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In blissful ignorance of the gossip which his movements
were exciting in Dunwood, Mr. Hastings in the city went
quietly on with the preparations for his removal, purchasing
and storing away in divers baskets, boxes and bags, many
luxuries which he knew he could not readily procure in the
country, and which would be sadly missed by his young
girl-wife, who sat all day in her mother's parlor, bemoaning
her fate in being thus doomed to a life in the “horribly
vulgar country.” She had forgotten that she could live
anywhere with him,” for the Ella Hastings of to-day is the
Ella Grey of little more than a year ago, the same who had
listened to the sad story of Dora Deane, without ever thinking
that some day in the future she should meet the little
girl who made such an impression upon her husband.

Howard Hastings was not the only man who, with a
grand theory as to what a wife ought to be, had married
from pure fancy; finding too late that she whom he took
for a companion was a mere plaything—a doll to be
dressed up and sent out into the fashionable world, where
alone her happiness could be found. Still the disappointment
to such is not the less bitter, because others, too, are
suffering from the effect of a like hallucination, and Howard
Hastings felt it most keenly. He loved, or fancied he

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

loved, Ella Grey devotedly, and when in her soft flowing
robes of richly embroidered lace, with the orange blossoms
resting upon her golden curls, and her long eye-lashes veiling
her eyes of blue, she had stood at the altar as his bride,
there was not in all New York a prouder or a happier man.
Alas, that in the intimate relations of married life, there
should ever be brought to light faults whose existence was
never suspected! Yet so it is, and the honey-moon had
scarcely waned, ere Mr. Hastings began to feel a very little
disappointed, as, one after another, the peculiarities of his
wife were unfolded to his view.

In all his pictures of domestic bliss, there had ever been
a home of his own, a cheerful fireside, to which he could
repair, when the day's toil was done, but Ella would not
hear of housekeeping. To be sure, it would be very pleasant
to keep up a grand establishment and give splendid dinnerparties,
but she knew that Howard, with his peculiar
notions, would expect her to do just as his “dear, fussy old
mother did,” and that, she wouldn't for a moment think of,
for she really “did not know the names of one half the queer
looking things in the kitchen.”

“She will improve as she grows older—she is very young
yet, but little more than eighteen,” thought Mr. Hastings;
and his heart softened toward her, as he remembered the
kind of training she had received from her mother, who was
a pure slave of fashion, and would have deemed her daughters
degraded had they possessed any knowledge of work.

And still, when the aristocratic Howard Hastings had
sued for Ella's hand, she felt honored, notwithstanding that
both his mother and sister were known to be well skilled in
everything pertaining to what she called “drudgery.” To
remove his wife from her mother's influence, and at the
same time prolong her life, for she was really very delicate,

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was Mr Hastings's aim; and as he had always fancied a
home in the country, he at last purchased Rose Hill farm in
spite of Ella's tears, and the frowns of her mother, who
declared it impossible for her daughter to live without
society, and pronounced all country people “rough, ignorant
and vulgar.”

All this Ella believed, and though she was far too
amiable and sweet-tempered to be really angry, she came
very near sulking all the way from New York to Dunwood.
But when at the depot, she met the new carriage and horses
which had been purchased expressly for herself, she was
somewhat mollified, and telling her husband “he was the
best man in the world,” she took the reins in her own little
soft, white hands, and laughed aloud as she saw how the
spirited creatures obeyed her slightest wish. From the parlor
windows of Locust Grove, Eugenia and her sister looked
out upon the strangers, pronouncing Mr. Hastings the most
elegant-looking man they had ever seen, while his wife, the
girlish Ella, was thought far too pale to be very beautiful.

Near the gate at the entrance to Rose Hill, was a clear
limpid stream, where the school-children often played, and
where they were now assembled. A little apart from the
rest, seated upon a mossy bank, with her bare feet in the
running water, and her rich auburn hair shading her brown
cheeks, was Dora Deane, not dreaming this time, but watching
so intently a race between two of her companions, that
she did not see the carriage until it was directly opposite.
Then, guessing who its occupants were, she started up,
coloring crimson as she saw the lady's eyes fixed upon her,
and felt sure she was the subject of remark.

“Look, Howard,” said Ella. “I suppose that is what
you call a rural sight—a bare-foot girl, with a burnt face
and huge sun-bonnet?”

