Only a Girl's Love by Charles Garvice (the rosie project TXT) 📕

the earl approached them, and Stella saw a tall, thin, noble-looking man bending before her as if he were expecting a touch of her hand.

"How do you do, Mr. Etheridge? We have managed to entice you from your hermitage at last, eh? How do you do, Miss Etheridge? I hope you didn't feel the cold driving."

Stella smiled, and she knew why every approach was screened by curtains.

The earl drew the painter aside, and the countess, just laying her fingers on Stella's arm, guided her to the old countess of Longford.

"Mr. Etheridge's niece," she said; then, to Stella, "This is Lady Longford."

Stella was conscious of a pair of keen gray eyes fixed on her face.

"Glad to know you, my dear," said the old lady. "Come and sit beside me, and tell me about your uncle; he is a wonderful man, but a very wicked one."

"Wicked!" said Stella.

"Yes, wicked," repeated the old lady, with a smile on her wrinkled face. "All obstinate people are wicked; and he is obstinate because he persists in hiding himself away instead of coming into the world and consenting to be famous, as he should be."

Stella's heart warmed directly.

"But perhaps now that you have come, you will persuade him to leave his shell."

"Do you mean the cottage? I don't think anything would persuade him to leave that. Why should he? He is quite happy."

The countess looked at her.

"That's a sensible retort," she said. "Why should he? I don't know—I don't know what to answer. But I owe him a[69] grudge. Do you know that he has persistently refused to come and see me, though I have almost gone on my knees to him?"

Stella smiled.

"He does not care to go anywhere," she said. "If he went anywhere, I am sure he would come to you."

The old countess glanced at her approvingly.

"That was nicely said," she murmured. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen," said Stella, simply.

"Then you have inherited your uncle's brains," the old lady replied, curtly. "It is not given to every girl to say the right thing at nineteen."

Stella blushed, and looked round the room.

There were ten or twelve persons standing and sitting about, some of them beautiful women, exquisitely dressed, talking to some gentlemen; but Lord Leycester was not amongst the latter. She was conscious of that, although she scarcely knew that she was looking for him. She wondered which was Lady Lenore. There was a tall, fair girl leaning against the piano, but somehow Stella did not think it was the famous beauty.

The clock on the bracket struck eight, and she saw the earl take out his watch and glance at it mechanically; and as he did so, a voice behind her said:

"Dinner is served, my lady."

Nobody took any notice however, and the countess did not show by sign or look that she heard. Suddenly the curtains at the other end of the room were swung apart, and a tall form entered.

Though her eyes were fixed on another part of the room, she knew who it was, and for a moment she would not look that way, then she directed her eyes slowly, and saw that her instinct had not misled her.

It was Leycester!

For a moment she was conscious of a feeling of surprise. She thought she knew him well, but in that instant he looked so different that he seemed almost a stranger.

She had not seen him before in evening dress, and the change from the velvet coat and knickerbockers to the severe, but aristocratic, black suit struck her.

Like all well-made, high-bred men he looked at his best in the dress which fashion has decreed shall be the evening costume of gentlemen. She had thought him handsome, noble, in the easy, careless suit of velvet, she knew that he was distinguished looking in his suit of evening sables.

With his hand upon the curtain he stood, his head erect, his eyes not eagerly, but commandingly, scanning the room.

She could not tell why or how she knew, but she knew that he was looking for her.

Presently he sees her, and a subtle change came over his face, it was not a smile so much as a look of satisfaction, and she knew again that a frown would have settled on his white brow if she whom he sought had not been there.

[70]

With a high but firm step he came across the room and stood before her, holding out his hand.

"You have come," he said; "I thought you would not come. It is very kind of Mr. Etheridge."

She gave him her hand without a word. She knew that the keen gray eyes of the old lady beside her were fixed on her face. He seemed to remember too, for in a quieter, more commonplace, tone, he added:

"I am late; it is an habitual fault of mine."

"It is," said the old countess.

He turned his smile upon her.

"Are you going to scold me?"

"I am not fond of wasting my time," she said. "Come and sit down for a minute if you can."

He glanced at the clock.

"Am I not keeping you all waiting?" he said.

Lady Longford shook her head.

"No; we are waiting for Lenore."

"Then she is not here!" thought Stella.

"Oh, Lenore!" he said, with a smile. "Well, no one will dare to scold her."

As he spoke the curtain parted, and someone entered.

Framed by the curtain that fell behind her in crimson folds stood a girl—not yet a woman, for all her twenty-three years—of wonderful beauty, with deep golden hair and violet eyes.

Stella knew her at once from her uncle's description, but it was not the beauty that surprised her and made her start; it was something more than that. It was the nameless, indescribable charm which surrounded her; it was the grace which distinguished her figure, her very attitude.

She stood a moment, with a faint half-smile upon her lips, looking round; then she glided with a peculiar movement, that struck Stella as grace itself, to Lady Wyndward, and bent her head down to the countess.

Stella could not hear what she said, but she knew that she was apologizing for her tardiness by the way the earl, who was standing by, smiled at her. Yes, evidently Lady Lenore would not be scolded for keeping dinner waiting.

Stella sat watching her; she felt her eyes riveted to her in fact, and suddenly she was aware that the violet eyes were fixed on hers.

She saw the beautiful lips move, saw the earl make answer, and then watched them move together across the room.

