CHAPTER IX.

AFTER TEN YEARS.

The thorns I have reaped are of the tree I planted; they have torn me and I bled; I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. BYRON.

It is a brilliant, star-lighted night in December.

In an even more brilliantly illuminated mansion on Fifth Avenue, New York City, a distinguished company is assembled. Elderly and middle-aged gentlemen, dignified and imposing, with the suggestion of opulence pervading every look and movement; young men, alert and full of vigor, all clad in conventional dress suits and immaculate linen; stately and beautiful matrons, elegantly robed in velvet and costly laces; younger women resplendent in all the tints of the rainbow, and flashing with diamonds and other many-hued gems; pretty débutantes, in diaphanous and saintly white, gleaming like spotless lilies in beds of variegated poppies; flowers and perfume everywhere; entrancing melody from an invisible orchestra, mingling with many musical voices, joyous laughter, and the rustle and swish of silk and satin--all contributed to produce a wonderful scene and an exhilarating atmosphere, which assumed life to be one long, gorgeous gala day, with never a cloud to dim its brightness or cast its shadow upon these gay votaries of fashion and pleasure.

Suddenly the music of the orchestra ceased, and presently a few dominant chords were struck upon a fine-toned concert-grand piano, as if to demand attention and silence.

The next moment a woman of beautiful and gracious presence stepped upon a low platform beside the instrument, whereupon the buzzing of many voices was hushed, and an air of eager expectation pervaded the company.

The dominant chords were followed by a rippling prelude, which soon dropped into the more precise rhythm of an accompaniment; then a glorious voice, full, rich, and thrillingly sympathetic, broke upon the stillness, rising, falling, and trilling easily and naturally as a bird, that, conscious only of the supreme impulse within his throbbing breast and vibrating in his wonderful little throat, pours forth his joy-laden soul in enraptured and exquisite song.

Every eye within range of her was fastened upon the singer, a queenly matron, charmingly gowned in some soft material of pale-pink lavender. Her abundant brown hair was becomingly arranged and surmounted by a glittering aigrette of jewels, her only visible ornament. She was good to look upon as well as to listen to, and bore herself with the ease and poise of one long accustomed to entertain fashionable audiences like the present, yet without a suggestion of self-consciousness to mar her excellent work.

She rendered a group of three classical songs with artistic effect that won for her a round of hearty applause as she ceased. She gracefully acknowledged the tribute paid her, then turned and smilingly nodded to some one who had evidently been sitting near her. Immediately a lovely girl, robed in white, arose, and took her stand at the left of the artiste.

A flutter of excitement throughout the room indicated the anticipation of some unusual treat as harp, violin, and cello, accompanied by the piano, rendered an inspiring introduction, which was followed by a familiar duet from one of the standard operas, and executed with an exquisite interpretation and spirit that held every listener spellbound to the end, and evoked a storm of enthusiastic approval upon its conclusion.

"Jove! can't they sing! Who are they, Jerome? Sisters, I should judge, by their strong resemblance to each other, and the younger is simply adorable!"

Mr. Homer Jerome, the host of the evening, smiled, his fine eyes twinkling with secret satisfaction at these flattering compliments bestowed upon the protégées of his wife by the aristocratic and fastidious Clifford Alexander, the son of an old college chum, who had recently returned from several years' sojourn in Europe.

"The elder lady is Madam Ford, who has become quite noted in New York during the last ten years as a drawing-room artiste. She is in great demand among society people, and never fails to give satisfaction to an appreciative audience. Her companion is Miss Dorothy Ford, madam's daughter," Mr. Jerome explained.

"You don't mean to tell me that the lady in lavender is the mother of the other! It doesn't seem possible!" exclaimed the first speaker, astonished.

"I am sure Madam Ford would appreciate the flattering, though indirect, compliment you have paid her, my boy," observed his host, with a genial laugh. "Madam is certainly a very youthful-looking woman, considering her age and checkered experiences, for, some years ago, she was left penniless to battle, single-handed, with the world, and she has seen much trouble."

"She is a widow, then?"

"Um--er--I think it was about ten years ago that she lost her husband," was Mr. Jerome's somewhat noncommittal reply; then he hastened to add: "But she faced the situation with indomitable courage and energy, and, possessing much native talent, a beautiful voice, and a charming personality, she has achieved a brilliant career for herself."

"Evidently she has found a very warm friend in Mr. Homer Jerome, to whom, perhaps, she may owe something of her success in life," observed Mr. Alexander, to whom his host's generous-spirited philanthropy was no secret.

