People of the Whirlpool by Mabel Osgood Wright (animal farm read .txt) 📕

short-sighted Miss Lavinia had a chance to raise her lorgnette.

Sylvia was genuinely glad to see us, and she expressed it both by look and speech, without the slightest symptom of gush, yet with the confiding manner of one who craves companionship. I had, in fact, noticed the same thing during our call the afternoon before.

"Well, and what are we buying to-day?" asked Miss Lavinia, clearing her voice by a little caressing sound halfway between a purr and a cluck, and patting the hand that lingered affectionately on hers.

"I really--don't--know," answered Sylvia, smiling at her own hesitation. "Mamma says that if I do not get my clothes together before people begin to come back from the South, I shall be nowhere, so she took me with her to Mme. Couteaux's this morning. Mamma goes there because she says it saves so much trouble. Madame keeps a list of every article her customers have, and supplies everything, even down to under linen and hosiery, so she has made for mamma a plan of exactly what she would need for next season, and after having received her permission, will at once begin to carry it out. Of course the clothes will be very beautiful and harmonious, and mamma has so much on her hands, now that father is away,--the new cottage at Oaklands is being furnished, and me to initiate in the way I'm supposed to go,--that it certainly simplifies matters for her.

"Me? Ah, I do not like the system at all, or Madame Couteaux either, and the feeling is mutual, I assure you. Without waiting to be asked, even, she looked me over from head to foot and said that my lines are very bad, that I curve in and out at the wrong places, that I must begin at once by wearing higher heels to throw me forward!

"At first I was indignant, and then the ludicrous climbed uppermost, and I laughed, whereat Madame looked positively shocked, and even mamma seemed aghast and murmured something apologetic about my having been at boarding-school in the country, and at college, where I had ridden horseback without proper instruction, which had injured my figure. Only imagine, Aunt Lavinia, those glorious gallops among the Rockcliffe Hills hurting one's body in any way! But then, I suppose body and figure are wholly different things; at any rate, Madame Couteaux gave a shrug, as if shedding all responsibility for my future from her fat shoulders, and so, while mamma is there, I am taking a run out in the cold world of raw material and observing for myself.

"Of course I shall make mistakes, but I have had everything done for me to such an extent, during the last four months, that I really must make a point of picking and choosing for once. I've had a mad desire since the last storm to stir up the pools in the gutters with my best shoes, as the happy little children do with their rubber boots. How I shall enjoy it when we go to Oaklands, and there is really something to _do_ instead of merely being amused.

"By the way, Mrs. Evan, won't you and Miss Lavinia join us at luncheon? We are to have it somewhere downtown, to-day,--the Waldorf, I believe,--as mamma expects to spend most of the afternoon at the decorators, to see the designs for the Oaklands hangings and furniture, and," glancing at the big clock, between the lifts, as Miss Lavinia made her last purchase, "it's high time for me to go and pick her up."

Having a feeling that possibly mamma might not be so cordial, in addition to being due at home for more shirtwaist fittings, Miss Lavinia declined, and reminding Sylvia that dinner would be at the old-fashioned hour of half-past six, we drifted out the door together, Sylvia going toward Fifth Avenue, while we turned the corner and sauntered down Broadway, pausing at every attractive window.

Miss Lavinia's short-sightedness caused her to bump into a man, who was intently gazing, from the height of six feet, at jewelled bugs, displayed in the window of a dealer in Oriental wares.

The man, thinking himself to blame, raised his hat in apology, glancing casually down as he did so, whereupon the hat remained off, and he and Miss Lavinia grasped hands with sudden enthusiasm, followed by a medley of questions and answers, so that before she remembered me, and turned to introduce the stranger, I knew that it was Horace Bradford himself. A strange, but positive, fact about New York is that one may at one time be in it but a few hours and run across half the people of one's acquaintance, gathered from all parts of the country, and at another, wander about for weeks without seeing a familiar face.

I liked Bradford from the moment I shook hands with him. There is so much in the mere touching of hands. His neither crushed as if to compel, nor flopped equivocally, but said, as it enclosed yours in its bigness, "I am here, command me."

Broadway, during shopping hours, is not an ideal place for the interchange of either ideas, or more, even, than the merest courtesies; but after thanking Miss Lavinia for the dinner invitation, to which he had just sent the answer, and inquiring for Sylvia Latham, as he walked beside us for a block or two, it was very evident that he had something on his mind that he wished to say, and did not know how to compass the matter.

