Part 6 (1/2)
Houston one of the 'lilies'?”
Jack looked at her inquiringly.
”One of the 'lilies' like Mr. Rutherford,” she explained, ”who 'toil not neither do they spin,' I supposed him one at first, but I think differently now; I believe he would always be a worker of some kind, whether it were necessary or not; at the same time I don't believe it is exactly necessary for him to be a bookkeeper.”
”You seem to have made a study of him,” remarked Jack, quietly.
”Of course,” answered Lyle, ”what else are my eyes and my small stock of brains for, but to study everybody and everything that comes in my way? Besides, it's rather interesting to find a person of some depth, after such shallow people as Mr. Blaisdell and Haight, and that cla.s.s.”
”Sometimes, Lyle,” said Jack, slowly, ”these deep people make a dangerous study; they are likely to become too interesting.”
”Never you fear for me, Jack,” said the girl, with considerable spirit, but kindly, ”I know too well how the world would look upon old Jim Maverick's daughter, to carry my heart on my sleeve.”
Both were silent for a moment, Jack watching her face intently. Mike had left the room. Lyle continued, in a gentler tone,
”Mr. Houston is a perfect gentleman; he would make a safe study for me, even if I didn't realize my position. He reminds me of you, Jack, in some ways.”
”Of me!” said Jack sarcastically, ”your Mr. Houston would doubtless feel nattered at being compared to a weather-beaten miner.”
”You were not always a miner,” retorted Lyle quickly, ”and you are a gentleman, and always will be.”
”In your opinion, child,” said Jack pleasantly; then turning the subject, he asked, ”What do you think of the 'lily' as you styled him, Mr. Rutherford, I think you called his name?”
”Oh, he is a gentlemanly fellow, not so ridiculous as he looks; good-hearted, but not deep like the other,--not half so interesting to study.”
”Very well,” replied Jack, ”go on with your 'study,' but I wish you would make a little more of a study of yourself and of your own life,”
and as he spoke, he carelessly took up a magazine and began turning the pages.
”I don't know why,” answered Lyle slowly, at the same time going over to the table where she had caught sight of a photograph which had evidently been concealed by the magazine, ”my life before you became my friend and teacher would not make an interesting study for any one.--Oh, Jack, whose picture is this? and when did you get it?”
”That?” said Jack, answering indifferently, but watching her face keenly, ”Oh, that is a picture I've had a great while.”
”But, Jack, I never saw it, did I?”
”No, Lyle, I haven't seen it myself for years, until to-night.”
”Not for years? how strange!” said Lyle in a low tone; then looking wistfully at the picture, she said, half to herself, ”She must have been some one you loved some time.”
”She was very dear to me,” he replied, so quietly that Lyle said nothing, but remained looking long and earnestly at the photograph. It was the picture of a young girl, a few years older than herself, but much more matured, and wondrously beautiful. The features were almost perfect, and the eyes, even there, seemed so radiant and tender. There seemed a wealth of love and sympathy in those eyes that touched Lyle's lonely heart, and her own eyes filled with tears, while she gazed as if under a spell; then she asked in a sort of bewildered tone:
”Jack, I never saw her, did I?”
”Certainly not while you have been here,” he replied, ”I cannot say whom you may have seen before that.”
”Before I came here,” repeated Lyle dreamily, laying down the picture and preparing to go, ”that is a sort of blank for the most part. It seems as though this hateful life had obliterated everything before it; the early years of my life seem buried out of sight.”
”Try to resurrect them,” said Jack, adding, ”Keep your eyes and ears open, and let me know results. Had I not better go home with you?”
”Oh, no, thank you,” said Lyle, smiling brightly, ”it isn't late.”