"I esteem it an honor to be numbered among Madam Ford's friends," heartily returned Mr. Jerome. "She was really a protégée of my wife's, to begin with, and we have seen a good deal of her during the ten years of our acquaintance--first, to admire her for her heroism and perseverance under difficulties, and later to love her for herself. The daughter is no less lovely than her mother," the gentleman continued, his eyes lingering fondly upon the girl. "Madam has given her every possible advantage, and when she discovered that she also possessed a promising voice she placed her under one of our finest teachers, here in New York, with what result you have just had the pleasure of ascertaining."

"She is surely deserving of laurels for this evening's work," said the young man appreciatively.

"Particularly as this is her first appearance in a professional rôle. Her voice is powerful, rich, and sympathetic. I would not be surprised if Miss Dorothy eventually outclasses her mother as an artist." And Mr. Jerome beamed satisfaction upon his favorite as he concluded.

"Dorothy Ford," mused Clifford Alexander, his voice lingering upon the name while his fine eyes studied the face of the beautiful girl, who was now chatting socially with a group of people who were offering hearty congratulations to both mother and daughter. "It is a peculiarly euphonious name for a very attractive young woman. Introduce me, will you, Jerome?"

"With the greatest pleasure," responded that gentleman, with a sly smile; and a few minutes later Mr. Alexander was making his best bow before Madam Ford, whom he found even more charming at close range than at a distance; and then the usually imperturbable young man found himself experiencing unaccustomed heart throbs upon being presented to the adorable Dorothy.

The girl did not offer him her hand, but, after gracefully acknowledging the introduction, lifted her limpid gray eyes to the gentleman's face with an earnest, straightforward look which told him that she was one who judged people somewhat from first impressions.

His glance held hers for a moment, during which he was particularly attracted by the sweet serenity of her gaze, while he was at the same time conscious that every feature of her lovely face was aglow with intelligence and vivacity.

Her skin was fine and clear, with a touch of rose on her cheeks; her lips a vivid scarlet. A wealth of red-brown hair was arranged high on her head, thus adding to her stature and poise; her features, though by no means perfect, were fascinatingly expressive, especially when she spoke or smiled.

Her graceful, symmetrical figure was clad in virgin white, with no ornament save a string of rare pearls that once had belonged to her grandmother Appleton; and, to her new acquaintance, Dorothy Ford appeared the embodiment of loveliness and purity.

"Allow me to thank you both for the great pleasure I have just enjoyed," Mr. Alexander remarked, when their greetings were over, the sincerity in his tones saving his observation from seeming triteness.

Madam Ford smiled with motherly pride as she gracefully thanked him, and, bending a fond glance upon Dorothy, added:

"I really feel that my daughter is entitled to congratulations, since this is her first appearance, professionally, before a critical audience. I must confess, however, to having experienced some inward quakings in view of that fact; but her first note reassured me----"

"Why, mamma, I am surprised!" laughingly interposed Dorothy, but flushing with pleasure, nevertheless, in view of her mother's commendation, Mr. Jerome's approving eyes, and the evident appreciation of her new acquaintance--"after all your careful coaching, not to mention Signor Rotoni's merciless training for this important event! Moreover, the burden of responsibility rested entirely upon you, and I wasn't conscious of a quake, though I confess I might not have felt quite so confident if I had been obliged to face all these people alone."

"So this is your début before society, Miss Ford?" Mr. Alexander observed, and charmed by the maiden's refreshing ingenuousness.

"Yes, as a vocalist; not socially, however, for Mrs. Jerome kindly introduced me, with Miss Jerome, some time ago," Dorothy replied, adding: "I have, perhaps, enjoyed some advantages to give me confidence which débutantes, as a rule, do not have. Mamma having been so much before the public, I have also had my responsibilities in the profession, for"--with a laughing glance at her mother--"I have frequently acted as her chaperon when she has had engagements at a distance from home."

"'Chaperon!' That is rather good, Helen," Mr. Jerome here dryly interposed, and bending a pair of twinkling eyes upon madam. "Well, you do look almost youthful enough to need a chaperon; Alexander was saying only a few moments ago he thought you and Dorothy must be sisters."

"There, mamma, now will you believe what I said to you before we left home?" gleefully exclaimed Dorothy. "I told her," she went on, nodding brightly at Mr. Jerome, "that she is growing younger every year, and no one would suspect that she is the mother of a twenty-five-year-old daughter----"

"'Sh--'sh! Oh, Dorrie, _how_ indiscreet to tell it!" interposed her host, in pretended consternation at her frankness.

