Eight days went by more laggingly than Jessie had believed time could pass in Hamilton, and Eunice's weekly bulletin of home news announced that Beechdale had been honored by Mr. Wyllys's presence.
"He spent the Sabbath with us," wrote she. "We were very glad to see him, since he was the bearer of news of you. His report of your health, spirits and progress in your studies was very favorable. He says, moreover, that Mrs. Baxter will not consent to give you up before spring. Do not abridge your stay for fear we shall be lonely without you. We miss you, of course, but we are consoled for the pain of separation by the knowledge that you are improving in health and enjoying social and educational advantages such as our secluded valley cannot furnish. Our excellent neighbors are very kind and attentive," etc., etc.
"He spent the Sabbath with us," re-read Jessie. "And I was not at home! He said nothing to me of his intention to visit Beechdale. Since he has changed his plans in one respect, he may in another, and be absent three or four weeks instead of a fortnight. Heigho!"
She folded up her sister's letter and addressed herself, very slowly, to the task of getting ready for a party at Judge Provost's—the great house of the region. It was to be a grand affair, and she had never attended one half so fine, but she was ennuyée in anticipation.
"There will be the stock company of beaux," she meditated. "The one unmarried professor; the ten marriageable, and ten ineligible seniors; the whole army of second and third class men, and the dozen or fifteen gentlemen detailed for the occasion from the doctors' and lawyers' offices and the higher rank of tradespeople in Hamilton. There will be dancing in one parlor, and small talk in another, and promenading in the hall, and a 'jam'—not sweet—in the supper-room. As a clergyman's daughter, and the guest of a clergyman's wife, I must not dance. I am sick to nausea of callow collegians and small talk, and I don't care for late suppers of indigestible dainties. I would rather spend the evening with Mariana in the moated grange, for that mopish damsel would let me sit still and sulk if I wanted to. And I believe I do!"
"A little more fire, my love!" whispered Mrs. Baxter, in the dressing-room, affecting to be busy in shaking out Jessie's pink silk drapery. " I have a presentiment that you are to meet your fate to-night. But you must positively exert yourself to seem less quiet and preoccupied. Repose and lofty indifference are considered well-bred, and are a very safe rôle for the commonplace to adopt But they are unbecoming to us."
The novice did her best to throw light into her eyes, and warmth into her complexion. Mrs. Baxter, perceiving this, considerately forbore to hint that, in spite of her tasteful attire and becoming coiffure, she had never seen her look worse. Trusting to the animating influences of the festive scene to restore that which friendly expostulation had proved inefficient to recall, she committed her to the officious homage of young Lowndes, and turned her attention to the part she was herself to play in the evening's drama.
"What a magnificent creature your niece is, Mrs. Baxter!—or is she a cousin?" said an elderly gentleman to her, at length.
The pleased and amiable chaperon looked over her shoulder, directed by his gaze, just in time to see Jessie pass, treading as if on air; her eyes luminous orbs of rapture; her cheeks like the inner foldings of a damask rose; her lips apart in a smile, sweet and happy, and her hand on Orrin Wyllys's arm.
