The Paper Cap. A Story of Love and Labor

“I don’t suppose thou could. It would be a bit beyond thee. Is all ready for to-morrow?”

“Yes, but I have lost heart on the subject. Are you going to Jane’s now?”

“I may do that. I heard that Agatha De Burg was home and I would like to warn Katherine to take care of every word she says in Agatha’s presence. She tells all she hears to that cousin of hers.”

“Have you seen De Burg lately?”

“Two or three times at Jane’s house. He seems quite at home there now. He is very handsome, and graceful, and has such fine manners.”

“Then I hev no more to say and it is too late for me to take the water way home. Will tha order me a carriage?”

Annie’s readiness to fulfill this request did not please Josepha and she stood at the window and was nearly silent until she saw a carriage stop at the hotel door. Then she said, “I think I’ll go and see if Jane hes anything like a welcome to offer me. Good-by to thee, Annie.”

“We shall see you early to-morrow, I hope, Josepha.”

“Nay, then, thou hopes for nothing of that kind but I’ll be at Jane’s sometime before I am wanted.”

“You should not say such unkind words, Josepha. You are always welcome wherever you go. In some way I have lost myself the last ten minutes. I do not feel all here.”

“Then thou hed better try and find thysen. Thou wilt need all there is of thee to bother with Antony about t’ House of Commons, and to answer civilly the crowd of strangers that will come to see thy daughter to-morrow.”

“It is neither the Bill nor the strangers that trouble me. My vexations lie nearer home.”

“I must say that thou ought to hev learned how to manage them by this time. It is all of twenty-seven years since Antony married thee.”

“It is not Antony. Antony has not a fault. Not one!”

“I am glad thou hes found that out at last. Well, the carriage is waiting and I’ll bid thee good-bye; and I hope thou may get thysen all together before to-morrow at this time.”

With these words Josepha went and Annie threw herself into her chair with a sense of relief. “I know she intended to stay for dinner,” she mentally complained, “and I could not bear her to-night. She is too overflowing – she is too much every way. I bless myself for my patience for twenty-seven years. Is it really twenty-seven years?” And with this last suggestion she lost all consciousness of the present hour.

In the meantime Josepha was not thinking any flattering things of her sister-in-law. “She wanted me to go away! What a selfish, cross woman she is! Poor Antony! I wonder how he bears her,” and in a mood of such complaining, Josepha with all her kindly gossiping hopes dashed, went almost tearfully home.

Annie, however, was not cross. She was feeling with her husband the gravity of public affairs and was full of anxious speculation concerning Katherine. A change had come over the simple, beautiful girl. Without being in the least disobedient or disrespectful, she had shown in late days a thoroughly natural and full grown Annis temper. No girl ever knew better just what she wanted and no girl ever more effectually arranged matters in such wise as would best secure her all she wanted. About Harry Bradley she had not given way one hair’s breadth, and yet evidently her father was as far as ever from bearing the thought of Harry as a son-in-law. His kindness to him in the weaving shop was founded initially on his appreciation of good work and of a clever business tactic and he was also taken by surprise, and so easily gave in to the old trick of liking the lad. But he was angry at himself for having been so weak and he felt that in some way Harry had bested him, and compelled him to break the promises he had made to himself regarding both the young man and his father.

For a couple of hours these subjects occupied her completely, then she rose and went to her room and put away her new gown. It was a perfectly plain one of fawn-colored brocade with which she intended to wear her beautiful old English laces. As she was performing this duty she thought about her own youth. It had been a very commonplace one, full of small economies. She had never had a formal “coming out,” and being the eldest of five girls she had helped her mother to manage a household, constantly living a little above its income. Yet she had many sweet, loving thoughts over this life; and before she was aware her cheeks were wet with tears, uncalled, but not unwelcome.

“My dear mother,” she whispered, “in what land of God art thou now resting? Surely thou art thinking of me! We are near to each other, though far, far apart. Now, then, I will do as thou used to advise, ‘let worries alone, and don’t worry over them.’ Some household angel will come and put everything right. Oh, mother of many sorrows, pray for me. Thou art nearer to God than I am.” This good thought slipped through her tears like a soft strain of music, or a glint of sunshine, and she was strengthened and comforted. Then she washed her face and put on her evening cap and went to the parlor and ordered dinner.

