Only a Girl's Love. Garvice Charles
obstinate.
To her the voice sounded like the sweetest music set to some poem. She saw the picture as he drew it, and in her heart the music of the words and voice found an echoing harmony.
Forgotten was the other man's warning; vain it would have been if he had repeated it at that moment. As well associate the darkness of a Winter's night with the bright gladness of a Summer's morning, as think of evil in connection with that noble face and musical voice.
Mr. Etheridge paused, but he shook his head.
"Very fine, very temptingly put; you are a master of words, Leycester; but I am immovable as a rock. Indeed your eloquence is wasted; it is not an impressionable man whom you address. I, James Etheridge, am on this picture. I am lost in my work, Lord Leycester."
"You will not do it?"
The old man smiled.
"I will not. To another man I should present an excuse, and mask my refusal. With you anything but a simple 'no' is of no avail."
Lord Leycester smiled and turned away.
"I am sorry," he said. "I meant it for a present to my sister Lilian."
Again Stella's eyes turned toward him. This man – infamous!
The old man put down his brush and turned upon him.
"Why didn't you say so at first?" he said.
Lord Leycester smiled.
"I wanted to see if you would do something for me – for myself," he said, with infinite naivete.
"You want it for Lady Lilian," said Mr. Etheridge. "I will do it, of course."
"I shan't say thank you," said Lord Leycester. "I have nothing to thank you for. She shall do that. When will you come – "
"Next week – next month – "
"Now at once," said Lord Leycester, stretching out his hand with a peculiar gesture which struck Stella by its infinite grace.
The old man groaned.
"I thought so! I thought so! It would always be now at once with you."
"The Spring won't wait for you! The green of those leaves is changing now, very slowly, but surely, as we speak; in a week it will be gone, and with it half – all the beauty will go too. You will come now, will you not?"
Mr. Etheridge looked round with comical dismay, then he laughed.
Lord Leycester's laugh chimed in, and he turned to Stella with the air of a man who has conquered and needs no more words.
"You see," said Mr. Etheridge, "that is the way I am led, like a pig to market, will I or will I not! And the sketch will take me, how long?"
"A few hours!"
"And there will be all the things to drag down – "
Lord Leicester strode to an old-fashioned cabinet.
"I will carry them, and yourself into the bargain if you like."
Then, with his hand upon the cabinet, he stopped short and turned to Stella.
"I beg your pardon! – I am always sinning. I forgot that there was now a presiding spirit. I am so used to taking liberties with your uncle's belongings; I know where all his paraphernalia is so well, that – "
Stella rose and smiled at them.
"Your knowledge is deeper than my uncle's, then," she said. "Do not beg pardon of me."
"May I?" he said, and he opened the cabinet and took out the sketching-pad and color-box; then, with some difficulty, he disentangled a folding camp-stool from a mass of artistic litter in a corner, and then prepared to depart.
Mr. Etheridge watched these proceedings with a rueful countenance, but seeing that resistance had long passed out of his power, he said:
"Where is my hat, Stella? I must go, I suppose."
Lord Leycester opened the door for her, and she went out, followed by all the dogs, and fetched the soft felt hat, holding it by the very tips of her fingers.
With a sigh, Mr. Etheridge dropped it on his head.
"Give me some of the things," he said; but Lord Leycester declined.
"Not one," he said, laughing. And Mr. Etheridge, without another word, walked out.
Lord Leycester stood looking at Stella, a wistful eagerness in his eyes.
"I have gone so far," he said, "that I am emboldened to venture still further. Will you come too?"
Stella started, and an eager light flashed for a moment in her eyes; then she held out her hands and laughed.
"I have to make a pudding," she said.
He looked at the white arms, and then at her, with an intensified eagerness.
"If you knew how beautiful the morning is – how grand the river looks – you would let the pudding go."
Stella shook her head.
He inclined his head, too highly bred to persist.
"I am so sorry," he said, simply. "I am sorry now that I have gained my way. I thought that you would have come."
Stella stood silent, and, with something like a sigh, put down the things and held out her hand; but as he took the finger which she gave him, his face brightened, and a light came into his eyes.
"Are you still firm?"
"I would not desert the pudding for anything, my lord," said Stella, naively.
At the "my lord," a slight shade covered his face, but it went again instantly, as he said:
"Well, then, will you come when the inevitable pudding is made? There," he said, eagerly, and still holding her hand he drew her to the window and pointed with his whip, "there's the place! It is not far – just across the meadows, and through the first gate. Do you see it?"
"Yes," said Stella, gently withdrawing her hand.
"And you will come?" he asked, his eyes fixed on hers with their intent earnestness.
At that instant the word – the odious word – "infamous" rang in her ears, and her face paled. He noticed the sudden pallor, and his eyes grew dark with earnest questioning.
"I see," he said, quietly, "you will not come!"
What was it that moved her? With a sudden impulse she raised her eyes and looked at him steadily.
"Yes, I will come!" she said.
He inclined his head without a word, called to the dogs, and passed out.
Stella stood for a moment looking after them; then she went into the kitchen – not laughing nor singing, but with a strange gravity; a strange feeling had got possession of her.
She felt as if she was laboring under some spell. "Charmed" is an often misused word, but it is the right word to describe the sensation. Was it his face or his voice that haunted her? As she stood absently looking down at the table, simple words, short and commonplace, which he had used rang in her ears with a new meaning.
Mrs. Penfold stood and regarded her in curious astonishment. She was getting used to Stella's quickly changing moods, but the sudden change bewildered her.
"Let me do it, Miss Stella," she pleaded, but Stella shook her head firmly; not by one inch would she swerve from her cause for all the beautiful voice and noble face.
In rapt silence she finished her work, then she went up-stairs and put on her hat and came down. As she passed out of the house and down the path, the mastiff leaped the gate and bounded toward her, and the next moment she saw Lord Leycester seated on a stile.
He dropped down and came toward her.
"How quick you have been," he said, "I thought a pudding was a mystery which demanded an immensity of time."
Stella looked up at him, her dark brows drawn to a straight line.
"You waited for me?" she said.
"No,"