The individual who last spoke, was well known to all in that room as the betrayer of innocence. And Henry Clarence felt his cheek burn and his heart bound with an indignant throb as he heard this remark.
"He will be disappointed, or I am mistaken," he said to himself as the two, who had been conversing near him, moved to another part of the room. "But if Melvina Fenton has so little of that sensitive innocence, that shrinks from the presence of guilt as to dance with him, and suffer her hand to be touched by his, my mind is made up. I will never marry her."
"She is the queen of beauty to-night, Clarence," said a friend coming to Henry"s side, and speaking in an under tone.
"She is, indeed, very beautiful; but I cannot help thinking a little too showy. Her dress would be very good for the occasion were those variegated roses taken from their blue ground. Flowers never grow on such a soil; and her head dress is by far too conspicuous, and by no means in good taste."
"Why you are critical to-night, Clarence. I thought Melvina one of your favorites?"
"I must confess a little good will towards her, and perhaps that is the reason of my being somewhat particular in my observation of her style of dress. Certainly, she makes a most decided sensation here to-night; for every eye is upon her, and every tongue, that I have yet heard speak is teeming with words of admiration."
"That she does," responded the friend. "Every other girl in the room will be dying of envy or neglect before the evening is over."
"That would speak little for the gallantry of the men or the good sense of the young ladies," was the quiet reply.
Several times the eye of Henry Clarence wandered around the room in search of Caroline--but he did not see her in the gay a.s.semblage.
"She told me she would be here," he mentally said, "and I should really like to mark the contrast between her and the brilliant Miss Fenton. Oh! there she is, as I live, leaning on the arm of her father, the very personification of innocence and beauty. But her face is too calm by half. I fear she is cold."
Truly was she as Henry Clarence had said, the personification of innocence and beauty. Her dress of snowy whiteness, made perfectly plain, and fitting well a figure that was rather delicate, but of exquisite symmetry, contrasted beautifully with the gay and flaunting attire of those around her. Her head could boast but a single ornament, besides her own tastefully arranged hair, and that was a sprig of buds and half-blown flowers as white as the dress she had chosen for the evening. Her calm sweet face looked sweeter and more innocent than ever, for the contrast of the whole scene relieved her peculiar beauty admirably.
"An angel?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed a young man by the side of Clarence, moving over towards the part of the room where Caroline stood, still leaning on the arm of her father.
"We wanted but you to make our tableau complete," he said, with a graceful bow. "Let me relieve you, Mr. Gay, of the care of this young lady," he added offering his arm to Caroline--and in the next minute he had joined the promenade with the sweetest creature in the room by his side.
The beautiful contrast that was evident to all, between Caroline, the plainest-dressed maiden in the room, and Melvina the gayest and most imposing, soon drew all eyes upon the former, and Melvina had the discrimination to perceive that she had a rival near the throne, in one whom she little dreamed of fearing; and whose innocent heart she knew too well to accuse of design.
Soon cotillion parties were formed, and among the first to offer his hand to Melvina, was a young man named Sheldon, the same alluded to as declaring that he would dance with her, as he always did with the belle of the ball room. Melvina knew his character well, and Henry Clarence was aware that she possessed this knowledge. His eye was upon her, and she knew it. But she did not know of the determination that he formed or else she would have hesitated.
"The most splendid man in the room, and the most graceful dancer,"
were the thoughts that glanced through her mind, as she smiled an a.s.sent to his invitation to become his partner. "I shall not yet lose my power."
And now all eyes were again upon the brilliant beauty threading the mazy circles, with glowing cheek and sparkling eye. And few thought of blaming her for dancing with Sheldon, whose character ought to have banished him from virtuous society. But there was one whose heart sickened as he looked on, and that one was Henry Clarence. He lingered near the group of dancers but a few minutes, and then wandered away to another room.
"Permit me to transfer my company, Mr. Clarence," said the young man who had thus far monopolized the society of Caroline Gay. "I will not be selfish; and besides, I fear I am becoming too dull for my fair friend here."
With a bow and a smile, Clarence received on his arm the fair girl.
He felt for her a tenderer regard than had heretofore warmed his heart, as he strolled through the rooms and listened to her sweet, penetrating voice. And whenever he turned and looked her in the face, he saw that in the expression of her eyes which he had never marked before--something of tenderness that made his own heart beat with a quicker motion. As they drew near the dancers, they observed Sheldon with Melvina leaning on his arm, and two or three others, engaged in making up another cotillion.
"We want but one more couple, and here they are," said Sheldon, as Clarence and Caroline came up.
