allusion to that unhappy past, and I have done so.
It is my belief that he was not all she believed him to be, and she may have
suffered what she is too generous to complain of or confess.”

 
          
“I
doubt that; for when I knew him, though weak on some points, Vane was an
excellent fellow. She wears no weeds, I observe.”

 
          
“You
have a quick eye, to discover that in such an instant,” replied Lady Lennox,
smiling.

 
          
“I
could scarcely help looking longest at the most striking figure of the group.”

           
“I forgive you for it. She left off
her weeds by my advice, for the somber colors seemed to oppress and sadden her.
Three or four years are long enough to mourn one whom she did not wholly love,
and she is too young to shroud herself in sables for a lifetime.”

 
          
“Has
she fortune?”

 
          
“The
colonel left her something handsome, I suspect, for she keeps both man and
maid, and lives as becomes her rank. I ask no questions, but I feel deeply for
the poor child, and do my best for her. Now tell me about home, and your dear
mother.”

 
          
Earl
obeyed, and entertained his hostess till the dressing bell rang.

THE IRON RING

 
          
WHEN
Douglas
entered the drawing rooms, he was instantly
seized upon by Major Mansfield, and while he stood listening with apparent
interest to that gentleman’s communications, he took a survey of the party
before him. The elder ladies were not yet down; Harry Lennox was worshiping
Diana with all the frank admiration of a lad of eighteen, and Mrs. Vane was
pacing up and down the rooms on the arm of George Lennox, the young master of
the house. Few little women would have appeared to advantage beside the tall
guardsman; but Mrs. Vane moved with a dignity that seemed to add many inches to
her almost fairylike stature, and make her a fit companion for her martial
escort. Everything about her was peculiar and piquant. Her dress was of that
vivid silvery green which is so ruinous to any but the purest complexion, so
ravishing when worn by one whose bloom defies all hues. The skirt swept long
behind her, and the Pompadour waist, with its flowing sleeves, displayed a neck
and arms of dazzling fairness, half concealed by a film of costly lace. No
jewels but an antique opal ring, attached by a slender chain to a singular
bracelet, or wide band of enchased gold. A single deep-hued flower glowed on
her bosom, and in that wonderful hair of hers a chaplet of delicate ferns
seemed to gather back the cloud of curls, and encircle coil upon coil of glossy
hair, that looked as if it burdened her small head.

 
          
The
young man watched her so intently that the major soon observed his
preoccupation, and paused in the middle of his account of a review to ask
good-naturedly, “Well, what
do you
think of the
bewitching widow?”

 
          
“She
reminds me of a little green viper,” replied
Douglas
coolly.

           
“The deuce she does! What put such
an odd fancy into your head?” asked the major.

 
          
“The color of her gown, her gliding gait, her brilliant eyes, and
poor George’s evident fascination.”

 
          
“Faith!
I see the resemblance, and you’ve expressed my feeling
exactly. Do you know I’ve tried to fall in love with that woman, and, upon my
soul, I can’t do it!”

 
          
“She
does not care to fascinate you, perhaps.”

 
          
“Neither
does she care to charm George, as I happen to know; yet you see what a deuce of
a state he’s getting into.”

 
          
“His
youth prevents his seeing the danger before it is too late; and there you have
the advantage, Major.”

 
          
“We
shall see how you will prosper, Douglas; for you are not a lad of twenty, like
George, or an old fellow of forty, like me, and, if rumor does not lie, you
have had experiences,’ and understand womankind.” Though he spoke in a tone of
raillery, the major fixed a curious eye upon his companion’s countenance. But
the dark handsome face remained inscrutably calm, and the only answer he
received was a low— “Hush!
they
are coming. Present
me, and I’ll see what I can make of her.”

 
          
Now
Douglas
was undoubtedly the best parti of the
season, and he knew it. He was not a vain man, but an intensely proud one—proud
of his ancient name, his honorable race, his ancestral home, his princely
fortune; and he received the homage of both men and women as his due. Great,
therefore, was his surprise at the little scene which presently occurred, and
very visible was his haughty displeasure.

