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Marguerite Verne

A >> Agatha Armour >> Marguerite Verne




Considerable time had been spent in bringing these would-be heroes
to any decision as to their respective characters. Ned wished to be
Richard the Third, and Charlie that of Richmond and repeat the
triumphs of Bosworth; but meeting such obstinate opposition from
their council, turned their attention to "something commoner,"
as Ned expressed himself. After several hours intermingled with
side-splitting laughter and grave discussion, a fair representation
of Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday was produced, while Marguerite
and her friends received more compliments from the young aspirants
than the most gallant cavalier of the sixteenth century ever paid to
the queen of love and beauty. But the last remark was a deep thrust
from the innocent and unconscious boy.

"You darling old Madge! I am going to tell Mr. Lawson you got us up,
and I am sure we will get the prize. And I bet you I'll not forget
to put a word in for you too, Miss Marguerite, and mind you Mr.
Lawson don't consider me no small account."

The manner in which this twelve-year-old urchin got off the speech
had a telling effect. His air of importance brought a burst of
laughter, but it could scarcely hide the blushes that played
hide-and-seek on the girl's face--which fact fortunately escaped the
notice of the Listers.

The long-looked-for hour has arrived, and Crusoe and Friday emerge
from their "den," as Miss Verne contemptuously designated the
curiosity-shop. On this occasion Marguerite remains at home. Her
constitution is rather delicate, and owing to a slight cold and
throat irritation it is deemed advisable to exercise caution.

"I am sorry that you will not have your papa's company this evening.
There is to be a meeting of the Board. There is always something
going on."

"Don't mind me, mamma. Please bear in mind I am good company for
myself. I remember once reading a passage in some book which said
that all the pleasure we derived had its source in ourselves, and
not in external objects. I often think of it and believe it to be
true."

"What a sensible, but conceited girl!" exclaimed the proud matron as
she kissed Marguerite, and sallied forth to chaperone the Misses
Lister and their loquacious mamma.

"You dear old room, I'm with you once again," said the girl in half
dramatic tones, as she drew her favorite arm-chair near the grate
and sat down, not to read but to weave bright, golden dreams--fit
task for a sweet maiden of eighteen summers--with a quaint
simplicity of manner that is more captivating than all the wily
manoeuvres that coquetry can devise. Were there any pretty pictures
in those dreams? Yes. But those that gave the most pleasure she
tried hard to shut out from her sight and with a gentle sigh
murmured "it can never be."

Sweet Marguerite! Has she her "concealments" too?




CHAPTER III.

A NOBLE CHARACTER.


In Phillip Lawson, a young lawyer of more than average ability, is
realized Pope's definition of an honest man--"the noblest work of
God." Those who think that all lawyers are a set of unscrupulous and
unprincipled men are sadly mistaken. There are in our midst men of
the legal profession who follow the paths of high-souled honor and
integrity with as unerring coarse as the magnet the north pole.

But it is in a special sense we wish to speak.

Phillip Lawson is sitting at his desk in one of the upstair
apartments of a large building not many rods from "the Chambers."
His office is not inviting in its appearance--no luxurious
leather-upholstered arm-chairs, Brussels carpeting--nothing to
suggest ease or even comfort. Stamped upon every inch of space
enclosed within those four bare walls we fancy we can almost see the
words "up-hill work! up-hill work"!--and look toward the young
aspirant to see if he is in the least disheartened thereby. But our
friend receives us with a gracious smile and extends his hand in a
manner that is hearty and genuine. Even the tone of his voice is
assuring, and we listen, wrapt in admiration, forgetful that we are
trespassing upon his generosity. But we must first introduce you
personally to the subject of our remarks, that you may form your own
impression:

Phillip Lawson is not handsome. His large irregular features are not
in keeping with the proportions we call classic, nor is the sallow
complexion any improvement; but despite these facts, there is indeed
much that is attractive in Mr. Lawson's face. His gray eyes have a
tender sympathetic look--tender as that of a woman; his brows have
the reflection of genius as they are being knitted over some
intricate and perplexing law points at issue; and the look of
benevolence expressed in the lips, mouth, and chin, impart a tone of
self-respect and dignity which, united with culture and refinement,
make our legal friend an ornament to the profession.

Nor is it when office hours are over that Mr. Lawson's labors are
ended. His services are freely given to many societies. Old and
young, rich and poor, can testify to the fact.

