Only a Girl's Love. Garvice Charles

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СКАЧАТЬ moment of surprise, Stella was conscious of a sudden reluctant thrill of admiration for the graceful figure in the close-fitting velvet, and the handsome face with its dark eyes regarding her with a grave, respectful intenseness.

      "Back dogs!" he said. "Go back, Vix!" then as they drew back, the big ones throwing themselves down on the path with patient obedience, he came into the room.

      "I beg your pardon," he said, standing before Stella, his head bent. "I thought Mr. Etheridge was alone, or I should not have entered in this rough fashion."

      As he spoke in the lane, so now it was no meaningless excuse, but with a tone of most reverential respect and proud humility, Stella, girl-like, noticed that he did not even venture to hold out his hand, and certainly Mr. Adelstone's self-satisfied smile and assured manner rose in her mind to contrast with this stately, high-bred humility.

      "Do not apologize; it does not matter," she said, conscious that her face had grown crimson and that her eyes were downcast.

      "Does it not? I am forgiven," and he held out his hand.

      Stella had crossed her hands behind her as he entered with an instinctive desire to hide her bare arms and the flour, now she put out her hand a few inches and held it up with a smile.

      "I can't," she said.

      He looked at the white hand – at the white arm so beautifully molded that a sculptor would have sighed over it in despair at his inability to imitate it, and he still held out his hand.

      "I do not mind the flour," he said, not as Mr. Adelstone would have said it, but simply, naturally.

      Stella gave him one small taper finger and he took it and held it for a moment, his eyes smiling into hers; then he relinquished it, with not a word of commonplace compliment, but in silence, and turned to Mr. Etheridge.

      "It is quite hopeless to ask you to forgive me for interrupting you I know, so I won't ask," he said, and there was in his voice, Stella noticed, a frank candor that was almost boyish but full of respect. At once it seemed to intimate that he had known and honored the old man since he, Leycester, was a boy.

      "How are you, my lord?" said Mr. Etheridge, giving him his long, thin hand, but still keeping a hold, as it were, on his beloved easel. "Taking the dogs for a walk? Are they safe? Take care, Stella!"

      For Stella was kneeling down in the midst of them, making friends with the huge mastiff, much to the jealous disgust of the others, who were literally crowding and pushing round her.

      Lord Leycester looked round and was silent for a moment; his eyes fixed on the kneeling girl rather than on the dogs. Then he said, suddenly:

      "They are quite safe," and then he added, for Stella's behalf, "they are quite safe, Miss Etheridge."

      Stella turned her face toward him.

      "I am not afraid. I should as soon think of biting them as they would dream of biting me, wouldn't you?" and she drew the mastiffs great head on to her lap, where it lay with his big eyes looking up at her piteously, as he licked her hand.

      "Great Heavens, what a herd of them!" said Mr. Etheridge, who loved dogs – on canvas.

      "I ought not to have brought them," said Lord Leycester, "but they will be quite quiet, and will do no harm, I assure you."

      "I don't care if they don't bite my niece," said Mr. Etheridge.

      "There is no fear of that," he said, quietly, "or I should not allow her to go near them. Please go on with your work, or I shall think I am a nuisance."

      Mr. Etheridge waved him to a chair.

      "Won't you sit down?" he said.

      Lord Leycester shook his head.

      "I have come to ask you a favor," he said.

      Mr. Etheridge nodded.

      "What is it?"

      Lord Leycester laughed his rare laugh.

      "I am trembling in my shoes," he said. "My tongue cleaves to my mouth with nervousness – "

      The old painter glanced round at him, and his face relaxed into a smile as his eyes rested on the bold, handsome face and easy grace of the speaker.

      "Yes, you look excessively frightened," he said. "What is it?"

      It was noticeable that, excepting in his first greeting, the old man had not given him the benefit of his title; he had known him when Leycester had been a boy, running in and out of the cottage, always followed by a pack of dogs, and generally doing some mischief.

      "I want you to do a little scene for me."

      The old man groaned and looked at his picture firmly.

      "You know the glade in the woods opening out opposite the small island. I want you to paint it."

      "I am sorry," began the old man.

      Lord Leycester went on, interrupting him gently:

      "Have you seen it lately?" he said, and as he spoke Stella came into the room enticing the mastiff after her, with a handful of biscuits she had taken from the cheffonier. "It is very beautiful. It is the loveliest bit on the whole river. Right up from the stream it stretches green, with the young Spring leaves, to the sky above the hill. In the open space between the trees the primroses have made a golden carpet. I saw two kingfishers sailing up it as I stood and looked this morning, and as I looked I thought how well, how delightfully you would put it on canvas. Think! The bright green, the golden foreground, the early Summer sky to crown the whole, and reflected in the river running below."

      Mr. Etheridge paused in his work and listened, and Stella, kneeling over the dog, listened too, with down-bent face, and wondered how the painter could stand so firm and obstinate.

      To her the voice sounded like the sweetest music set to some poem. She saw the picture as he drew it, and in her heart the music of the words and voice found an echoing harmony.

      Forgotten was the other man's warning; vain it would have been if he had repeated it at that moment. As well associate the darkness of a Winter's night with the bright gladness of a Summer's morning, as think of evil in connection with that noble face and musical voice.

      Mr. Etheridge paused, but he shook his head.

      "Very fine, very temptingly put; you are a master of words, Leycester; but I am immovable as a rock. Indeed your eloquence is wasted; it is not an impressionable man whom you address. I, James Etheridge, am on this picture. I am lost in my work, Lord Leycester."

      "You will not do it?"

      The old man smiled.

      "I will not. To another man I should present an excuse, and mask my refusal. With you anything but a simple 'no' is of no avail."

      Lord Leycester smiled and turned away.

      "I am sorry," he said. "I meant it for a present to my sister Lilian."

      Again Stella's eyes turned toward him. This man – infamous!

      The old man put down his brush and turned upon him.

      "Why didn't you say so at first?" he said.

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