The Unseen Bridgegroom, May Agnes Fleming [ebook reader for surface pro .TXT] 📗

"at home" to their friends, and once more the spacious halls and stair-ways were ablaze with illumination, and the long ranges of rooms, opening one into another, were radiant with light, and flowers, and music, and brilliant ladies.

Mrs. Walraven, superb in her bridal robes, stood beside her husband, receiving their guests. And Miss Mollie Dane, in shimmering silk, that blushed as she walked, and clusters of water-lilies drooping from her tinseled curls, was as lovely as Venus rising from the sea-foam.

Here, there, everywhere, she flashed like a gleam of light; waltzing with the dreamy-eyed artist, Hugh Ingelow, hanging on the arm of Dr. Oleander, chattering like a magpie with Lawyer Sardonyx, and anon laughing at all three with Sir Roger Trajenna.

You might as well have tried to regulate the vagaries of a comet--as well guess from what quarter the fickle wind would next blow.

"Women are all puzzles," said Dr. Oleander, in quiet despair to Mrs. Walraven. "That is a truism long and tried; but, by Jove! Miss Mollie Dane puts the toppers on the lot. I never met with such a bewildering sprite."

"Odious, artful creature!" hissed the bride of Carl Walraven. "It is all her crafty scheming to attract the attention of that hoary-headed simpleton, Sir Roger Trajenna. If you are in love with her, Guy (and how you can is a mystery to me), why don't you propose at once?"

"Because I am afraid, madame."

"Afraid!" scornfully--"afraid of a goosey girl of seventeen! I never took you for a born idiot before, Guy Oleander."

"Thanks, my fair relative! But it is quite as disagreeable to be refused by a 'goosey girl of seventeen' as by a young lady of seven-and-twenty. Your age, my dear Blanche, is it not?"

"Never mind my age!" retorted Mrs. Walraven, sharply. "My age has nothing to do with it. If you don't ask Mollie Dane to-night, Hugh Ingelow or James Sardonyx will to-morrow, and the chances are ten to one she accepts the first one who proposes."

"Indeed! Why?"

"Oh, for the sake of being engaged, being a heroine, being talked about. She likes to be talked about, this bewildering fairy of yours. She isn't in love with any of you; that I can see. It isn't in her shallow nature, I suppose, to be in love with anybody but her own precious self."

"My dear Mrs. Walraven, are you not a little severe? Poor, blue-eyed Mollie! And you think, if I speak to-night, I stand a chance?"

"A better chance than if you defer it. She may say 'yes' on the impulse of the moment. If she does, trust me to make her keep her word."

"How?"

"That is my affair. Ah! what, was that?"

The cousins were standing near one of the long, richly draped windows, and the silken hangings had fluttered suddenly.

"Nothing but the wind," replied Dr. Oleander, carelessly. "Very well, Blanche, I take you at your word. I will ask Mollie to-night."

Mrs. Walraven nodded, and turned to go.

"Ask her as quickly as possible. You are to dance the polka quadrille with her, are you not? After the polka quadrille, then. And now let us part, or they will begin to think we are hatching another Gunpowder Plot."

"Or Mr. Carl Walraven may be jealous," suggested Dr. Oleander, with an unpleasant laugh. "I say, Blanche, the golden-haired Mollie couldn't be his daughter, could she?"

Mrs. Walraven's black eyes flashed.

"Whoever she is, the sooner she is out of this house the better. I hate her, Doctor Oleander--your Fair One with the Golden Locks, and I could go to her funeral with the greatest pleasure!"

The plotting pair separated. Hardly were they gone when the silken curtains parted and a bright face, framed in yellow ringlets, peeped out, sparkling with mischief.

"Two women in one house, two cats over one mouse, never agree," quoth Mollie. "Listeners never hear any good of themselves, but, oh! the opportunity was irresistible. So Doctor Guy Oleander is going to propose, and Mollie Dane is to say 'yes' on the impulse of the moment, and Mamma Blanche is to make her stick to her word! And it's all to happen after the polka quadrille! Very well; I'm ready. If Doctor Oleander and his cousin don't find their match, my name's not Mollie!"

Miss Dane consulted her jeweled tablets, and discovered that the polka quadrille was the very next in order.

Shaking out her rosy skirts, she fluttered away, mercilessly bent on manslaughter. Every one made way for the daughter of the house, and in a moment she was beside Dr. Oleander, holding up the inlaid tablets, and smiling her brightest in his dazzled eyes.

"Such disgraceful conduct, Doctor Oleander! I have been searching for you everywhere. I appeal to you, Colonel Marshland; he engaged me for this quadrille. There is the music now, and he leaves me to hunt the house for him."

"Unpardonable," said the gallant colonel. "At his age I should have known better. Oleander, make your peace if you can."

The colonel made his bow, and then he walked away.

Dr. Oleander drew her arm inside his own, bending very low over the sparkling sprite.

"You are not implacable, I trust, Miss Mollie. It was all the colonel's fault, I assure you."

Mollie shrugged her shoulders.

"Of course you say so. Oh, don't wear that imploring face! I forgive you; but sin no more. There! they are waiting--come!"

All through the dance Miss Dane sparkled as she had never sparkled Before. Ere the quadrille was over, Dr. Oleander was ten fathoms deeper in love than ever.