"Perhaps it was," retorted the girl, with a roguish gleam in her eyes. "I did not realize what my admission would imply, and I humbly beg mamma's pardon for trespassing upon so delicate a subject," and she curtsied with mock humility to her mother, without a vestige of self-consciousness for having given away her own age.

"Now, I suppose it behooves me to offer thanks to Mr. Alexander for a very pretty compliment," demurely observed Madam Ford, when the laugh at Dorothy's clever repartee had subsided.

"Oh, Helen," groaned Mr. Jerome, who dearly loved to hector, "I am surprised to hear you giving thanks for a compliment at your charming daughter's expense!" Then, turning to Dorothy, he added, with an air of commiseration: "Dorrie, dear, you have my deepest sympathy in view of your aged appearance; if you had only not persisted in growing up, so early, to be so mature, tall, and stately, people would not have been so prone to mistake you for your mother's sister," he concluded, bestowing a reproachful look upon the young man standing beside her.

"Really, Jerome," Clifford Alexander here laughingly interposed, but with heightening color beneath his friend's persistent banter, "I seem inadvertently to have stumbled upon dangerous ground, and there appears to be no way to either advance or retreat with any glory to myself. Pray tell me how I am to propitiate so gallant a champion as you have constituted yourself; also this fair lady"--with a deprecating glance at Dorothy--"whose cause you so ardently espouse."

"This 'fair lady' and her 'champion,' as you are pleased to regard me, have been lovers ever since she was a small girl in short dresses, I would have you understand, and I warn you, young man, that I am very jealous for her--eh, Dorothy?" Mr. Jerome asserted, with a delightful air of proprietorship. "However," he continued, "I can assure you she is easily propitiated, for she is exceedingly amiable."

"That, I am sure, goes without saying," affably assented the young man.

"Exactly; and, taking her all in all, she is '_simply adorable!_'" retorted his host, in a significant tone, as he thus quoted the young man's own words of a few moments previous, and which again sent the quick color to his face.

Dorothy had thoroughly enjoyed the tilt at her expense, but now she began to feel the situation becoming a trifle embarrassing, both for herself and her new acquaintance; and, turning brightly to him, she merrily observed:

"Pray, do not mind him, Mr. Alexander; he is the greatest tease in New York. He has hectored me for years, and does not half realize that I have grown up to be almost mamma's double; for really we are more like two devoted chums or sisters than like mother and daughter."

"Miss Ford, I am everlastingly obliged to you for the olive branch of peace you so kindly extend to me," the gentleman smilingly returned. "And now, as the room is very warm, won't you come and let me get you an ice, or a glass of punch? I am sure Mr. Jerome will kindly care for Madam Ford."

"Thank you; I shall be glad to have an ice, if you will be so kind," Dorothy cordially assented.

She nodded a gay adieu to her mother and Mr. Jerome, as she turned to accompany her escort, who shot a look of mock triumph at his host as he walked off with his coveted prize.

"That is a mighty fine fellow, Helen," remarked her companion, as the two young people disappeared among the throng.

"He is certainly good to look upon; not exactly what would be regarded as a handsome man, but decidedly distinguished in appearance, and with evidences of a fine character written on his strong face," madam replied.

"You are right; but he has never been a 'ladies' man,' much to the chagrin of many of our New York mothers. I am surprised at his walking off so summarily with Dorothy--no," he corrected, "I am not surprised, either, for Dorrie would melt a statue of ice. Next to my Mollie, she is the most glorious girl I know."

Madam Ford smiled as she bestowed a grateful look upon the speaker for his high praise.

"You have idealized Dorothy, I am afraid," she returned, with evident emotion; "but one is prone to endow those in whom one is deeply interested with the rich qualities of his own nature. You are so thoroughly good yourself, my friend, you can see nothing but good in others."

"Somebody else, I perceive, is looking through rose-tinted glasses at this very moment, Helen," lightly responded her companion.

"Well, you must not forget that you have put some rose tints into my life during the last ten years; you have also been almost like a father to my child, and I am not likely to forget it--nor the heavenly kindness of your wife, either." Helen's lips were tremulous as she concluded.

"My wife is a gem of the first water," responded her companion, in a low, intense tone, a fond look in his fine eyes, as they rested upon a stately woman standing in the full light of a brilliant chandelier not far from them.

"Indeed, she is," Helen heartily assented, as her glance followed his; for never in her life had she met a couple who lived in such perfect accord with each other as Homer and Lena Jerome.