MARTHA FINLEY Ultimate Collection – Timeless Children Classics & Other Novels. Finley Martha
that reminds me; I was so afraid your father would not let you come to see me. But—you are your own mistress now, of course."
"Papa tells me so sometimes," laughed Elsie, "and yet I know he would be greatly surprised should I take the liberty of doing anything he would not approve. I asked his permission to come, and he not only gave consent but brought me himself."
"That was good in him; but I hope he won't hurry you away. I want to hear about your European conquests, and have ever so much to say besides."
"No, he has kindly promised me time for a long talk. Besides, I can ride over any day and supplement it with another."
Mr. Dinsmore was as good as his word; their chat had lasted more than an hour when his summons came, yet Lucy declared it had not been half long enough, and would not be satisfied to let Elsie go without a promise to come again very soon.
"Roselands, too, looks very natural, and very homelike," remarked Mr. Dinsmore, as they rode up its avenue.
"Yes, papa; and yet, do you know, it seems to me it has grown smaller and less grand since I lived here as a child."
"Ah! did you think it very grand then, daughter?" he asked, turning to her with a smile.
"I believe so, papa; but it is beautiful yet, even after all the fine places we have seen in our own country and Europe."
Adelaide met them at the door. "Just in time," she said, "for there is the dressing-bell. Your own old room, Elsie dear: you know the way and will find Aunt Chloe in waiting. Horace, you will make yourself at home of course."
It was strictly a family party, sociable and informal. Elsie had not met Arthur since their return, and at the first moment scarcely recognized him in the moustached and bewhiskered young man who rose and came forward, with a slight limp, to meet her as she entered the drawing-room.
"How do you do?" he said, holding out his right hand, while steadying himself with a cane held in the left. "I hope you're glad to get back to America?"
"Arthur, is it? Yes; thank you: and I'm very glad your injuries have proved less serious than was at first feared," she said, kindly meeting his advances half-way.
"Oh yes," he replied, with attempted nonchalance, "I shall be all right by and by."
Then retreating to the seat from which he had just risen, the corner of a sofa by the side of his sister Adelaide, his eye following Elsie as she crossed the room to pay her respects to her grandfather and others. "What on earth you call that girl little for, I can't imagine," he remarked in an undertone; "why she's quite above the average height; graceful as a young fawn, too; splendid figure, and actually the most beautiful face I ever saw. I don't wonder she turned the heads of lords and dukes on the other side of the water. But what do you call her little for?"
"I hardly know, Art; with me it's a term of endearment more than anything else, I believe," replied his sister; "but there is something in the expression of her face—something that has always been there, a sweet simplicity and innocence—that moves one to a sort of protecting love as to a little one who has not yet attained sufficient worldly wisdom to take care of herself."
Old Mr. Dinsmore greeted his lovely granddaughter almost affectionately, holding her hand in his for a moment, and looking from her to her father. "Really, she's a girl to be proud of, Horace," he said with a paternal smile. "But I've no need to tell you that."
"No, she is not bad looking," observed his wife with a slight sneer; "few girls would be in such elegant attire; but it surprises me to see that, with all her advantages and opportunities for improvement, she has not yet lost that baby expression she always had. She'll never be half the woman Enna is."
The days were past in which the lady mother had gloried in the fact that anywhere Enna would have been taken for the elder of the two; and now the contrast between her faded, fretful face and Elsie's fresh bloom was a sore trial to madam's love, and pride in her household pet.
But no one deemed it necessary to reply to the unpleasant remark. Elsie only smiled up into her father's face as he came forward and stood at her side, and meeting his look of loving content and pride in her, just as she was, and calling to mind how fully satisfied with her was another, whose loving approbation was no less precious, turned away with a half-breathed sigh of heartfelt happiness, finished her greetings, and, the dinner-bell ringing at that moment, accepted Walter's offered arm to the dining-room.
Arthur was more and more charmed with his niece as he noted the modest ease and grace of her manners, both at the table, and afterwards in the drawing-room; listened to her music—greatly improved under the instructions of some of the first masters of Europe—and her conversation with his father and others, in which she almost unconsciously revealed rich stores of varied information gathered from books, the discourse of the wise and learned met in her travels, and her own keen yet kindly observations of men and things. These, with the elegance of her diction, and the ready play of wit and fancy, made her a fascinating talker.
Contrary to Elsie's expectations, it was decided by the elders of the party that all should remain to tea.
As the others returned to the drawing-room on leaving the table, she stole out upon the moonlighted veranda. Gazing wistfully down the avenue, was she thinking of one probably even then on his way to the Oaks—thinking of him and his disappointment at not finding her here?
"It's a nice night, this," remarked Arthur's voice at her side, "I say, Elsie, suppose we bury the hatchet, you and I."
"I never had any enmity towards you, Arthur," she answered, still gazing straight before her.
"Well, it's odd if you hadn't; I gave you cause enough, as you did me by your niggardly refusal to lend me a small sum, on occasions when I was hard up. But I'm willing to let by-gones be by-gones, if you are."
"Certainly; I should be glad to forget all that has been unpleasant in the past."
"You have improved wonderfully since I saw you last: you were a pretty girl then, but now you are without exception the most superbly beautiful, graceful, accomplished, and intelligent woman I ever saw."
"I do not like flattery, Arthur," she answered, turning coldly away.
"Pooh! the truth's never flattery; I declare if we were not so nearly related, I'd marry you myself."
"You forget," she said, half scornfully, "that it takes two to make a bargain; three in this case; and two of us would never consent."
"Nonsense! I'd soon manage it by clever courting. A man can always get the woman he wants if he's only sufficiently determined."
"In that you are mistaken. But why broach so disagreeable a subject, since we are so nearly related that the very thought seems almost a sin and a crime?"
"And so you're going to throw yourself away on old Travilla?"
Elsie faced him with flashing eyes. "No; it will be no throwing away of myself, nor will I allow him to be spoken of in such disrespectful terms, in my presence."
"Humph!" laughed Arthur. "Well, I've found out how to make you angry, at all events. And I'm free to confess I don't like Travilla, or forgive him all old scores."
Elsie scarcely seemed to hear. A horse was coming at a quiet canter up the avenue. Both the steed and his rider wore a familiar aspect, and the young girl's heart gave a joyous bound as the latter dismounted, throwing the reins to a servant, and came up the steps into the veranda.
She glided towards him; there was an earnest, tender clasping of hands, a word or two of cordial greeting, and they passed into the house and entered the drawing room.
"Humph! not much sentiment there; act towards each other pretty much as they always have," said Arthur to himself, taking a cigar from his pocket and lighting it with a match. "I wonder now what's the attraction to her for an old codger like that," he added watching the smoke as it curled lazily up from the end of his Havana.
There was indeed nothing sentimental in the conduct of Mr. Travilla or Elsie: deep, true, heartfelt