Old maids have their little thoughts; why not?

On the present occasion, as I have said, Miss Anne sat in "the blue chamber." She was paler than usual, and her Xantippe lips were closed more firmly together. The thread of her thoughts seemed no smoother than the thread between her fingers, beside breaking which she had broken six of Hemming's best drilled-eyed needles. At length, pushing the stool from beneath her feet, she threw down her work and strode impatiently up and down the apartment.

"To be balked after serving this Leah's apprenticeship, by a baby! and by _that_ baby! I could love it for its likeness to _him_, did it not stand in my way. It was such doll faces as that baby's mother's which could fascinate Vincent, hey?--soulless, pa.s.sionless little automatons.

Ye G.o.ds! and how _I_ have loved him, let these sunken eyes and mottled tresses bear witness," and Miss Anne looked at herself in the gla.s.s.

"That is all past now; thank heaven, that secret dies with me. Who would ever suspect _me_ of falling in love?" and Miss Anne laughed hysterically. "And now that hope died out, that baby is to come between me and my expected fortune!

"Simple Chloe! She little thought, when she repeated to me what she called 'her young mistress's crazy ravings,' that _I_ could 'find a method in that madness.' Love is sharp-sighted; so is policy. That baby shall never come here. It should not, at any rate, for the mother's sake, pretty little fool!

"Madame will 'adopt' the baby, forsooth! She will fill the house with bibs and pinafores, and install me as head nurse, and to _that_ child!

All my fine castles to be knocked down by a baby's puny hand! We shall see.

"That old dotard, to adopt a baby at _her_ time of life, when she ought to be thinking of her shroud."

"Ah, Anne, you there," said a voice at the door, "and busy as usual?"

"Yes, dear madame, work for you is only pastime."

"You were always a good creature, Anne," and madame tapped her affectionately on the shoulder.

"How very well you are looking to-day," said Anne. "Mourning is uncommonly becoming to you. Becky and I were saying this morning, as you pa.s.sed through the hall, that no one would suppose you to be more than thirty."

"S-i-x-t-y, my dear, s-i-x-t-y," replied the old lady, cautiously closing the door; "but you should not flatter, Annie."

"It is not flattery to speak the truth," said Anne, with a mock-injured air.

"Well, well, don't take a joke so seriously, child; what everybody says _must_ be true, I suppose," and madame looked complacently in the gla.s.s.

"Anne, do you know I can not think of any thing but that beautiful child? Don't you think his resemblance to our Vincent very remarkable?"

"Very, dear madame, I am not at all surprised at your fancying him. He is quite a charming little fellow."

"Isn't he, though?" exclaimed madame, with a pleased laugh; "do you know Anne I have about made up my mind to adopt him? I shall call him Vincent L'Estrange Vincent."

"How charming!" said Anne, "how interesting you will look; you will be taken for his mother."

"Very likely," said madame. "I recollect we were quite an object of attraction the day we rode out together; I think I _am_ looking youthful Anne."

"No question of it, my dear madame--here--let me rearrange this bow in your cap; that's it; what execution you must have done in your day, madame."

"I had _some_ lovers," replied the s.e.xegenarian widow, with mock humility, as she twisted a gold circlet upon her finger.

"If report speaks true, their name was legion; I dare say there is some interesting story now, connected with that ring," suggested Anne.

"Poor Perry!" exclaimed madame--"I _didn't_ treat him well; I wonder what ever came of him; _how_ he used to sigh! What beautiful bouquets he brought me--how jealous he was of poor dear Vincent. I was a young, giddy thing then; and yet, I was good-hearted, Anne, for I remember how sorry I used to be that I couldn't marry _all_ my lovers. I told Perry so, one day when he was on his knees to me, but he did not seem as much pleased as I expected. I don't think he always knew how to take a compliment.

"Poor Perry!

"I couldn't help liking him, he had such a dear pair of whiskers, quite a-la-corsair--but Vincent had the money, and I always needed such a quant.i.ty of dresses and things, Anne.

"Well--on my wedding-day, Perry walked by the house, looking handsomer than ever. I believe the creature did it on purpose to plague me. He had on white pants, and yellow Ma.r.s.eilles vest, salmon-colored neck-tie, and _such_ a pretty dark-blue body-coat, with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons; _such_ a fit! I burst out a crying; I never saw any thing so heart-breaking as that coat; there was not a wrinkle in it from collar to tail. I don't think I should ever have got over it, Anne, had not my maid Victorine just then brought me in a set of bridal pearls from Vincent; they were really sumptuous.

"Poor dear Perry!

"Well--I was engaged to him just one night; and I think the moon was to blame for that, for as soon as the sun rose next morning, I knew it would not do. He was poor, and it was necessary I should have a fine establishment, you know. But poor Perry! I never shall forget that blue body-coat, never--it was such a fit!"

"The old fool!" exclaimed Anne, dismissing the bland smile from her face as the last fold of madame's dress fluttered through the door; "after all, she might do worse than to adopt this child. I could easier get rid of that baby than her second husband. I must rein up a little, with my flattery, or she may start off on that track.

"Poor Perry, indeed!" soliloquized Anne, "what geese men are! how many of them, I wonder, have had reason to thank their stars, that they did not get what their hearts were once set on. Well--any will-o'-the-wisp who trips it lightly, can lead any Solomon by the nose; it is a humiliating fact;" and Miss Anne took a look at herself in the gla.s.s; "sense is at a discount; well, it is the greatest compliment the present generation of men could have paid me, never to have made me an offer."

CHAPTER XLVI.

"And you, then, are the mother of the beautiful child, I wish to adopt?"

asked Madame Vincent, gazing admiringly at Rose.

Our heroine's long lashes drooped upon a cheek that crimsoned like the heart of a June rose, as she timidly answered:

"Yes, madame."

"You are extremely pretty, child, and very young to be a mother. Have you any other children?"

"None," replied Rose, "but Charley."

"And you would not give him up to me?" asked madame, coaxingly. "Do you think his father would object?"

"His father is dead, madame," said Rose, in a low voice.

"Pardon me, child, I did not know that you were a widow. _I_ am a widow.

It is very dull, being a widow; don't you think so, dear? Did your husband leave you property?"

"No," replied Rose, answering the inexcusable question, for she could not bear to seem disrespectful to Vincent's mother.

"That is a pity, dear; my husband left me plenty. I shall will it all to Charley, if you will only give him up to me. What was your husband's name, dear."

"Vincent L'Estrange Vincent;" answered Rose, startled at the strange sound of her own voice.

"Singular! Same name as my son's," said madame, "Very singular."

"He _was_ your son;" said Rose, in the same strange, cold tone.

"My son never was married;" replied madame.

"G.o.d knows he told me we were so, and I believed him," answered Rose.