A Changed Heart. May Agnes Fleming
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the curtain was going down. He had time to see her bright dark eye turn upon it, then with a little pleased smile over the spectators in quest of the donor, and then that envious green curtain hid all again.
"Very neat and appropriate," criticised Val. "You're not going to wait for the introduction to begin your love-passage, I see, Captain Cavendish."
The captain laughed.
"Nothing like taking time by the forelock, my dear fellow. I will never be able to thank you sufficiently for bringing me here to-night!"
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Val, opening his eyes, "you never mean to say you're in love already, do you?"
"It's something very like it, then. Where are you going?"
"Behind the scenes. The next is 'Jack and the Beanstalk,' and they want me for the beanstalk," said Val, complacently, as his long legs strode over the carpet on his way to the back parlor.
There were ever so many tableaux after that—Captain Cavendish, impatient and fidgety, wondered if they would ever end. Perhaps you don't believe in love at first sight, dear reader mine; perhaps I don't myself; but Captain Cavendish, of Her Most Gracious Majesty's—th Regiment of Artillery did, and had fallen in love at first sight at least a dozen times within quarter that number of years.
Captain Cavendish had to exercise the virtue of patience for another half-hour, and then the end came.
In flocked the performers, in laughing commotion, to find themselves surrounded by the rest, and showered with congratulations. Captain Cavendish stood apart, leaning against a fauteuil, stroking his mustache thoughtfully, and looking on. Looking on one face and form only of all the dozens before him; a form tall, taller than the average height, slender, graceful, and girlish as became its owner's eighteen years; and a face inexpressibly lovely in the garish gaslight. There was nobility as well as beauty in that classic profile, that broad brow; fire in those laughing blue eyes, so dark that you nearly mistook them for black; resolution in those molded lips, the sweetest that ever were kissed. The hair alone of Nathalie Marsh would have made a plain face pretty; it hung loose over her shoulders as it had done on the stage, reaching to her waist, a cloud of spun gold, half waves, half curls, half yellow ripples.
Few could have worn this hair like that, but it was eminently becoming to Nathalie, whom everything became. Her dress was of rose color, of a tint just deeper than the rose color in her cheeks, thin and flouting, and she was entirely without ornament. A half-blown rose was fastened in the snowy lace of her corsage, a rose that had decked the buttonhole of Captain Cavendish half an hour before.
Val espied him at last and came over. "Are you making a tableau of yourself," he asked, "for a certain pair of bright eyes to admire? I saw them wandering curiously this way two or three times since we came in."
"Whose were they?"
"Miss Nathalie Marsh's. Come and be introduced."
"But she is surrounded."
"Never mind, they'll make way for you. Stand out of the way, Sandy. Lo! the conquering hero comes! Miss Marsh, let me present Captain Cavendish, of the—th; Miss Marsh, Captain Cavendish."
The music at that instant struck up a delicious waltz. Mr. Val Blake, without ceremony, laid hold of the nearest young lady he could grab.
"Come, Catty! let's take a twist or two. That's it, Cavendish! follow in our wake!"
For Captain Cavendish, having asked Miss Marsh to waltz, was leading her off, and received the encouraging nod of Val with an amused smile.
"What a character he is!" he said, looking after Val, spinning around with considerable more energy than grace; "the most unceremonious and best-natured fellow in existence."
The young lady laughed.
"Oh, everybody likes Val! Have you known him long?"
"About a year. I have seen him in Halifax frequently, and we are the greatest friends, I assure you. Damon and Pythias were nothing to us!"
"It is something new for Mr. Blake to be so enthusiastic, then. Pythias is a new rôle for him. I hope he played it better than he did Robert Bruce in that horrid tableau awhile ago."
They both laughed at the recollection. Natty scented her rose.
"Some one threw me this. Gallant, wasn't it? I love roses."
"Sweets to the sweet! I am only sorry I had not something more worthy 'Evangeline,' than that poor little flower."
"Then it was you. I thought so! Thank you for the rose and the compliment. One is as pretty as the other."
She laughed saucily, her bright eyes flashing a dangerous glance at him. Next instant they were floating round, and round, and round; and Captain Cavendish began to think the world must be a great rose garden, and Speckport Eden, since in it he had found his Eve. Not quite his yet, though, for the moment the waltz concluded, a dashing and dangerously good-looking young fellow stepped coolly up and bore her off.
Val having given his partner a finishing whirl into a seat, left her there, and came up, wiping his face.
"By jingo, 'tis hard work, and Catty Clowrie goes the pace with a vengeance. How do you like Natty?"
"'Like' is not the word. Who is that gentleman she is walking with?"
"That—where are they? Oh, I see—that is Captain Locksley, of the merchant-service. The army and navy forever, eh! Where are you going?"
"Out of this hot room a moment. I'll be back directly."
Mrs. McGregor came up and asked Val to join a whist-party she was getting up. "And be my partner, Val," she enjoined, as she led him off, "because you're the best cheat I know of."
Val was soon completely absorbed in the fascinations of whist, at a penny a game, but the announcement of supper soon broke up both card-playing and dancing; and as he rose from the table he caught sight of Captain Cavendish just entering. His long legs crossed the room in three strides.
"You've got back, have you? What have you been about all this time?"
"I was smoking a cigar out there on the steps, and getting a little fresh air—no, fog, for I'll take my oath it's thick enough to be cut with a knife. When I was in London, I thought I knew something of fog, but Speckport beats it all to nothing."
"Yes," said Val, gravely, "it's one of the institutions of the country, and we're proud of it. Did you see Charley Marsh anywhere in your travels. I heard Natty just now asking for him."
"Oh, yes, I've seen him," said Captain Cavendish, significantly.
There was that in his tone which made Val look at him. "Where was he and what was he doing?" he inquired.
"Making love, to your first question; sitting in a recess of the tall window, to your second. He did not see me, but I saw him."
"Who was he with?"
"Something very pretty—prettier than anything in this room, excepting Miss Natty. Black eyes, black curls, rosy cheeks, and the dearest little waist! Who is she?"
Val gave a long, low whistle.
"Do you know her?" persisted Captain Cavendish.
"Oh, don't I though? Was she little, and was she laughing?"
"Yes, to both questions. Now, who is she?"
Val's answer was a shower of mysterious nods.
"I heard the story before, but I didn't think the boy was such a fool. Speckport is such a place for gossip, you know; but it seems the gossips were right for once. What will Natty say, I wonder?"
"Will you tell me who she is?" cried Captain Cavendish, impatiently.
"Come to supper," was Val's answer; "I'm too hungry to talk now. I'll tell you about it by-and-by."
Charley was before them