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Page 59
George, who knew everybody, had a kindly greeting for all who were
within its reach, even for the tired-looking little school-teacher, who
had come out with her landlady's fifteen-year-old son as an escort and
in a little while had settled down to quiet enjoyment of the squatter
governor's message, approving with a quiet smile the grin that
occasionally spread over Perry's good-humored face. As for me, I was
made miserable from the start by seeing Lucretia Knowles in one of the
best seats on the floor, with a conceited fool of a
newspaper-correspondent at her side, whispering nonsense in her ear at
such a rate that she did nothing but laugh and turn her pretty head back
to speak with Mamie Jennings, her _fidus Achates_, and never once cast
her eyes toward the gallery. She has said since that she knew I was
there all the time, and that she didn't dare look at me, because I was
such a frightful picture of jealousy, with my fingers in my hair and my
elbow on the gallery railing, staring down on the floor as if I should
like to drop a bomb and annihilate the entire lot. It is all very well
to look back now and laugh and feel sorry for the curly-locked
journalist, who is writing letters from Mexico and trying to get over
the disappointment which the knowledge of our engagement gave him, but
it was very little fun for me at the time.
I turned away a dozen times, and swore inwardly that I wouldn't look
that way again, and after each resolve I would find my eyes glancing
from one person to another in Lu's vicinity, until finally they would
rest again on her. When I had declared for the thirteenth time that I
wouldn't contemplate her heartless flirting, I noticed George bow to
some one who had just come in at the gallery door. A young man from one
of the western counties was making a satirical speech in favor of the
woman's suffrage amendment, misquoting Tennyson's "Princess" and making
the gallery shake with laughter, at the time; but I noticed George's
face light up and his eyes sparkle with pleasure at the sight of the
new-comer. She was a beautiful lady, over thirty, I should say, with the
sweetest face, for a sad one, I had ever seen. Of course, in a certain
way I like Lucretia's style of beauty better; but Mrs. Herbert was
beautiful in a way, so far as the women I have ever seen are concerned,
peculiar to herself. She was rather slender, and had a calm, graceful
bearing that I somehow at once associated with purity and nobleness. She
was quite simply dressed, and had on a small widow's bonnet, with the
ribbons tied under her chin, while a charming little girl, whose hair
curled obstinately over her forehead, had hold of her hand.
I was somewhat surprised--I will not say disappointed exactly--to see
her lips break into a glad smile, though it made her face look all the
lovelier and sweeter, in reply to George's greeting; and when she came
toward us, as he beckoned her to do, every one immediately and gladly
made room for her to pass. Perry and I gave our seats to Mrs. Herbert
and her little girl; and I found myself speculating, as I leaned against
one of the pillars, on the difference of expression in the eyes of the
two, which were otherwise so much alike,--the same deep shade of brown,
the same soft look, the same lashes, and yet what a vast difference when
one thought of the combined effect of all these similar details. I spoke
to Perry of it, and he good-naturedly poked fun at me, saying I was
forever trying to see a romance or a history in people's eyes.
"Well, I suppose you will say she isn't even lovely," I exclaimed, with
impatience.
"I'm no judge," he replied, with exasperating carelessness; "but a
little too pale, I should say. I wish George hadn't introduced her to
me."
"Why?"
"Oh, it made me feel cheap to have to back into old Billy Gait's bony
legs and try to bow and shake hands before everybody,--in the eyes of
the assembled community, as Charley McWenn would say."
McWenn was the stupid block of a journalist,--for I do think him a
stupid block, in spite of his cleverness,--and I realized then that I
had forgotten for a moment all about Lucretia. I could not see her from
my new position, so I amused myself by imagining how she was carrying
on.
At last George and Mrs. Herbert rose up to go, and the former, as he
asked our forgiveness for leaving us, told us to come to his office when
we had enough of the Third House, and, if he wasn't there, to wait for
him. "We'll go over to Bertrand's and have some oysters," he said, with
his confidence-inspiring smile. I have always thought that if George had
not had so pleasant a smile and such a soulful laugh we should never
have been such friends.
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