Only a girl's love
With a high but firm step he came across the room and stood before her,
holding out his hand.
"You have come," he said; "I thought you would not come. It is very
kind of Mr. Etheridge."
She gave him her hand without a word. She knew that the keen gray
eyes of the old lady beside her were fixed on her face. He seemed to
remember too, for in a quieter, more commonplace, tone, he added:
"I am late; it is an habitual fault of mine."
"It is," said the old countess.
He turned his smile upon her.
"Are you going to scold me?"
"I am not fond of wasting my time," she said. "Come and sit down for a
minute if you can."
He glanced at the clock.
"Am I not keeping you all waiting?" he said.
Lady Longford shook her head.
"No; we are waiting for Lenore."
"Then she is not here!" thought Stella.
"Oh, Lenore!" he said, with a smile. "Well, no one will dare to scold
her."
As he spoke the curtain parted, and someone entered.
Framed by the curtain that fell behind her in crimson folds stood a
girl--not yet a woman, for all her twenty-three years--of wonderful
beauty, with deep golden hair and violet eyes.
Stella knew her at once from her uncle's description, but it was not
the beauty that surprised her and made her start; it was something more
than that. It was the nameless, indescribable charm which surrounded
her; it was the grace which distinguished her figure, her very attitude.
She stood a moment, with a faint half-smile upon her lips, looking
round; then she glided with a peculiar movement, that struck Stella as
grace itself, to Lady Wyndward, and bent her head down to the countess.
Stella could not hear what she said, but she knew that she was
apologizing for her tardiness by the way the earl, who was standing
by, smiled at her. Yes, evidently Lady Lenore would not be scolded for
keeping dinner waiting.
Stella sat watching her; she felt her eyes riveted to her in fact, and
suddenly she was aware that the violet eyes were fixed on hers.
She saw the beautiful lips move, saw the earl make answer, and then
watched them move together across the room.
Whither were they going? To her surprise they came toward her and
stopped in front of her.
"Miss Etheridge," said the earl, in his low, subdued voice, "let me
introduce Lady Lenore Beauchamp to you."
Stella looked up, and met the violet eyes fixed on her.
For a moment she was speechless; the eyes, so serene and full and
commanding, seemed to seek out her soul and to read every thought it
held; to read it so closely and clearly that her own eyes dropped; then
with an effort she held out her hand, and as the great beauty's closed
softly over it she raised her lids again, and so they stood looking
at each other, and Lord Leycester stood beside with the characteristic
smile on his face.
CHAPTER XI.
As Stella looked up at the great beauty, she felt for the first time
that her own dress, pretty as it was, was only sateen. She had not been
conscious of it before, but she felt it now in the presence of this
exquisitely-dressed woman. In very truth, Lady Lenore was well-dressed;
it was not only that her costumes came from Redfern's or Worth's, and
her millinery from Louise, but Lenore had acquired the art of wearing
the productions of these artistes. When looking at her, one was
forcibly reminded of the Frenchman's saying, that the world was divided
into two classes--the people who were clothed and the people who wore
their clothes. Lady Lenore belonged to those who wear their clothes;
the beautiful dress sat upon her as if she had been made to it, instead
of it to her; not a piece of lace, not a single article of jewelry, but
sat in its place gracefully and artistically.
To-night she wore a dress composed of some soft and readily-draping
material, neither cashmere nor satin--some one of the new materials
which have come over from the far east, and of which we scarcely yet
know the names. It was of the most delicate shade of grayish-blue,
which was brought out and accentuated by the single camellia resting
amidst the soft lace on her bosom. The arms were bare from the elbows,
exquisitely, warmly white and beautifully formed; one heavy bracelet,
set with huge Indian pearls, lined the wrist; there were similar huge
pearls in the rings on her fingers, and in the pendant which hung by a
seed-pearl necklace.
Imagine a beautiful, an almost faultlessly-beautiful face, rising from
the delicate harmony of color--imagine a pair of dark eyes, now blue,
now violet, as she stood in repose or smiled, and fringed, by long,
silken lashes--and you may imagine the bare material outward beauty of
Lenore Beauchamp, but no words can describe what really was the charm
of the face--its wonderful power of expression, its eloquent mobility,
which, even when the eyes and lips were in repose, drew you to watching
and waiting for them to speak.
Stella, though she had scarcely heard those lips utter a word knew what
her uncle meant when he said that there was a peculiar fascination
about her which went beyond her mere beauty; and, as she looked, a
strange feeling crossed Stella's mind. She remembered an old story
which she had heard years ago, when she was sitting on the lap of
her Italian nurse--the story of the strange and beautiful Indian
serpent which sits beneath the tree, and fixing its eyes upon the bird
overhead, draws and charms it with its spell, until the bird drops
senseless and helpless to its fate.
But even as she thought of this she was ashamed of the idea, for there
is nothing serpent-like in Lenore's beauty; only this Stella thought,
that if ever those eyes and lips smiled and murmured to a man "I love
you," that man must drop; resistance would be vain and useless.
All this takes long to write; it flashed across Stella's mind in a
moment, even as they looked at each other in silence; then at last Lady
Lenore spoke.
"Have you been gathering primroses to-day?" she said, with a smile.
It was a strange way of beginning an acquaintance, and Stella felt the
color mount to her face; the words recalled the whole of the scene of
yesterday morning. The speaker intended that they should.
"No," she said, "not to-day."
"Miss Etheridge gathered enough yesterday for a week, did you
not?" said Lord Leycester, and the voice sounded to Stella like an
assistance. She half glanced at him gratefully, and met his eyes fixed
on her with a strange light in them that caused hers to drop again.
"I must find this wonderful flower-land," said Lady Lenore. "Lilian was
quite eloquent about it last night."
"We shall be happy to act as pioneers in the discovery," he said, and
Stella could not help noticing the "we." Did he mean she and he?
At that moment Lady Wyndward came toward them, and murmured something
to him, and he left them and offered his arm to a lady at the other end
of the room; then Lady Wyndward waved her fan slightly and smiled, and
a tall, thin, fair-haired man came up.
"Lord Charles, will you take charge of Miss Etheridge?"
Lord Guildford bowed and offered his arm.
"I shall be delighted," he said, and he smiled down at Stella in his
frank way.
There was a general movement, ladies and gentlemen were pairing off and
moving toward the door, beside which stood the two footmen, with the
solemn air of soldiers attending an execution.
"Seven minutes late," said Lord Charles, glancing up at the clock as
they passed. "We must chalk that up to Lady Lenore. I admire and envy
her courage, don't you, Miss Etheridge? I should no more dare to be
late for dinner at Wyndward than--than--what's the most audacious thing
you can think of?"
Stella smiled; there was something catching in the light-hearted,
frank, and free tones of the young viscount.
"Standing on a sofa in muddy boots has always been my idea of a great
social crime," she said.
He laughed approvingly, and his laugh seemed to float lightly through
the quiet room.
"That's good--that's awfully good!" he said, with intense enjoyment.
"Standing on a sofa--that's awfully good! Must tell Leycester that! Did
you ever do it, by the way?"
"Never," said Stella, gravely, but with a smile.
"No!" he said. "Do you know I think you are capable of it if you were
provoked?"
"Provoked?" said Stella.
"Dared, I mean," he explained. "You know we used to have a game at
school called 'Dare him?' I expect all fellows have played it. One
fellow does the most extraordinary things and dares the other fellows
to do it. Leycester used to play it best. He was a regular good hand at
it. The worst of it was that we all used to get thrashed; the masters
didn't care about half-a-dozen fellows flinging stones at the windows
and climbing on to the roof at the dead of night."
"Poor masters!" said Stella.
He laughed.
"Yes, they didn't have a particularly fine time of it when Leycester
was at school."
As he spoke, he glanced at the tall figure of Lord Leycester in front
of them with an admiring air such as a school-boy might wear.
"There isn't much that Leycester wouldn't dare," he said.
They entered the dining-room, a large room lined with oak and
magnificently furnished, in which the long table with its snowy cloth,
and glittering plate and glass, shone out conspicuously.
Lord Guildford found no difficulty in discovering their seats, each
place being distinguished by a small tablet bearing the name of the
intended occupant. As Stella took her seat, she noticed a beautiful
bouquet beside her serviette, and saw that one was placed for every
lady in the room.
A solemn, stately butler, who looked like a bishop, stood beside the
earl's chair, and with a glance and a slight movement of his hand
directed the noiseless footmen.
A clergyman said grace, and the dinner commenced. Stella, looking
round, saw that her uncle was seated near Lady Wyndward, and that Lady
Lenore was opposite herself. She looked round for Lord Leycester, and
was startled to hear his voice at her left. He was speaking to Lady
Longford. As she turned to look at him she happened to catch Lady
Wyndward's eye also fixed upon him with a strange expression, and
wondered what it meant; the next moment she knew, for, bending his head
and looking straight before him, he said--
"Do you like your flowers?"
Stella took up the bouquet; it was composed almost entirely of white
blossoms, and smelt divinely.
"They are beautiful," she said. "Heliotrope and camellias--my favorite
flowers."
"It must have been instinct," he said.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I chose them," he said, in the same low voice.
"Chose them?" she retorted.
"Yes," and he smiled. "That was what made me late. I came in here first
and had a grand review of the bouquets. I was curious to know if I
could guess your favorite flowers."
"You--you--changed them!" said Stella, with a feeling of mild horror.
"Lord Guildford asked me just now what I considered the most audacious
act a man would commit. I know now."
He smiled.
"I changed something else," he said.
Stella looked at him inquiringly. There was a bold smile in his dark
eyes.
He pointed to the little tablet bearing his name.
"This. I found it over the way there, next to that old lady in
the emeralds. She is a dreadful old lady--beware of her. She is a
politician, and she always asks everybody who comes near her what they
think of the present Parliament. I thought it would be nicer to come
over here."
The color crept slowly into Stella's face, and her eyes dropped.
"It was very wrong," she said. "I am sure Lady Wyndward will be angry.
How could you interfere with the arrangements? They all seem so solemn
and grand to me."
He laughed softly.
"They are. We always eat our meals as if they were the last we could