THE STORY OF A SOCIETY GIRL

New Zealand Graphic, Volume IX, Issue 6, 6 February 1892, Page 140

THE STORY OF A SOCIETY GIRL

TVL.D BY HERSELF’.

N these days when one does not have a father confessor —and no woman of sense has a confidante —one of ability find* herself forced occasionally to jot down her impressions. That is my excuse for the existence of this. To begin at the very beginning, I fancy I was born like other people, went through the usual uninteresting babyhood, but was still a little girl when I learned that I was a beauty. This first ■ came to me from my I father. My mouth drawn up to its prettiest rosebud shape, a couple of tears in my eyes would make him •give me whatever I asked e.-xw in.t a.x rbiAPsa Tz <

ror, ana so there came to me the knowledge of the strength that lies tn weakness. Sometimes I doubt if I were bom—l think l am the result of transmigration—first an orchid, next a bird of Para dise and, last of all, a bbwied horse. I belong to an old family, and my solicitor tells me that I have a great deal of money : bat who ever heard of a woman having enough ? Mamma very sensibly, trained me to be a coquette. From the time that I coaid stand f was fully aware of the value of my white skin, my deep, dark eyes, and that attached to the wonderful red hair that made a gorgeous framing for my finely cat face. I was willing to go to bed early, for' I had been told of the good of those sleeping hours that come before twelve o’clock : to be bathed and rubbed until I was weary enough to sleep again, because oiv nurse had saia that this would mate my form handsome and sappie. and tuy arms and neck the admiration of the world. School was an unknown quantity to me—governesses and that sort of thing came and I endured them, learned of them, and was spoken of by them as the most beautiful girl they had ever seen—bat one wbo was utterly heartless. They little understood that heart was the last thing that would be desirable in my profession, for I made it such. At eighteen years of age I was brought out : bat tor three months before that my mother had taught me exactly who among the men were eligible, who were not, what women were to be cultivated, what ones to be civil to and what ones to ignore. I made my first appearance at the Patriarchs’ ball, and mamma very wisely had me dressed in the finest of white silk muslin, made in Empire style, with a broad white sash about my waist, a white rose in my hair, and long, white gloves, only partially covering my beantifnl arm-. As was proper, I accepted the invitations to dance from the elderly men, from whom it was a compliment to receive them, and, as far as possible, I ignored the younger ones. 1 sought mamma’s wing at the end of each dance, and to her delight, the impression left on everybody’s mind wras that of my being an extremely beautiful, ingenuous, young girl who knew nothing whatever about society. How thev erred. I looked at Mrs August Belmont’s sapphires and' thought that when I was a matron, I would have ones just as handsome. I stared, politely of course, at Mrs Marshall Robert’s beautiful pearls, and wondered why they should be wasted on a widow. The next day the newspapers were fall of descriptions of the new beauty, and before I knew it, the sweet, childlike look in my face had gained for me the title of ‘ Baby. Ar that time I was the most complete coquette that talked out an opera, or looked into a man’s eyes so that he oelieved that I adored him, whereas I only calculated exactly to what extent I could count on him for dowers. You think this sounds vulgar, perhaps, about the dowers : bat all coquettes are vulgar in that sense. The old novels tell of a time when maidens fair were delighted with the blossom sent by the man who adored them : bat it is imoossible to imagine anything so stupid. <jf what eaithly use would a blossom be ? '.'ne has been effective when taken from a man’s battonbole and stuck in one’s bodice, where it would show well against one’s neck . bat I cannot imagine their being of any other ase. When the young men grew to know me, proposals of marriage began to pour in upon me; but I had concluded exactly who I would marry—the rich, and only son of a rich man, who really usual half the ground on which the swell houses were built. The other men did very well to pass away the time with and give me practice. The first was a clergyman : he thoaght I was so lovely that I must be more than willing to give my life to the poor and mv love to him. He gave me the most exquisite prayer-book in ivory and gold, with my monogram in dia moods upon it. It was very convenient for Lent, because I could make a wonderful picture by kneeling on the church door holding that beautiful book near my lips, so that the gold in my hair and the jewels fia-hing from it seemed the only things human about me. My next prop>*Mt! was from a man. Yes, be mxm a man. He offered me his band and bis heart, and bis willingness to make a home for me. I laughed at it. The very idea of me marrying a poor man ! No matter that he was a gentleman : no matter that I had a carious feeling in my heart about him —I laughed at him. and then he told me what he thought of me. You see. I had invited it, but still he couldn't kiM« that ander that laugh was the only real bit «>f human feeling that had ever come into my life. Then there were all sorts and conditions of men. A great light in the legal world, an immensely wealthy merchant, an-i one who would have given me a fine title, made me a duchess, indeed, for my ducats. Bat I had intended to marry -lack—the richest man I knew. When the season was nearly over, mamma was oblige! to bring to our house

