128 KNOWING ONE'S OWN MIND.
When they were at Rushbanks she had certainly
showed an undoubted preference for his society
above all others; and then, when he told his
love, she had refuséd it with scorn. What was
there left of the young girl of his imagination?
No wonder that he had turned for consolation
to the gentle creature now sitting before her.
Lilian looked unusually pretty; the cold air
enhanced her brilliant bloom, and her golden
locks almost sparkled in the sunshine. She was
talking animatedly to Jack, and Blanche thought
jealously how those blue eyes might have looked
into Frank Stuyvesant’s, and charmed him into
forgetfulness of her own brown cheeks and
chestnut eyes.
They were returning now, just passing the reservoir into Fifth Avenue, when the spirited horses took fright at several eager equestrians, and plunged and reared frantically. In one moment the light dog-cart was overturned, and Blanche thrown violently out, stunned for the moment. When she opened her eyes a well- known arm supported her, a well-known face bent over her, and Frank’s voice called to her in passionate accents.
Coloring deeply, she hastily disengaged herself from his arms, and without giving him a look, hurried toward her cousin.
Jack had taken good care of Lilian, for she was standing by, laughing, and shaking the dust from her profusion of fair hair, which tumbled over her shoulders in defiance of comb and hair-pins. When Blanche turned, Mr. Stuyvesant was looking on, with an indifferent face, at the righting of the dog-cart.
“Let me help you,” he cried, laughing at Lilian’s futile attempts to straighten several sadly bedraggled plumes—and he bent for- ward and whispered something which made Lilian blush and toss her head.
“Come, Frank, jump in old fellow, and let me show you how my grays can step out,” said Jack Courtenaye, helping his cousin to her seat, whilst Blanche sprung in, scarcely touching Mr. Stuyvesant’s assisting hand. Frank glanced at Blanche, but she turned away her head.
“I thank you; no, not today,” and, lifting his hat, walked rapidly away.
They drove quickly home, Lilian thinking it a famous adventire; Blanche, absorbed in the recollection she had seen, of ardent eyes so close to her face, and brown curls almost touch- ing her own darker locks.
The following day was Sunday. In the afternoon Blanche stole off alone to Calvary church. The evening prayers quieted her restless heart, and stilled for awhile her self-reproaches. The service was ended, the echoes of the sweet voices had died away. Blanche made her way down the aisle, feeling at peace with all the world: When she reached the door, she started back dismayed, for there was an ominous patter on the stone-steps, and torrents of pitiless rain struck terror to the hearts of umbrellaless-worshipers. Blanche had hardly time to think of the probable fate of her little pink bonnet, when some one stepped forward and formally offered his escort and umbrella. Her heart bounded; she knew the voice and form, but she merely bowed; and put her hand within the proffered arm.
Together they stepped out of the vestibule and on to the street, and silently the first block was passed. For her life Blanche could think of nothing to say. She stole a glance at her companion, but encountered such sparkling eyes, that she did not dare look again. When they reached her own door, Miss Courtenaye contrived to say,
“I am very much indebted to you.” For which Mr. Stuyvesant bowed and departed.
“I tell you, mother, Lilian Dashwood is turning out a regular beauty,” said Jack Courtenaye, at breakfast, next morning, indolently stretching his arm to reach a round of toast.
Mrs. Courtenaye adjusted her breakfast-cap before she replied.
“Such a complexion and such hair would make any one pretty. Lilian has, besides all that, great good sense. I do not think any foolish notions will interfere with her acceptance of a good offer, if she has one.”
“Frank Stuyvesant seems to be pretty far gone—don’t you think so?” said Jack, turning suddenly to his sister.
Blanche felt in her heart a despairing assent; but she answered quite steadily that they were well suited.
Jack’s remarks were interrupted by the entrance of the servant with a little pink billet, which he laid by Miss Courtenaye’s plate.
“From Lilian,” said Blamehe, answering her mother’s questioning look, “asking Jack and me to pass a quiet evening with her, as no one but herself is at home.”
“Of course, we'll go,” said Jack, quickly; to which his sister made no demur.
“How charmed I am to see you,” cried Miss Dashwood, meeting her cousin that evening at the hall-door; “but where is Jack?”
“Oh! he said he would leave me, and walk to the corner to finish his segar.”
“Come right into the parlor, Blanche, I will take your wraps upstairs. You must do without