Yet he does not rest here. Many an hour the midnight oil has burned
low as this thoughtful student sat poring over pile upon pile of
some old work as he kept up his never-flagging research, or penned
his thoughts with marvellous rapidity.

As anyone appears to better advantage in a neat, cosy little
library, with a bright fire burning in the grate, than in a
cheerless, dim and prosy den, called by way of courtesy, an
"office," we thus look in upon the young man of books and letters.
Phillip Lawson has just returned from a meeting in connexion with
his church, and judging from his haggard looks, has had a busy day.
His bright-eyed little sister has made her appearance at his elbow,
and has placed upon the pretty five-o'clock table a cup of coffee
and some of her own making of tea-cakes.

"Lottie, you silly little puss, why did you go to such trouble?"
asked the admiring brother, as he took the little hands in his and
looked into the piquant face for answer.

"Just as if I am going to let you work yourself to death and starve
you into the bargain! Oh, no, my big brother, I am too selfish to
keep you for myself to do any such thing; so go now and take the
coffee while it is hot, else I shall have to bring more."

Lottie Lawson shook her head with all the determination of a miss of
fourteen, and emphasized the fact by settling herself very cosily
into a low seat to see that every cake is disposed of to her
satisfaction.

"Have you anything to tell me, little one? You know I can talk and
eat at the same time," said Phillip, sipping his coffee with the
_abandon_ of an epicure.

"Indeed, I have not one bit of news worth telling. I hear anything
except a lot of the silly stuff the girls bring to school."

"Well, that must be worth something, arising from such a variety of
sources," replied the young man, his grave face expressive of the
fund of true humor within.

"Suppose you heard of the quarrel between Maud Harrington and Hattie
Reynolds?"

"No; what was it about?"

"Oh! I can hardly tell you; but it was at recess, and nearly all the
girls were out, except three or four. Maud said that Carrie Wilson's
mamma had been calling at Mrs. Simpson's and that she said that Mrs.
Ashley told that Hattie's sister Belle was the most dowdy-looking
girl at the Langley's party."

"How did Hattie find it out?" asked Phillip, with all the gravity he
would exercise on one of his clients.

"Oh! you know listeners never hear anything good about themselves.
Hattie was listening and never said a word about it until she got
home, and then Hattie's mother went to all the folks who were mixed
up in it and they had an awful time of it. Oh, yes, and what do you
think?----" Lottie gave another piece of news of much more
importance to her brother than the preceding one, but he very
quietly kept his own counsel, and soon after dismissed the little
maiden, that he might take up a few hours of hard study. The student
lamp was lighted, and new fuel added to the grate. Phillip Lawson
sat himself down; but it cost him great effort to concentrate his
thoughts upon the work before him. Still he labored on and fought
manfully with the intruding thoughts, that, despite all resistance,
would at times be heard. But duty gained the victory, and it was not
until the young man had placed the much-prized manuscript in its
resting place, drawn his chair nearer the hearth, and lit a cigar
with the blessed expectation of having a puff of the weed, that he
again reverted to the banished subject.

"How the child could hear such a thing! Much as I dislike gossip I
should, like to question her further, but I dare not encourage such
things in a child," murmured the young man, involuntarily pressing
his hand upon his brow, as if bent upon study. And it Was a study
both pleasant and unpleasant. It presented two pictures--one fair
and bewitching, which lit up the student's face with its reflection,
while the other, dark and lowering from its deep and gloomy
appearance, shed a cloud of despondency and sadness upon the
thoughtful brow, leaving thereon an expression that was fretful and
annoying.

"If the fellow were worthy of her I would not care so much, I could
and _would_ live it down; but for me to see her associated with
him through life, it is something dreadful. And what am I to do?
Warn them of the danger myself? oh, no; that will never do! I will
be accused of plotting to secure the prize myself. But you will
certainly do it in justice to the man whom you value as a true
friend, if for nothing else," were the burning thoughts that forced
themselves uppermost, and bade the young man reflect very seriously.
"Yes, that is a motive sufficient to nerve any man; but there is a
deeper one--yes, I will admit it--a selfish one." There was a
struggle going on worthy the soul of this noble-minded youth. He was
trying to solve a problem which vacillated between right and wrong.
It was no common task, for when duty pointed the way, the form of
self overshadowed the path, and showed only fitful gleams of light.

