Chapter 2

Pa gives me a small allowance--when he has the money; then not one cent more! I believe every body in town knows just how much he allows me! Pa says I told it, myself. Perhaps I did; one can't remember every thing one chances to say. Although my amount is small, yet I have quite a little way of fixing myself, and always looking real nice. Aunt Patsey says I do pretty well, until I open my big mouth and begin to rattle, rattle, rattle! She says I talk more and say less than any body she has ever known, except that down-East girl, Polly Blanton, who always told--when in want of any other topic--the _family secrets_. Aunt Patsey is forever-and-a-day preaching to me about _good form_; what I ought, and what I ought not to do; sometimes repeats long passages from the prayer-book--nearly all the morning service--then says, "It's no use, no use; just like pouring water on a duck's back!" But she must love to do useless things, for she just keeps right on. She says that I ought to be able to keep silent once in a while, anyhow; but I don't know _how_ to keep silent.

Some body had to come and tell her--Aunt Patsey--that I talked a great deal, and very loud, at the theater, between acts. Now the idea of finding fault with girls, or any body, who talk _between acts!_ Why it's just perfectly delightful! I begin the moment the curtain drops; I don't even wait for the music to begin--it is such a waste of time! I know that I do talk a little too loud; but just lots of real nice persons talk real loud at the theater--it comes natural. When people turn around and look at me as if I was really doing something dreadful, then I talk ever and ever so much more! People can't frown _me_ down--no indeed, double deed, not if Alice Wing knows any thing about herself! People who know me never try; except my family, headed by Aunt Patsey, who always says, "We are prompted by a deep sense of duty, my dear, _duty_!"

I am _almost engaged_! Even Aunt Patsey likes the man, and O, so do I! He is nice and quiet, and just loves to hear me talk--never interrupts me, but lets me go on, and looks at me so admiring-like all the time! Ma says I am sure to spoil every thing by too much talking! He is _so_ timid! I encourage him, though, all I can; he seems to like encouragement _so_ much! He understands and appreciates me, too, and that is a great deal; for most of the other men act so funny when they are left alone with me! They nearly always have a solemn, almost scared look--but I really don't know why! I must confess that I like stupid men; they may not talk much, yet they seem real eager to listen! Then stupid men always have such good manners, which, in society, counts for a great deal! People who have good manners are so safe--they never do any thing startling! I wish my manners were better--but they are not! After one of Aunt Patsey's talks on _good form_, and strict propriety, I try to improve--regenerate, if possible. I often watch Miss Lena Searlwood, one of the older girls, who is a great favorite with Aunt Patsey--but it is no use! She is a self-contained woman, never ill at ease, and who puts you, and at once, at rights with yourself. She is a most beautiful and discreet talker! She would rather die, burn at the stake, suffer on the rack, than tell even the suspicion of a _family secret_! Aunt Patsey is always talking her up to me, wishing that I would be only a little bit like her anyhow. So the other night, at a party, I took special care to notice the attractive Lena. She is so graceful; quiet grace, ma calls it. She leaned against a heavy, carved chimney-piece, with dark-red plush hangings, and she looked for all the world just like a tall, white flower, slender, beautiful! She was slowly picking to pieces, leaf by leaf, a pale-pink rose, which she had stolen away from somewhere about her willowy, white throat. And while she was doing all this--and it took quite a while, too--she looked full in the face of the man by her side, that rather good-looking, stuck-up Calburt Young, _and said nothing_--absolutely not a word! She did this long enough to make me almost lose my breath. I could not do a thing like that; it would give me nervous prostration sure! Yet, I know it is very effective! It was just like some picture you read about, and it was beautiful, striking, down to the smallest detail. But situations effective, and details pleasing, are not in my line, and they are just as much a mystery as improper fractions used to be when I was a schoolgirl. I hated my school! It was called a "Young Ladies' Seminary." It was a fashionable, intellectual hot-house, where premature, fleeting blooms were cultivated regardless of any future consequence. But I was a barren bush! I never fashion-flowered into a profusion of showy blossoms. Aunt Patsey said that I did not reap the harvest of my golden opportunities; but pa, he growled and grumbled a good deal when the bills came pouring in, but paid them, and roundly swore that he was glad he had no more fool-daughters to finish off in a fashionable seminary.

