Volume I Part 1 (2/2)
The weather was very warm, as usual at the last of August; and as the expected guests were late in making their appearance, Mr.
Wyllys had undertaken in the mean time to beat his daughter at a game of chess. Elinor, mounted on a footstool, was intent on arranging a sprig of clematis to the best advantage, in the beautiful dark hair of her cousin Jane Graham, who was standing for that purpose before a mirror. A good-looking youth, whom we introduce without farther ceremony as Harry Hazlehurst, was watching the chess-players with some interest. There were also two ladies sitting on a sofa, and as both happened at the time to be inmates of Wyllys-Roof, we may as well mention that the elderly gentlewoman in a cap was Mrs. Stanley, the widow of a connection from whom young Hazlehurst had inherited a large property. Her neighbour, a very pretty woman, neither young nor old, was Mrs. George Wyllys, their host's daughter-in-law, and, as her mourning-dress bespoke her, also a widow. This lady was now on a visit to Wyllys-Roof with her young children, whom, as she frequently observed, she wished to be as much as possible under the influence of their father's family.
Mr. Wyllys's game was interrupted for a moment, just as he was about to make a very good move; a servant came to let him know that a drunken man had been found under a fence near the house.
The fellow, according to Thomas's story, could not be roused enough to give a straight account of himself, nor could he be made to move.
”Is it any one you know, Thomas?” asked Mr. Wyllys.
”No, sir, it's no one from hereabouts. I shouldn't wonder if he was a sailor, by the looks of his trowsers and jacket. I guess it is some loafer on his way to Longbridge.”
What could be done with him? was the question. The ladies did not seem to like the idea of having a drunken man, whom no one knew, brought into the house at night.
”I dare say it is the same person I heard asking the way to Wyllys-Roof this morning, when we stopped at the turnpike-gate,”
observed Mrs. Stanley. ”He looked at the time as if he had been drinking.”
Elinor suggested that possibly it might be some old sailor, who fancied he had a claim upon Mr. Wyllys's kindness--Mr. George Wyllys having died a commander in the navy.
Harry volunteered to go out and take a look at him, and the party in the drawing-room awaited the result of this reconnoitring {sic}. At the end of five minutes Hazlehurst returned with his report.
”As far as I can judge by the help of moonlight and a lantern, it is no very prepossessing personage. He swore at me roundly for disturbing him, and I take it the fellow is really a sailor. I asked him what he wanted at Wyllys-Roof, but we could not make anything out of him. To keep him from mischief, we locked him up in one of the out-houses. It is to be hoped in the morning he will be sober enough to tell his errand.”
The matter thus settled, nothing farther was thought of it at the time, and in another moment the game of chess was won, and the flower secured in a becoming position. Mrs. Stanley had been watching Elinor's movements with a smile.
”You are an expert hair-dresser; the flowers are much prettier as you have arranged them,” said the lady to her young friend.
”Is it not a great improvement? They looked heavy as Jane had arranged them before--I have taken out more than half,” replied Elinor.
Mrs. George Wyllys looked up from the newspaper she was reading, and suggested a change.
”I think the clematis would look better on the other side.”
”Do you really think so, Aunt Harriet? I flattered myself I had been very successful: it strikes me that it looks very well.”
”What is it that looks so well, ladies?” said Mr. Wyllys, rising from the chess-table and drawing near the young people. ”The flower? Yes, the flower and the face are both very pretty, my dear. What is it? a honeysuckle?”
”No indeed, grandpapa,” answered Elinor, ”it is a clematis--this is a honeysuckle, a monthly honeysuckle, which Jane had twisted with it; but to my fancy the clematis is prettier alone, especially as it is so precious--the very last one we could find.”
”Why don't you put the honeysuckle in your own hair, Nelly? it is a very pretty flower. Being queen of the evening, you should certainly wear one yourself.”
”Oh, I never wear flowers, grandpapa; I cannot make them look well in my hair. This bouquet must proclaim my dignity to-night.”
”It is pretty enough, certainly, my child, for any dignity--”
”Is it not rather large?” said Harry. ”Why, Elinor, you have smothered my humble offering in a whole wilderness of sweets!”
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