"I will be cautious; but she must not be sacrificed to the artful
wiles of unprincipled tricksters while I have an trinity. Come what
may, I must and _will_ speak out!" Phillip Lawson thus resolved,
with a sense of relief. He knew now how to act, and his mind was
clear, calmly awaiting the hour to carry his resolutions into
effect. But how often do a few careless words change the
whole course of action which hours of thought had premeditated.

Phillip Lawson's high-toned resolutions by these means were
scattered to the winds, and he turned once more to the lofty
aspirations of his intellectual nature for refuge.

Let us explain:

It is the hour of twilight, and the streets have an air of
desertion. The people of fashion that are daily to be seen on King
and Prince William streets have retired within their palatial
residences, and none are abroad except an occasional man of
business, with wearied and abstracted air, soon to find rest in the
bosom of his family. Suddenly a handsome turnout claims our
attention, and instantly the driver assists a lady to alight. She is
dressed in costly furs and velvet, and her haughty mien shows that
her associations and preferences are with the patrician side of
nature.

"Will you come in, too, Rania? I need not ask Marguerite, lest she
might miss a chance of seeing 'Farmer Phil' and lose effervescence
of the hayseed. Do you know he is always associated, in my mind,
with homespun and hayseed."

Evelyn Verne laughed at the cleverness of her remark, and adjusting
her mantle entered a publisher's establishment, followed by the said
Rania Lister.

"Homespun and hayseed," muttered a muffled figure as he stood in the
recess of a doorway, from which situation he could see each occupant
of the sleigh and hear every syllable that was uttered.

"Homespun and hayseed! ah! my proud beauty, the effervescence of
hayseed is less noxious than the stench odors inhaled from
dissipation and vice, notwithstanding the fact that they are
perfumed over with all the garish compliments and conventional
gallantries that society demands."

Phillip Lawson had a highly-wrought imaginative temperament. He had
not heard more than those few words, but his mind was quick to take
in the whole situation. He could hear the lengthy speeches of
ridicule and sarcasm aimed at him from every possible standpoint,
and he felt the more determined to live down the scathing thoughts.
The man did not hear the reply by Marguerite Verne to her arrogant
sister, but he calmly and slowly repeated the words--"God bless
you, noble girl!" He still had faith in the purity of her mind, and
would have given much to be able to convince her of the fact.

It did, indeed, seem a coincidence that the moment Phillip Lawson
uttered the words above quoted, an almost perfect repetition found
their way into Marguerite's heart, and left a deep impression which
all the taunts of the subtle Evelyn could not shake off. Nor did it
seem strange to her when she fancied that a figure, on the opposite
side of the street, hurrying along at a rapid pace could be none
other than the subject of her thoughts.

* * * * *

"A delightful evening, indeed. It is almost too fine to remain
indoors."

The speaker is none other than Mr. Lawson. He is looking his best in
the neatly-fitting dress suit, with all the little make-ups
necessary to complete a gentleman's evening costume, and while he
leisurely surveys the groups of pretty faces on every side, is also
engaged in entertaining a bewitching little brunette, charmingly
attired in cream veiling and lace, with clusters of lovely damask
roses to enhance the brilliancy of her complexion.

The scene was truly intoxicating. Mrs. Holman, the fashionable belle
of society and wife of one of the leading physicians of the city,
was entertaining a brilliant assemblage of the _elite_. The
informal announcement of her grand "at home" had kept society
in a delightful state of anticipation for the past ten days, and
reality was indeed equal to all that could be devised. The grand
drawing-room, furnished with regard to the beautiful in art, was
certainly a fit receptacle for such an array of beauty and grace.
There was the exquisite blonde, with face of angelic purity; next
came the imperial Cleopatras, with their dusky grandeur of style
rivalling that of empresses; and conspicuous among the latter was
Evelyn Verne. Her amber-satin robes revealed the fact that she was
an adept in the art of dress, and spared no pains to display the
beautifully-rounded form and graceful carriage as she whirled
through the mazes of the waltz, with Montague Arnold as partner.
The latter was indeed a handsome man--one that is sure to attract a
fashionable woman. There is a sarcastic expression lurking around
the well-formed mouth, that has not, to the intelligent mind, a
wholesome tendency; but then there is such a dash of style, and an
amount of gay and charming sentiment in every word, that the
resistless Montague Arnold finds himself an important adjunct to
every gathering representing wealth and prestige.

