CHAPTER XL.
Thea glanced anxiously at her guardian. He did not seem inclined to talk. Had she offended him by her boldness in asking him to stay longer with her when he was doubtless anxious to go to Miss Bentley? The color flamed hotly into her cheeks. “I—I—perhaps I am detaining you. Do not stay unless you wish,” she said, timidly.
“I am not in any hurry,” he answered, smiling down at her a grave, sweet smile that made her heart go pit-a-pat with pleasure. “Perhaps you wanted to ask me how I liked your poetry?” he said.
“Oh, no, no; I—I don’t want to hear. I knew it was nothing but trash. I’m sorry I let you see it!” the girl cried, depreciatingly.
“You should not say that. I found it very readable,” he answered.
“Thank you; but of course you say that out of kindness,” dimpling pensively.
“No; I mean it. I enjoyed reading some of the pretty trifles. You have decided poetical talent, still I was glad to find that you were not a genius.”
“Glad? Why?” reproachfully, with downcast eyes and a quivering lip.
“I should not like to see you aspiring to a literary career, with its heartaches and disappointments alternating with feverish triumphs. Woman should belong to the sweet fire-side of home, not to the critical public.”
The blue eyes dilated widely.
“You embraced a literary career,” she said.
“Yes, but it was for bread, not for fame.”
“But you are rich.”
“I have earned it all by my pen,” he answered; and again the violet eyes dilated widely.
“I did not know that—I thought you were always rich—that is, the Hintons said your wife was wealthy.”
It was the first time her pure young lips had ever referredto the wicked woman who had wrecked his life. She saw a burning flush creep up to his forehead, then fade into pallor.
“Oh, forgive me, I—I—spoke thoughtlessly,” faltered the girl.
“It does not matter. They told you the truth. I married a rich woman, but when we parted, her money went with her. I had to work for my mother.”
“And for me,” she said, very softly.
“No—not but that I should have been glad to do it, but my mother had a small income of her own. She insisted on dividing it with you.”
“I must love her more for her generosity,” Thea cried.
“And me less since you know that you owe me no obligation,” he said, coldly.
“You saved my life,” she answered, in a whisper so freighted with feeling that he could not reply to her.
It was not gratitude he wanted, it was love. Yet he could not tell her so. He was only her elderly guardian.
He glanced around at her and saw tears hanging on the thick fringe of her gold-brown lashes.
“Are you grieved, Sweetheart, because I expressed myself so plainly about your verses?” he asked.
“I thank you for your frankness, but I am grieved that I am not clever,” she said.
“Poor little one! Yet you can not expect to have the earth. When God made you so beautiful that it is a pleasure simply to look at you, He gave you your share of earthly favors.”
She brushed away the pearly tears with a tiny cobweb lace handkerchief and said, wistfully:
“I remember that you compared beauty without intellect to a lamp without a flame, a rose without fragrance.”
“I did not intend the comparison for you, Sweetheart, as, unfortunately for the peace of mankind, you have intellect enough to brighten the lamp and perfume the rose. I did not know you so yearned for the dignity of intellect, else I should have owned that I might find a publisher for your verses.”
“A publisher? But it might be more difficult to find readers and a niche in the temple of fame. I do not thirst for mediocrity,” she said, with a sidelong glance at his smiling face.
“You are right. And so many people arrive at nothing else, that I advise you not to attempt rivaling them. Keep your pretty verses for your friends’ reading. See, I carrysome of them in my vest-pocket with which to refresh the dull prose of my thoughts.”
“Pray don’t!” she cried, as he began to unfold the paper.
“True genius is always modest,” Norman de Vere answered, laughingly; and he read aloud in tones so musical that they lent a new charm to Thea’s simple rhyme:
“BEHIND THE CURTAIN.
“Little school-girl at her booksFrom the window chilly looksOut upon the sunny world,Bends her head so richly curled,Blushing with a thrill of bliss—Daring youth has thrown a kiss!“‘Ah,’ the maiden sighed, ‘how sweetTo be strolling down the street,With a lover by my side,Pledged to be his happy bride!’Watchful teacher with a frownSternly draws the curtain down,“Shuts the girl into the gloomOf the quiet, studious room;Rows of desks and dimpled faces,Smiling in accustomed places,Through the school the whisper ran:‘Nellie flirted with a man!’“Oh, what visions of romanceThrough their giddy fancies dance!And the world beyond the curtainGlimmered dazzling, vague, uncertain.Dreams of love and lovers blentWith each roguish glance they sent.“‘Nellie, child, you know the rule;Own before the listening schoolWho’s that very rude young man?I’ll reprove him if I can!’Nellie tittered: ‘Please forgive him, miss,’Twas—I—that—that—threw—the—first—kiss.’”
“Little school-girl at her booksFrom the window chilly looksOut upon the sunny world,Bends her head so richly curled,Blushing with a thrill of bliss—Daring youth has thrown a kiss!“‘Ah,’ the maiden sighed, ‘how sweetTo be strolling down the street,With a lover by my side,Pledged to be his happy bride!’Watchful teacher with a frownSternly draws the curtain down,“Shuts the girl into the gloomOf the quiet, studious room;Rows of desks and dimpled faces,Smiling in accustomed places,Through the school the whisper ran:‘Nellie flirted with a man!’“Oh, what visions of romanceThrough their giddy fancies dance!And the world beyond the curtainGlimmered dazzling, vague, uncertain.Dreams of love and lovers blentWith each roguish glance they sent.“‘Nellie, child, you know the rule;Own before the listening schoolWho’s that very rude young man?I’ll reprove him if I can!’Nellie tittered: ‘Please forgive him, miss,’Twas—I—that—that—threw—the—first—kiss.’”