Whither were they going? To her surprise they came toward her and stopped in front of her.

"Miss Etheridge," said the earl, in his low, subdued voice, "let me introduce Lady Lenore Beauchamp to you."

Stella looked up, and met the violet eyes fixed on her.

For a moment she was speechless; the eyes, so serene and full and commanding, seemed to seek out her soul and to read every thought it held; to read it so closely and clearly that her own eyes dropped; then with an effort she held out her hand, and as the great beauty's closed softly over it she raised her lids again,[71] and so they stood looking at each other, and Lord Leycester stood beside with the characteristic smile on his face.

CHAPTER XI.

As Stella looked up at the great beauty, she felt for the first time that her own dress, pretty as it was, was only sateen. She had not been conscious of it before, but she felt it now in the presence of this exquisitely-dressed woman. In very truth, Lady Lenore was well-dressed; it was not only that her costumes came from Redfern's or Worth's, and her millinery from Louise, but Lenore had acquired the art of wearing the productions of these artistes. When looking at her, one was forcibly reminded of the Frenchman's saying, that the world was divided into two classes—the people who were clothed and the people who wore their clothes. Lady Lenore belonged to those who wear their clothes; the beautiful dress sat upon her as if she had been made to it, instead of it to her; not a piece of lace, not a single article of jewelry, but sat in its place gracefully and artistically.

To-night she wore a dress composed of some soft and readily-draping material, neither cashmere nor satin—some one of the new materials which have come over from the far east, and of which we scarcely yet know the names. It was of the most delicate shade of grayish-blue, which was brought out and accentuated by the single camellia resting amidst the soft lace on her bosom. The arms were bare from the elbows, exquisitely, warmly white and beautifully formed; one heavy bracelet, set with huge Indian pearls, lined the wrist; there were similar huge pearls in the rings on her fingers, and in the pendant which hung by a seed-pearl necklace.

Imagine a beautiful, an almost faultlessly-beautiful face, rising from the delicate harmony of color—imagine a pair of dark eyes, now blue, now violet, as she stood in repose or smiled, and fringed, by long, silken lashes—and you may imagine the bare material outward beauty of Lenore Beauchamp, but no words can describe what really was the charm of the face—its wonderful power of expression, its eloquent mobility, which, even when the eyes and lips were in repose, drew you to watching and waiting for them to speak.

Stella, though she had scarcely heard those lips utter a word knew what her uncle meant when he said that there was a peculiar fascination about her which went beyond her mere beauty; and, as she looked, a strange feeling crossed Stella's mind. She remembered an old story which she had heard years ago, when she was sitting on the lap of her Italian nurse—the story of the strange and beautiful Indian serpent which sits beneath the tree, and fixing its eyes upon the bird overhead, draws and charms it with its spell, until the bird drops senseless and helpless to its fate.

But even as she thought of this she was ashamed of the idea, for there is nothing serpent-like in Lenore's beauty; only this Stella thought, that if ever those eyes and lips smiled and murmured[72] to a man "I love you," that man must drop; resistance would be vain and useless.

All this takes long to write; it flashed across Stella's mind in a moment, even as they looked at each other in silence; then at last Lady Lenore spoke.

"Have you been gathering primroses to-day?" she said, with a smile.

It was a strange way of beginning an acquaintance, and Stella felt the color mount to her face; the words recalled the whole of the scene of yesterday morning. The speaker intended that they should.

"No," she said, "not to-day."

"Miss Etheridge gathered enough yesterday for a week, did you not?" said Lord Leycester, and the voice sounded to Stella like an assistance. She half glanced at him gratefully, and met his eyes fixed on her with a strange light in them that caused hers to drop again.

"I must find this wonderful flower-land," said Lady Lenore. "Lilian was quite eloquent about it last night."

"We shall be happy to act as pioneers in the discovery," he said, and Stella could not help noticing the "we." Did he mean she and he?

At that moment Lady Wyndward came toward them, and murmured something to him, and he left them and offered his arm to a lady at the other end of the room; then Lady Wyndward waved her fan slightly and smiled, and a tall, thin, fair-haired man came up.

"Lord Charles, will you take charge of Miss Etheridge?"

Lord Guildford bowed and offered his arm.

"I shall be delighted," he said, and he smiled down at Stella in his frank way.

There was a general movement, ladies and gentlemen were pairing off and moving toward the door, beside which stood the two footmen, with the solemn air of soldiers attending an execution.

"Seven minutes late," said Lord Charles, glancing up at the clock as they passed. "We must chalk that up to Lady Lenore. I admire and envy her courage, don't you, Miss Etheridge? I should no more dare to be late for dinner at Wyndward than—than—what's the most audacious thing you can think of?"

Stella smiled; there was something catching in the light-hearted, frank, and free tones of the young viscount.

"Standing on a sofa in muddy boots has always been my idea of a great social crime," she said.

He laughed approvingly, and his laugh seemed to float lightly through the quiet room.

"That's good—that's awfully good!" he said, with intense enjoyment. "Standing on a sofa—that's awfully good! Must tell Leycester that! Did you ever do it, by the way?"

"Never," said Stella, gravely, but with a smile.

"No!" he said. "Do you know I think you are capable of it if you were provoked?"

"Provoked?" said Stella.

[73]

"Dared, I mean," he explained. "You