I have a keen sense of the ridiculous, and it gets me in trouble all the time. I don't mean any harm; but I can't help telling a good thing when I hear it or see it myself. Now that _same_ Calburt Young can't bear me; he hates me in good fashion because I made fun of his doleful air, and said that he had the looks and the manners of a man who had, in a desperate mood, shot down his sweetheart, concealed the fact, and was suffering the pangs of deep remorse for the dreadful deed. He heard about it and got angry! He _does_ look awful gloomy! He says I am crude, _very_ crude, and put people on edge; and that I am so good-natured, so good-humored all the time that it reduces less fortunate people into a state of most desperate defiance--defiance against my everlasting flow of animal spirits, unchecked by any thing. He told all that to Sophia Gilder, and Sophia is my bosom-friend; so she told me! Aunt Patsey has a great admiration for her mother, Mrs. John Robert Gilder, but says that Sophia, poor girl, is a milk-sop--weak, weak! and taps her shining forehead knowingly. Auntie has a most alarming way of disposing of people! I know all about her methods--gracious goodness! I ought by this time.

About two or three months after I was finished off at the Seminary, Miss Lena Searlwood gave a little affair in my honor. She called it a tea--it really was more like a dinner! They do entertain _so_ well! I was taken home afterward by that Calburt Young--a great privilege I suppose! He was in a bad humor anyhow; had not seen enough of Miss Lena! He let me do all of the talking, never once suggesting a new topic, and listened with an air, not of attention, but enforced toleration. It made me furious! Two or three times he said "Yes?" which was really worse than nothing! Finally, when near home, he turned to me and in a tired, indifferent tone, said: "Beg pardon, Miss Wing; you are _just out_, I believe! What did you study while at school?" It was a fling--I knew it--so I answered, "I studied how to be rude to arrogant, patronizing people who are forever asking impudent questions with a desire to give pain, sir!" He placed my night-key in the door deliberately, calmly; pushed open the door, lifted his hat, turned on his heel, without even closing one half of the storm-doors, like other men always do, and said: "Miss Wing, you have been well taught! You were, indeed, a very apt scholar! I congratulate you! I have the honor to bid you good-night!" I could have picked a dozen pale-pink roses to pieces just then, but not leaf by leaf; I could have torn up a whole rose-tree by the roots! They say Mr. Young is so smart, wonderful deep, and all that; but he is just a mean, rude man, and I won't ever have any thing more to do with him; and when I say I won't, _I won't_!