“Little school-girl at her booksFrom the window chilly looksOut upon the sunny world,Bends her head so richly curled,Blushing with a thrill of bliss—Daring youth has thrown a kiss!
“Little school-girl at her books
From the window chilly looks
Out upon the sunny world,
Bends her head so richly curled,
Blushing with a thrill of bliss—
Daring youth has thrown a kiss!
“‘Ah,’ the maiden sighed, ‘how sweetTo be strolling down the street,With a lover by my side,Pledged to be his happy bride!’Watchful teacher with a frownSternly draws the curtain down,
“‘Ah,’ the maiden sighed, ‘how sweet
To be strolling down the street,
With a lover by my side,
Pledged to be his happy bride!’
Watchful teacher with a frown
Sternly draws the curtain down,
“Shuts the girl into the gloomOf the quiet, studious room;Rows of desks and dimpled faces,Smiling in accustomed places,Through the school the whisper ran:‘Nellie flirted with a man!’
“Shuts the girl into the gloom
Of the quiet, studious room;
Rows of desks and dimpled faces,
Smiling in accustomed places,
Through the school the whisper ran:
‘Nellie flirted with a man!’
“Oh, what visions of romanceThrough their giddy fancies dance!And the world beyond the curtainGlimmered dazzling, vague, uncertain.Dreams of love and lovers blentWith each roguish glance they sent.
“Oh, what visions of romance
Through their giddy fancies dance!
And the world beyond the curtain
Glimmered dazzling, vague, uncertain.
Dreams of love and lovers blent
With each roguish glance they sent.
“‘Nellie, child, you know the rule;Own before the listening schoolWho’s that very rude young man?I’ll reprove him if I can!’Nellie tittered: ‘Please forgive him, miss,’Twas—I—that—that—threw—the—first—kiss.’”
“‘Nellie, child, you know the rule;
Own before the listening school
Who’s that very rude young man?
I’ll reprove him if I can!’
Nellie tittered: ‘Please forgive him, miss,
’Twas—I—that—that—threw—the—first—kiss.’”
Both were laughing when he paused, but Thea was crimson, too.
“That silly thing!” she said, bashfully. “It was an impromptu at school. It really happened, you know. Nell Olney was the torment of the teachers, and the darling of the girls—the most arrant little flirt in Staunton. The girls said I should put it into rhyme, and I did on the moment. You know I told you they came easy.”
“It was very amusing,” Norman said, as he folded the paper again.
Then he sighed, he scarce knew why, unless it was at the vision he had conjured up of Thea with the rest in
“The gloomOf the quiet, studious room,”
“The gloomOf the quiet, studious room,”
“The gloomOf the quiet, studious room,”
“The gloom
Of the quiet, studious room,”
her golden head filled with
“Dreams of love and lovers blent.”
“Dreams of love and lovers blent.”
“Dreams of love and lovers blent.”
“Dreams of love and lovers blent.”
The school-girlish verses and the artless enjoyment with which she explained them made her seem younger and further away than ever. How beautiful, how charming she was. Did she realize her power, did she guess how madly his heart was beating, how he longed to take her in his arms and crush her against his breast in a passion of love? He must go, else presently she might be laughing at him as she had laughed at her other lovers.
He rose abruptly.
“I think I must be going.”
Thea rose, too, her smile growing less bright.
“I will go with you to the house,” she said.
“Is it necessary? I believe all I came for was to look after you, Sweetheart. Of course,” hurriedly, “my mother was anxious. I suppose I can go away now?”
“Certainly not”—the frank eyes dilated widely. “You promised Miss Bentley, you know, and she—all of us—put on our prettiest morning-dresses. You must go to her at once,” with pretty imperiousness.
But she stopped, plucked a rosebud from her belt, and put it in his button-hole.
“Wear my colors this once,” she said, with a daring that yet did not seem like boldness, only pretty child’s play.
“If I could believe she meant anything!” he thought, vaguely, as he walked by her side along the beautiful avenue shaded by orange-trees, whose globes of golden fruit hung pendant from the trees.
She walked on demurely, thinking daintily in verse:
“Ah, happy rose,Blest that you rise and fall upon his breast,Whisper him soft of love,All earthly joys above,Within my heart that glowsWith such unrest!”
“Ah, happy rose,Blest that you rise and fall upon his breast,Whisper him soft of love,All earthly joys above,Within my heart that glowsWith such unrest!”
“Ah, happy rose,Blest that you rise and fall upon his breast,Whisper him soft of love,All earthly joys above,Within my heart that glowsWith such unrest!”
“Ah, happy rose,
Blest that you rise and fall upon his breast,
Whisper him soft of love,
All earthly joys above,
Within my heart that glows
With such unrest!”
Suddenly he turned to her, saying:
“Have you had your fill of dancing, Sweetheart?”
“We dance every evening, but I am always ready for more,” she answered, smiling.
“I am thinking of giving a ball at Verelands when you come home.”
“Oh, how sweet!” Thea gave a little jump of delight. “May I tell the girls?”
“If you wish.”
Nell Bentley came out on the long piazza of the picturesque white house.
“Oh, there you are at last!” she exclaimed, vivaciously. “We thought you were never coming.”
“I stopped to talk with Sweetheart about a little plan of ours, Miss Nellie,” he said, taking her hand a moment and pressing it warmly.
“He is going to give us a ball at Verelands when I go home,” said Thea, joyously.
“Oh, glory!” cried Nell, impetuously. “Let us hurry in and tell them all!” and they entered the house, where Miss Bentley was waiting impatiently. She took possession of Norman de Vere for the remainder of his visit.