"It is so very hot here!" Mollie exclaimed, impatiently--"perfectly stifling! Do let us go somewhere and get cool."

"Let us go into the conservatory," said Dr. Oleander, delightedly, quite unconscious that his fair enslaver was playing into his hand. "We are sure to find solitude and coolness there."

The conservatory was delightfully cool, after the African temperature of the ball-room. Alabaster lamps shed a pale sort of moonlight over the sleeping flowers, and splashing fountains, and marble goddesses.

Miss Dane sunk down under a large orange-tree and began fanning herself languidly.

"How nice--this half light, these perfumed roses, those tinkling water-falls, music, and solitude! Do I look like Love among the Roses, Doctor Oleander?"

"Yes; like Love, like Venus, like everything that is bright, and beautiful, and irresistible, Miss Dane!"

"Monsieur overwhelms me! Why, good gracious, sir! What do you mean?"

For Dr. Oleander had actually caught her in his arms and was pouring forth a passionate declaration of love.

"Goodness me! Release me instantly! How dare you, sir? Have you taken leave of your senses, Doctor Oleander?"

"I am mad for love of you, beautiful Mollie! I adore you with my whole heart!"

"Do you, indeed?" said Mollie, looking angrily at her ruffled plumage. "See my dress--not fit to be seen! I'm surprised at you, Doctor Oleander!"

"Mollie, I love you!"

"I don't care--that's no reason why you should spoil my lovely dress, and make me a perfect fright. You had no business going on in that outrageous manner, sir!"

"But, Mollie! Good heavens! will you listen to me? Never mind your dress."

"Never mind my dress?" cried Miss Dane, shrilly. "Doctor Oleander, you're a perfect bear, and I've a good mind never to speak to you again as long as I live! Let us go back to the ball-room. If I had known you were going to act so, I'd have seen you considerably inconvenienced before I came with you here."

"Not until you answer me, Mollie."

"Answer you? Answer you what? You haven't asked me any question."

"I told you I loved you."

"Well," testily, "you don't call that a question?"

"Mollie, will you love me?"

"No--of course not! Oh, what a torment you are! Do let us go back!"

"Never!" exclaimed Dr. Oleander, gathering hope--"never, Mollie, until you answer me!"

He caught both her hands and held them fast, Mollie struggling in vain.

"Oh, dear, dear, what will I say? And there--if there isn't some one coming in! Let me go, for pity's sake, and I'll answer you--to-morrow."

"To-night, Mollie--to-night!"

"I won't--there!" wrenching her hands free and springing up. "Come to-morrow, between twelve and one, and you shall have your answer."

She darted away, and almost into the arms of Mr. Hugh Ingelow. That gentleman looked suspiciously from her to Dr. Oleander, emerging from the shadow of the orange-tree.

"Am I _de trop_, Miss Dane? I thought to find the conservatory deserted."

"And so it will be, in a minute," said Mollie, familiarly taking his arm. "They are going to supper out yonder, and I am almost famished. Take me down."

"And, if I can, I will make you follow Guy Oleander's lead before I release you," was the mental addition of the naughty coquette.

It was no difficult task to accomplish. A powder magazine with the train laid could not have needed a smaller spark to cause its explosion. Those few words elevated the young artist at once to the loftiest pinnacle of bliss.

"She has just refused Oleander, and I may stand a chance," he thought. "I'll ask her, by Jove! after supper."

Mr. Ingelow kept his word. He paid Miss Dane the most marked attention throughout the repast, filled her plate with delicacies and her ears with compliments. And Mollie was sweet as summer cherries, and took his arm when it was over, and let him lead her into a retired nook where amber curtains shut them in; and there, pale and agitated, the poor fellow said his say and waited for his sentence.

Mollie's wicked heart smote her. She liked this handsome young artist more than she was aware of, and the first twinge of remorse for her merciless coquetry filled her mind.

But it was too late to pause in her mischief-making, and the fun ahead was too tempting.

"Speak, Miss Dane," Mr. Ingelow implored: "for pity's sake, don't say you have led me on only to jilt me in cold blood at the last!"

"Rather strong language, Mr. Ingelow," said Mollie, coolly pulling to pieces a rose. "I have not led you on, have I? I have been friendly with you because I liked you--as I have been with a dozen others."

"Then I am to consider myself rejected, Miss Dane?"

He stood up before her, very white, with eyes of unspeakable reproach.

"What a hurry you are in!" said Mollie, pettishly. "Give me until to-morrow. I will think it over. Between twelve and one I will be at home; come then and you shall have your answer. There! let us go back to the ball-room. I have promised this redowa to Mr. Sardonyx."

Mr. Ingelow, in profound silence, led Miss Dane back to the ball-room, where they found the elegant lawyer searching for his partner.

"I thought you had forgotten me, Miss Dane," he said, taking her off at once.

"Impossible, Mr. Sardonyx," laughed Mollie. "So sorry to have kept you waiting; but better late than never."

That dance was the old story over again. At its close the lawyer was so bewitched that he hardly knew whether he stood on his head or heels.

"It is coming!" thought wicked Mollie, looking sideways at him, "and only wants a proper place to come in."

Aloud: "It is so warm here--I feel quite faint, really. Suppose we step out on the piazza a moment?"

An instant later and they