Phema's Way

" Ycm are very silly, Euphemia." 'I daro say you tion't think me very wise, mamma; but a person eau't lm convicted of extreme silliness on one ount." " Let the matter drop, my dear, if you please. We won') argüe it. You have oonsented to wait li 11 September before a final decisión, and the thing is too disagreeable for discussion." Mrs. Bayard drew her soft shawl gracefully about lier and left the room. liever auybody was "boi'n to the purple" in tlii.s republican country, Eupbemia Bayard had been. Her father belonged to one of its oldest families, her mother eounted Dutcb. ance3tors back to the time when that stolid nation"took Holland." The Vandevecrs had been rich before Mrs. Bayard' 9 time. She was the se vent h daughtol of a ninth son, and the family weaïth wouM not bear sueh inïinitesimal división as this, for all the nine sons had their own families, and aniillion will fade fast abder división and subdivisión. She marricd Mr. Bayard beeausc he had position and money, and why ho had mariied her nobody knew. Perhaps he did not. She was sallow, skinny. gréen-eyed, dulMiaired and cold-blooded as a fish; graceful and stylish, it is trae, but, to travesty an old quotation, " Look in her face, and you forgot it all." Mr. Bayard was a handsome, genial, prosperous younw fellovv when they were married, and Euphemia, their ouly child, was tended and educated like a princess. Velvet and Valenciennes, swansdown and linen cambric were scarcely good enough to lap her tiny, lovely shape, and two nurses cembined with her mother to spoil her utterly; but she inheritcd from her father keen sense, quick perception, humor, generosity. and deep feeling. These went far to atonefor the high temper, the educated sellishness, and the willful disposition of Miss Phema. It would have been better for her if her father had lived, but at six years oíd she lost him. Ile was killed instantly by a fall from a .too spirited horso which he was tryiog, and Phema had only a childish memory left. She grew up under the most exponsive rovernesses iuto the most fashionable finishing schools, pctted, admired, pampered with every lnxury, and hei vanity fed and fostered from hour to hour. That she had her own wav was a foregone conclusión; but her character was so slrong that it assertèd ftself" even in its willfulness, and "Phema's way" was proverbial, both at home and at school. At eighteen she carne out into society, beautiful, accomplished and headstrong. Mrs. Bayard had spent all these years since her husband's dea'th in a recklessly extravagant life, and no w, to her great surprise, found her propcrty was depréeSafced and her tacóme suddenly lessened. She repaired at once to her husband's lawyer. and, baring learned the f uil state of the case, determined, entirely againsthis advice, to sell everything she owned and buy an annuity. In vain old Mr. Paine represented to her that this would utterly impoverish her daughter, in case of her own death. "I oannot help that," she replied, with a cool seltishness that cliilled him. ' ' I can never live, nor can Phema, without our accustomed luxuries. She must marry well; and she cannot. do that without an entrance of the right sort into society. I trust she will not need much more. 1 think not." And Mrs. Bayard' s green ejes Bashod with a pride that mighi be oalled maternal, but did not deserve so sacred a name So she bougbi a handsüme annuity, without consultiug or even informing Euphemia, the property having been all left in her hands, and then gave the }oung lady a triumphant introduction into society. But scarcely had she appeared on the .sla when Mrs. Bayard' s mother died, and, since Phema must be withdrawn at once from the scène of hor glories, Mrs. Bayard resolved to send her for the early part of the summer out to Desborough, a country town of some importanee, high among the Massachugetta bilis. Here, under the wing of an old aunt of Mr. Bayard' s, she would not be seen too much to make her future debut stale and unprofitable, and she. would acquire a fcshness of complexión that boarding-school up to taster and a fortnight of balls directly after had a good deal mpaired. Aunt Allen was aclergyman'swidow, a lovely, gentle old lady, living in a sijii:'.re white house, set in its grassy yard like a flower on a leaf, and canopied with drooping elms. Phema was churmed. Her city elegancies and affeetations feil baek like the calyx from aroselmd, and she delighted her Aunt Allen by her keen enjoyment. her conimon sense. her eager desire