Just as she sat down to her lonely meal the door was hastily opened, and Dick Annis and Harry Bradley entered. And oh! how glad she was to see them, to seat them at the table, and to plentifully feed the two hungry young men who had been traveling all day.

“Dick, wherever have you been, my dear lad? I hevn’t had a letter from you since you were in Edinburgh.”

“I wrote you lots of letters, mother, but I had no way of posting them to you. After leaving Edinburgh we sailed northward to Lerwick and there I mailed you a long letter. It will be here in a few days, no doubt, but their mail boat only carries mail ‘weather permitting,’ and after we left Lerwick, all the way to Aberdeen we had a roaring wind in our teeth. I don’t think it was weather the ill-tempered Pentland Firth would permit mail to be carried over it. How is father?”

“As well as he will be until the Reform Bill is passed. You are just in time for Katherine’s party.”

“I thought I might be so, for father told me he was sure dress and mantua-makers would not have you ready for company in two weeks.”

“Father was right. We may get people to weave the cloth by steam but when it comes to sewing the cloth into clothes, there is nothing but fingers and needles and some woman’s will.”

Then they talked of the preparations made and the guests that were expected, and the evening passed so pleasantly that it was near midnight when the youths went away. And before that time the squire had sent a note to his wife telling her he would not leave The House until the sitting broke up. This note was brought by a Commons Messenger, for the telegraph was yet a generation away.

So Mistress Annis slept well, and the next day broke in blue skies and sunshine. After breakfast was over she went to the Leyland Mansion to see if her help was required in any way. Not that she expected it, for she knew that Jane was far too good an organizer to be unready in any department. Indeed she found her leisurely drinking coffee and reading The Court Circular. Its news also had been gratifying, for she said to her mother as she laid down the paper, “All is very satisfactory. There are no entertainments to-night that will interfere with mine.”

Katherine was equally prepared but much more excited and that pleased her mother. She wished Katherine to keep her girlish enthusiasms and extravagant expectations as long as possible; Jane’s composure and apparent indifference seemed to her unnatural and later she reflected that “Jane used to flurry and worry more than enough. Why!” she mentally exclaimed, “I have not forgot how she routed us all out of our beds at five o’clock on the morning of her wedding day, and was so nervous herself that she made the whole house restless as a whirlpool. But she says it is now fashionable to be serenely unaffected by any event, and whatever is the fashionable insanity, Jane is sure to be one of the first to catch it.”

On this occasion her whole household had been schooled to the same calm spirit, and while it had a decided air of festivity, there was also one of order, and of everything going on as it ought to do. No hurrying servants or belated confectionery vans impeded the guests’ arrival. The rooms were in perfect order. The dinner would be served at the minute specified, and the host and hostess were waiting to perform every hospitable duty with amiable precision.

Katherine did not enter the reception parlors until the dinner guests had arrived and expectation was at a pleasant point of excitement. Then the principal door was thrown open with obvious intent and Squire Annis and his family were very plainly announced. Katherine was walking between her father and mother, and Mrs. Josepha Temple, leaning on the arm of her favorite nephew Dick, was a few steps behind them.

There was a sudden silence, a quick assurance of the coming of Katherine, and immediately the lovely girl made a triumphant entry into their eyes and consciousness. She was dressed in white radiant gauze,[2 - An almost transparent material first made in Gaza, Palestine, from which it derived its name.] dotted with small silver stars. It fell from her belt to her feet without any break of its beauty by ruffle or frill. The waist slightly covered the shoulders, the sleeves were full and gathered into a band above the elbows. Both waist and sleeves were trimmed with lace traced out with silver thread, and edged with a thin silver cord. Her sandals were of white kid embroidered with silver stars, her gloves matched them. She was without jewelry of any kind, unless the wonderfully carved silver combs for the hair which Admiral Temple had brought from India can be so called. Thus clothed, all the mystery and beauty of the flesh was accentuated. Her fine eyes were soft and shining, with that happy surprise in them that belongs only to the young enthusiast, and yet her eyes were hardly more lambent than the rest of her face, for at this happy hour all the ancient ecstasy of Love and Youth transfigured her and she looked as if she had been born with a smile.