the only child of her sister—an orphan. Shesaia she would be a good foil for me, and, as she had to keep her, we might as well go out together. My clothes could be made over tor her. and the faet of her being always with me, would make lack think me more delightful, because more difficult to obtain. I am never mean enough to deny another woman s good looks, bat .Marjory hadn't the least claim to being a beautv, except in her possession of a pair of deep, dark blue eves that told something, I never could understand what. • 'nee I heard a man say they were sympathetic : but that seemed to roe very stupid, "n the day of the coaching parade. Marjory and I, with mamma’s permission and under the ehaperonage of a young matron, were on -Jack s coach. I sat on the box -seat, and I looked so well in my yellow crepe, my hat trimmed with yellow blossoms and with a huge bunch of them laid at my feet, that even the boys on the street called to each other, ‘ Ain t she a beauty . I was, I knew it. and 1 felt that Jack ought to appreciate it more than ever before. As he bade us gooibye that evening, he said to me, ‘ 1 am coming to speak to your mother to morrow.’ Most girls would have got excited, or felt they had to tell somebody, but not I. There was a small sense of triumph about me, for I felt that I had gained my end, and I walked over to Marjory’s room just to let her" see how well I looked. M hat a fool I thought her. Sitting there reading a book that had in it a chapter and a bvmn and a prayer for every day in the year : She trow/d kiss me—a something that I despise, these outward signs of affection, or whatever you may call it—and after that weakness I concluded not to tell her my secret. Jack came the next day, asked for mamma, and was with her for quite a time : and then a message came upstairs, asking that Marjory would eome down. I didn’t connect the two : but awhile afterward my mother earns to me, and for the first time in my life I saw her angry. Mamma seemed to look exactly as if she had been learning a lesson, one that came home to her. Do you think that shocks of knowledge come to one ? It is said they do. Imaginative people talk of ‘ having the veil suddenly drawn away and seeing the truth,’ and really, I suppose from what followed, mamma had been undergoing some revolution of feeling, or, perhaps it would be proper to say, had had a revelation. For my own part it seemed silly. She said : ■ What in the world is the matter with you, that with everything in your favour you should let the greatest eatch of the season slip through your hands and be capture'! by an ordinary, poor girl, like your cousin I What does he see in her? What is there lacking in you?" I thought it very rude of her, and I said, ‘ Mamma, I think you are forgetting yourself. And, to my astonisnment, she answered, ■ No, I am not. lam just remembering myself. It has just come to me that I have educated you to be that something with out a heart—a perfect society girl—and that I must not blame men if they do not find in you the sympathy for which they ealL’ Of course, I was disappointed, first at Jack's bad taste, and then at mamma’s ridiculous outbreak. Marjory was quietly married the next month, and to-day she. who used to wear my cast-off clothes, who wearied me by talking of the beauty of love and religion, is the acknowledged leader of society. After her marriage we went abroad. In London and in Paris everybody raved over me. My pictures were eagerly sought for ; the gowns I wore were copied ; a colour fancied by ine became tiie fashion. And so year after year went by, some spent in this country, some spent on the other side, until one day I had a sharp pain of a curious kind come to me when I heard a dippant boy of nineteen say in a rude slangy fashion: • Baby is beginning to be a back number.’ It was horrible slang, but—but —I thought of the girls who had come out with me. They were married and had little children about them : I thought of my father and mother ; they were both dead. Then 1 thought of myself. All that great fortune had come to me, but I was alone. As I drive in the park of an afternoon, sitting, as only I can sit in my victoria, I see the people look at me ana I hear them say : ‘ That’s the famous beauty. That’s the woman who has so mueh money and so much beauty that she might at any time, have married any man she wanted to.’ I see the shabbily dressed girls stare at me and hold on a little tighter to their sweethearts’ arms, and once I heard a little woman say: ‘John, that may be a beautiful woman but she is not a happy one. ‘ She is a one, my dear, and the most beautiful face ceases to be lovely when in the heart there is only thought of itself. Is this true ? Has my life been a failure ’ Is there something better than the admiration of the aristocratic set ? Is there anything better than luxury and beauty and surroundings that give pleasure to all the senses ? There must be, else how can these people be happy I Well, it's too late for me—l can't begin again. I don't know that I want to: but I should have liked to have it decided if those people who talk about love and goodness are right, or whether it is just best to be what 1 always have been and am still A So. iety Girl.