 
          
Lennox
and his fair companion approached, the one
bending his tall head to listen ardently, the other looking up with a most
tempting face, as she talked rapidly, after softening a hard English phrase by
an entrancing accent. The major presented his friend with much empressement,
and
Douglas
was prepared to receive the gracious
greeting which women seldom failed to give him. But scarcely pausing in her
progress, Mrs. Vane merely glanced at him, as his name was mentioned, returned
his bow with a slight inclination, and rustled on as if quite oblivious that a
direct descendant of the great Scotch earl had been presented to her.

 
          
The
major stifled an irrepressible laugh at this unexpected rebuff, and took a
malicious pleasure in watching his friend’s eye kindle, his attitude become
more stately
as he talked on, and deigned to take no notice
of an act which evidently much annoyed and amazed him. Just then Lady Lennox
entered, and dinner was announced. George beckoned, and
Douglas
reluctantly joined him.

           
“As host, I am obliged to take Mrs.
Berkeley down; Harry has monopolized Miss Stuart, and the major belongs to my
mother—so I must reluctantly relinquish Mrs. Vane to you.”

 
          
Being
a well-bred man,
Douglas
could only bow, and offer his arm. Mrs.
Vane made George happy by a smile, as he left her, then turned to Douglas with
a “May I trouble you?” as she gave him her fan and handkerchief to hold, while
she gathered up her train and took his arm, as unconcernedly as if he had been
a footman. Though rather piqued by her nonchalance, Douglas found something
half amusing, half captivating in her demeanor; for, much as he had been
courted and admired, few women were quite at ease with the highborn gentleman,
whose manners were so coldly charming, whose heart seemed so invulnerable. It
was a new sensation to be treated like other men, and set to serve an imperious
lady, who leaned upon his arm as if she needed its support, and tranquilly
expected the small courtesies which hitherto had been left to his own goodwill
and pleasure to offer.

 
          
Whatever
the secret of his past might be, and however well he might conceal his real
self behind a grave demeanor, Douglas had not yet lost his passion for
beautiful women, and though no word was spoken during the short transit from
drawing room to dinner table, the power of loveliness and womanhood made itself
felt beyond a doubt. The touch of a fair hand upon his arm, the dazzle of white
shoulders at his side, the soft scent of violets shaken from the folds of lace
and cambric which he held, the glimpse of a dainty foot, and the glance of a
vivacious eye, all made the little journey memorable. When they took their
places, the hauteur had melted from his manner, the coldness from his face, and
with his courtliest air he began a conversation which soon became absorbing—for
Mrs. Vane talked with the grace of a French woman, and the intelligence of an
English woman.

 
          
When
the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, they were found examining some antique
jewels, which Lady Lennox had been prevailed upon to show.

 
          
“How
well those diamonds look in Diana’s dark hair. Ah, my dear, a coronet becomes
you vastly. Does it not?” said Mrs. Berkeley, appealing to
Douglas
, who was approaching.

 
          
“So
well that I hope you will soon see one rightfully there, madam,” he answered,
with a glance that made Diana’s eyes fall, and Mrs. Berkeley look radiant.

 
          
Mrs.
Vane saw the look, divined its meaning, and smiled a strange smile, as she
looked down upon the jewels that strewed her lap.

 
          
Mrs.
Berkeley mistook her attitude for one of admiration and envy, and said, “You
wear no ornaments but flowers, I observe; from choice, doubtless, for, as you
are the last of your race, you must possess many of the family relics.”

 
          
Mrs.
Vane looked up, and answered with an indescribable mixture of simplicity and
dignity, “I wear flowers because I have no other ornaments. My family paid the
price of loyalty with both life and fortune; but I possess one jewel which I
value above all these—a noble name.”

