Buell Hampton. Emerson Willis George
was about to throw to the winds all his good resolution of giving her time to decide, and he would have taken her in his arms then and there, and claimed her for his own forever, had not a colored boy from the hotel interrupted them.
“Beg your pardon, miss,” said he, “but Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton wished me to say would you please come to her.”
Jack dropped a piece of silver in the boy’s hand, and said, “Please say to Mrs. Horton that Miss Ethel will come very soon.”
They turned and walked slowly, side by side, along the path, in the now uncertain light, toward the hotel, enjoying love’s first awakening. Presently Jack spoke.
“You will not forget me, Ethel, but you will write for me to come, will you not?” The soft pressure of the girl’s small hand, which was resting contentedly in his, and her sweet, low words of assurance made Jack happy, and yet he was conscious of the sadness of parting. As they neared the hotel he lifted her hand to his lips again and murmured, “Good-bye, Ethel, God bless you.”
“Good-bye,” she whispered; and her eyes were brimming with tears. “I shall not forget my promise, and I am sure daddy will be on our side.”
Jack hurried down the walk, and Ethel stood on the veranda, looking after his retreating figure. A soft mist of awakened love overflowed her young heart and enveloped her.
She turned and went into the hotel – a woman; her girlhood had vanished with the awakening.
CHAPTER IV. – THE DEPARTURE
WHEN Mrs. Horton and Mrs. Osborn learned from the messenger boy that Ethel was with Doctor Redfield their agitation became apparent. They agreed that the best thing to be done was to hasten their departure from Lake Geneva. They wisely decided not to mention the affair to Ethel; but they determined to be more careful and observant of her in the future. Before retiring, they determined to start for the Southwest on the following day.
Lady Avondale was blandly polite, and she assured Mrs. Horton that already she had learned to love Ethel, the dear child, as if she were her own daughter. “Lenox,” she said, assuringly, “is taken with her, really he is quite attentive; have n’t you noticed it, Mrs. Osborn?”
“I must admit,” replied the intriguing Mrs. Osborn, “that he has expressed his admiration for her quite freely, while the dear boy’s eyes betray an eloquence of feeling that cannot be doubted.”
Had Mrs. Horton tried to give an explanation why she desired such an alliance, she would perhaps have floundered hopelessly in a sea of interrogation-points. Until she met Mrs. Osborn this Anglomania idea had never even been thought of by this otherwise sensible American mother. There are natures that influence us, unconsciously to ourselves, in strange and mysterious ways. We meet a person, and instinctively we are impressed with some peculiarity that he or she possesses. We hardly know just what it is, nor do we even stop to analyze our feelings. This one peculiarity might outweigh, in our minds, a hundred glaring defects – defects which in others would be not only quickly noticed by us, but severely condemned. Hence, in our newly formed fondness, friendship, or whatever it may be, we practically become blind to faults.
Mrs. Horton had formed a strong attachment for this very clever woman. This power was not an unconscious one to Lucy Osborn. She had quickly discovered it, and she meant to profit by it, – not in a mercenary way, no, she would have scorned even the thought of such a thing, but in a social way; through an alliance for Ethel she would in some way build an altar for herself.
She experienced little love or sentiment for either Mrs. Horton or her daughter, but she determined to use them as a means to an end. In most things Mrs. Osborn would have been considered an average woman – no better, no worse. Her desire, her ambition, her mania, however, to enter into English social circles was paramount to all other considerations. It was the gaunt tigress of her nature, famishing with desire, ready with hidden tooth and claw to pounce upon every opposition.
“I can assure you, Lady Avondale,” said Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton, and she flushed deeply as she spoke, “that a marriage between my daughter and your son, when he shall have succeeded to his family title, will be most agreeable to me.”
“So nice of you to say that, I am sure,” lisped her Ladyship, while in her heart she was saying, “Why, this silly American woman is extremely amusing.”
“I trust,” continued she aloud, “that your worthy husband will also approve of the contemplated alliance of our families.”
Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton shrugged her stately shoulders in an affected manner and looked bored. Mrs. Lyman Osborn came to her rescue.
“I promise you, Lady Avondale,” she observed, “that when Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton speaks, she does so for her entire family. Mr. John B. Horton is, perhaps – well, a little stupid, as American men of business so often are, you know. He is perfectly at home with his vast herds of cattle, mavericks, brands, and all that sort of thing, but when it comes to social questions, or to a family alliance like this, my dear friend, Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton, is in full authority.”
“Ah, just so,” replied Lady Avondale, as she adjusted her eye-glass and nodded her head wisely, “I understand.”
In the meantime Ethel had retired to her room; but not to sleep. She had a good cry all to herself, after which she bathed her flushed face and, after the manner of women, felt much relieved. She sat down and gave herself up to thoughtful reverie. She remained thus far into the night; but, finally, arousing herself, she said aloud, “Yes, he is a brain-worker, and oh! how I love brain-workers! Bah, I hate idlers!”
In the morning she awoke from the refreshing sleep of youth. She had scarcely finished her toilet when there came a knock at her door. It proved to be the colored bell-boy who had interrupted them on the evening before.
“Please, miss,” said he, with great obeisance, as she opened the door, “the gemman said I was to give you this letter in pusson.”
“Thank you,” said Ethel as she took the missive. Hastily tearing away the envelope she read:
“My darling Ethel: – It is now after midnight. I have walked along the path and stood under the old elm in the mad belief that I might see you again, although I must have known that it was impossible. I am sustained by the abiding hope of seeing you after you have spoken to your father. I trust it will not be long. I believe in you. The honesty of the soul that shines out through your eyes cannot be doubted. I am thrilled with deepest reverence, when I think of you, – a reverence such as one might feel when standing before a snow-white sacred shrine of peace, purity, and innocence. Know that my love is immortal – it cannot die.
It was no shame to the noble heart of Ethel Horton that she kissed Jack’s hurriedly written note over and over, and bathed it with her tears. On the impulse of the moment she rang for pen and paper, and wrote:
“Dear Jack: – Your note has made me very happy. We leave to-day for the Southwest. I have thought it all over, and I know that I like you awfully well. I am conscious of a strange sensation that may be – well, I don’t know what it is. Do not give up hope, but share my faith in daddy. Yours,
Before leaving Lake Geneva, it was understood between Mrs. Horton and Lady Avondale that her son was to visit them at their ranch in southwestern Kansas. He intended spending about two months, later in the fall, hunting in the mountains of Colorado. Dr. Lenox Avondale looked upon an alliance with the American heiress as necessary for the preservation of the estates in England, and he accepted his mother’s arrangements as a matter of course. The flirtation which he had secretly begun with Mrs. Osborn promised a recreation within itself when he should visit the Hortons.
As for Dr. Jack Redfield, he was impatient to see Ethel once more, and in the hope that she had not yet gone from Lake Geneva he boarded a train, and at noon was at the lake, only to find that the Hortons and Mrs. Osborn had taken their departure an hour before. He had not yet received Ethel’s letter. He returned to the city, determined to bury himself in the multiplicity of his professional duties and study until his summons