Only a Girl's Love. Garvice Charles

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Stella rang for cup and saucer and plates, and poured him out some coffee; and he plunged into small talk with the greatest ease, his keen eyes watching every graceful turn of Stella's arm, and glancing now and again at the beautiful face.

      It was very good small talk, and amusing. Mr. Adelstone was one of those men who had seen everything. He talked of the London season that was just coming on, to Stella, who sat and listened, half amused, half puzzled, for London was an unknown land to her, and the string of names, noble and fashionable, which fell from his ready tongue, was entirely strange to her.

      Then he talked of the coming Academy to Mr. Etheridge, and seemed to know all about the pictures that were going to be exhibited, and which ones would make a stir, and which would fail. Then he addressed himself to Stella again.

      "You must pay London a visit, Miss Etheridge; there is no place like it the whole world through – not even Paris or Rome."

      Stella smiled.

      "It is not very likely that I shall see London for a long time. My uncle does not often go, although it is so near, do you?"

      "No, no," he assented, "not often."

      "Perhaps you are to be congratulated," said Mr. Adelstone. "With all its charms, I am glad to get away from it."

      "You live there?" said Stella.

      "Yes," he said, quietly, welcoming the faint look of interest in her eyes. "Yes; I live in chambers, as it is called, in one of the old law inns. I am a lawyer!"

      Stella nodded.

      "I know. You wear a long black gown and a wig."

      He smiled.

      "And address a jury; and do you say 'm'lud' instead of 'my lord,' as people in novels always make barristers say?"

      "I don't know; perhaps I do," he answered, with a smile; "but I don't address a jury, or have an opportunity of calling a judge 'my lud,' or 'my lord,' often. Most of my work is done at my chambers. I am very glad to get down into the country for a holiday."

      "Are you going to stay long?" asked Mr. Etheridge, with polite interest.

      Mr. Adelstone paused a moment, and glanced at Stella before answering.

      "I don't know," he said. "I meant going back to-day, but – I think I have changed my mind."

      Stella was only half listening, but the words caused her to start. They were the same as those which Lord Leycester had uttered three nights ago.

      Mr. Adelstone's keen eyes saw the start, and he made a mental note of it.

      "Ah! it is beautiful weather," said Mr. Etheridge. "It would be a pity to leave Wyndward for London now."

      "Yes: I shall be more than ever sorry to go now," said Mr. Adelstone, and his glance rested for a moment on Stella's face, but it was quite lost, for Stella's eyes were fixed on the scene beyond the window dreamily.

      With almost a start she turned to him.

      "Let me give you some more coffee!"

      "No, thanks," he said; then, as Stella rose and rang the bell, he walked to the easel. "That will be a beautiful picture, Mr. Etheridge," he said, viewing it with a critical air.

      "I don't know," said the artist, simply.

      "You will exhibit it?"

      "I never exhibit anything," was the quiet reply.

      "No! I am surprised!" exclaimed the young man, but there was something in the quiet manner of the old man that stopped any further questions.

      "No," said Mr. Etheridge; "why should I? I have" – and he smiled – "no ambition. Besides I am an old man, I have had my chance; let the young ones take theirs, I leave them room. You are fond of art?"

      "Very," said Mr. Adelstone. "May I look round?"

      The old man waved his hand, and took up his brush.

      Jasper Adelstone wandered round the room, taking up the canvases and examining them; Stella stood at the window humming softly.

      Suddenly she heard him utter an involuntary exclamation, and turning round saw that he had the portrait of Lord Leycester in his hand.

      His face was turned toward her, and as she turned quickly, he was in time to catch a sinister frown of dislike, which rested for a moment on his face, but vanished as he raised his eyes and met hers.

      "Lord Leycester," he said, with a smile and an uprising of the eyebrows. "A remarkable instance of an artist's power."

      "What do you mean?" asked Stella, quietly, but with lowered eyes.

      "I mean that it is a fair example of ideality. Mr. Etheridge has painted a likeness of Lord Leycester, and added an ideal poetry of his own."

      "You mean that it is not like him?" she said.

      Mr. Etheridge painted on, deaf to both of them.

      "No," he said, looking at the picture with a cold smile. "It is like him, but it – honors him. It endows him with a poetry which he does not possess."

      "You know him?" said Stella.

      "Who does not?" he answered, and his thin lips curled with a smiling sneer.

      A faint color came into Stella's face, and she raised her eyes for a moment.

      "What do you mean?"

      "I mean that Lord Leycester has made himself too famous – I was going to say infamous – "

      A vivid crimson rushed to her face, and left it pale again the next instant.

      "Do not," she said, then added quickly, "I mean do not forget that he is not here to defend himself."

      He looked at her with a sinister scrutiny.

      "I beg your pardon. I did not know he was a friend of yours," he said.

      She raised her eyes and looked at him steadily.

      "Lord Leycester is no friend of mine," she said, quietly.

      "I am glad of it," he responded.

      Stella's eyes darkened and deepened in a way peculiar to her, and her color came. It was true that Lord Leycester was no friend of hers, she had but seen and spoken with him by chance, and for a few moments; but who was this Mr. Adelstone that he should presume to be glad or sorry on her account?

      He was quick to see that he had made a slip, and quick to recover himself.

      "Pray forgive me if I have presumed too far upon our slight acquaintance, but I was only thinking at that moment that you had been so short a time in England as to be ignorant of people who are well known to us with whom they have lived, and that you would not know Lord Leycester's real character."

      Stella inclined her head gravely. Something within her stirred her to take up arms in the absent man's defense; the one word "infamous," stuck and rankled in her mind.

      "You said СКАЧАТЬ