The Belle of Bowling Green
Slyck said:
“Well, then, judge, too fast is your clock. There is yet one good
half-hour before seven.”
“No, no, Van Slyck,” answered the judge, “a Dutch clock goes always just
so; you cannot make it too fast.” And to this national joke the party
rose; they rose with a smile that ended in an involuntary sigh and the
little laughing stir with which human beings try to hide the breaking up
of a happiness.
Cloaked and hooded, the majority went northward up Broadway; but quite a
number went eastward to Nassau, Wall, and State streets. In this party
were Madame Bloommaert and Annette, their escorts being Peter, and
Leonard Murray. They were the last to leave, for they were in no great
hurry; so they took leisurely farewells, and some of the women drank a
cup of tea standing cloaked in the parlour. In this short postponement
Leonard found the moments he had been longing for. Never had Sappha been
so entrancing in his eyes, and the radiancy of her beauty had not
charmed him more than the graceful generosity with which she had
suffered herself to be eclipsed for the honour and pleasures of others.
And, oh, how sweet he made the cup of tea he brought her, with such
honeyed words of praise! And how proud and happy he was made by her
answer.
“If I was fair to you, dear Leonard, I have my perfect wish; for when
you are not here, then all the world is nothing.”
They were both happy and excited, and it is little wonder if they
betrayed to Annette’s sharp eyes more than they intended. She was
spending all her fascinations on her cousin Peter, but while making eyes
at cousin Peter was not oblivious of her cousin Sappha. And when the
festal hours were quite over and she was alone with her grandmother, she
could not avoid giving utterance to her suspicions:
“Grandmother,” she said, putting the tips of her fingers together and
resting her chin upon them, “I have an idea.”
“Well, then, what is it?”
“I think Sappha and Leonard Murray are not only in love with each
other--I think, also, they are engaged.”
“You talk more nonsense than usual. No one has said a word of that kind
to me. Of this family, I am the head, there could be no engagement
without my approval. Your uncle and aunt would have told me at
once--Sappha also. About engagements, what do you know? Lovers you
have, but making love and making a life-long engagement are different
things. Sappha is not engaged.”
“Then ’tis a thousand pities, for I am sure she is mortally in love with
Leonard.”
“And if he was mortally in love with Sappha, what wonder? More beautiful
every day, grows Sapphira Bloommaert.”
“That is because she is in love. ‘Love makes the lover fair,’” and she
began to hum the song.
“I have never seen love any change make in you. A new dress might,
but--”
“I have never been in love. A new dress is the height of my affection.
However, I go back to what I said--I am sure Sappha and Leonard are
engaged.”
“Was some one telling you this story?”
“No. I told the story to myself.”
“How did you make it up?”
“I kept my eyes open.”
“Well, what then?”
“I saw that they had that ‘air’ about their slightest intercourse that
mere experimental lovers never dare. I mean that sure look that married
people have. Watch them and you will see it.”
“Watch, I shall not. See, I shall not. As soon as there is any purpose
of marriage for Sapphira Bloommaert, I shall be told of it--told
immediately. If I was not, I should never forgive the slight,--never!
And your uncle and aunt know it. Can you find nothing pleasanter about
the dinner to talk of? It was a dinner to gladden Dutch hearts. I helped
your aunt arrange the courses, and I gave her many of my choice receipts
for the dishes. No one in New York has such fine Hollandish receipts as
I have, except, perhaps, old Peter Bogart, the biscuit maker.”
“I know, grandmother, I never pass his shop at Broadway and Cortlandt
Street without going in for some doughnuts. No one can make such good
ones; and how far back he looks in his smallclothes and long stockings,
his big hat, and knee buckles, and shoe buckles, and sleeve buckles, his
powdered hair and his long cue.”
“Yes, Peter Bogart and Mr. and Mrs. Skaats are among the few Dutch who
have never changed with changing customs. While moving with the city and
the times they have retained their picturesque dress and household life.
And in all New York no one is more respected; no one more interesting
and lovable than Mr. and Mrs. Skaats.”
“I never saw them!”
“I am sure you have not.”
“Well, then, who are they?”
“Mr. Skaats is custodian of the City Hall, and this delightful old
couple often entertain the judges, lawyers, and the councilmen at their
dinner table; on which is always found the Hollandish dishes we are so
rapidly forgetting. Your uncle occasionally dines with them, and would
do so more frequently if his own home was not so convenient. You must
ask him to take you to see these dear old Dutch people; or I dare say
Sappha knows them. Soon they will only be a pleasant memory.”
“I do not need to go and see the Skaats for a pleasant Dutch memory.
There is no finer Dutchwoman in the world than my grandmother, Madame
Jonaca Bloommaert.”
Madame was gratified at this compliment, and, perhaps, in order to
return the pleasure, or else for the sake of changing the subject, she
said: “Mr. St. Ange will be here in the morning--but I do not think it
is necessary to warm the best parlour.”
“No, no, grandmother. Our sitting-room is far more distinguished. The
best parlour is like a great many parlours; our sitting-room has a
character--a most respectable one. I could see that he was impressed by
it. I dare say he will soon know Sappha, and of course he will fall in
love with her, and then there will be some interest in watching how
Leonard Murray will like that.”