To an ordinary observer the contrast between Phillip Lawson and the
acknowledged beau of society never appeared more striking, and many
would exclaim, "Well, Lawson is a very nice fellow, but then he is
awkward, and makes a poor appearance in society."

At this moment a familiar and graceful figure engaged the attention
of the young lawyer. Marguerite Verne has been dancing, and
accidentally finds herself seated near the conservatory in which
Phillip stood. He is instantly at her side and it is then that the
real beauty asserts itself--beauty of soul. "Miss Marguerite, I see
you are determined to enjoy yourself, if I may judge by the number
of dances you have already participated in," said the young man,
eager to join in conversation with the gentle but dignified girl.

"Why are you not doing likewise, Mr. Lawson? Now if all the
gentlemen were like you what would be our fate? What an array of
hopeless wallflowers there would be! Really I feel half angry at you
already!--" Marguerite stopped suddenly in her remarks. Hubert
Tracy came to claim her for the next dance, and as she took the arm
of the latter, she quickly turned towards Phillip Lawson exclaiming,
"Remember, I will be back in a few moments to finish what I intended
to say. Indeed you need not think to escape censure so easily;"
while the accompanying ripple of silvery laughter "low and sweet"
were something to contemplate in the happy meantime.

"Mr. Lawson is evidently not intended to be a society man," remarked
Hubert Tracy to his partner, when they had reached the other end of
the room.

"In my opinion he is all the more to be appreciated," returned the
other in a tone of reproof which stung the young man with deep anger
and resentment; but he was too artful to express himself, and from
that moment there entered into his mind a firm resolve to lessen the
high estimate that Marguerite Verne had formed of the would-be
lover.




CHAPTER IV.

A SCENE OF HILARITY.


Several weeks had elapsed since Hubert Tracy had made up his mind to
thwart the man whom he hated with a bitter hate. He was not backward
in expressing his thoughts to the accomplished Mr. Arnold, who
entered into the project heart and soul, and discussed the subject
with all the nonchalance his shallow nature was capable of.

On the evening in question they are seated at a small side-table,
profusely decorated with champagne bottles, glasses, and a few
delicate morsels of refreshments.

"At the bazaar, Dick?" exclaimed Montague, stroking his
artistically-waxed moustache with considerable dexterity.

The individual addressed as Dick was certainly a dude of the
fifteenth degree--his pale-blue pantaloons being sufficient proof
without venturing another glance. His movements, voice and manner
were constant reminders of the excruciating assertion, "I'm a dude."
But of the question.

"Oh! is that you, Arnold? I really did not expect to see you here
to-night. How is business at the governor's? Hear you are making a
bold dash there?"

"Yes, you can bet on that! I'm the white-headed boy there now."

As Arnold was in a short time highly exhilarated by the contents of
the table, he became very communicative, and as his conversation was
not such as would be under the head of pure language, we will leave
him to make merry with his set of jovial companions.

Hubert Tracy was calm and self-possessed. He was too much intent
upon some plans to allow himself to become incapable. He had
"another iron in the fire," to quote his expression as he thought
the matter over to himself, and called upon all the powers unknown
to come to his aid.

It was within a short time that Hubert Tracy had become vitiated in
his moral nature. He had hitherto been known as a good-living young
man--one that respected what was good and pure; but the old, old
story--he fell in with bad company, and almost fell beyond reprieve.

You ask, "Had he a home?" He had, indeed, a home, where all that was
good and pure was daily practised--loving, warm-hearted sisters, and
a fond trusting mother had not the power to drag him back from the
tempting gulf of dissipation and allurement. But we will not say
that their prayers were lost. There was yet a small, still voice,
that would intrude itself upon the young man, and despite his
attempts to silence it forever, would steal upon him in the silent
hour of midnight, and haunt him in the noisy abodes of revelry and
carousal. It even forces itself upon him now as he sits planning a
scheme to outwit his rival. The voice is repeating over and over
again the words "Lawson is a good young man," and they are re-echoed
until Hubert Tracy raises his head and glances around as if to
convince himself of the reality. "A good young man," he murmurs
bitterly; "I was one myself--in the past."

A bitter groan escaped the lips of the speaker as he uttered the
sentence, and his face became stone-like in expression.