How some people do ruffle me into a fever-heat of dislike and ardent opposition. Of course I know that it is all wrong, yet after all there is a certain kind of satisfaction. Now, for instance, _that_ Mrs. Babbington Brooks, with her smooth, oily tongue, abominable phrases, "Yes, my sweet loves," and her "O! my dear doves," sets me fairly wild. She is such a vulgar, low-born person! I always feel tempted to fly right at her and tear off her load of tawdry, costly finery, exhaling a strong, close odor of greenbacks. How people have taken them up! all on account of their money. They are invited every where; and only last season people were turning up their noses and asking, "Who, pray, are the Brookses?" Thanks to a cook from somewhere, and a butler from somewhere else, their entertainments are said to be really delightful, and their dinners perfection itself. They are not yet quite sure of their position! They are afraid it will not be permanent! But they will succeed. I know they will, because I _feel it_! To me there is always something very fascinating about these desperate social strugglers--especially when they are successful. Aunt Patsey, too, she says they will succeed, and Aunt Patsey knows! But she don't know every thing, for Mrs. John Robert Gilder has fooled her. But I am not surprised; she would have fooled me, also, if I was not so intimate with Sophia, who tells me _every thing_--the only person who ever did; and there is just nothing I would not do for her. I know Sophia Gilder's _other secret!_ She is caring a great deal too much for a man who don't take overmuch interest in her. But the man don't even know that she cares any thing for him, and I don't believe he will ever know--unless I tell him myself! Now I call that real tragedy; just as good as any you ever see on the stage, or read about in books. I would love to tell him; but that is _one thing_ I have never told, and I never will, either! As they say in novels, it will go down to my grave with me. I am so anxious about Sophia, I am afraid it may take her there. But I have my doubts, she is right healthy-looking yet. Aunt Patsey says that love hurts a powerful lot, but don't often kill out and out. Robert Fairfield is the man. Ma says she never could understand why he don't pay me devoted attention. His father was one of her old beaus. She was engaged to him; Aunt Patsey broke it off--she was scheming for pa--she could break off any thing, that ancient female! Mr. Fairfield is polite to me, and that is about all. When I was a school-girl I used to dream about him! In my dreams he was always dressed like a knight, and rode a milk-white steed, waved his hand toward me, and then I always waked up. It was so provoking. I never could get any further into the dream. I know I would like him if I knew him real well. He is quiet, but not one bit stupid. He talks little, but oh, he is such an attentive listener! He don't come after me, so I can't run after him. For I don't know, and I don't want to know any thing about _catching_ men--as if they were wild animals, fish, or something. Aunt Patsey calls it _diplomacy_! Diplomacy? Fiddle-sticks! It is down right deception of the very worst kind. I know that I talk too much, tell a great many things that ought to be left unsaid, but I do not tell lies--there is no other name for them--and knowingly, with malice aforethought, make an injury or do a wrong to any body.

But, my, my! I am always in trouble. Tom, my little brother, ran into the room just now, nearly out of breath, and made a little speech which almost gave me a nervous chill: "Oh, sister Alice! Won't you catch it, though? Aunt Patsey is just in from her meeting of the 'Cruelty to Animals' Association. She is in a dreadful way! She is just talking ma black and blue! She is giving you 'Hail Columbia!' She met Mrs. Par-dell, the manicure, the woman who ma says goes around fixing finger nails for fifty cents, and gives you five dollars' worth of gossip, sometimes scandal--to those who like it. She told Aunt Patsey a long tale about what you had certainly said: that Aunt Patsey was seven years older than she acknowledged; had been dyeing her hair for years; did not have a real tooth of her own in her head, and was a regular old tyrant here at home, and that all of us were afraid as death of even her thin, old shadow. Oh, but won't you catch it, though! Sis, you had better skip, and pretty quick, too! I think she's coming up-stairs now!"

It is awful, but I suppose I must have been telling just such a tale, but to whom I can not, for the life of me, think. See now, all this comes of telling the _family secrets_. That Mrs. Par-dell is a dangerous woman! I refused flatly to have her make bird-claws out of my finger-nails. This is her revenge! I am powerless! But it was not a slander, it was all the truth; just as true as gospel. That's the reason she is in such a rage. But she is coming; this house won't hold us both just now, so I am off _via_ back stairs--to dine with my dear Sophia Gilder, if I don't find that fraud, Mrs. Babbington Brooks, there ahead of me. She and Mrs. John Robert G. are inseparable. The old dragon draws near--I am gone, leaving behind a smile and a kiss for my ancient female relative. Ah, Aunt Patsey, not _good form_, you know, to get angry with people--even with your niece,

* * * * *

IV

The Cool Quiet Flirtatious Underglow Of a Green Opal.

* * * * *

FLIRTING FOR REVENUE ONLY

I am a Private Corporation.

My capital stock is a pretty face, a clear head, and pleasant manners.

I was incorporated by the "social legislature" four winters ago. Mamma was the active, successful lobbyist. My father was the silent, financial lever absolutely necessary for the passage of the bill--opposition small.