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Ere Mr. Hastings could reply, Dora, wishing to redeem
her character, which she was sure she had lost by having
been caught with her feet in the brook, darted forward and
opening the gate, held it for them to pass.

“Shall I give her some money?” softly whispered Ella,
feeling for her purse.

“Hush-sh!” answered Mr. Hastings, for he knew that
money would be an insult to Dora, who felt more than
repaid by the pleasant smile he gave her as he said, “Thank
you, miss.”

“I have seen a face like his before,” thought Dora, as
she walked slowly down the road, while the carriage kept
on its way, and soon carried Ella to her new home.

Not to be pleased with Rose Hill was impossible, and as
the young wife's eye fell upon the handsome building, with
its cool, vine-wreathed piazza—upon the shaded walks, the
sparkling fountains and the thousands of roses which were
now in full bloom, she almost cried with delight, even forgetting,
for a time, that she was in the “horrid country.”
But she was ere long reminded of the fact by Mrs. Leah,
who told of the “crowds of gaping people,” who had been
up to see the house. With a deprecating glance at the village
where the “gaping people” were supposed to live, Ella
drew nearer to her husband, expressing a wish that the good
folks of Dunwood would confine their calls to the house and
grounds, and not be troubling her. But in this she was destined
to be disappointed, for the inhabitants of Dunwood
were friendly, social people, who knew no good reason why
they should not be on terms of equality with the little lady
of Rose Hill; and one afternoon, about a week after her
arrival at Dunwood, she was told that some ladies were
waiting for her in the parlor.

“Dear me! Sophy,” said she, while a flown for an

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instant clouded her pretty face, “tell them I'm not at
home.”

“But I just told them you were,” answered Sophy, adding
that “the ladies were well-dressed and fine looking,”
and suggesting that her young mistress should wear down
something more appropriate than the soiled white muslin
wrapper in which she had lounged all day, because “it was
not worth her while to dress, when there was no one but her
husband to see her.”

This, however, Ella refused to do. “It was good enough
for country folks,” she said, as she rather reluctantly
descended to the parlor, where her first glance at her visitors
made her half regret that she had not followed Sophy's
advice. Mrs. Judge Howell and her daughter-in-law were
refined, cultivated women, and ere Ella had conversed with
them five minutes, she felt that if there was between them
any point of inferiority, it rested with herself, and not with
them. They had travelled much, both in the Old and New
World; and though their home was in Boston, they spent
almost every summer in Dunwood, which Mrs. Howell pronounced
a most delightful village, assuring Ella that she
could not well avoid being happy and contented. Very
wonderingly the large childish blue eyes went up to the face
of Mrs. Howell, who, interpreting aright their expression,
casually remarked that when she was young, she fell into the
foolish error of thinking there could be nobody outside the
walls of a city. “But the experience of sixty years has
changed my mind materially,” said she, “for I have met
quite as many refined and cultivated people in the country
as in the city.”

This was a new idea to Ella, and the next visitors, who
came in just after Mrs. Howell left, were obliged to wait
while she made quite an elaborate toilet.

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“Oh, Ella, how much better you are looking than you
were an hour or two since,” exclaimed Mr. Hastings, who
entered the chamber just as his wife was leaving it.

“There's company in the parlor,” answered Ella, tripping
lightly away, while her husband walked on into the
dressing-room, where he stepped first over a pair of slippers,
then over a muslin wrapper, and next over a towel, which
Ella in her haste had left upon the floor, her usual place for
everything.

This time the visitors proved to be Eugenia and Alice,
with the first of whom the impulsive Ella was perfectly
delighted, she was so refined, so genteel, so richly dressed,
and assumed withal such a patronizing air, that the shortsighted
Ella felt rather overawed, particularly when she
spoke of her “Uncle in India,” with whom she was “such a
favorite.” During their stay, servants were introduced as a
topic of conversation, and on that subject Eugenia was
quite as much at home as Mrs. Hastings, descanting at
large upon the many annoyances one was compelled to
endure, both from the “ignorance and impertinence of hired
help.” Once or twice, too, the words “my waiting-maid”
escaped her lips, and when at last she took her leave, she
had the satisfaction of knowing that Mrs. Hastings was duly
impressed with a sense of her importance.

