Lemorne Versus Huell | Page 6

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 never wore so splendid a dress as this till tonight, and shall not again."
He gave the fan such a twirl that its slender sticks snapped, and it dropped like the broken wing of a bird.
"Mr. Uxbridge, that fan belongs to Mrs. Bliss."
He threw it out of the window.
"You have courage, fidelity, and patience--this character with a passionate soul. I am sure that you have such a soul?"
"I do not know."
"I have fallen in love with you. It happened on the very day when I passed you on the way to the Glen. I never got away from the remembrance of seeing your hand on the mane of my horse."
He waited for me to speak, but I could not; the balance of my mind was gone. Why should this have happened to me--a slave? As it had happened, why did I not feel exultant in the sense of power which the chance for freedom with him should give?
"What is it, Margaret? your face is