The Inner Sisterhood | Page 4

to me than to any of the others. He was by my side the entire evening at Mrs. Babbington Brooks's elegant and most fashionable ball the other night; he was my escort to the musicale last Tuesday, and O, he did look so handsome! And he never before said SO MANY positively tender things, and he said them in such a tired, pathetic tone, that he almost won my heart; really, when I'm with the man I am sure that I love him, and most devotedly. But I have perfect control over myself and my limited supply of feeling--Henry Seyhmoor says I am without a heart; so I only look at him full in the face when he tells me all those tender little things, and then turn away with a light laugh--assumed, of course--and gently but firmly remind him that I am not Kate Meadows.
Ah, here is a note from him now! He always writes from the Club--the Pelham, of course. I don't know the people who belong to any other Club. What a nice thing it must be to go down to the Club at night, or whenever you like--I wish I was a man. And this is his note:
"Your Platonic friend, Henry Seyhmoor, seems quite devoted here of late, my dear Miss Mason. I saw you with him last evening at the theater; your talk charmed him into unusual silence. How entertaining you must have been!
"Won't you go with me to the opera Friday night; and won't you be as nice to me then as you were at the musicale--no, not that nice only, but even nicer still--as nice--as--well--as I should like you to be; won't you?
"Robert Fairfield"
A note of mere nothings. My common sense tells me that much. Yet I find myself forming words for myself between the written lines, and twice read that dainty card, with the crest and motto of Pelham. Of course I'll go with him; for to go with Robert Fairfield any where means a delightful time to any girl so fortunate. It means a bunch of roses almost heavenly in their sweet loveliness! It means the two best seats in the theater! It means the turning of a hundred envious female eyes from all parts of the crowded house; for our theater is always crowded on Friday nights, no matter what the play or players may chance to be. Because it is fashionable to go on Friday nights, and theatergoers in this town are so fashionable.
I am glad, at least once a year, that I am a Methodist, because we don't keep Lent. But Kate Meadows is very high-church, and, of course, she ought to keep it! I wonder if she will? She was not out during the Langtry engagement; but that was on account of lack of men, not on account of Lent; because her little brother told my Cousin Mary's little girl that nobody had asked his sister to go any where for days and days, and that his papa had to take her whenever she went any where. However, I suppose she'll go, if she goes at all, with her papa; he often takes her out. I heard her say that she did just love to go out with her dear papa, and that it pleased him so much. Poor old man! I saw him nodding and napping, nearly dead for sleep, the last time he was out with her. It's a shame to keep him up so! As for myself, I would never go any where if I had to, for the lack of a man, always be dragging poor papa out. It must be so very mortifying. But nothing could mortify that girl; she is such an upstart. Her bonnets and her dresses are the talk of the town, because they are so ugly and unbecoming. But she has a gracious and pleasant manner, and sometimes has a good deal of attention--whenever she once gets out. People frequently say nice things about her; but I am sure it's their duty, because she entertains charmingly and often. She never gives any thing like a regular party, but quiet little affairs that are acknowledged to be very elegant by all who are so fortunate as to be invited--because people never decline invitations to her house. She is the only girl that I am afraid may finally win Robert Fairfield. She's passionately, foolishly in love with him! Why, I saw him give her a red rose-bud at our last Monday-night German, off in the corner--he didn't know I was looking--and didn't I see her wear that same red bud, then a withered rose, to Mrs. Babbington Brooks' the following Thursday evening? She wore the shriveled thing on her left shoulder, nestled down in a lover's knot of pale-blue ribbon.