“Such charming people I never expected to find in the
country, and so elegantly dressed too,” thought Ella, as
from her window she watched them walking slowly down
the long avenue. “That silk of Miss Eugenia's could not
have cost less than two dollars a yard, and her hands, too,
were as soft and white as mine. They must be wealthy—
those Deanes: I wonder if they ever give any parties.”

And then, as she remembered sundry gossamer fabrics
which were dignified by the title of party dresses, and

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which, with many tears she had folded away as something
she should never need in the country, she exclaimed aloud,
“Why, can't I have a party here as well as at home?
The house is a great deal larger than the long narrow thing
on which mamma prides herself so much. And then it will
be such fun to show off before the country people, who,
of course, are not all as refined as the Deanes. I'll speak to
Howard about it immediately.”

“Speak to me about what?” asked Mr. Hastings, who had
entered the parlor in time to hear the last words of his wife.

Very briefly Ella stated to him her plan of giving a large
party as soon as a sufficient number of the village people
had called.

“You know you wish me to be sociable with them,” she
continued, as she saw the slightly comical expression of her
husband's face; “and how can I do it better than by
inviting them to my house?”

“I am perfectly willing for the party,” answered Mr.
Hastings, “but I do rather wonder what has so soon
changed your mind.”

“Oh, nothing much,” returned Ella, “only the people
don't seem half as vulgar as mamma said they would. I
wish you could see Eugenia Deane. She's perfectly magnificent—
wears a diamond ring, Valenciennes lace, and all
that. Her mother is very wealthy, isn't she?”

“I have never supposed so—if you mean the widow
Deane, who lives at the place called `Locust Grove,' ”
answered Mr. Hastings; and Ella continued, “Yes, she
is, I am sure, from the way Eugenia talked. They keep
servants, I know, for she spoke of a waiting-maid. Then,
too, they have an old bachelor uncle in India, with a million
or more, and these two young ladies will undoubtedly
inherit it all at his death.”

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“Miss Deane must have been very communicative,” said
Mr. Hastings, who understood the world much better than
his wife, and who readily guessed that Miss Eugenia had
passed herself off for quite as much as she was.

“It was perfectly natural for her to tell me what she
did,” answered Ella, “and I like her so much! I mean
to drive over there soon, and take her out riding.”

Here the conversation was interrupted by the ringing
of the door-bell, and it was not again resumed until the
Monday morning following, when, at the breakfast-table
Ella asked for the carriage to be sent round, as “she was
going to call at Mrs. Deane's, and take the young ladies to
ride.”

“But it is washing-day,” suggested Mr. Hastings, wishing
to tease his wife. “And nothing,” I am told, “mortifies
a woman more than to be caught with her hair in
papers, and her arms in the suds. So, if you value your
friend Eugenia's feelings, you had better wait until to-morrow.”

“Suds, Howard! What do you mean?” asked the
indignant Ella. “Eugenia Deane's hands never saw a
wash-tub! Why, they are almost as white as mine.” And
the little lady glanced rather admiringly at the small snowy
fingers, which handled so gracefully the heavy knife and
fork of silver.

“You have my permission to go,” said Mr. Hastings,
“but I am inclined to think you'll have to wait a long time
for your friends to make their appearance.”

Mentally resolving not to tell him if she did, Ella ran up
to her room, where, leaving her morning dress in the middle
of the floor, and donning a handsome plaid silk, she descended
again to the parlor, and suggested to her husband
the propriety of bringing the young ladies home with her

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to dinner, alleging, as one reason, that “there was no use
of having a silver dining set and nice things, unless there
was somebody to see them.”

“And am not I somebody?” asked Mr. Hastings, playfully
winding his arm around the little creature, who answered,
“Why, yes—but mamma never thought it worth her while
always to have the best things and fix up when there was no
one to dinner but us and father; and I don't think I need to
be so particular as when I was Ella Grey and you were
Mr. Hastings, for now I am your wife, and you are”—

Here she paused, while she stooped down to caress a huge
Newfoundland dog, which came bounding in. Then, remembering
she had not finished her sentence, she added,
after a moment, “And you are only Howard!”

Silenced, if not convinced, Mr. Hastings walked away,
wondering if every husband, at the expiration of fifteen
months, reached the enviable position of being “only Howard!”
Half an hour later, and Ella Hastings, having left
orders with Mrs. Leah for a “company dinner,” was riding
down the shaded avenue into the highway, where she bade
the coachman drive in the direction of Locust Grove.

p594-051

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