The social Banking-House (our residence), on a fashionable avenue, had been erected years before. A great mass of brick and mortar--stone-front of course--not beautiful, but imposing. It was left unfurnished--a portion of it--until I was ready to start in upon my social career. That is quite a usual plan with people who are prospectively fashionable. They do nothing with the drawing-room, library, and reception-room until the daughter of the house is pronounced ready. The plastering, after a dry of eighteen years, has had plenty of time to settle, and is not apt to crack the costly papers or ruin the elaborate frescoes; and the wood-work no longer in danger of warping or opening too much.

My incorporation was an event. Business at once set in, and, with slight fluctuations, has continued ever since brisk and healthful. The venture has been a decided success. The constant, untiring skill of mamma, and the valuable experience of each gay season has enabled me to frequently increase the capital stock. For my face is more pretty than it was four years ago, and my manners are more easy and pleasing. Mamma says manners are every thing--and they are a great deal. I have grown to be somewhat of a woman of the world. I have met so many new people--strangers from all parts of the earth! I have been every where, and done so much. There is nothing local about me! Some people say that I am all things to all men; perhaps I am, for if I am not _broad_ I am not any thing. I abhor narrow-mindedness! I am a trifle fraudulent in a harmless way, which I am free to confess is more than a trifle fascinating to most of the men I know. I smile, make eyes, sometimes sigh, and with many devices coax the masculine fancy into life, and for my sake. Yet, withal, I am said to be conscientious--very, in fact, and never intentionally deceive. My reputation is better, alas! than I deserve. My network is invisible but effectual; my weaving-power artless, but it is the art concealing the artful.

I am a Private Corporation! Therefore, I own all the stock. I constantly make loans, but I never sell. The collateral--either the many shades of love or the subtle changes of friendship--must be A No. 1 in every respect. It is _collateral_, not indorsements which I require. Paper not able to sustain itself is not considered worth much in my Banking-House (social).

It is my sweet expectation to retire from business whenever I chance to find--or rather when I am found--by the right purchaser. I often long for that time; I often picture to myself the undoubted delights of a domestic life, and--but in the meantime I carry on a carefully perfected system of

=Flirting for Revenue Only.=

That is my long-chosen motto, from which I do not depart. A Private Corporation must have protection! Self-preservation is the first consideration, the first law. I am full of little formulas of both manner and speech--they afford me ample protection. Make-talk is the complete salvation of the female Banker (social). I never disdain the use of a _promoter_, no matter how trivial it may be. _Promoters_ help you to float heavy, stupid men, and save you from a complete wreck on the shores of stupidity; and they act as most excellent elicitors when applied to clever men--draw out the very best in them. I have _promoters_ and _promoters_. I was asked not long since to give my definition or receipt of this valuable article. This was the one which I gave: Take some tangible object visible to the eye; for instance, a banjo. Attract attention to it in some successful way. Talk first about the banjo itself (the promoter), then if the man is clever he will, unconsciously, be _led up_ from a discussion of that or other musical instruments to a chat on music, ballads, operas, in fact the very best he has to tell, the best he happens to know on that subject. In this way we are able to rise above the trivial, worn topics of the day--the usual make-talk of the multitude. I am always very happy in the selection of my _promoters_. I may not be very original, but I am quick to appropriate new ideas. I rapidly get them into the line of march, ready for immediate use.

To be a "social success" one must be something of an actress. Men usually expect a vast amount of acting from young women, who will, if they are discreet, certainly live up to that expectation. Men are willing to be deceived, but it must not be a labeled deceit. I go down the street and meet Mr. Seyhmoor; although I see him a block off, and before he sees me, yet I affect great surprise when he greets me--a little start is quite effective. The trifling little deception floods my face with color, which comes almost at my command. It easily flashes upon him that I am indeed surprised, and betrayed into an expression of my delight. He is flattered. He joins me. A batch of envious women watch my little triumph. _That_ is

