Part 17 (2/2)
A toss of the head and some trivial remark to her mother was the only answer given by the young lady addressed.
The door opened and lunch was announced. The gentlemen entered soon after, and the conversation became spirited and general.
One thing Rose Washburn could not understand, she was heard to declare to Mrs. Belmont, and that was how George St. Clair could ”devote so much time and attention to 'that menial.'” Of course it was only his excessive gallantry, but he ought to know that it does him no honor.
Mrs. Belmont fully agreed with her young friend, yet showed no disposition to prolong the conversation. Rose also wondered at the unusual dignity and stateliness of the lady, and with renewed admiration for her queenly bearing she remained silent.
The dinner hour arrived at last. The bell had just called but all were not present, and so they waited. The host was in fine spirits. ”Always happy,” as he declared, but pretty generally more so as the day continued to advance. He was a lover of good wine, and unless attentively watched by his careful wife would often lose his boasted manliness after dinner. She had determined to use her influence during the stay of her guests to keep him the genial gentleman she so much desired him to be. He had, however, unknown to her, ordered wine to the library in the morning, but was quite sure he had been temperate in his potations.
”What do you suppose they call those two girls 'Rose' and 'Lily' for?”
he asked, slapping Mr. St. Clair on the shoulder as the bell rang again and the party arose. ”Not because their names are appropriate; that is a fact,” he continued, after his boisterous laugh had died away. ”You never saw a lily with such black spots on it, did you?”
”I have,” remarked the young lady, playfully. ”You will discover that my eyes are not 'black,' but a positive 'red brown,' as Aunt Dinah would say. We have lilies in our garden at home with just such colored spots on them, and we call them 'tiger lilies.' Now is not my name appropriate?”
”Ha! ha! just so. And I reckon you have roses with terrible sharp things about them which say as plainly as words can do, 'hands off,' haven't you?”
”He-he-he, sharp-toed slippers,” squeaked a piping voice from the stairs where they were pa.s.sing.
”Yes, and see how you like it,” exclaimed Rose, making a spring towards him, but with the sprightliness of a squirrel he darted behind a heavy post of the bal.u.s.trades, which unfortunately for the occupant of that dainty slipper received the full force of the blow that was not designed for it.
”I like it, Missus,” called back the provoking little rascal, as he scrambled on all fours up the broad stairway.
”I'll pay him off,” exclaimed Rose, excited with pain and anger. ”If I was not so hungry I would do it now.”
The laugh became general, and to avoid further remark the young lady joined in with them. Yet her cheek burned and she found it difficult to throw aside the unpleasant incident or make herself believe that George St. Clair, who was unusually attentive to her, did not also remember.
But the hour of feasting pa.s.sed agreeably enough, and when the ladies arose to retire, the young gentleman, who seldom took wine, asked the privilege of going with them. This broke up the after dinner _tete a tete_, and they all returned to the parlor. Anna stood by the window looking out over the beautiful landscape, when a voice near her asked in low tones:
”Are you very unhappy here, Anna?” She hesitated a moment before answering, as she looked into the manly face beside her. It was full of truth and anxiety.
”I am very happy, and have to thank you for my pleasure,” was the quiet response.
”I feared I should have to crave your pardon, as I perceive that Miss Rose does not look upon you kindly.”
”You may think it strange, but even this does not give me pain; it only amuses me.”
”That is right. I rejoice that I have not been the means of troubling you when so much desiring your pleasure.”
”Do you play?” inquired Rose, coming up to the window where the two were standing. ”I think Ellen has told me that music is one of the branches you teach.”
”Yes; and I play a little occasionally, as example is more forcible than theory,” was the mischievous response. ”Mr. St. Clair, however, will, without doubt, prefer hearing you, as my attempts would be only a story many times told.”
George looked into the beaming face of his companion, and his own caught the light. ”She spoke truthfully when she said she enjoyed it,” he thought, and taking the hand of the hostess' daughter, drew her arm within his own and led her away to the piano.
”Rose sings very well,” remarked Mr. St. Clair to Mrs. Belmont, who was sitting beside him on the sofa.
”One more,” called out the father, as the last words of the song ”Will You Sometimes Think of Me?” died away or were swallowed up in the dense volume of the elaborate accompaniment.
”What would you like, Father? 'Do They Miss Me at Home?'”
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