"It is of no use; I must not give up. The fellow is good; but what
is that to me now? If he win the day, I am lost forever--for it is
only through her I will be a better man--and surely, with Lawson's
nature, he would willingly make the sacrifice. But here I am,
moralizing like a preacher," cried the young man, as he arose and
began pacing up and down the floor in an excited manner. "By heaven!
it won't do to give up! If I ever expect to be a better man I must
first fall still lower!"

A strange method of reasoning indeed! But a striking illustration of
the fact that degenerate natures have always some loop-hole to crawl
through in order to shield themselves from just reproach.

Hubert Tracy had not sufficient moral courage to take upon himself
the responsibility of his actions. He had not faith to strike out on
the path of right, and with a sense of his own helplessness, turn to
Providence for his guide. Oh no, he could not see ahead of him with
an honest hopefulness; but instead "an ever-during dark surrounds
him," and he, with all the cowardice of his nature, consoles himself
with the thought that the nobility of Phillip Lawson is apology for
his base actions.

It was after such reverie that Hubert Tracy bethought himself of an
engagement he had made to join a number of acquaintances at a whist
party. He straightened himself up and cast a glance in the mirror
opposite to see if he would "pass muster" in a crowd. "Guess I'm all
right," he exclaimed, stroking his fingers through the masses of
chestnut curls that clung so prettily around his well-shaped head.

"Halloo, Tracy, not going so soon? The night's young yet, boy! Come,
sit down and have some of the 'rosy,'" shouted a rubicund-faced
youth, with a generous proportion of carrotty hair crowning his low
flat forehead.

"Sit down Tracy," exclaimed another, slapping him on the back by way
of accompaniment to the words: "We'll not go home till morning,"
which song the whole company began to roar in a style more forcible
than artistic.

When the last strains of music had spent its force and a general
interchange of silly speeches had been made, the young man once more
rose to go, but a youth with broad Scotch accent seized him by the
arm exclaiming: "Don't go yet, Tracy dear; for if ye do, ye need'nt
come back here."

"A poet of the first water," cried a voice from behind, at which all
joined in another roar of laughter, which reached its climax when a
feminine-looking youth exclaimed, "What a pity the government have
not discovered such talent! they would surely have him for poet
laureate."

Before quiet was again restored Tracy took advantage of the occasion
to cover his retreat, and hastily gained a small side entrance which
led to the suspicious-looking alley not many yards from a very
public thoroughfare. Having reached the street without any serious
apprehension, he then set off at a rapid pace in the direction of
his lodging.

A careful toilet, including some necessary antidotes, and we find
the subject of our remarks an honored guest in one of the luxurious
drawing-rooms in the city. Not a trace of the recent association is
visible as Mr. Tracy takes his seat at a whist-table with an
interesting and amiable young lady for partner.

"What a brilliant young man Mr. Tracy is," remarked an anxious mamma
to a lady sitting near, who also was on the _qui vive_ for an
eligible _parti_ in the capacity of a son-in-law.

"Don't you think Miss Simpkins is very forward; just see how she is
flirting with Mr. Tracy. I'm glad she is no relation of mine."

Miss Dorothy Strong had ventured the above speech in hopes of
testing the _strong_ tendencies of her audience. She was a
spinster of youthful pretension, and invariably took occasion to
condemn any such exhibition on the part of others a dozen years her
junior. Not meeting any remonstrance she made quite a speech on the
familiarity of young ladies, their want of dignity, and ended in a
grand peroration upon the conceit of the young men, their vicious
habits and all short-comings she could bring to bear upon the
subject.

But Miss Dorothy's speech was unhappily chosen, and therefore "lost
its sweetness upon a desert air."

"Sour grapes," whispered a pretty miss of sixteen to her elder
sister, as they stood apart from the others and watched the effect
of the oration.

As we glance towards the said Miss Simpkins and watch the game for a
few moments, we feel certain that Hubert Tracy is not deeply
concerned whether he win or lose. He is evidently studying a deeper
game--one on which he would willingly stake all he possessed.

"Now, Mr. Tracy, that was mine as it lay!" cried his partner,
somewhat petulantly, as she noted the mistake.

"Never mind this time; I will look out better again," said the
culprit, his penitential look being sufficient apology for a more
grievous offence.

"If I didn't know you better, Tracy, I would say you were in love,"
exclaimed a fashionable young man, engaged as bookkeeper in one of
the largest wholesale firms in the city.

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