‘THE PEARL, BEYOND ITS CASE.’

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 397, 20 September 1875, Page 3

‘THE PEARL, BEYOND ITS CASE.’

(From London Society.) ‘He’ll prize the pearl, beyond its case,’— Cotton. ‘ Ah, well! the world is not such a bad place, after all,’ I exclaim, throwing down my book, and feeling thoroughly satisfied with the world in general, and myself in particular. Yes, I am very happy this glorious summer morning, as I gaze out of the window on the broad lawn, and try to account for the feeling of entire satisfaction which possesses me; and then a thought flashes across me—the new bonnets from Louise. They arrived this morning, two of them, in a neat wooden box; such pretty little things, all pale-blue crepe and ostrich tips: not much to make one feel happy, you will say, but our pleasures are few, and did we not take an interest in the small things our lives would be comparatively dull. ‘We,’ are the Vicar of Thornington’s only children; Maud is twenty, and I am eighteen. We have lived in this most primitive of places ever since our mother’s death, some ten years ago, and have been, and still continue to be, sole mistresses of our father’s home and heart. Dear old father ! how good and kind he is to us. To him we are indebted for everything, and we have nothing to give in return but our love. However, of the latter he possesses, perhaps, an over-abundant share ; at least, so it cannot fail to strike him at times : for instance, this morning, on the arrival of the new bonnets —which wereasurprise he hadinstorefor us — we hugged and kissed the dear old man, both at once, and were only induced to leave off our rather violent demonstrations of gratitude by his repeated threats that, did we not do so, the bonnets should be exchanged' for others, of more sombre hue and graver form. Yes, they are to be worn on the morrow, to which we are so anxiously looking forward. It is to be a grand occasion : one of the great events of our quiet life —even now, we do not know how great! Our father is to drive us in the pony-trap to Mrs Wilmot’s house, some eight miles off, where the scene of the coming festivities is laid. There is to be croquet in the afternoon, and dancing in the evening, with a band, and, what is more than all these things, a lot of young men, brought down from town, on purpose for the entertainment, by the eldest son of the house. This is an occasion too rare to be lost; for in almost all the parties given in Thornington, there is a total absence of anything in the male line, excepting of course, the curate. But this brings me back to my bonnet, and the soul-satisfying thought of-how envious it will make the rival damsels of the village, when my sister Maud enters the room. Maud, looking so pretty and blooming, with peachlike cheeks and rosy lips, large blue eyes and soft brown hair, and crowning her lovely face, with the ostrich tips nestling lovingly in her wavy locks, one of the new bonnets. She stands still for some moments with a pretty, conscious smile on her face. I am lost in admiration ; suddenly it vents itself in words. ‘ How lovely ! how beautiful! I exclaim, jumping up violently from mp seat. ‘ I must try mine on at once,’ And in another moment I have flown upstairs and find myself before the mirror in my own room, bonnet in hand, ready for action. It is on ; but, as I look at my§elf in the glass,, a chill feeling of disappointment comes over me. The effect is totally different. ‘ I might have known it all along,’ I say to myself passionately and bitterly. ‘ When did a thing ever suit my plain face? Dress Maud in rags, and she is pretty. Dress me in satins, and I am plain. It is always the same—always the same. Maud is courted and admired and loved, and I Well, people certainly say I might have had the curate,’ I add, with a savage laugh; ‘ but as his income is ninety pounds per annum, I prefer my own comfortable home to his poverty. Bah !’ I exclaim. ‘ I’d see the little beast ’ But my irreverent mention of one of the pastors of t the flock is cut short by the entrance of my sister. ‘ Maud! ’ I say, suddenly, ‘is your bonnet the same as mine ? I fancy there is some difference,’ for a thought has flashed across me that the bonnet may be the most in fault. We compare them : they are exactly alike; one is quite as pretty as the other. ‘lt is not the bonnet,’ I murmur to myself, ‘it is the face ’ and, unable to restrain my disappointment at the bad effect produced by the pale blue against my sallow complexion, I wrench it off my head with no gentle hand, and burst into tears. Maud says nothing. She picks up the bonnet, replaces it tenderly in its box, and then, coming up to me, puts her hand on my shoulder. ‘Helen,’ she says quietly, ‘you are wicked,’ and leaves the room without another word. After a few minutes of solitude I become aware that I have been behaving like a fool, and bathing my eyes and brushing my hair, I walk downstairs. In the dining-room I find Maud, sitting with my father, having an afternoon cup of tea. She gives me a sweet little smile as I enter, and my dad, drawing a chair close to his side, says : ‘ Come along, my little woman, and sit by me. What do you mean by deserting your poor old father in this way ? ’ And as he takes my hand and pats my cheek, I feel how foolish and how ungrateful my conduct has been, thinking only of what I have not, and forgetting all the blessings that are mine. So the evening passes away calmly and pleasantly, -without any further outbreak on my part. To be continued.