CHAPTER V. MRS. HOWELL AT HOME. "The love of praise Fills life with fine amenities. Not all J. G. HOLLAND. " DIANTHA and Stephen not in yet?" asked Mrs. Howell, glancing around her well-appointed dining-room as if in search of the delinquents. Dr. Howell was, apparently, too deeply absorbed in the columns of the evening paper to answer her query, and the lady somewhat energetically pulled the bell-rope. When Jane answered the summons, she ordered dinner to be served immediately. "Do we dine alone, Mary?" asked the doctor, when the agreeable odor of hot soup reminded him of his physical necessities. "Yes; Louise has gone to dine with the Metcalfs, and Diantha and Stephen have not returned from their mission to the poor. I must say I'm glad of an opportunity to speak with you alone, though I don't suppose you'll allow my ideas of what is right to influence you." "Why, Mary, I'm always open to conviction. What's wrong now?" "The truth is, doctor, I'm not at all satisfied with the manner in which Diantha is spending her time, and I know she has your encouragement. She was invited three days ago to visit the Metcalfs with Louise this evening, but wrote a note yesterday declining their invitation, because of her numerous engagements for to-day. And what were her engagements? Nothing more nor less than this hospital visiting, and a round of calls on poor people. It is impossible to make her see the importance of cultivating the acquaintance of such people as she would meet at the Metcalfs'. Then she is neglecting her music, her French, and all the accomplishments that are indispensable to young ladies nowadays." "I'm sorry you can find so little to approve in Daisy. She seems to me quite accomplished enough for a girl of her years. She certainly finds time to read some excellent books. She converses well, and gratifies my taste in singing; and then we couldn't ask for a more affectionate or obedient child." "I'm not complaining of any lack of affection or obedience; and yet I think if these traits were stronger in Di's character, she'd endeavor to conform herself more to my wishes. What gives me most anxiety is, to see her naturally fine talents lying dormant or running to waste. You say her singing satisfies you, but it is not artistic, and such a remarkably rich, flexible voice ought to be cultivated. Di is not ambitious, and if you are pleased with her ballads and simple songs, she doesn't care a straw for artistic effect. She spends too much precious time on people who cannot appreciate her, and is entirely regardless of fashion and etiquette. In short, she's in great danger of becoming a religious enthusiast or a strong-minded philanthropist." "I have seen in Daisy only the fruits of that pure religion and undefiled which delights in visiting 'the fatherless and widows in their affliction.' Her nature is ardent and enthusiastic, and she must do earnestly and heartily whatever her hands find to do. Let us encourage her, Mary, in her efforts to serve the Master; the pleasures and fashions of this world will prove strong temptations to a pretty girl like Daisy, even if we use our utmost endeavors to keep her unspotted." "You don't understand me, nor sympathize with my desire to see our child admired and appreciated by those whose good opinion is worth gaining. She can have just as much true religion in her heart, and at the same time enjoy more of those innocent pleasures which are natural to her years, and cultivate those talents God has given her, so as to make herself a more useful and ornamental member of society. Louise is a Christian, but she is a great favorite because she is so accomplished; and I don't want to see such a striking contrast between my daughters, and know that others remark it too, when I'm sure Diantha has as much talent, if it were only developed, as Louise." “I must have a serious talk with Daisy, and see if I can discover a lack of those graces and accomplishments which are the ornament of true womanhood. Her instincts have seemed to me so pure, and her whole nature so sweet and healthful, that perhaps I may have been blind to her lack of ambition." "Indeed, I think you are blind to all Diantha's faults, doctor; and as you are the only one who can influence her, I want to open your eyes. Take her dress, for instance. You allow her three hundred dollars a year for spending money, and she ought to dress very prettily on that amount; but she told me last week that she couldn't afford a new party dress for this winter, nor a new cloak; and I am convinced she has spent more money on that Jenks family during this autumn than would be necessary for the new dress and cloak. It is not becoming for a young lady to set at defiance the customs of polite society. If there's anything I abhor, 'tis a strong-minded woman, who affects independence and singularity in dress and manners." "Surely, there's no affectation about Daisy, or I should have noticed it; and only this morning I was remarking how neatly and becomingly she was dressed." "Yes, in that old blue merino and gray cloak! She's worn them both two years, doctor; and if she persists in wearing them another winter, they'll be as well known in all Hanthrop as your horse and buggy. I'll admit that Diantha is always neatly dressed; but she has no style, and looks as if she were obliged to economize; and by the way, I don't think it adds to your reputation for a member of your family to go about scrimpingly dressed. Society will infer that your profession is not lucrative enough to allow your family the luxuries of life." "We can afford to be independent of the world's inferences; and moreover, my dear, you and Louise dress with sufficient elegance to advertise my prosperity to the clique in which you move; and I have no fears that my professional reputation will suffer amongst my patients." "You seem to forget, doctor, that Louise and I are not dependent on you for the means to dress elegantly, and our friends are very well aware of the fact. If it were not for the income of my late husband's property, I should make but a shabby appearance on the paltry sum you allow me; and, thank Heaven, Louise is not beholden to either of us for money." Dr. Howell whistled softly, not a polite or refined substitute for words, as his lady had often assured him,but the accomplishment had sometimes proved a sort of safety-valve, and if not classic or elegant, it was at least expressive, and the doctor was a man not entirely exempt from human frailties. Mrs. Howell had an income of six hundred dollars per year, and Miss Louise had just twice that amount, and both ladies spent all but a paltry fraction of their money in personal adorning and selfish pleasures. One or two dollars paid monthly to home and foreign missions, an occasional dollar to some other benevolent societies, and cast-off garments grudgingly given to the poor, made up the sum of their charities, and heavy drafts were yearly made upon the doctor's purse to indulge his wife in the pleasures of a summer tour, or some expensive article of dress and ornament. Doubtless the doctor's whistle was inspired by the memory of these trifling incidental expenses, and it might have been an expedient for raising his courage sufficiently to unfold his latest benevolent scheme to his wife, as the unfolding followed immediately upon the decadence of the whistle. "Now, Mary, I'm afraid you'll be a little surprised to Lear of a plan of mine, which, if carried out, will certainly take more of Daisy's time, for a few weeks, than all her other charities." The doctor hesitated a moment, as if hoping that a question from his fair lady might help him over a difficult crossing; but there was no encouragement in the cold, handsome face opposite him, and he took up, somewhat falteringly, it must be confessed, the thread of his discourse. "I have told you how remarkably that little orphan, Edna Shreve, has enlisted my sympathies. I'm afraid no human power can save her, unless she is removed from the Bonsecour to a quiet home, where she can have the most tender and judicious treatment. Both her mind and body received a severe shock during that long storm and wreck, and she is so worn with grief, fatigue, and fever, that she won't take nourishment from the nurse's hands, and I can think of no one who would be strong and tender enough |