FullReads

“Now Kitty, in that same letter, confessed to me that she liked Mr. Bruce better than any one she had ever seen, which alarmed me so much that I remember I wrote her the most shocking scolding.”

And here Miss Tennant was silent for a little while, and, when she spoke, said,–

“I see by your faces you’re quite interested; and I think the rest of the story cannot be better told than by my reading you some of the letters Kitty wrote to me at the time. I’d like to look them over myself; and, if you are not in the least sleepy, I will go up to my room and get them.”

In a few minutes she returned; and after making the gas and fire a little brighter, and taking an observation on the state of the weather, she began to read:–

“Baltimore, Friday.

“My forlorn young sister, are you mourning over the inconstancy of woman in general, and your sister Kitty in particular? I own up to being very naughty, and on my knees I ask your pardon for not having written all these days. I cannot tell you, as you invariably do me, that I have had nothing to write; for my time has been more fully occupied than usual. Tuesday night was Miss Carroll’s party; and I wasn’t home till–really not early, but late, in the morning. That party very nearly made me late to breakfast. Mr. Davenport was my ‘devotedest,’ and has called since, which Alice and I think very remarkable. My dear Meg, he’s the queerest man! He has the most dejected expression, as if life were the most terrible bore. One would think he had been all through with it before, and didn’t enjoy it the first time. He seems to have an exceedingly well-developed taste for grief, and talks in the saddest way about things in general. I think lately his object in life has been to make me think he has some dreadful hidden sorrow. I know he hasn’t, by his way; and I talk more nonsense to him in an hour than I ever did to any one else in a day. I cannot help ‘taking rises’ out of him, as we used to say at school. But he dances well, and knows every thing apparently; and he is ever so much more entertaining to me than the people who are just like every one else. Wednesday he sent me the most exquisite bouquet: it came while Alice and I were out walking. It was raining a little; but we were tired of the house, and went ever so far, having the most delightful talk. You ought to have seen Alice; for the mist gave her more color than usual, and she looked like a beauty, as she is. Oh how I want you to know her, Maggie! I never have said a word hardly about the delightful visit I am having here. Alice’s mother, you know, died so long ago that she doesn’t remember her at all; and she lived with her aunt till she was old enough for school, and her father travelled and boarded. Now he has taken this delightful house, and she is mistress of it. How she knows the first thing about housekeeping, I cannot imagine! But she certainly succeeds admirably. There never was a girl who had her own way so thoroughly: but her way is always very sensible; and, though she has had the most remarkable chance for becoming a spoiled child, she is the farthest from it. However, I will not expatiate. Thursday night Mr. Thornton gave a whist-party; and–do you think! one of the gentlemen was my Mr. Bruce. I dare say you are making the most awful face, Maggie, but I will tell you about him; and why you scold me so I cannot imagine, for I think it is very exciting; and I know there is some good reason for his conduct, for he is a perfect gentleman, every one says; and my only fear is, that I shall never find out about it. I am constantly expecting to hear he is gone: I heard he was to sail last Monday positively. I should feel horridly. When Alice and I found Mr. Thornton had invited him, we laid a bet whether he would accept; but I was right. Mr. Thornton’s invitations are seldom refused; but I don’t think that was his motive. I won the bet. Yes, he really came, and that wretch of an Alice had the audacity to seat us side by side at supper. He was perfectly polite, but talked very little. I caught him watching me ever and ever so many times; and Alice declares he is in love with me. I wish he would tell me what is the matter with me, for I like him more and more; but don’t tell mamma. I have scarcely mentioned him, because I know papa would tell me not to take any notice of him,–and I cannot help it. It is so nice I have you to tell about him. The only queer thing that happened was, in the course of the supper I was saying something to Mr. Dent, who was on my left, about Boston, in answer to some question. Mr. Bruce said, ‘Did you ever live in Boston, Miss Tennant?’ I answered that our family had always lived there, and I meant to; I had been away at school, however, most of the time for four years. ‘Oh!’ said he, and began to ask me something else, and stopped suddenly. I wish he had gone on, though perhaps it was only about some Boston people whom he met abroad. He never has been in this country before, you know. And he went on talking with Mr. Bowler, who sat just beyond him, and I found Mr. Dent was talking with Mr. Thornton; so I was left to myself, and was busy for a while over my oysters. I listened to Mr. Bowler and Mr. Bruce, talking about Mr. John Keith’s marriage with his mother’s nursery-maid, whom he had very sensibly fallen in love with. Mr. Bowler was saying that he had met her, and that she was remarkably ladylike, and did her teacher, whoever she might be, great credit. Mr. Bruce looked up, and saw I was listening,–everybody has been interested in the affair,–and said, ‘Oh, yes! I have known several instances of persons, having naturally a great deal of refinement, being taken from a low position when quite grown up, with their tastes and habits apparently firmly established; and, upon their being educated, one could scarcely tell that they had not always been used to the society they were in.’ He appealed to me to know if I had not known such cases. I answered that I never had seen any such person myself, but that I had not the least doubt of its being possible. He looked at me a moment, and then said, carelessly as he could, ‘Of course you haven’t.’ And it seemed to me he emphasized the ‘you’ just the least bit. One might have inferred I was just such a person myself. My dear little sister, what an enormous letter this is. Forgive me if you are bored; and love me dearly, as I do you. Alice sent her love before she went to sleep, where I shall follow her directly. She has been sweetly unconscious of the perplexing Mr. Bruce for at least an hour. I’ll tell you every thing else that has happened in my next letter; and do you write very soon to your naughty sister
“KITTY.”