Only a Girl's Love. Garvice Charles

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СКАЧАТЬ expectation was not doomed to disappointment. The voice sounded on the stairs, in the hall, and a moment afterward the door opened and Stella stood looking smilingly into the room.

      If he had thought her beautiful and winsome on that first evening of her coming, when she was weary with anxiety and traveling, and dressed in dust-stained clothes, be sure he thought her more beautiful still, now that the light heart felt free to reveal itself, and the shabby dress had given place to the white and simple but still graceful morning gown.

      Mrs. Penfold had worked hard during those three days, and with the aid of the Dulverfield milliner had succeeded in filling a small wardrobe for "her young lady," as she had learned to call her. The old artist, ignorant of the power of women in such direction, had watched the transformation with inward amazement and delight, and was never tired of hearing about dresses, and hats, jackets, and capes, and was rather disappointed than otherwise when he found that the grand transformation had been effected at a very small cost.

      Bright and beautiful she stood, like a vision of youth and health in the doorway, her dark eyes laughingly contemplating the old man's gentle stare of wonder—the look which always came into his eyes when she appeared.

      "Did I disturb you by my piping, uncle?" she asked as she kissed him.

      "Oh no, my dear," he answered, "I like to hear you—I like to hear you."

      She leant against his shoulder, and looked at his work.

      "How beautiful it is!" she murmured. "How quickly it grows. I heard you come down this morning, and I meant to get up, but I was so tired—lazy, wasn't I?"

      "No, no!" he said, eagerly. "I am sorry I disturbed you. I came down as quietly as I could. I knew you would be tired after your dissipation. You must tell me all about it."

      "Yes, come to breakfast and I will tell you."

      "Must I?" he said, glancing at his picture reluctantly.

      He had been in the habit of eating his breakfast by installments, painting while he ate a mouthful and drank his cup of coffee, but Stella insisted upon his changing what she called a very wicked habit.

      "Yes, of course! See how nice it looks," and she drew him gently to the table and forced him into a chair.

      The old man submitted with a sigh that was not altogether one of regret, and still humming she sat opposite the urn and began to fill the cups.

      "And did you enjoy yourself?" he asked, gazing at her dreamily.

      "Oh, very much; they were so kind. Mrs. Hamilton is the dearest old lady; and the doctor—what makes him smile so much, uncle?"

      "I don't know. I think doctors generally do."

      "Oh, very well. Well, he was very kind too, and so were the Miss Hamiltons. It was very nice indeed, and they took so much notice of me—asked me all sorts of questions. Sometimes I scarcely knew what to answer. I think they thought because I had been brought up in Italy, I ought to have spoken with a strong accent, and looked utterly different to themselves. I think they were a little disappointed, uncle."

      "Oh," he said, "and who else was there?"

      "Oh, the clergyman, Mr. Fielding—a very solemn gentleman indeed. He said he didn't see much of you, and hoped he should see me in church."

      Mr. Etheridge rubbed his head and looked rather guilty.

      "I expect that was a back-handed knock for me, Stella," he said rather ruefully. "You see I don't go to church often. I always mean to go, but I generally forget the time, or I wander into the fields, or up into the woods, and forget all about the church till it's too late."

      "But that's very wicked, abominably so," said Stella, gravely, but with a twinkle in her dark eyes. "I must look after your morals as well as your meals, I see, uncle."

      "Yes," he assented, meekly—"do, do."

      "Well, then there was a Mr. Adelstone, a young gentleman from London. He was quite the lion of the evening. I think he was a nephew of Mr. Fielding's."

      The old man nodded.

      "Yes; and did you like him?"

      Stella thought a moment, holding the cream-jug critically over the coffee-cup.

      "Not much, uncle. It was very wrong, and very bad taste, I am afraid, for they all seemed to admire him immensely, and so did he himself."

      Mr. Etheridge looked at her rather alarmed.

      "I must say, Stella, you get too critical. I don't think we are quite used to it."

      She laughed.

      "I don't fancy Mr. Adelstone was at all conscious of adverse criticism; he seemed quite satisfied with everybody, himself in particular. He certainly was beautifully dressed, and he had the dearest little hands and feet in the world; and his hair was parted to a hair, and as smooth as a black-and-tan terrier's; so that he had some grounds for satisfaction."

      "What did he do to offend you, Stella?" asked the old man, rather shrewdly.

      She laughed again, and a little touch of color came into her face, but she answered quite frankly:

      "He paid me compliments, uncle."

      "That doesn't offend your sex generally, Stella."

      "It offends me," said Stella, quickly. "I—I detest them! especially when the man who pays them does it with a self-satisfied smile which shows that he is thinking more of his own eloquence and gallantry than of the person he is flattering."

      The old man looked at her.

      "Will you oblige me by telling me your age again?" he said.

      She laughed.

      "Am I too wise, uncle? Well, never mind—I'll promise to be good and stupid, if you like. But you are not eating any breakfast; and you must not keep looking at that odious easel all the time, as if you were longing to get back to it. Did you ever see a jealous woman?"

      "No, never."

      "Well, if you don't want to, you must not confine all your attention to your work."

      "I don't think there is much fear of that when you are near," he said, meekly.

      She laughed, and jumped up to kiss him with delight.

      "Now that was a splendid compliment, sir! You are improving rapidly—Mr. Adelstone himself couldn't have done it more neatly."

      Scarcely had the words left her lips than the door opened.

      "Mr. Adelstone," said Mrs. Penfold.

      A young man, tall and dark, and faultlessly dressed, stood in the doorway, his hat in one hand, a bouquet of flowers in the other. He was undeniably good-looking, and as he stood with a smile upon his face, looked at his best. A severe critic might have found fault with his eyes, and said that they were a little too small and a little too near together, might СКАЧАТЬ