Only a Girl's Love. Garvice Charles

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      "He has spoken of her?" he said.

      Stella could have bitten her tongue out for the slip.

      "Yes," she said. "He – he told me about her – I asked him whose house it was upon the hills."

      "Meaning the Hall?" he said, pointing with his whip.

      "Yes, and he told me. I knew by the way he spoke of your sister that he was fond of her. Her name is Lilian, is it not?"

      "Yes," he said, "Lilian," and the name left his lips with soft tenderness. "I think every one who knows her loves her. This picture is for her."

      Stella glanced up at his face; anything less imperious at that moment it would be impossible to imagine.

      "Lady Lilian is fond of pictures?" she said.

      "Yes," he said; "she is devoted to art in all its forms. Yes, that little sketch will give her more pleasure than – than – I scarcely know what to say. What are women most fond of?"

      Stella laughed.

      "Diamonds, are they not?"

      "Are you fond of them?" he said. "I think not."

      "Why not?" she retorted. "Why should I not have the attributes of my sex? Yes, I am fond of diamonds. I am fond of everything that is beautiful and costly and rare. I remember once going to a ball at Florence."

      He looked at her.

      "Only to see it!" she exclaimed. "I was too young to be seen, and they took me in a gallery overlooking the great salon; and I watched the great ladies in their beautiful dresses and shining gems, and I thought that I would give all the world to be like one of them; and the thought spoiled my enjoyment. I remember coming away crying; you see it was so dark and solitary in the great gallery, and I felt so mean and insignificant." And she laughed.

      He was listening with earnest interest. Every word she said had a charm for him; he had never met any girl – any woman – like her, so frank and open-minded. Listening to her was like looking into a crystal lake, in which everything is revealed and all is bright and pure.

      "And are you wiser now?" he asked.

      "Not one whit!" she replied. "I should like now, less than then, to be shut up in a dark gallery and look on at others enjoying themselves. Isn't that a confession of an envious and altogether wicked disposition?"

      "Yes," he assented, with a strange smile barely escaping from under his tawny mustache. "I should be right in prophesying all sorts of bad endings to you."

      As he spoke he opened the gate for her, driving the dogs back with a crack of his whip so that she might pass first – a small thing, but characteristic of him.

      The painter looked up.

      "Keep those dogs off my back, Leycester," he said. "Well, Stella, have you concocted your poison?"

      Stella went and looked over his shoulder.

      "Yes, uncle," she said.

      "You have been long enough to make twenty indigestible compounds," he said, gazing at the view he was sketching.

      Stella bent her head, to hide the blush which rose as she remembered how slowly they had walked across the meadows.

      "How are you getting on?" said Lord Leycester.

      The old man grunted.

      "Pretty well; better than I shall now you have come to fidget about."

      Lord Leycester laughed.

      "A pretty plain hint that our room is desired more than our company, Miss Etheridge. Can we not vanish into space?"

      Stella laughed and sank down on the grass.

      "It is uncle's way of begging us to stay," she said.

      Lord Leycester laughed, and sending the dogs off, flung himself down almost at her feet.

      "Did I exaggerate?" he said, pointing his whip at the view.

      "Not an atom," replied Stella. "It is beautiful – beautiful, and that is all that one can find to say."

      "I wish you would be content to say it and not insist upon my painting it," replied Mr. Etheridge.

      Lord Leycester sprang to his feet.

      "That is the last straw. We will not remain to be abused, Miss Etheridge," he said.

      Stella remained immovable. He came and stood over her, looking down at her with wistful eagerness in silence.

      "What lovely woods," she said. "You were right; they are carpeted with primroses. We have none in our meadow."

      "Would you like to go and get some?" he asked.

      Stella turned her face up to him.

      "Yes, but I don't care to swim across."

      He smiled, and went down to the bank, unfastened a boat, and leaping into it, called to her.

      Stella sprang to her feet with the impulsive delight of a girl at the sight of a boat, when she had expected nothing better than rushes.

      "Is it a boat – really?" she exclaimed.

      "Come and see," he said.

      She went down to the water's edge and looked at it.

      "How did it come there?" she asked.

      "I pay a fairy to drop a boat from the skies whenever I want it."

      "I see," said Stella, gravely.

      He laughed.

      "How did you think I came across? Did you think I swam?" and he arranged a cushion.

      She laughed.

      "I forgot that; how stupid of me."

      "Will you step in?" he said.

      Stella looked back at her uncle, and hesitated a moment.

      "He will assure you that I shall not drown you," he said.

      "I am not afraid – do you think I am afraid?" she said, scornfully.

      "Yes, I think that at this moment you are trembling with nervousness and dread."

      She put her foot – he could not help seeing how small and shapely it was – on the gunwale, and he held out his hand and took hers; it was well he did so, for the boat was only a small, lightly built gig, and her sudden movement had made it rock.

      As it was, she staggered slightly, and he had to take her by the arm. So, with one hand grasping her hand and the other her arm, he held her for a moment – for longer than a moment. Then he placed her on the cushion, and seating himself, took up the sculls and pushed off.

      Stella leant back, and of course dropped one hand in the water. Not one woman out of twenty who ever sat in a СКАЧАТЬ