As he talked to Miss Lavinia in jerky monosyllables,--the only speech that the noise made possible,--I had a chance to look at him. He did not possess a single feature of classic proportions, and yet he was a handsome man, owing to the illumination of his face. Brown, introspective eyes, with a merry way of shutting; heavy, dark hair and brows, and a few thoughtful lines here and there; mustache pulled down at the corners, as if by the unconscious weight of a nervously strong hand; and a firm jaw, but not squared to the point that suggests the dominance of the physical. He wore a dark gray Inverness coat, evidently one of the fruits of his English tour, and a well-proportioned soft felt hat, set on firmly, the crown creased in the precise way necessary to justify the city use of the article by a man of thirty. He seemed to be in excellent, almost boyish spirits, and so natural and wholesome withal, that I am sure I should not feel at all embarrassed at finding myself alone with him on a desert island. This is one of my pet similes of approval.

Finally he blurted out: "Miss Lavinia, I do so wish your advice upon a strictly woman's matter; one, however, that is of great importance to me. I shall have to take the night express back, and this is the only time I have left. Would you--could we go in somewhere, do you think, and have something while I explain?"

Miss Lavinia looked dubious as to whether his invitation might mean drinks, man fashion, or luncheon. But as at that moment we reached the chief New York residence of well-born ice cream soda, for which I always hanker, in spite of snow and slush, much to Evan's disgust, I relieved the situation by plunging in, saying that I was even more thirsty in winter than in summer. Whereat Miss Lavinia shivered, but cheerfully resigned herself to hot chocolate. "The matter in point is," continued Bradford, feeling boyishly of one of the blocks of ice that decorated the counter to find if it was real, and speaking directly to Miss Lavinia, "I've had a great happiness come into my life this last week; something that I did not expect to happen for years. My chief has retired, and I have been promoted. I will not take your time to go selfishly into details now. I can tell you to-night, if you care to hear. I cannot go home until the Easter holidays, and so I want to send something to my mother by way of celebration. Would you select it for me?" and the big fellow swept the shop with an indefinite sort of gaze, as if buying candy for the universe would but feebly express his feelings.

"Certainly I will," replied Miss Lavinia, warming at once;--"but what kind of something?"

"I think,"--hesitating a trifle,--"a very good gown, and an ornament of some kind."

"Would she not prefer choosing the gown herself? People's tastes differ so much about clothing," ventured Miss Lavinia, willing, even anxious, to help the man, yet shrinking from the possibility of feminine criticism.

"No, I think not; that is, it doesn't work well. Beforetimes I've often written her to buy some little finery to wear for my sake, but my gift has generally been turned into flannels for poor children or to restock the chickenyard of some unfortunate neighbour whose fowls have all died of gapes. While if I send her the articles themselves, she will prize and wear them, even if the gown was a horse blanket and the ornament a Plymouth Rock rooster to wear on her head. You know how mothers are about buying things for themselves, don't you, Mrs. Evan?" he said, turning to me, that I need not consider myself excluded from the conversation.

"I have no mother, but I have two little sons," I answered.

"Ah, then you will know as soon as they grow old enough to wish to buy things for you," and somehow the soda water flew up my nose, and I had to grope for my handkerchief.

Miss Lavinia evidently did not like to ask Mrs. Bradford's age, so she evaded it by asking, "Does your mother wear colours or black, Mr. Bradford?"

"She has worn black ever since my father died; for the last ten years, in fact. I wish I could persuade her to adopt something that looks more cheerful, for she is the very essence of cheerfulness herself. Do you think this would be a good time to give a sort of hint by choosing a coloured gown,--a handsome blue silk, for instance?" "I know precisely how you feel," said Miss Lavinia, laying her hand upon his sleeve sympathetically, "men never like mourning; but still I advise you not to try the experiment or force the change. A brocaded black silk gown, with a pretty lace fichu to soften it about the shoulders, and a simple pin to hold it together at the neck,--how would that suit you?" As she spoke she waved her dainty hands about so expressively in a way of her own that I could seem to see the folds of the material drape themselves.

"That is it! You have exactly the idea that I could not formulate. How clever women are!" he exclaimed, and for a minute I really thought he was going to hug Miss Lavinia.

"One other favour. Will you buy these things for me? I always feel so out of place and cowardly in the women's shops where such things are sold. Will $100 be enough, think you?" he added a trifle anxiously, I thought, as he drew a small envelope from a compartment of his letter book, where it had evidently been stowed away for this special purpose.

"Yes, I can manage nicely with it," replied Miss Lavinia, cheerfully; "and now you must leave us at once, so that we can do this shopping, and not be too late for luncheon. Remember, dinner to-night at 6:30." "One thing more," he said, as we turned to leave, "I shall not now have time to present my respects to Miss Latham's mother as I intended; do you