The Belle of Bowling Green

crushed and shabby. I think he is right. Achille does not need to talk, he says such things with his soft black eyes that perhaps he had better not say with his beautiful red lips. However, his lips are not as prudent as they might be.” “Oh, Annette! Do you really mean that he has kissed you?--and yet you are not engaged.” “Suppose it is so! I do not feel a whit the worse for it. I am going to be Mrs. St. Ange. I have made up my mind on that subject.” “But Achille?” “That is settled. I intend to marry him. Some people will say I am making a poor match--because, you know, I shall have a great deal of property and money; but I do not intend to listen to any one’s opinion.” “But Achille has not really asked you to be his wife?” “That is nothing. He will do so the very hour I am ready to accept him. I put the question off until after the holidays, because one can never tell what might happen at New Year’s.” “Were you expecting anything to happen?--anything unforeseen, Annette?” “Well, I thought young Washington Irving might come home at Christmas, and I wanted to see him again. I felt sure you knew that I have been considering him.” “He loved Matilda Hoffman.” “I know that, of course. But after she--withdrew, I felt that it might be my office to comfort him. He looked so charming, and so sorrowful.” “I have not seen him lately,” said Sappha. “He went to Philadelphia about some magazine he is editing; but I heard that he is coming back to board with Mrs. Ryckman. His great friend, Harry Brevoort, told Achille so. However, I have given Mr. Irving quite up. I don’t think I could take any interest in the Analectic Magazine; though I am sure I cannot imagine what an Analectic Magazine is like. But then, as Achille says, I have no occasion to know such things. I rather think it is something dreadful--it might be a doctor’s magazine. I believe Mr. Irving thought of being a doctor.” “I certainly believe you would find Achille more agreeable to you than Mr. Irving.” “Achille is so wonderfully polite. You cannot make him forget his fine manners--and grandmother is very fond of him. She does not like Mr. Irving. She thinks his ‘History of New York,’ a piece of great impertinence--and I wish to please grandmother, for several reasons.” In such conversation they passed the afternoon, until madame came back to them, Sappha always skilfully parrying Annette’s point blank questions, by others just as direct; and in this way easily leading her cousin to personal subjects of far superior interest to her--that is, her own lovers and love affairs. Just before madame’s tea hour Leonard came. He was in the highest possible spirits, and carried himself as if something very important had happened to him; as, indeed, it had. He said he had been at the Bowling Green, and found no one at home. Mrs. Bloommaert had gone to drink a cup of tea with Mrs. Jane Renwick, and hear her talk of “poor Robert Burns,” who had sung of her as _The Blue-Eyed Lassie_. “Well, then, now we shall find out if Mr. Washington Irving is in New York, or is likely to be here; for he certainly could not be in the city a day without going to see Jane Renwick,” said Annette. “What does Sapphira Bloommaert or Annette de Vries want with Mr. Washington Irving?” asked madame. “Has he not turned the respectable Dutch of New York into ridicule--made people to laugh at their homely ways. Such laughter is not good for them, nor yet for us.” “We were just wondering about him, grandmother--you know he is a possibility now.” “Annette De Vries!” “For American girls, I mean. I was telling Sappha that little Mary Sanford is quite willing to comfort the widowed lover.” “Such silly chatter is this! Leonard, have you news more sensible?” “I think I have, madame. In the first place, there is to be such a play at the Park Theatre on Thursday night as never has been seen, nor is ever likely to be seen again. I went to the Bowling Green to ask Mrs. Bloommaert and Sappha to come to my box, and now I come here to tell you. There is room there also for you madame, and for Annette. I hope you will do me the great honour to accept my invitation;” and he rose and bowed to madame first, and then with a charming exaggeration to Sappha and Annette. Madame put off answering for herself and Annette, but Sappha accepted the invitation with delight; and in the conversation incident to this proposal, and the asides springing readily from it, the daylight faded and the good supper was brought in and thoroughly enjoyed. Then the table was cleared, and the hearth swept, and the candles placed on the high chimney piece, where their light did not weary madame’s eyes; and the little company drew their chairs within the comfort line of the blazing fire. Annette was a little quieter than seemed natural, but then Achille had not called. The day was slipping away without his customary devotion, and Sappha was present to notice this remissness; it was, therefore, very annoying, for Annette felt its contradiction after her little fanfaronade about her power over the impassioned, sensitive Achille St. Ange. Suddenly Leonard seemed to take a resolve, or else the news he had to tell urged him beyond restraint. He looked at Sappha with a demanding interest, and then said: “Madame, I remember that you once asserted all young men ought to have either a business or a profession, if only to keep them out of mischief. I have this day concluded to begin the study of the law. I hope I may thus be kept out of mischief.” “Come, now, you have done a wise thing, Leonard; I am glad of what you say.” “I feel quite satisfied, madame, that I have done right--done what my dear father would approve, if he were alive to direct me. And yet, at last, I acted without taking much thought or advice on the subject.” “That also may be