"Will you join this set?" asked Clarence, in a low tone.
"Not _this_ one," she replied.
"Miss Gay does not wish to dance now," her companion said, and they moved away.
But the cotillion was speedily formed without them, and the dance proceeded.
Half an hour after, while Henry Clarence and Caroline were sitting on a lounge, engaged in close conversation, Sheldon came up, and bowing in his most graceful manner, and, with his blandest smile, said,
"Can I have the pleasure of dancing with Miss Gay, this evening?"
"No, sir," was the quiet, firm reply of the maiden, while she looked him steadily in the face.
Sheldon turned hurriedly away, for he understood the rebuke, the first he had yet met with in the refined, fashionable, virtuous society of one of the largest of the Atlantic cities.
The heart of Henry Clarence blessed the maiden by his side.
"You are not averse to dancing, Caroline?" he said.
"O no. But I do not dance with _every_ one."
"In that you are right, and I honor your decision and independence of character."
During the remainder of the evening, she danced several times, more frequently with Henry than with any other, but never in a cotillion of which Sheldon was one of the partners. Much to the pain and alarm of Melvina, Clarence did not offer to dance with her once; and long before the gay a.s.semblage broke up, her appearance had failed to produce any sensation. The eye tired of viewing her gaudy trapping, and turned away unsatisfied. But let Caroline go where she would, she was admired by all. None wearied of her chaste, simple and beautiful attire; none looked upon her mild, innocent face, without an expression, tacit or aloud, of admiration. Even the rebuked, and for a time angered, Sheldon, could not help ever and anon seeking her out amid the crowd, and gazing upon her with a feeling of respect that he tried in vain to subdue.
Melvina had sought to produce a "sensation" by gay and imposing attire, and after a brief and partial success, lost her power. But Caroline, with no wish to be noticed, much less to be the reigning belle of the evening, consulting her own pure taste, went in simple garments, and won the spontaneous admiration of all, and, what was more, the heart of Henry Clarence. He never, after that evening, could feel any thing of his former tenderness towards Melvina Felton. The veil had fallen from his eyes. He saw the difference between the desire of admiration, and a simple love of truth and honor, too plainly, to cause him to hesitate a moment longer in his choice between two so opposite in their characters. And yet, to the eye of an inattentive observer nothing occurred during the progress of Mrs. Walshingham"s party more than ordinarily takes place on such occasions. All seemed pleased and happy, and Melvina the happiest of the whole. And yet she had signally failed in her well-laid scheme to take the heart of Henry Clarence--while Caroline, with no such design, and in simply following the promptings of a pure heart and a right taste, had won his affectionate regard.
It was some three or four months after the party at Mrs.
Walshingham"s, that Melvina Fenton and Caroline Gay were alone in the chamber of the latter, in close and interested conversation.
"I have expected as much," the former said, in answer to some communication made to her by the latter.
"Then you are not surprised?"
"Not at all."
"And I hope not pained by the intelligence?"
"No, Caroline, not now," her friend said, smiling; "though two or three months ago it would have almost killed me. I, too, have been wooed and won."
"Indeed! That is news. And who is it, Melvina? I am eager to know."
"Martin Colburn."
"A gentleman, and every way worthy of your hand. But how in the world comes it that so quiet and modest a young man as Martin has now the dashing belle?"
"It has occurred quite naturally, Caroline. The dashing belle has gained a little more good sense than she had a few months ago. She has not forgotten the party at Mrs. Walshingham"s. And by the bye, Caroline, how completely you out-generalled me on that occasion. I had a great mind for a while never to forgive you."
"You are altogether mistaken, Melvina," Caroline said, with a serious air. "I did not act a part on that occasion. I went but in my true character, and exhibited no other."
"It was nature, then, eclipsing art; truth of character outshining the glitter of false a.s.sumption. But all that is past, and I am wiser and better for it, I hope. You will be happy, I know, with Henry Clarence, for he is worthy of you, and can appreciate your real excellence; and I shall be happy, I trust, with the man of my choice."
"No doubt of it, Melvina. And by the way," Caroline said, laughing, "we shall make another "sensation," and then we must be content to retire into peaceful domestic obscurity. You will have a brilliant time, I suppose?"
"O yes. I must try my hand at creating one more sensation, the last and most imposing; and, as my wedding comes the first, you must be my bridesmaid. You will not refuse?"
"Not if we can agree as to how we are to dress. We ought to be alike in this, and yet I can never consent to appear in any thing but what is plain, and beautiful for its simplicity."