Still, Mabel Aylett was not a belle, and Rosa Tazewell was. Callow
collegians and enterprising young merchants from the city;
sunbrowned owners of spreading acres and hosts of laborers; students
and practitioners of law and medicine, and an occasional theologue,
had broken their hearts for perhaps a month at a time, for love of
her, since she was a school-girl in short dresses. Yet there had
been a date very far back in the acquaintanceship of each of these
with the charmer, when he had marvelled at the infatuation which had
blinded her previous adorers. She was "a neat little thing," with
her round waist, her tiny hands and feet and roguish eye--but there
was nothing else remarkable about her features, and in coloring, the
picture was too dark for his taste. Why, she might be mistaken for a
creole! And each critic held fast to his expressed opinion until the
roguish eyes met his directly and with meaning, and he found himself
diving into the bright, shimmering wells, and drowning--still
ecstatically--before he reached the bottom whence streamed the light
of passionate feeling, striking upward through the surface. What her
glances did not effect was done by her dazzling smile and musical
voice.
As one of her victims swore, "It was a dearer delight to be rejected
by her than to be accepted by a dozen other girls--she did the thing
up so handsomely! And yet, do you know, sir, I could have shot
myself for a barbarous brute when I saw the pitying tears standing
upon her lashes, and heard the tremor in her sweet tones, as she
begged me to forgive her for not loving me!"
Those she had once captivated never quite rid themselves of the
glamour of her arts; remained her trusty squires, ready to serve, or
to defend her always afterward.
Aunt Rachel, intent, during the short pause, upon the movements of
the servant who was setting the smoking breakfast upon the table,
glanced around when all was properly arranged, to summon the two to
their places--but something in Rosa's attitude and countenance held
her momentarily speechless. Mabel still bent over her roses, in
smiling interest, and Frederic Chilton was watching her--but not as
the third person of the group about the beaufet watched them both
between her half-closed lids, her black brows close together, and
the glittering teeth visible under the curling upper lip.
"She looked like a panther lying in wait for her prey!" Mrs. Sutton
said to her niece, many months later, in attempting to describe the
scene. "Or like a bright-eyed snake coiled for a spring. The sight
of her sent shivers all down my spine."