to learn .vil wholesome country ways, and her unaft'ected interest in everything. Nobody in Desborough knew more about this pretty Miss Bayard than the fact that she was Mrs. Allen's niece; and. as she laid awav the finery her mother and her maid had packed into her trunk, and contented herself with gowns of delieate lawn and prinled calabrie, with now and thon a white dress for Snndays, and nobody there knew enough to recognize the hand of an artist in the exquisito simplicity of these, garments or to know that the little chip hat. with its gold buekle and lloating feather, was really fresh from Paria, iie was not suspected of being rioh or lushimvable; and, being very pretty, merry and good-natured, she soon made friends in Desborough, and, moi'eover, carried away caj)tive the heart of Mr. Mather, the otdy lawyer of the place, a b&ndsome, intelligent young fellow, come of a good race, .sturdy and self-reliant, only - lic was poor! But this did not disturb Eupheniia. She feil in love with him as utterly and simply as if Arcadia was her birthplace; and before her signal of re all oame both were pluuged fathoms deep in an honcst, old-fashioned paBsion, witli which society and money had no more to do than they have with llcaven. Aunt Allen did not interfere, for she saw no occasion to. It was all right, in her unworldly eyea. She knew Sicphen iMather was good onough for (tnybodV, he hadotteD doclared, and both she and Euphemia thought John Bayari's daughter would have money enough for botn. Phoma, howover, made Aunt Allen vow to keep this a secret; it pleased her mightily to hear her lover spin his webs for the future, calcúlate lus income, disouss ways and means, and praise the neat and simple style of her wardrobe. "The delightful goosc!" she horrifled Aunt Allen by saymg, ono day, when Stephen was scarce out of the gate. "He thinks I am a paragonof eoonomy. He doesn't dream that Dobson cbarged me twenty-five dollars apiece for making these lawn gowns and thal every serap of lace on tliem is real thread. "I'm sure he i'on't!" sighed Aunt Allen, shockod herself at this revelation; luit Phema only laughed, clapped her littlu dlmpled hands together, and wallzed out into the kltohen, where she at once teasedand pleased Hannah, the factótum of the house, by trying to learn all sorts of cooking. And she suceeeded astonishingly. Common sense, a olear head and aeft fingers are as successful in the Idtohen as everywliere olse. Her mothcr sniffed muoh (mentally, oí course,) at this new freak, when Phema boasted of it in her letters. "She is very peculiar," eho said wlth a thin sigh, to her special friend, Mrs. Sluvter. "To think of her lcarning to cook as an amusement! Bat that is just Poema1! way- to do sometMng nobody olse would think of. Mademoisclle did not f hul it needful yet to report her loveaffair to hermother. She knew very well what that astutu lady would think of it, and she wanted to enjoy the strange sweetness as long as she might, before sho aroused to the battle which was inevitable. At last, however, her cali carne. Mrs. Bayard was ready to go to Newport, for it was the miildle of August, and a fortnight's sea-air might be permitted even toa mourner. Euphemia's elabórate preparations were all made in the city, under her mother's Bye, while she was drinking in bliss and pure air at Uesborough; and her wardrobe waa B curious exposition of the delicate shades into which grief can bc oarried as an element oicostume. It would have suited her present disposition better had it been bridal. But, with the vein of cool sense that ondowed her, although neither she nor Stephen had any more doubt of their mutual passiou than Romeo and Juliet, she would not consent to an open engagement till some months of absence had tested their sídcerity and constancy. For three months no letters were to pass between thein. At the end of that time he was to writo her, if still he held to his purpose; and if she too was constant, then she would teil her mother and the thing should be declared. So she went to Newport, and made her expected sensatiou there. For can thero be a lovelier thing than a beautiful young girl, with glancing eyes, and shadowy curls, and smiling, mischievous lips, all illustrated by a complexion of softest rose-blush and pearl, arrnyed in lilms of whitest lace or gleaming gauzes, her only jewelry strings of pure pearls, garlands of spotless roses her only üowcr, and the dark, delicate head unadorned save by its heavy, shiuing coils and rings? People went