 
          
A
banished princess might have so looked, so spoken, as, gathering up the
glittering mass in her white
hands,
she let it fall
again, with an air of gentle pride.
Douglas
gave her a glance of genuine admiration, and Diana took the diamonds from her
hair, as if they burdened her. Mrs. Berkeley saw that her shot had failed, but
tried again, only to be more decidedly defeated.

 
          
“Very
prettily done, my dear; but I really thought you were going to say that your
most valuable jewel was the peculiar bracelet you wear. Is there any charming
legend or mystery concerning it? I fancied so, because you never take it off,
however out of taste it may be; and otherwise your dress is always perfect.”

 
          
“I
wear it in fulfillment of a vow, and the beauty of the ring atones for the
ugliness of the bracelet. Does it not?”

 
          
As
she spoke, Mrs. Vane extended an exquisitely molded arm and hand to Douglas,
who answered with most unusual gallantry, “The beauty of the arm would render
any fetter an ornament.”

 
          
He
bent to examine the jewel as he spoke, and Mrs. Vane whispered, below her
breath, “You have offended Diana; pray make your peace. I should be desolated
to think my poor arm had estranged you, even for an hour.”

 
          
So
entirely was he thrown off his guard by this abrupt address, that he whispered
eagerly, “Do my actions interest her? Have I any cause for hope? Does she—”

 
          
There
he paused, recovered his self-possession, but not his countenance—for an angry
flush stained his dark cheek, and he fixed a look upon Mrs. Vane that would
have daunted any other woman. She did not seem to see it, for her head drooped
till her face was hidden, and she sat absently playing with the little chain
that shone against her hand. George Lennox looked fiercely jealous; Diana
turned pale; Mrs. Berkeley frowned; and good, unconscious Lady Lennox said
blandly, “Apropos to heirlooms and relics, I was telling these ladies about
your famous iron ring, Earl. I wish you had it here to show them.”

 
          
“I
am happy to be able to gratify your ladyship’s wish. I never leave without it,
for I use it as my seal. I will ring for it.”

           
Mrs. Vane lifted her head with an
air of interest as
Douglas
gave an order, and his servant presently
put a small steel-bound case into his hand. Opening this with a key that hung
upon his watch guard, he displayed the famous relic. Antique, rusty, and
massive it was, and on its shield the boar’s head and the motto of the house.

 
          
“You
say you use this as a signet ring; why do you not have your arms cut on some
jewel, and set in a more graceful setting? This device is almost effaced, and
the great ring anything but ornamental to one’s hand or chatelaine,” said Mrs.
Vane, curiously examining the ring as it was passed to her.

 
          
“Because
I am superstitious and believe that an especial virtue lies in this ancient bit
of iron. The legend goes that no harm can befall its possessor, and as I have
gone scatheless so far, I hold fast to the old faith.”

 
          
As
Douglas
turned to hear and answer Mrs. Vane’s
question, Harry Lennox, with the freedom of a boy, had thrown back the lid of
the case, which had been opened with peculiar care, and, lifting several worn
papers, disclosed two objects that drew exclamations of surprise from several
of the party. A satin slipper, of fairylike proportions, with a dull red stain
upon its sole, and what looked like a ring of massive gold, till the lad lifted
it, when coil after coil unwound, till a long curl of human hair touched the
ground.

 
          
“My faith!
That is the souvenir of the beautiful danseuse
Virginie Varens, about whom you bored me with questions when you showed me that
several years ago,” said the major, staring with all his eyes.

 
          
Mrs.
Vane had exclaimed with the rest, but her color faded perceptibly, her eye grew
troubled, and when Harry leaned toward her to compare the long tress with her
own, she shrank back with a shudder. Diana caught a muttered ejaculation from
Douglas
, saw Mrs. Vane’s discomposure, and fixed a
scrutinizing gaze upon her. But in a moment those obedient features resumed
their former calm, and, with a little gesture of contrition, Mrs. Vane laid the
long curl beside one of her own, saying tranquilly: