Buell Hampton. Emerson Willis George

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      “On the contrary,” replied Hugh, “it is a very uninteresting one. I am an only child. My father lost his life in the war, and my mother died while I was yet very young – so there you have my genealogy in a nutshell.”

      “And have you traveled abroad?”

      “No, I have not as yet treated myself to that pleasure. I have been somewhat of a student. My earlier years were spent with books. After leaving college I engaged in business, and have really had no time for travel.”

      “Oh, then you are a brain-worker,” said Ethel, smiling. “I like brain-workers,” and her eyes wandered afar down the valley. She was thinking of Jack Redfield.

      Hugh interpreted her words as a compliment, and he marveled at the mysteries of women. He was sure that Dr. Lenox Avondale was unworthy of this beautiful girl. He mentally determined to question Mrs. Osborn in regard to Ethel’s betrothal on their way home that evening.

      “Come often and without formality,” was the pressing invitation extended to Hugh as he prepared to go.

      “Just drop in at any time,” said John Horton, “and you will always find a welcome.”

      Hugh assured them that he would take advantage of their kind invitation, and when he and Mrs. Osborn started away down the country road he told her that he had never spent a more pleasant evening in his life.

      “You must not forget what I told you,” said she, looking volumes at him with her expressive eyes.

      “Oh, you mean in regard to Miss Ethel,” said Hugh, innocently.

      “That is exactly what I mean,” replied Mrs. Osborn, laughing. “I told you that she was spoken for, and, now mind, you must behave or I shall not take you to the Hortons again.”

      Hugh laughed good-naturedly, and presently said: “Mrs. Osborn, is there no way to break that Englishman’s head? I hardly think it’s fair to lose such a jewel as Miss Ethel from the Southwest.”

      “I knew it,” said Mrs. Osborn, looking archly at Hugh. “I knew you were a silly fellow who would fall in love at the slightest provocation. I know of no way you could break Doctor Lenox Avondale’s head, but I have an idea that he is a sufficiently determined Englishman to play sad havoc with yours, should you interfere with Miss Ethel.”

      “Do you call Miss Ethel a ‘slight provocation’.” inquired Hugh.

      “Well, perhaps not so slight as some others might be,” replied Mrs. Osborn, condescendingly.

      “Put your mind at rest,” Hugh continued, “for I did not lose my heart irretrievably, as you seem to suppose. The young lady appeals to my chivalry and respect, and I am sure I would be quite satisfied if she were my friend and I had the right to ward off a danger if I saw it approaching her.”

      Mrs. Osborn laughed softly to herself, and looked incredulously at Hugh.

      “I presume you think that I am modest in my wishes,” said Hugh, “or, possibly, you quite disbelieve me, but I assure you I state truthfully my position.”

      “That may be your position to-night,” said Mrs. Osborn, “but what will it be to-morrow or next week or next month? Ah, I know you men too well to believe in your platonic friendships. A woman may successfully maintain such a feeling, – a man, never.”

      Hugh made no reply, and for awhile they drove on in silence. As they alighted from the carriage at the Osborn door, she laid a hand on Hugh’s arm, and, bending toward him, she asked, in a soft, pleading voice:

      “What would you give – what would you do for a friend who would tell you how to supplant Doctor Lenox Avondale?”

      Hugh drew himself away in surprise and answered, “Nothing, Mrs. Osborn, absolutely, nothing. If the Englishman is Miss Ethel’s choice, then he is my choice.”

      The intense and passionate expression on her face gave way to an assumed one of listless drollery, and she smiled. “How charming – what a valiant knight you are. I admire such men, I do indeed. Of course you know I was only jesting, for I assure you no one could supplant Doctor Lenox Avondale. He is quite secure – quite secure indeed.”

      CHAPTER XI. – DADDY’. CONSENT

      ETHEL HORTON remained on the veranda watching Mrs. Osborn’s carriage as it disappeared in the gathering darkness. Her mother complained of fatigue and retired to her room. In reply to an inquiry from her father, Ethel said:

      “Oh, yes, daddy, I like Mr. Stanton very much. He is quite interesting. I think your tastes and mine are much alike anyway, don’t you?”

      “I think they are,” replied the cattle king, gallantly, “although it is a compliment to me, rather than to you, my little girl.”

      Ethel laughed. “I say, daddy, you can make as fine speeches as any of them. I don’t think you are a bit stupid,” and the girl crossed over to her father and, nestling up close to him, was soon seated on his knee.

      “This is something like old times,” said her father, as he clasped her closer to him. The moon was climbing over the eastern horizon, causing the waters of the little lake below to appear like a sheet of silver, while the rough edges of the rippling waves were as golden as the sunflowers that grew at the margin. It was an hour for girlish confidences, and one that Ethel determined to improve.

      “Did you ever think,” inquired her father, teasingly, “that I was especially stupid?”

      “No, daddy, I really never did; but, do you know, in England they boast a great deal, in quiet ways, about Englishmen, and all that sort of thing, and if you are an American they make you feel fidgety, as if having been born in America were a calamity.”

      “That’s all nonsense,” replied her father, “don’t let your little head be turned by that sort of rubbish. To be an American, Ethel, in my mind, is a greater good fortune than to have been born a member of the most distinguished of England’s titled aristocracy. Understand me, daughter,” he continued, “the English are a great nation, but titles, of which some boast so much, had a beginning, and the conditions that surrounded their forefathers, and gave them an opportunity to do deeds of valor, are also here in America, developing the sterling qualities of manhood in their highest perfection.”

      “Bravo!” cried Ethel. “That’s good, daddy; it makes my American blood just tingle. It’s better than a feast to hear you talk. I wish,” she continued, half petulantly, “I had never gone away to that London school.”

      “No, Ethel,” replied her father, as he gently stroked her heavy, dark tresses, “no, you must not say that. It was your mother’s best judgement that you should go; and her ideas and tastes are of a very high order. I have been lonely during the four years of your absence. But life again seems complete now that you are at home.”

      “Do you believe, daddy, that the best class of Americans care for titles, royalty, or anything of that sort?”

      “My dear child, many wearers of English titles nowadays are but twaddling idlers – frayed remnants of a former illustrious ancestry. Whatever other views you may entertain, never believe that there is anything in a mere title. True manliness tells; and titled or not, a man is a man if he possess the sterling qualities of manhood. I would not disparage any man simply because he bore a title, neither would I give him a hair’s-breadth СКАЧАТЬ