fairlymad about her beauty, her grace and her exquisit dresses, and the very best match of the season groveled at her feet, in tli o ugly person of Pierre Sluyter, the billionaire of the country. How she hated him! How she shrank from the clammy, trembling hand, the leering, protuberant eye, the weak mouth, and lank, shambling ligure that stood as a digit before so mmy ciphers! How glad she was to be able to refuse the honor of his hand, with Galm distinctness; and how furious was her mother! "That' is just Phema's way!" she declared again to her aggrieved frlond, who should have been the maiden's aiother-in-law. "1 told you her caprices were never to be relied on." " Very well!" answered the outraged Mrs. Sluytcr. " She is the only young woman in America who would have refused Pierre. Ho will easily console himself." No doubt Phema enjoyed the season. She was a natural and healthy girl, spoiled a good deal, to be sure; but four months with Aunt Allen and a real love affair had done mach to improve" her. She eujoyed heartily the, gavety of Newport, and still more the drives, the walks. the sails of that enchanting sojourn. She was not above a girlish pleasure in her bnautiful eostutnes and the great admiration she evcited. She knew her own brilliant beauty was t'ar better illustrated by the absence of color in hördress than it would have been by the prevailing tinte of the day; and she liked to be liked, as most women do. To bo loved was another matter! This seemed to enrage her, and from that a wiser eye than her mother's might have discovered that her heart was preocenp'u'd. But when at the end of three months a love-letter, as ardent and as faithfo] as the most exacting heart could ask, arrived at her city home and awoke as fervent a response, in the fresh hope and courage of the hour, shelaid all the facts before her mother. Imagine the scène! - the rage, the tears, the threats, tlïe despair! Through it all Phema stood calmly waiting for this tempest to subside. " This is just your way!" were the first coherent words that burst from Mrs. Bayard's lips; words Phema had heard so often from the lips of her mother and her nurses that now they rav an air of homely humor lo the tragic scène, and the girl laughed. This was fuel to the ftre. Mrs. Bayard raged and sobbed all the rest of the day; yet all she gained from Euphemia was a promise that shewould not marry Stephen Mather before the next autumn, and that she should not ask to have him roceived at the house oftener than twice in that time. Mrs. Bayard counted on absence. In nine long months there wcro inlinite opportunities to disrert Phema's mind, and perhaps change its bententirely. "Time and J against any man," might BUOeeed with men; but he who said it wiselv did not include the other sox. With an object in view, certain to be attained, a woman can outwait time. It is the w:vut of final certainty that makes us impatient. And Phema smiled over this last chuise. She knew very well Stephen could not alïord to leave his business oftener than Ihe ))rescribed times. The thing she dreaded was toask of him such a delay; but she knew her power and used it to this end. Stephen had never seen her amone her proper surroundings. A matter of course to her, she forgot that the luxury and elegance in which she lived would astonish, perhaps dismay him. And, indeed, it did. " How can I ask you to leave all this for my liltle home, Phema?" said ho, looking about him, the tirst time he came to see her. "I didn't expect to leave it all, sir!" she laughed. " I hope you won' t refuse to niarry me because I happen to have some moncvV" "That Un't any matter," said Stephen, with superb simplicity. is all these appliances I am thinking about. We have not even room for them. I should like it better if you had been poor. Phema, l'm afraid you will miss something. Her answer was too lover-like to record. After its earnest devotion there could be no more talk of money. With him there was no more thought of it; and she only said to herself it was good that he would not have to work so hard. Poor, ignoran! bouIs! Would óither of them stand the test when it came ? All this time Mrs. Bayard refused to recognizo any engagement. She chose to consider that Phuma's decisión wnii delaysd, that no question of marriago had irisen yot; and sho hurried Eer daughter from one scène of gaycty to another, spared herself finery (which was not so hard, sinoe she was yot in deop black), in order to buy Phema all sorts of adornmeut. Her own jewels she had