“Well, then, keep yourself clear; see, and hear, and say nothing; that
is wise.”
“But I like to meddle--a little bit. I wonder if Leonard and Sappha are
really engaged! Leonard might have come in and sat an hour with us; I
expected so much courtesy from him. But no! though I told him we were so
lonely in the evenings, he never offered to spend a little time with us.
I dare say he returned at once to the Bowling Green. I saw him say a
word or two to Sappha as he left, and she smiled and nodded, and I am
very sure he was asking her permission to return.”
“Such nonsense! He would have asked your aunt that question.”
“Oh, the question is nothing! any question meant the same thing. I have
no doubt at all, Leonard is at this moment with Sappha. They will be
pretending to help aunt Carlita, but then helping her will mean pleasing
themselves.”
But for once Annette’s sensibility, though so selfishly acute, was not
correct. Leonard did not return to the Bowling Green, and Sappha was
disappointed and hurt by his failure to do so. For an hour she sat with
her mother before the fire, expecting every moment to hear his
footsteps. And this expectation was so intense that she was frequently
certain of their approach--his light rapid tread, his way of mounting
the steps two at a time--both these sounds were repeated again and again
upon her sensitive ear drum, and yet Leonard came not. Alas, what
heart-watcher has not been tormented by these spectral promises? for the
ears have their phantoms as well as the eyes. At last she reluctantly
gave up hope, and as she lit her night candle she said in a tone of
affected cheerfulness:
“I suppose Leonard would stay an hour or two with grandmother and
Annette.”
“Why should you suppose such a thing? I am sure he never thought of
doing so. I dare say he went with Peter to the theatre.”
“Grandmother had a visitor to-day--a grandson of Mrs. Saint-Ange.”
“She told me so.”
“He is very handsome, Annette says.”
“Well, then, he will, perhaps, find work for idle hearts to do. Your
grandmother declares Annette shall marry a Dutchman. But when I was a
girl French nobles fleeing from Robespierre elbowed one another on
Broadway, and they carried off most of the rich and pretty Dutch
maidens. A Frenchman is a great temptation; your grandmother will have
to guard her determination, or she may be disappointed.”
“Good-night, dear mother. I will help you in the morning to put
everything straight.”
“Good-night, and good angels give you good dreams, dear one.”
And as Sappha put down her candle in the dim, lonely room, and hastened
her disrobing because of the cold, she could not help wondering where
all the enthusiasms of the early evening were gone to--the light, the
warmth, the good cheer, the good fellowship, the joy of song, the thrill
of love. They had been so vividly present two hours ago, and now they
were so vividly absent that the tears came unbidden to her eyes, and she
had an overpowering sense of discouragement and defeat. And the sting of
this inward depression was Leonard Murray. “He might have come back for
an hour! He might have come! and he did not.” Murmuring this sorrowful
complaint she went into the land of sleep. And in that world of the
soul she met her angel, and was so counselled and strengthened that she
awoke with a light heart and with song upon her lips--all her fret and
lurking jealousy turned into a frank confidence; all her doubts changed
into the happiest hopes. And as every one has, more or less, frequently
experienced this marvellous communion, this falling on sleep angry,
disappointed, dismayed, and awakening soothed, satisfied, encouraged,
there is no need to speculate concerning such a spiritual
transformation. Those who have the key to it require no tutor; those who
have not the key could not be made to understand.
Sappha simply and cheerfully accepted the change; she was even able to
see where she had been unreasonable in her expectations; her whole mood
was softened and more generous. She dressed herself and went down, rosy
with the cold, and her father found her standing before the blazing fire
warming her feet and hands. The windows were white with frost, and a
bugle sounded piercingly sweet in the cold, clear air; but the big room
was full of comfort and of the promise of a good plentiful meal.
They began to talk at once about the dinner party of the previous
evening, and Sappha said: “The best part of the whole affair was
grandmother. I think, father, that she looked about twenty years old,
when she was speaking. How radiant was her face! How sweet her voice!
How proud I am to be her granddaughter!”
And this acknowledgment so pleased the judge that he answered: “I shall
never forget her countenance as she lifted her eyes to the flags above
the mantlepiece; her glance took in both, with equal affection; the red,
white, and blue of the Netherlands, and the Star Spangled Banner which
hung by its side. And let me tell you, Sappha, I liked our Christopher’s
song, and also I liked the music Mr. Murray wrote for it. One was as
good as the other. Here comes mother, and the coffee, and how delicious
the meat and bread smell! Mother is always the bringer of good things.
Sit here, Sappha, it is warmer than your own place.”
During breakfast the gathering of the previous evening was more fully
discussed; and in speaking of madame and Annette Sapphira made mention
of Mr. St. Ange, who had visited them. Somewhat to their astonishment
the judge said he had heard of the young man through the Livingstons,
with whom he had had some business transactions. Mr. Edward Livingston,
of New Orleans, had supplied him with introductions to some of the best
New York families, and he thought it likely, from what he had been told,
that Annette’s description of his beauty and excessive gentility was not
more of an exaggeration than Annette’s usual statements.