Only a girl's love
He turned his face to her, and she looked straight into his eyes, then
she put her arm round his neck.
"Oh, Ley! has it come at last?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, not angrily, but with a touch of
grimness, as if he were afraid of the answer.
"Ley," she said, "you must not see her again. Ley, you will go
to-morrow, will you not?"
"Why?" he asked. "It is not like you to send me away, Lil."
"No, but I do. I who look forward to seeing you as the sweetest thing
in my life--I who would rather have you near me than be--other than I
am--I who lie and wait and listen for your footsteps--I send you, Ley.
Think! You must go, Ley. Go at once, for your own sake and for hers."
He rose, and smiled down at her.
"For my sake, perhaps, but not for hers. You foolish girl, do you think
all your sex is as partial as you are? You did not see her as I saw her
to-night--did not hear her ready wit at my expense. For her sake! You
make me smile, Lil."
"I cannot smile, Ley. You will not stay! What good can come of it? I
know you so well. You will not be content until you have seen your
Venus again, and then--ah, Ley, what can she do but love you, and love
you but to lose you? Ley, all that has gone before has made me smile,
because with them I knew you were heart-whole; I could look into your
eyes and see the light of laughter in their depths; but not this time,
Ley--not this time. You must go. Promise me!"
His face went pale under her gaze, and the defiant look, which so
rarely shone out in her presence, came into his eyes, and about his
lips.
"I cannot promise, Lil," he said.
CHAPTER V.
For love lay lurking in the clouds and mist,
I heard him singing sweetly on the mountain side:
"'Tis all in vain you fly, for everywhere am I--
In every quiet valley, on every mountain side!"
In the clear, bird-like tones of Stella's voice the musical words
floated from the open window of her room above and through the open
French windows of the old man's studio.
With a little start he turned his head away from the easel and looked
toward the door.
Stella had only been in the house three days, but he had already
learned something of her habits, and knew that when he heard the
beautiful voice singing at the window in the early morning, he might
expect to see the owner of the voice enter shortly.
His expectation was not doomed to disappointment. The voice sounded on
the stairs, in the hall, and a moment afterward the door opened and
Stella stood looking smilingly into the room.
If he had thought her beautiful and winsome on that first evening of
her coming, when she was weary with anxiety and traveling, and dressed
in dust-stained clothes, be sure he thought her more beautiful still,
now that the light heart felt free to reveal itself, and the shabby
dress had given place to the white and simple but still graceful
morning gown.
Mrs. Penfold had worked hard during those three days, and with the aid
of the Dulverfield milliner had succeeded in filling a small wardrobe
for "her young lady," as she had learned to call her. The old artist,
ignorant of the power of women in such direction, had watched the
transformation with inward amazement and delight, and was never tired
of hearing about dresses, and hats, jackets, and capes, and was rather
disappointed than otherwise when he found that the grand transformation
had been effected at a very small cost.
Bright and beautiful she stood, like a vision of youth and health in
the doorway, her dark eyes laughingly contemplating the old man's
gentle stare of wonder,--the look which always came into his eyes when
she appeared.
"Did I disturb you by my piping, uncle?" she asked as she kissed him.
"Oh no, my dear," he answered, "I like to hear you,--I like to hear
you."
She leant against his shoulder, and looked at his work.
"How beautiful it is!" she murmured. "How quickly it grows. I heard
you come down this morning, and I meant to get up, but I was so
tired--lazy, wasn't I?"
"No, no!" he said, eagerly. "I am sorry I disturbed you. I came down as
quietly as I could. I knew you would be tired after your dissipation.
You must tell me all about it."
"Yes, come to breakfast and I will tell you."
"Must I?" he said, glancing at his picture reluctantly.
He had been in the habit of eating his breakfast by installments,
painting while he ate a mouthful and drank his cup of coffee, but
Stella insisted upon his changing what she called a very wicked habit.
"Yes, of course! See how nice it looks," and she drew him gently to the
table and forced him into a chair.
The old man submitted with a sigh that was not altogether one of
regret, and still humming she sat opposite the urn and began to fill
the cups.
"And did you enjoy yourself?" he asked, gazing at her dreamily.
"Oh, very much; they were so kind. Mrs. Hamilton is the dearest old
lady; and the doctor--what makes him smile so much, uncle?"
"I don't know. I think doctors generally do."
"Oh, very well. Well, he was very kind too, and so were the Miss
Hamiltons. It was very nice indeed, and they took so much notice of
me--asked me all sorts of questions. Sometimes I scarcely knew what to
answer. I think they thought because I had been brought up in Italy, I
ought to have spoken with a strong accent, and looked utterly different
to themselves. I think they were a little disappointed, uncle."
"Oh," he said, "and who else was there?"
"Oh, the clergyman, Mr. Fielding--a very solemn gentleman indeed. He
said he didn't see much of you, and hoped he should see me in church."
Mr. Etheridge rubbed his head and looked rather guilty.
"I expect that was a back-handed knock for me, Stella," he said rather
ruefully. "You see I don't go to church often. I always mean to go, but
I generally forget the time, or I wander into the fields, or up into
the woods, and forget all about the church till it's too late."