re-set for her and her personal wardrobé was lavishly supplied. But none of these things begnilod Phema. Sho went everywhen and saw everybody; drank so deeply of admiration and Qattery that the inonotony and insincerity of tlio draughts at last disgusted her; but her mother was inexorable. She had tino crushing blw in reserve, that must succeod, she thouht. Surely, when Phema knew she was entirely penniless, she would not daré a poor man! So, just before they went to Newport, earlier thisyear han last, Mrs. Bayard told Euphemia all about her affaire, witli a pungent distinctneu that lelt nu room lor mistake or p&lliation. Aooldhand seemed íbr a moment to cíntch poor Phema' s heart. She turned pale, but her eyea Bashed. ïho Bayard blood oame to the rescue, and sim save no other sign of emotion. Her voleé was hard and ringinz, as she asked: " Hut what lid you think would have become of me, mamma, in case of your deal li?" "I expeeled and 1 siill expect, Kuphemia, that you will raarry well." "Söll inyself!" retorted the girl ' 'üon't be ooarse, my dear. A girl ow('s somethiiig to Kersen who has been brought up as you havo been. ' Euphemia sáid no moro. Sho Bet her red lips tight, to simt in the torrent of disgust and dismay that tÜreatened tb pour jtsolf on her mother' S head, and locked herself iuto her room, to think it out and write to Stephen. Sho faced the question of her life courageously. Had she the power to accept such a situation and endure it? Could she bo poor calmly and happily? or would the absence of those life-long appliances of comfort and luxury woaken her atrength, chafo her temper, and make both lier and Stephen wretchnd when tlieir love should be time-worn? She blushed to think so moanly of herself. Her courage rose at the siglit of ditlioulties. She. sat down it once and wrote a calm letter to her lover, stating the nevv aspect of affairs aa ourtly as possible, without an expression of opinión orfeelingon her own part, oreveu hintingat any possible suspension of their engagement. "I will not insult hiiu," she said to heraelf, as she closed the envelope. and rose to take it to the letter-box: and a warm flush lit her face at the, tliought. She could trust Stephen, she knew. And Stophon rcad all between the lines of that letter, that Phema thought. II is answer was immndiate, and he broiight it himself. "lam so glad!" were his first audible words. " You havo relicved the only dread 1 had, my darling. I did not want you to have what I eould not give you. I want to take care of my wife, Phema, and not have her help me." Mrs. Bayard was disgusted, hopelesslv, with this state of things. Her sclfish soul neither thought nor cared what Stephen and Euphemia must think of her heart.lcss provisión for herself alone. She left Newport in a rage, and went to the White Mountains; though, first, she consented, with an ill flrrace, to be rsentata veiv early wedding. The iittle M-orld of Newport were astonished at this unexpected e vent, and held up their hands with horror when they heard the happy man was only a poor lawyer. "Just Phema Bayard' 8 way!" said Mrs Sluyter. But did Phema and Stephen care? No more than a pair of robinS whose nest is ready forthom. Phernafoundpoverty not so dreadful as its shadow. She accèptedthe situatlon fullv and cheermlly, wore her old linery on Sondaya with good gi-ace, and carao down to calieo and alpaca on week-days with a hearty good-will. Sho electrified Stephen by her skill at cooking and sang about the house at her work all day long. It is truo that troubles came; uut they were the small stings of life, and sho learned to treat them with comparativi; indillorence. lier Iittle house was bright, sunnv, and exijuisitely neat. Itlooked ükea veritable doll's house to Aimt Allen whose honehair furniture and stiff-backed chafara, set about her ampie rooms admitted no modern amenities of gay Color or graceful drapery: but Stephen thought lii.s home perfection. "lliink of it!" moaned Mrs. Bayard to a sympathetio friend. "Phema aetually doos the cooking and the sweeping and the dusting! 1 ncver heard so dreadful! Marian Symmes has just been there to see hor, and told me all about. Poor Phema! But she alvvays would liave her way!" And Marian Symmes; sitiing on the piazza outside the. ivindow where this plaint was made, laughed at the recolleotion of the homo sho had just left ; a home ao overflowing with peace and love and friendliness to all about it that she thought it mieht be best for sonie other poople to follow Phema' s way. -