Buell Hampton. Emerson Willis George
dissimilar, but their very dissimilarity seemed to bind them more closely together. They had both become tinctured with the weakness of title-worship, and perhaps the most cherished wish of Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton was that Ethel should marry into some titled English family.
“I do wonder,” she sighed, “if there are any people desirable for one to know stopping at the hotel.”
“Very doubtful,” lamented Mrs. Osborn. “The fewer Americans we know the better for us when among our friends on the other side.”
“Quite true,” assented the other, devoutly.
“It is so embarrassing, when one is among one’s English friends, to have American acquaintances intruding themselves. Oh, here comes Ethel!” observed Mrs. Horton.
“Oh, mamma!” cried Ethel, as she came running toward them, all out of breath, “our side won.”
“Why, Ethel, what have you been doing?” exclaimed her mother, as she held up her hands in amazement.
“I have just finished the jolliest game of tennis I ever played in my life; and my! did n’t we do them up!”
“Such language, Ethel; do you know – ”
“Why, mamma, if you could have seen how we Americans vanquished two rum Englishmen you would have shouted ‘Hail Columbia’ and ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ forever!”
“Ethel, Ethel, such language is so unbecoming!”
“I know, mamma, but I am in America once more, and I feel in a ‘Hail Columbia’ sort of mood. There,” said she, “and there,” as she stooped and kissed her mother affectionately. “Now don’t scold me any more. My, but I am having lots of fun.”
Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton adjusted her glasses, which had been displaced by Ethel’s impetuous embrace, and inquired, “Did you say that there were some English families stopping at the hotel, Ethel?”
“Yes, mamma, the Countess Berwyn and Lady Somebody – I don’t remember her name – and her son and an English friend of his.”
“Not such an undesirable place to stop, after all,” remarked Mrs. Lyman Osborn.
“No, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton. “But really, Ethel, you must be more particular. You must not speak so disrespectfully of our English friends. You know we have so many across the water.”
“Why, mamma, I am not disrespectful; I am only happy, and so glad that I am home again in my own country. Well, bye-bye, I must go and dress for dinner – Oh, yes, will Doctor Redfield be here this evening?”
“I presume so,” answered her mother, inquiringly, “but why do you ask?”
“Oh, nothing,” replied Ethel, and she hurried away – with her young face all aglow with happiness.
“Brimming over with animation!” said Mrs. Osborn, as she looked at the retreating form of the girl. “Together we must control spirited Ethel until she is safely anchored in the harbor of English nobility.”
“Yes, indeed, we must,” acquiesced Mrs. Horton; “and it is very kind of you to take so much interest in helping me.”
Ethel Horton was a tall and stately girl. She had laughing eyes, pouting red lips, and teeth that resembled the delicate tints of the conch-shell. Her intellectual forehead, slightly aquiline nose, radiantly youthful complexion, and wealth of dark brown hair, made her a creature beautiful to look upon.
“I wonder why Ethel inquired about Doctor Redfield,” mused Mrs. Horton, thoughtfully.
“Oh, it was nothing,” rejoined Mrs. Osborn, “still we must beware of these broad-shouldered men with blond mustaches. He really is quite attractive; however, Ethel is not sentimental, is she?”
“Good gracious, no!” responded Mrs. Horton, emphatically, “not in the least.”
“So much the better, then,” affirmed her companion; “it will be a great deal easier to work out a destiny that will be for her own good. We should be able to make a great match for her, my dear. I will help you, and we shall not fail. Now we must find out about these English people.”
CHAPTER II. – A CHANCE MEETING
WHEN Ethel returned to her mother after dressing for dinner, her tennis suit had been exchanged for an airy lace dress of soft material and such complete simplicity that it set off her youthful form to the very best advantage.
“By the way, mamma, Lady Avondale is the other Englishwoman stopping at the hotel. She and the Countess Berwyn are traveling together.”
“Lady Avondale!” exclaimed the mother, “did you say Lady Avondale? My dear friend, Lady Avondale!”
“How charmingly fortunate,” lisped Mrs. Lyman Osborn.
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Mrs. Horton, with unmistakable complacency, “how kind they were to us a year ago! You know, Ethel, we were entertained at Lady Avondale’s country-house a year ago, and oh, what a lovely estate they have, and how delightfully kind they were to us. We must send our cards at once.”
“Oh, here comes Doctor Redfield!” exclaimed Mrs. Osborn; and the three ladies turned toward a tall, broad-shouldered man of about thirty, who bowed politely as he approached them.
Dr. Jack Redfield, as he was familiarly called by his friends, although young in years, had nevertheless “won his spurs” in the medical profession. He had a lucrative practice in Chicago, and occupied a chair in one of the leading medical colleges. His head was of a Napoleonic cast. He had deep-set, expressive blue eyes, short brown hair, a rather heavy blond mustache, and a square chin indicative of great strength of character. In physical proportions he seemed an athlete. His neatly fitting attire proved that he kept abreast with the conventionalities.
“How are you feeling this evening?” he asked, addressing Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton.
“Oh, much better, thank you.”
“I fear it is almost too cool for you here on the veranda, and I suggest the wisdom of your retiring to the parlors.”
“Oh, do you really think so, doctor? It is so very pleasant here, and yet it is very thoughtful of you to mention it. Perhaps,” continued Mrs. Horton, turning to Mrs. Osborn, “we had better go in.”
“I will accompany you,” said Doctor Redfield. “I think it best to change the medicine.”
“Will you come, Ethel?” asked Mrs. Horton, as they arose.
“No, mamma, it is so very pleasant out here, and you know that I am not ill.”
As the invalid and her companion moved away, Doctor Redfield turned to Ethel and said, “I trust you are enjoying your temporary sojourn at Lake Geneva.”
“Oh, very much, indeed,” replied Ethel, with a smile, “I think the rowing is simply grand, and the shady walks and drives are superb.”
“Of course as a summer resort,” said Doctor Redfield, “it may not compare with Bath or Brighton, but I doubt if the Lakes of Killarney or the scenery surrounding them surpass, in point of beauty, Lake Geneva.”
“You are quite an American, are n’t you?” said Ethel, laughingly.
“Intensely so,” replied Doctor Redfield.
“Well, we can’t quarrel on that point, for I am more in love with my own country than before I went abroad.”
“I beg pardon,” interrupted Mrs. Osborn, who had returned from escorting her companion to the parlors, “but Mrs. Horton is waiting for you, doctor.”
“Very well, I shall come at once,” he answered, while a flush of embarrassment overspread his face; then, turning to Ethel, he said, “I trust that Lake Geneva may continue to be as interesting during the next few days as it has thus far proved.”
“Thank you,” replied Ethel, and the doctor was led away by Mrs. Osborn.
In the meantime, Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton had sent