"But that's very wicked, abominably so," said Stella, gravely, but with
a twinkle in her dark eyes. "I must look after your morals as well as
your meals, I see, uncle."
"Yes," he assented, meekly--"do, do."
"Well, then there was a Mr. Adelstone, a young gentleman from London.
He was quite the lion of the evening. I think he was a nephew of Mr.
Fielding's."
The old man nodded.
"Yes; and did you like him?"
Stella thought a moment, holding the cream-jug critically over the
coffee-cup.
"Not much, uncle. It was very wrong, and very bad taste, I am afraid,
for they all seemed to admire him immensely, and so did he himself."
Mr. Etheridge looked at her rather alarmed.
"I must say, Stella, you get too critical. I don't think we are quite
used to it."
She laughed.
"I don't fancy Mr. Adelstone was at all conscious of adverse criticism;
he seemed quite satisfied with everybody, himself in particular. He
certainly was beautifully dressed, and he had the dearest little hands
and feet in the world; and his hair was parted to a hair, and as
smooth as a black-and-tan terrier's; so that he had some grounds for
satisfaction."
"What did he do to offend you, Stella?" asked the old man, rather
shrewdly.
She laughed again, and a little touch of color came into her face, but
she answered quite frankly:
"He paid me compliments, uncle."
"That doesn't offend your sex generally, Stella."
"It offends me," said Stella, quickly. "I--I detest them! especially
when the man who pays them does it with a self-satisfied smile which
shows that he is thinking more of his own eloquence and gallantry than
of the person he is flattering."
The old man looked at her.
"Will you oblige me by telling me your age again?" he said.
She laughed.
"Am I too wise, uncle? Well, never mind--I'll promise to be good and
stupid, if you like. But you are not eating any breakfast; and you must
not keep looking at that odious easel all the time, as if you were
longing to get back to it. Did you ever see a jealous woman?"
"No, never."
"Well, if you don't want to, you must not confine all your attention to
your work."
"I don't think there is much fear of that when you are near," he said,
meekly.
She laughed, and jumped up to kiss him with delight.
"Now that was a splendid compliment, sir! You are improving
rapidly--Mr. Adelstone himself couldn't have done it more neatly."
Scarcely had the words left her lips than the door opened.
"Mr. Adelstone," said Mrs. Penfold.
A young man, tall and dark, and faultlessly dressed, stood in the
doorway, his hat in one hand, a bouquet of flowers in the other. He was
undeniably good-looking, and as he stood with a smile upon his face,
looked at his best. A severe critic might have found fault with his
eyes, and said that they were a little too small and a little too near
together, might also have added that they were rather shifty, and that
there was something approaching the sinister in the curves of the thin
lips; but he was undeniably good-looking, and notwithstanding his well
cut clothes and spotless boots with their gray gaiters, his white hands
with the choice selection of rings, there was an indication of power
about him; no one could have suspected him of being a fool, or lacking
the power of observation; for instance, as he stood now, smiling and
waiting for a welcome, his dark eyes took in every detail of the room
without appearing to leave Stella's face.
Mr. Etheridge looked up with the usual confused air with which he
always received his rare visitors, but Stella held out her hand with a
smile calm and self-possessed. There is a great deal of the woman even
about a girl of nineteen.
"Good-morning, Mr. Adelstone," she said. "You have come just in time
for a cup of coffee."
"I ought to apologize for intruding at such an unseasonable hour," he
said, as he bent over her hand, "but your good housekeeper would not
hear of my going without paying my respects. I am afraid I'm intruding."
"Not at all, not at all," murmured the artist. "Here's a chair," and
he rose and cleared a chair of its litter by the simple process of
sweeping it on to the floor.
Mr. Adelstone sat down.
"I hope you are not tired after your mild dissipation last night?" he
asked of Stella.
She laughed.
"Not at all. I was telling uncle how nice it was. It was my first party
in England, you know."
"Oh, you musn't call it a party," he said. "But I am very glad you
enjoyed it."
"What beautiful flowers," said Stella, glancing at the bouquet.
He handed them to her.
"Will you be so kind as to accept them?" he said. "I heard you admire
them in the conservatory last night and I brought them for you from the
rectory green-house."
"For me?" exclaimed Stella, open-eyed. "Oh, I didn't know! I am so
sorry you should have troubled. It was very kind. You must have robbed
the poor plants terribly."
"They would be quite consoled if they could know for whom their
blossoms were intended," he said, with a low bow.
Stella looked at him with a smile, and glanced half archly at her uncle.
"That was very nice," she said. "Poor flowers! it is a pity they can't
know! Can't you tell them? There is a language of flowers, you know!"
Mr. Adelstone smiled. He was not accustomed to have his compliments met
with such ready wit, and was nonplussed for a moment, while his eyes
dropped from her face with a little shifty look.
Mr. Etheridge broke the rather embarrassing pause.
"Put them in the vase for her, Mr. Adelstone, will you, please, and
come and have some breakfast. You can't have had any."
He waited until Stella echoed the invitation, then drew up to the table.
Stella rang for cup and saucer and plates, and poured him out some
coffee; and he plunged into small talk with the greatest ease, his keen