a wise thing, Leonard. Young men sometimes take more thought than is good for purpose--they think and think till they cannot act.” “As I say, the resolve came suddenly. I had a large bill to pay two days ago for business connected with my real estate; and as I looked at it I thought, Why not do this business myself? Half an hour afterwards Mr. King said this same thing to me; and I went home and considered the subject. Then I called on several good business men and asked them who was the best real estate lawyer in the city.” “Real estate!” cried madame, “then you are not going to study criminal law?” “No, no! I want to know all about the laws regulating the buying and selling of property, leasing, mortgaging, renting, and so on--what tenants ought to do, and what landlords ought to do--don’t you see, madame?” He said “madame,” but he looked at Sappha, who was watching him with an expression more speculative than approving. “Yes,” answered madame, “I see. And your idea is a very prudent one. Listen, if a good teacher on this subject you want, go and article yourself to Seth Vanderlyn. What he does not know about real estate is not worth knowing.” “Oh, I have done better than Seth Vanderlyn! I am going to read with Aaron Burr! What do you think of that? The most learned, the most delightful, the most eminent of all living lawyers. I am really so excited at my good fortune I know not what to say. Mr. King and Mr. Read and several other men of affairs and experience told me I had selected a lawyer who had no compeer in land and property business. In such respect they all said I had done well, and for other matters, I was the best judge. I suppose they referred to Mr. Burr’s duelling episode.” Sappha’s face expressed only dismay and distress. She had neither a word nor a smile for Leonard’s great news. He turned to Annette. She was lost in the contemplation of her feet--which were small and beautifully shod, and she silently turned them in and out, as if their perfect fit was the present question of importance. Madame’s brows were drawn together, and there was a look of uncertainty on her face. In a moment of time Leonard saw all these different signs of disapproval and dislike. His face flushed with anger, and he continued in a tone of offence: “I thought you would all rejoice with me. I thought you would at least commend the step I had taken--I----” “It is no good step for you,” answered madame in a voice of regret. “If with bad men you go you are counted one with them; if with doomed men you go, you catch misfortune from them.” “I do not understand what you mean, madame.” “Leonard,” interrupted Sappha, “you have not asked my father’s opinion? If you had, you would never have taken this foolish step.” “‘Foolish step?’ Why, Sappha, every one to whom I have named my purpose thinks me fortunate. And if you only knew Mr. Burr you would confess it an enormous privilege to be under his advice and tuition. He is the most fascinating of men.” “Fascinating! Yes, that is right,” said madame. “His charm I know well. But listen to me, Leonard Murray, this is a fascination to be thrown off--it is no good for you. All of your friends, do you wish to lose?” “Yes, if they are so foolish as to leave me because, wanting instruction, I have chosen the best of masters.” “Well, then, say also, the most unpopular man in New York.” “Indeed, madame, you are mistaken,” answered Leonard warmly. “I do not know a more popular man than Mr. Burr in New York to-day. No lawyer has a larger practice, and during the few hours I passed in his office the last two days I saw there the most honourable and influential of our citizens. Every one treated him with respect, and it is a fact that the first day his return to New York was known five hundred gentlemen called on him before he slept that night. It is also a fact that within twelve days after he nailed up his sign in Nassau Street he received two thousand dollars in cash fees. His business is now large and lucrative, and no one but those stupid Tory Federalists are against him.” “My father is a stupid Tory Federalist, Leonard,” said Sappha coldly. “Oh, how unfortunate I am! I do nothing but make mistakes to-night. Poor Mr. Burr! A majority of our great men have fought duels; is Mr. Burr to be the scapegoat of all American duellists? De Witt Clinton, though his enemy, admits that no man ever received provocation so frequent, so irritating, so injurious, and so untruthful, as Burr received from Alexander Hamilton. My dear friends, I assure you that Burr has more defenders than his victim.” “Very likely,” replied Sappha with a remarkable show of temper, “a great many people prefer a living dog to a dead lion.” “I thought I was sure of your sympathy, Sappha,” answered Leonard, and as he uttered these words Annette rose up hastily, clapped her hands together, and said: “Thank goodness, I hear Achille St. Ange’s footsteps! Now we shall have some sensible conversation.” She ran to the door and set it wide open, and Achille saw the comforting firelight, and the beautiful girl standing in its glow, waiting to welcome him. It gave him a sense of content, almost of home and love. He came in holding her hand; his black fur cloak throwing into remarkable significance the pallor of his haughty, handsome face, lighted by eyes of intense blackness and brilliancy. Leonard was not pleased at what he considered the intrusion, but Achille’s fine manners and the easy tone of his conversation were really a welcome relief to the uncomfortable strain introduced by the Burr topic. Achille was cheery and agreeable, and had plenty of those little critical things to say of acquaintances every one likes to hear--critical, but not unkindly so. This night, also, he was even unusually handsome, and his sumptuous dress only in the diapason of the