Without intent Katherine’s association with her father and mother greatly added to the impression she made. The squire was handsomely attired in a fashionable suit of dark blue broadcloth, trimmed with large gilt buttons, a white satin vest, and a neck piece of soft mull and English lace. And not less becoming to Katherine as a set off was her mother’s plain, dark, emphatic costume. Yes, even the rather showy extravagance of the aunt as a background was an advantage, and could hardly have been better considered, for Madam Temple on this occasion had discarded her usual black garments and wore a purple velvet dress and all her wonderful diamonds. Consistent with this luxury, her laces were of old Venice point de rose, arranged back and front in a Vandyke collar with cuffs of the same lace, high as the elbows, giving a cachet to her whole attire, which did not seem to be out of place on a woman so erect and so dignified that she never touched the back of a chair, and with a temper so buoyant, so high-spirited, and so invincible.

When dinner was served, Katherine noticed that neither De Burg nor Harry Bradley were at the table and after the meal she questioned her sister with some feeling about this omission. “I do not mind De Burg’s absence,” she said, “he is as well away as not, but poor Harry, what has he done!”

“Harry is all right, Kitty, but we have to care for father’s feelings first of all and you know he has no desire to break bread with Harry Bradley. Why! he considers ‘by bread and salt’ almost a sacred obligation, and if he eats with Harry, he must give him his hand, his good will, and his help, when the occasion asks for it. Father would have felt it hard to forgive me if I had forced such an obligation on him.”

“And De Burg? Is he also beyond the bread and salt limit?”

“I believe father might think so, but that is not the reason in his case. He sent an excuse for dinner but promised to join the dancers at ten o’clock and to bring his cousin Agatha with him.”

“How interesting! We shall all be on the qui-vive for her début.”

“Don’t be foolish, Kitty. And do not speak French, until you can speak it with a proper accent.”

“I have no doubt it is good enough for her.”

“As for her début, it occurred six or seven years ago. Agatha had the run of society when you were in short frocks. Come, let us go to the ballroom. Your father is sure to be prompt.”

When they reached the ballroom, they found Lord Leyland looking for Katherine. “Father is waiting,” he said, “and we have the quadrilles nearly set,” and while Leyland was yet speaking, Squire Annis bowed to his daughter and she laid her hand in his with a smile, and they took the place Leyland indicated. At the same moment, Dick led his mother to a position facing them and there was not a young man or a young woman in the room who might not have learned something of grace and dignity from the dancing of the elderly handsome couple.

After opening the ball the squire went to his place in The House of Commons and Madam went to the card room and sat down to a game of whist, having for her partner Alexander Macready, a prominent London banker. His son had been in the opening quadrille with Katherine and in a moment had fallen in love with her. Moreover, it was a real passion, timid yet full of ardor, sincere, or else foolishly talkative, and Katherine felt him to be a great encumbrance. Wearily listening to his platitudes of admiration, she saw Harry Bradley and De Burg and his cousin enter. Harry was really foremost, but courtesy compelled him for the lady’s sake to give precedence to De Burg and his cousin; consequently they reached Katherine’s side first. But Katherine’s eyes, full of love’s happy expectation, looked beyond them, and Miss De Burg saw in their expression Katherine’s preference for the man behind her brother.

“Stephen need not think himself first,” she instantly decided, “this new girl was watching for the man Stephen put back. A handsome man! He’ll get ahead yet! He’s made that way.”

Then Lady Leyland joined them and De Burg detained her as long as possible, delighting himself with the thought of Harry’s impatience. When they moved forward he explained his motive and laughed a little over it; but Agatha quickly damped his self-congratulation.

“Stephen,” she said, “the young man waiting was not at all uncomfortable. I saw Miss Annis give him her hand and also a look that some men would gladly wait a day for.”

“Why, Gath, I saw nothing of the kind. You are mistaken.”

“You were too much occupied in reciting to her the little speech you had composed for the occasion. You know! I heard you saying it over and over, as you walked about your room last night.”

“What a woman you are! You hear and see everything.”

“That I am not wanted to hear and see, eh?”