Dora Thorne [73]
bough that interfered with the full perfection of the view he heard voices on the other side of the thick, sheltering rose bower.
He listened involuntarily, for one of the voices was clear and pure, the other more richly musical than any he had ever heard at times sweet as the murmur of the cushat dove, and again ringing joyously and brightly.
"I hope we shall not have to wait here long, Lillian," the blithe voice was saying. "Lady Helena promised to take us on the lake."
"It is very pleasant," was the reply; "but you always like to be in the very center of gayety."
"Yes," said Beatrice; "I have had enough solitude and quiet to last me for life. Ah, Lillian, this is all delightful. You think so, but do not admit it honestly as I do."
There was a faint, musical laugh, and then the sweet voice resumed:
"I am charmed, Lillian, with this London life; this is worth calling life--every moment is a golden one. If there is a drawback, it consists in not being able to speak one's mind."
"What do you mean?" asked Lillian.
"Do you not understand?" was the reply. "Lady Helena is always talking to me about cultivating what she calls 'elegant repose.' Poor, dear grandmamma! Her perfect idea of good manners seems to me to be a simple absence--in society, at least--of all emotion and all feeling. I, for one, do not admire the nil admirari system."
"I am sure Lady Helena admires you, Bee," said her sister.
"Yes," was the careless reply. "Only imagine, Lillian, yesterday, when Lady Cairn told me some story about a favorite young friend of hers the tears came to my eyes. I could not help it, although the drawing room was full. Lady Helena told me I should repress all outward emotion. Soon after, when Lord Dolchester told me a ridiculous story about Lady Everton, I laughed--heartily, I must confess, though not loudly--and she looked at me. I shall never accomplish 'elegant repose.'"
"You would not be half so charming if you did," replied her sister.
"Then it is so tempting to say at times what one really thinks! I can not resist it. When Lady Everton tells me, with that tiresome simper of hers, that she really wonders at herself, I long to tell her other people do the same thing. I should enjoy, for once, the luxury of telling Mrs. St. John that people flatter her, and then laugh at her affectation. It is a luxury to speak the truth at all times, is it not, Lily? I detest everything false, even a false word; therefore I fear Lady Helena will never quite approve of my manner."
"You are so frank and fearless! At the Elms, do you remember how every one seemed to feel that you would say just the right thing at the right time?" asked Lillian.
"Do not mention that place," replied Beatrice; "this life is so different. I like it so much, Lily--all the brightness and gayety. I feel good and contented now. I was always restless and longing for life; now I have all I wish for."
There was a pause then, and Lord Airlie longed to see who the speakers were--who the girl was that spoke such frank, bright words--that loved truth, and hated all things false--what kind of face accompanied that voice. Suddenly the young earl remembered that he was listening, and he started in horror from his seat. He pushed aside the clustering roses. At first he saw nothing but the golden blossoms of a drooping laburnum; then, a little further on, he saw a fair head bending over some fragrant flowers; then a face so beautiful, so perfect, that something like a cry of surprise came from Lord Airlie's lips.
He had seen many beauties, but nothing like this queenly young girl. Her dark, bright eyes were full of fire and light; the long lashes swept her cheek, the proud, beautiful lips, so haughty in repose, so sweet when smiling, were perfect in shape. From the noble brow a waving mass of dark hair rippled over a white neck and shapely shoulders. It was a face to think and dream of, peerless in its vivid, exquisite coloring and charmingly molded features. He hardly noticed the fair-haired girl.
"Who can
He listened involuntarily, for one of the voices was clear and pure, the other more richly musical than any he had ever heard at times sweet as the murmur of the cushat dove, and again ringing joyously and brightly.
"I hope we shall not have to wait here long, Lillian," the blithe voice was saying. "Lady Helena promised to take us on the lake."
"It is very pleasant," was the reply; "but you always like to be in the very center of gayety."
"Yes," said Beatrice; "I have had enough solitude and quiet to last me for life. Ah, Lillian, this is all delightful. You think so, but do not admit it honestly as I do."
There was a faint, musical laugh, and then the sweet voice resumed:
"I am charmed, Lillian, with this London life; this is worth calling life--every moment is a golden one. If there is a drawback, it consists in not being able to speak one's mind."
"What do you mean?" asked Lillian.
"Do you not understand?" was the reply. "Lady Helena is always talking to me about cultivating what she calls 'elegant repose.' Poor, dear grandmamma! Her perfect idea of good manners seems to me to be a simple absence--in society, at least--of all emotion and all feeling. I, for one, do not admire the nil admirari system."
"I am sure Lady Helena admires you, Bee," said her sister.
"Yes," was the careless reply. "Only imagine, Lillian, yesterday, when Lady Cairn told me some story about a favorite young friend of hers the tears came to my eyes. I could not help it, although the drawing room was full. Lady Helena told me I should repress all outward emotion. Soon after, when Lord Dolchester told me a ridiculous story about Lady Everton, I laughed--heartily, I must confess, though not loudly--and she looked at me. I shall never accomplish 'elegant repose.'"
"You would not be half so charming if you did," replied her sister.
"Then it is so tempting to say at times what one really thinks! I can not resist it. When Lady Everton tells me, with that tiresome simper of hers, that she really wonders at herself, I long to tell her other people do the same thing. I should enjoy, for once, the luxury of telling Mrs. St. John that people flatter her, and then laugh at her affectation. It is a luxury to speak the truth at all times, is it not, Lily? I detest everything false, even a false word; therefore I fear Lady Helena will never quite approve of my manner."
"You are so frank and fearless! At the Elms, do you remember how every one seemed to feel that you would say just the right thing at the right time?" asked Lillian.
"Do not mention that place," replied Beatrice; "this life is so different. I like it so much, Lily--all the brightness and gayety. I feel good and contented now. I was always restless and longing for life; now I have all I wish for."
There was a pause then, and Lord Airlie longed to see who the speakers were--who the girl was that spoke such frank, bright words--that loved truth, and hated all things false--what kind of face accompanied that voice. Suddenly the young earl remembered that he was listening, and he started in horror from his seat. He pushed aside the clustering roses. At first he saw nothing but the golden blossoms of a drooping laburnum; then, a little further on, he saw a fair head bending over some fragrant flowers; then a face so beautiful, so perfect, that something like a cry of surprise came from Lord Airlie's lips.
He had seen many beauties, but nothing like this queenly young girl. Her dark, bright eyes were full of fire and light; the long lashes swept her cheek, the proud, beautiful lips, so haughty in repose, so sweet when smiling, were perfect in shape. From the noble brow a waving mass of dark hair rippled over a white neck and shapely shoulders. It was a face to think and dream of, peerless in its vivid, exquisite coloring and charmingly molded features. He hardly noticed the fair-haired girl.
"Who can