Читать книгу Who Would Have Thought It? - María Ruiz de Burton - Страница 10

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Miss LAVINIA SPRIG might never have read about the battle of Marathon, but certainly, there was a -similarity of thought and feeling between Themistocles after Marathon, and herself as she sat with the poker in her hand contemplating the dying fire.

Like the Greek general, she mourned for the laurels that might have been her own, and the good fortune of rivals kept her awake. She was thinking of Mrs. Hammerhard and Mrs. Hackwell, and how their husbands—both-had made love to her, and then run off and married them. And they had two babies each now,-her two victorious rivals were happy mothers,—whilst poor Lavinia was not even a wife! And that thought kept her awake.

Miss Lavinia was sadly looking on the receding past, though her gaze was fixed upon the darkening grate, full of ashes. Was she drawing mental comparisons between that grate and her own virginal bosom?

Quien sabe? But true it is that she suddenly gave the fire a tremendous thrust with the poker, exclaiming, "Villain!" A few bright sparks flew up from the expiring embers, and Miss Lavinia commenced a mental soliloquy, partly uttered:

"Yes, their babies! They are happy mothers, eh? I wonder if God will punish those two men for their lies and treachery to me? It is all I can do every Sunday to keep from screaming out from my pew to Hammerhard in his pulpit, "You liar! you liar! It would do me good if I did. And if I were to go to Hackwell's church, I don't think I could be able to contain myself; for he was the greater scoundrel of the two. Hammerhard proposed to me, and went off and married Lizzie Dix; but I wasn't positively engaged to him. But Hackwell was solemnly pledged to me,-the scoundrel, preaching scoundrel!"

Here Miss Lavinia gave a hard blow to the grate, muttering, "How very wrong girls are in permitting any liberties to men to whom they are engaged! How foolish! how silly! Who can tell what miserable liars they may not turn out to be? For I believe that men would rather lie to a woman than speak the truth. Who would not have trusted those two men? They are trusted now. My own sister believes all Hackwell says even now, and doesn't believe that he engaged himself to me. Oh, the rascals, the hypocrites, preaching morality every Sunday! Faugh! what nasty beasts men are!" And here Miss Lavinia, as if the word men filled her mouth with some of the ashes, in the grate, spat in disgust, and poked the fire vigorously in continued thrusts.

"What is the matter, Aunt Lavvy? Are you sick?" asked Ruth, who, standing unperceived by Lavvy, had been a silent spectator of that lady's last performance with the poker.

Lavinia started, and dropped the poker, which rolled down from the grate to her feet with a loud noise and clatter.

"No. I was thinking; that's all. But what makes you sit up so late? I thought you were in bed."

"So I was; but I couldn't sleep. I went to your room, for I wanted to ask you something, and, not finding you there, I came down to look for you in your favorite place, watching the fire, with the poker in your hand. I remember you told me this afternoon that I was angry with you, and I thought you would tell me the reason now."

"Oh, that is of no consequence. I only thought you were angry because I did not tell you to wear my things to Mrs. Hammerhard's christening. But you may. I am not going, and you can have them. I was thinking of something else when you said that if I went you couldn't go, because you needed some of my evening things. You can have what you like that I own,—which is little enough."

"It is more than I have; and I thank you, aunt. I only want your lace collar and sleeves, and your fan and pearl set. It is too bad that I don't own one bit of jewelry in the world but my cameo, which I wear every day of my life. I think mother is entirely too stingy, and I mean to tell papa that I ought to have a few things which girls must have. To think that I am twenty years old (and the daughter of a gentleman), and never in my life had one silk dress besides my black silk! And those two papa bought for me, and mamma scolded when he did it. She never would buy me a bit of jewelry. I always look like the old Nick himself, and I feel mortified and disgusted with life. I know I shall look as if just out of Noah's ark, with my old grenadine (I've been fixing it up), by the side of Julia Dix, who always dresses elegantly."

"Yes, those Dix girls always gave all their souls to their ribbons."

"That may be so; but I know that out of eight sisters seven are married, and Julia is engaged to a New York banker. Lizzie Hammerhard and Mary Hackwell are the only two of all the eight sisters who did not marry rich men. They married for love," added Ruth, maliciously. Lavinia arose hastily. But Ruth continued, saying, "Even old Lucretia Cackle looks better dressed than Mattie and I. And Emma Hackwell, who certainly is poorer than we are, she too is a great deal better dressed, and they look at our shabby clothes and sneer. But I always say to everybody that if mamma wasn't so economical we wouldn't be so shabby, and all know it is so."

"But you ought not to tell it."

"But I shall, and I'll speak to papa, too, the very first chance I get. Now I'll go to sleep. Thank you for lending me your things. I hope I may some day return the kindness, though there exists at present but a poor prospect, for who on earth is to marry such a shabby-looking girl as me? I don't think even any of the Cackle boys would think of proposing to me." So saying, Ruth ran up-stairs, and got into her bed again. After she was cosily wrapped in the bed-covers, close to Mattie, she heard her Aunt Lavvy come slowly up-stairs and go to her.

"Poor Lavvy!" said Ruth, laughing; "I wonder which of the two divines she likes best?"

"Old Hacky, of course. see that plain enough," said Mattie, without opening her eyes.

"What! are you awake too?"

"You awoke me with your racket down-stairs, and I think you awoke mamma and papa too, for I heard them go into Julian's room."

"I made no racket. It was Aunt Lavvy apostrophizing her faithless parsons with the poker in her room. I can hand, hammering the grate for Hammerhard, and hacking it for Hackwell."

"Bah! that isn't original. That is one of Julian's puns," said Mattie, hugging her sister.

Slowly Lavinia hung a night-gown on the two peaks which formed her shoulders, and got into bed. But not to sleep. Those babies—those "trophies of Miltiades"-kept her awake. Her nose was red with crying, and her eyelids were heavy, but not sleepy.

"Do you hear Aunt Lavvy's sighs?" asked Ruth, in a whisper, and both sisters laughed.

"Poor aunty! it is too bad of those parsons to have fooled her so cruelly," said Mattie. "I don't like them for it, particularly that smooth, conceited, deceitful Hackwell. I don't see why mamma likes him. He is handsome, but what is that to mamma? She don't care for his looks."

"Of course she don't, or she thinks she don't; but looks are a heap, Mat, and no mistake, and that is why I think it is so mean in mamma to dress us so shabbily, and I was telling aunt I will speak to papa about it; and so you ought, for he loves you the best."

"No, he don't. Julian is his favorite."

"He loves us all well enough to feel ashamed of seeing us dress in old rags," said Ruth.

"After which aphorism both sisters fell asleep, just as Lola crawled out of the servants' room in search of less foul air, and to avoid the snoring duo, which almost set her crazy, and went to lie at Mrs. Norval's door, with Jack's sympathy for consolation, and his woolly body to keep her warm.