=Flirting for Revenue Only=

Then a walk down the street, a talk of mere wordy nothings, but of deep and tender looks. In point of words, a make-talk affair; in point of feeling, a vague shadowy suggestion of twenty delicious possibilities; in point of fact a walk without any serious results. Calburt Young, a fascinating man-about-town, a semi-Bohemian, joins me at a fashionable ball. He takes me away from the dancing-room (and the other men), for Bohemians never dance. He finds, as only he can, some quiet unoccupied nook, a little out of the way, and yet a very proper place. An effective spot environed by flowers, and palms broad and graceful, hung with dimly-lighted, richly-colored lanterns--where you may see but not be seen, where you may hear the gayety and yet by it not be disturbed. Music from the ball-room reaches me, and a delicate oriental perfume fills the air. Calburt Young, handsome, silent, with a look of earnest appeal on his face, looks down into mine. Not the man, but his manner, the situation, the music, the stealthy, intoxicating odor of perfume and flowers, the sway of each tropical leaf, the distant gayety, all surcharge my soul; gratify to the fullest extent my sensuous nature--my love of the picturesque and the luxurious. The temptation is strong to depart from my fixed principle. But I do not yield. I half extend my ungloved hand, white and ringless, murmur in a low voice suggestive of suppressed emotion, "You are very good to me! I was tired; I am glad to have this rest--and with you, Mr. Young!"

I am permeated with the deliciousness of the situation! I am conscious of the magnetic something about me, drawing him near to me! I can almost feel his hot, quick breath on my cheek where the color comes and goes. He is within my power! But I do not love him. With an effort I banish the tender manner. My voice, now a trifle cold, asserts itself in clear, even tones: "Let us return; I am rested now. Mr. Seyhmoor claims me for the next dance!"

The spell is broken! Calburt Young does not understand! He is wise, but I--I am a woman, and a woman of the world. But he does not reproach me. How can he? I have not allowed him to say a word of love to me. I have been environed not only with flowers, colored lights, and sweet music, but also with the harmless platitudes of speech. I whirl away into the dance with Henry Seyhmoor! I have been boldly flirting,

=Flirting for Revenue Only=.

Sometimes I am not so successful in this avoidance of exactly what I have skillfully brought out. Sometimes this policy leads to a proposal. The tide grows too strong. The man breaks down the barrier, but what good does it do? I have maintained a high protective tariff; there is nothing tangible which he can produce against me; there is never any thing which he can _say_ against me; and if I have been ordinarily skillful and cautious there is absolutely nothing for him to _think_, but "How good she has been to me; how delicately, tenderly, she has tried to avoid giving me pain!"

At the start, my first season out, it was a hard policy to follow, and I would often spend a sleepless hour, after the man had said "good-night!" But those foolish old days have gone, and with them the early freshness of my youth, although the _appearance_ remains. I have seen so many men promptly revive beneath the showers of another woman's glance and of another woman's tender--perhaps like mine--unmeant words, mere platitudes, platitudes effectual, intangible. They are not sufficient proof in any court of conscience, law, or public opinion. They are the glorious privileges of a woman who is a Private Corporation,

=Flirting for Revenue Only=.

Robert Fairfield! There is a magic something in the very name itself. And the man! ah, after all, old things are best. My heart never knew a sensation--the quick, throbbing something which we call _love_--until I met him, when hardly more than a school-girl. It was my first winter! He was young, attractive, somewhat wild, and quite the _fashion_ that year, and in fact ever since. He is a dainty love-maker. He is ready with a hundred delicate little attentions unknown to most men, and highly gratifying to most women. But after all their influence is limited--at least with me. His actual presence is necessary. Mamma opposed the match--for we were engaged (never announced) at one time. She always disliked him, and on that one subject has always been unreasonable. But she has more influence over me than he has, or ever could have. She can generally eradicate the dangerous effects of his presence. This he resented--and rightly. I must renounce mother, home, every thing, and come to him, or--I must cling to him and let all other things go. He recognized no middle course; I constantly sought one. I put him off; I made him many promised, and meant them all--when with him. Finally he was forbidden the house, and now we barely more than speak. He is somewhat devoted to a half dozen or more of our best young women, and they are all more or less devoted to him. The world---our little world--once said we would marry; but the world has decided that it was, mistaken, and that we did not even love one another. And did we, or not? In short, do we?