Chapter XVIII The Train Boy by Jr. Horatio Alger
GRACE DEARBORN'S PARTY
The evening of Grace's birthday party arrived. A large number of invitations had been sent out, for Mrs. Sheldon had a large circle of acquaintances and friends The daily papers had already mentioned the forthcoming party as likely to be one of the most memorable of the season.
Mrs. Sheldon determined to spare no expense to make it so. She was not vulgarly lavish, but there are occasions when she thought money should be spent freely. Moreover, she was determined to do what she could to secure a brilliant matrimonial alliance for her niece, of whose beauty she was justifiably proud. Indeed she was a natural match-maker, though she was compelled not to allow Grace to see her maneuvers too plainly, as nothing would have been more repugnant to the niece than to think she was set up as a prize in a matrimonial lottery.
A professional confectioner was given carte blanche for the supper, which was to be recherche, and the decorations were put into the hands of a man whose taste was unimpeachable.
"Aunt Caroline," said Grace, "I am afraid you are going to large expense on my party."
"Why should I not, my dear?"
"It seems wasteful. How many poor families could be relieved by the money it will cost!"
"What a quixotic idea, Grace! In my opinion the poor have quite enough done for them. Would you have us give up all amusements for their sake?"
"No, I won't go so far as that. Still it ought to check undue extravagance to reflect that we have so many that are destitute among us."
"They shall have their turn, Grace. I am sure you spend a great deal of money on the poor."
"Not half enough, aunt."
"Then spend more, but in this matter don't object to my spending what I like."
"I know, my dear aunt, it is all done for my sake."
"And very properly, my dear. I have no daughter, and all my interest centers in you. By the way, I met Major Ashton in the street yesterday."
"Indeed!" said Grace, indifferently.
"Poor fellow, he looks downcast. Your repulse has wounded him sorely. He loved you deeply."
A silvery laugh from Grace greeted this announcement, made with due solemnity.
"Really, my dear aunt," she said, "I can't conceive of Major Ashton loving anybody as well as himself."
"You do him wrong, Grace."
"Perhaps so, but I do not believe it."
"He is coming to the party."
"I supposed he would," said Grace, shrugging her shoulders.
"And I do hope, Grace, you will treat him kindly."
"I shall treat him politely, Aunt Caroline, if that is what you mean. That is my duty, since he is to be our guest."
"Major Ashton could marry brilliantly."
"Let him, then."
"Everybody considers him an eligible parti."
"Then there is little cause for me to pity him. There are plenty who will have compassion on him, and console him for my coldness."
"You must admit that he is a thorough gentleman, Grace."
"My dear aunt, I am rather tired of Major Ashton as a topic of conversation. Suppose we drop him. I am ready to admit everything you desire—he is elegant, a good match, fascinating, if you will, but he will need to carry his fascinations to another market."
"She seems resolute," thought Mrs. Sheldon, "but she may change her mind after all. Who was it said it is always best to begin with a little aversion?"
In fact, Mrs. Sheldon had gone so far as to encourage Major Ashton, and led him to think that there was hope for him after all. He was very ready to accept this assurance, because he desired to do so. There was no danger, however, of the major breaking his heart, for it was Grace's fortune he was in love with, not herself. In fact, he was so far from romantic that the idea crossed his mind that if the niece refused to have anything to do with him, he might perhaps take up with the aunt.
"Mrs. Sheldon is a well-preserved woman," he reflected, "fifteen years older than myself, perhaps, but her fortune is even greater than Miss Dearborn's, and would set my affairs right at once, besides insuring my comfort for the balance of my life. She must be worth at least a quarter of a million."
Thinking, then, of the widow as a dernier resort, he treated her with a flattering deference and courtly politeness that prepossessed her still more in his favor, though she had not the faintest idea of the direction of his thoughts with regard to herself.
At last the evening came. The house was a blaze of light and splendor. Carriage after carriage rolled up the street and deposited its load at Mrs. Sheldon's door.
Presently the rooms were well filled with elegantly dressed ladies and irreproachably attired young men, who, in turn, paid their respects to the givers of the party.
Grace was tastefully and even richly dressed, but suffered herself, in the matter of attire, to be eclipsed by more than one of her guests. Her aunt insisted on her wearing a superb diamond necklace belonging to herself, but she declined.
"No, aunt; I don't want to array myself in borrowed plumes," she said. "The necklace is yours; wear it yourself."
Which Mrs. Sheldon did at last. She was ready to lend it to her niece, but was not insensible to the glances of admiration which it attracted when displayed on her own neck.
"It must be worth twenty thousand dollars!" thought Major Ashton. "Really, the old girl is radiant. If she ever becomes Mrs. Major Ashton, in place of her niece resigned, I shall slyly substitute a necklace of paste and convert the jewels to my own use. It is sinful that so much good money should be locked up."
It was well for the major's popularity with Mrs. Sheldon that she could not read his thoughts. Her necklace was her most valued possession, and nothing except actual need would have induced her to part with it.
Grace looked about from time to time for the young artist.
Finally she saw him approaching to salute her.
"I am glad to see you here, Mr. Vernon," she said, with a smile of welcome. "You are late."
"Yes, Miss Dearborn. I hope you will excuse it. As you are aware, I have few acquaintances here—indeed I do not often stray into such fashionable surroundings—and only came for a brief space, to show my appreciation of your kind courtesy in inviting me here, and to offer my congratulations on your birthday."
"Thank you, Mr. Vernon, they are welcome. I hope your mother is well."
"Very well, thank you, and I am sure she will feel proud of your inquiry."
"I believe most of my guests have arrived, and I may venture to leave my duties as assistant hostess. If you will favor me with your arm, I will walk about a little."
With a flush of gratification the artist tendered his arm, and the two promenaded through the elegant parlors, attracting general attention.
"Why, I declare!" said Miss Framley to her escort; "do you see that?"
"See what?"
"Miss Dearborn, promenading with that young man?"
"Why shouldn't she? He is quite distinguished in his appearance."
"Distinguished?" repeated Miss Framley, with a sneer. "I guess you don't know him."
"He isn't a cook, is he—or a waiter?"
"No; but he is a poor portrait painter. Why, he painted my picture for twenty dollars, and he was glad of the job," said Miss Framley, who was innately vulgar.
"Poor devil! Then he must have been hard up," said the gentleman, to whom it occurred that this was an illustration of Miss Framley's meanness.
"Oh, yes, he was poor enough; but I believe he is doing a little better now. Still, it is singular that Miss Dearborn should single him out as her escort from so many. I wouldn't promenade with him!" continued the young lady, tossing her head.
"I ought to feel flattered that you prefer me, Miss Framley."
"Oh, you are quite a different kind of person," said the young lady, with a coquettish smile.
There was another who saw the two pass him with equal disgust, and more dissatisfaction. This was Major Ashton.
"Upon my soul!" he said to himself. "What can Grace Dearborn see in that beggar? I'll soon separate them!"
He stepped up with his usual assurance, and, bowing, said:
"May I venture to relieve this gentleman of his pleasant duty, and substitute myself in his place?"
"Not at present, Major Ashton," said Grace, coldly; "unless Mr. Vernon is weary of his charge."
"Far from it," said the young artist.
"Presuming puppy!" muttered Major Ashton, as the two passed on.