Lemorne Versus Huell | Page 6

sent home
till the evening of the ball. Before it came off Mr. Uxbridge called, and
was graciously received by Aunt Eliza, who could be gracious to all
except her relatives. I could not but perceive, however, that they
watched each other in spite of their lively conversation. To me he was
deferential, but went over the ground of our acquaintance as if it had
been the most natural thing in the world. But for my life-long habit of

never calling in question the behavior of those I came in contact with,
and of never expecting any thing different from that I received, I might
have wondered over his visit. Every person's individuality was sacred
to me, from the fact, perhaps, that my own individuality had never been
respected by any person with whom I had any relation--not even by my
own mother.
After Mr. Uxbridge went, I asked Aunt Eliza if she thought he looked
mean and cunning? She laughed, and replied that she was bound to
think that Mr. Lemorne's lawyer could not look otherwise.
When, on the night of the ball, I presented myself in the rose- colored
moire antique for her inspection, she raised her eyebrows, but said
nothing about it.
"I need not be careful of it, I suppose, aunt?"
"Spill as much wine and ice-cream on it as you like."
In the dressing-room Mrs. Bliss surveyed me.
"I think I like this mass of rose-color," she said. "Your hair comes out
in contrast so brilliantly. Why, you have not a single ornament on!"
"It is so easy to dress without."
This was all the conversation we had together during the evening,
except when she introduced some acquaintance to fulfill her
matronizing duties. As I was no dancer I was left alone most of the
time, and amused myself by gliding from window to window along the
wall, that it might not be observed that I was a fixed flower. Still I
suffered the annoyance of being stared at by wandering squads of
young gentlemen, the "curled darlings" of the ball-room. I borrowed
Mrs. Bliss's fan in one of her visits for a protection. With that, and the
embrasure of a remote window where I finally stationed myself, I
hoped to escape further notice. The music of the celebrated band which
played between the dances recalled the chorus of spirits which charmed
Faust:

"And the fluttering Ribbons of drapery Cover the plains, Cover the
bowers, Where lovers, Deep in thought, Give themselves for life."
The voice of Mrs. Bliss broke its spell.
"I bring an old friend, Miss Huell, and he tells me an acquaintance of
yours."
It was Mr. Uxbridge.
"I had no thought of meeting you, Miss Huell."
And he coolly took the seat beside me in the window, leaving to Mrs.
Bliss the alternative of standing or of going away; she chose the latter.
"I saw you as soon as I came in," he said, "gliding from window to
window, like a vessel hugging the shore in a storm."
"With colors at half-mast; I have no dancing partner."
"How many have observed you?"
"Several young gentlemen."
"Moths."
"Oh no, butterflies."
"They must keep away now."
"Are you Rhadamanthus?"
"And Charon, too. I would have you row in the same boat with me."
"Now you are fishing."
"Won't you compliment me. Did I ever look better?"
His evening costume *was* becoming, but he looked pale, and weary,

and disturbed. But if we were engaged for a tournament, as his
behavior indicated, I must do my best at telling. So I told him that he
never looked better, and asked him how I looked. He would look at me
presently, he said, and decide. Mrs. Bliss skimmed by us with nods and
smiles; as she vanished our eyes followed her, and we talked vaguely
on various matters, sounding ourselves and each other. When a furious
redowa set in which cut our conversation into rhythm he pushed up the
window and said, "Look out."
I turned my face to him to do so, and saw the moon at the full, riding
through the strip of sky which our vision commanded. From the moon
our eyes fell on each other. After a moment's silence, during which I
returned his steadfast gaze, for I could not help it, he said: "If we
understand the impression we make upon each other, what must be
said?"
I made no reply, but fanned myself, neither looking at the moon, nor
upon the redowa, nor upon any thing.
He took the fan from me.
"Speak of yourself," he said.
"Speak you."
"I am what I seem, a man within your sphere. By all the accidents of
position and circumstance suited to it. Have you not learned it?"
"I am not what I seem. I