Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/290

 KATE'S

WINTER IN WASHINGTON .267

politics—nothing of the sort; but it was necessary to give you, in as few words as possible, a clear understanding of what my heroine was about, and the troubled weather she was likely to bring into her sky, through her own restlessness, and the machinations of her pretended friend.

For Circe could no more have lived without being the head and center of all sorts of plots and artifices, and something on hand to make her life like a French play or a sensation novel, than an opium-eater could without his drugs.

That was the way the Marsdens lived—lobby ists by profession; and they seemed to make it pay, judging from the style in which they lived and Circe’s elegant dressing; she had perfect taste—I always have forgiven her a great deal for that. By-the-way, it is odd, that virtue so often has no eye for color, but will mix tints up in a way that make one sea-sick to look at. I am sure there is some profound metaphysical marvel hidden under that fact, only I have not time to discuss it. Of course, the Marsdens needed Kate; they hoped through her to approach the Senator—and neither cared for the means employed. Philip Marsden was to the full as fascinating as his wife—words could not go further. It was per- fectly useless to have been warned against him, you could not resist his spells. Ten to one, after you have been duped and learned to avoid him, if you were able to hate him as you would have done another man, and about the only way to be sure of not being again taken in by his frankness, or his brilliant schemes, or his penitence, if that suited his purpose, was to keep out of his presence forever.

Kate was the same to Mr. Wallingford as if she had been his own daughter; but he was too much engrossed in the duties of his life to do more than see that she was comfortable in all material ways; and as as far society claims went, he expected those details to devolve upon her, both in the matter of visits and decisions as to the list of guests to be received in their own home.

So there was nobody to warn her against the intimacy into which she had rushed with the Marsdens—that is, nobody besides Harry Everett; and though it cannot be said that he failed in his duty, his efforts and expostulations naturally made her more headstrong and determined. He seemed to have forgotten his New Orleans trip; there he staid and badgered Kate’s life out, and did much more harm than good, as people usually do in such cases.

They quarreled fiercely, and it did seem that the end must be near many times; but in spite  of their mutual obstinacy and wrong-headed-  ness, they were both so true-hearted that the  painful climax was slower in being reached  than it would have been with a pair possessed  of less brains and capabilities of affection.

Lily Marsden did her best to widen the breach; she wormed herself so artfully into Kate’s confidence that, although the girl was not in the least of the gushing order, it became as natural to utter her thoughts to Lily as to think them.

“You are letting that man torment you out of your senses,” she said one day, as she sat with  Kate in the pretty morning-room Mr. Walling- ford had had fitted up for his niece’s especial  benefit. “Just let him ruin all your enjoyment, and your peace into the bargain.” Mrs. Marsden had come in as Harry Everett was leaving, after a stormy scene, the effects of  which were plainly visible in both Kate’s face  and his, at least to the eyes of the astute  manoeuvrer.

Kate sighed and felt like a martyr, which was a sort of consolation for the moment, as it is to  most people, though she was really troubled and  suffering. “Poor child!” continued Mrs. Marsden, “I know it is hard, but it is what most women have  to bear—learning that their first fancy was only  an ideal. But then we women live through so much. Heigh-ho!”

«Are you not out of spirits, too, this morning?” Kate asked.

“Oh, no! not up to concert pitch, that is all. Oh, my dearest! I forgot my liege-lord’s message; he wants to have the pleasure of driving you out this afternoon.”

“Will you go?”

“Can’t, positively. I’ve had an engagement for a week, with that tiresome Mrs. Rawson, to go out to Georgetown and visit her cubs, and she has set today.”

“I wouldn’t go.”

“That’s very fine—then she would be furious; and you will please to remember that I want her husband’s countenance—what an ugly one— for my young friend, who wishes to get into the naval school.”

“Then there’s no help for it, I suppose.”

“And you must take pity on my desolate Philip; I am not afraid of his missing me in your society.”

“You know that is not true.”

“Well, I believe the man does care for me more than I deserve. Still, if I am not a very affectionate wife, I am bon comarade, and go