BY THE SEA.
33
flung back her heavy traveling-veil, extended a
daintily-gloved hand, and said in the softest,
most indifferent voice, ‘How do you do, Mr.
Warner? Really, I believe one would stumble
over old acquaintances, if one went to the anti-
podes, wherever that may be.”
And the calm, gray eyes gazed into his with that far-off look which it is so aggravating to meet; and the beautiful mouth seemed divided between a smile and a yawn; and Warner stood absolutely stupid with surprise at this apparition, so unlike anything that he had expected to behold.
The difference between a chrysalis and a gorgeous butterfly! No love-sick, sentimental girl, but a handsome, stylish woman, with the aplomb of thirty-five.
“You seem half inclined to dispute our identity,” continued Miss Annesly. ‘I don’t wonder—I feel like somebody else! Aunty, were you ever so tired?”
“Never,” returned the old lady. ‘Where's the landlord? I want rooms—I’m just worn out! Don’t tell me the house is closed—I mean to stay. So'call him,” and she thumped vigorously on the floor with the point of her blue umbrella.
By this time, Grafton began to think that it would be as well to recover himself a little, and not stand there like a great, confused school- boy; so he mixed matters very much by trying, in the same breath, to assure Miss Annesly that he was delighted to meet her, and to offer to find the master of the house for the old lady, glad of any pretext to absent himself long enough to get his head straight.
But at that moment Roylston came out of the hall with his honest face in a glow of pleasure, and was warmly greeted by both aunt and niece; and for almost the first time in his life, Grafton had the pleasure of knowing how a man feels when the feminine element present appears utterly oblivious of his existence.
“I want a place to lay my head, Richard Roylston,” said the old lady. ‘We've been staying at Patchogue; the landlord behaved like a brute, and I left. Our house in town is all upset, and I will not go to a hotel, and here I mean to stay for a fortnight; so find the man and get me rooms, and be quick about it,” and she pounded on the floor again with the ill-used umbrella.
Grafton saw Mr. Yetson out in the grounds, went to call him, and did not return for some time. When he did, the ladies had disappeared, and he found Roylston in the little snuggery off the dining-room, which, in the empty state of the house, the party had been allowed to turn into a smoking-den.
“Confounded boré, having a parcel of women tumble in to upset us,” grumbled Grafton, flinging himself into a chair.
“Two don’t make a parcel,” replied Richard. “If they tumbled, it must have been owing to your awkwardness, as you helped them out of the carriage.”
“Oh, don’t be witty!” fumed Grafton. “I say women are a bore in such a place, and you know it.”
“Don’t know anything of the sort,” answered Richard; “and for you, of all fellows, to make a speech like that is simply ridiculous.”
“I suppose I ought to know best how I feel,” retorted Grafton, crossly.
“No,” said Richard, “I think not.”
Then Grafton kicked the burning logs and scorched his boot, and muttered a bad word.
“I would advise you take a nap before dinner,” said Richard, “and get your manners in trim for female society again.”
“I would advise you to mind your own business, my dear old boy,” replied Grafton.
“I don’t feel in the mood,” said Richard, laughing. “In heaven’s name, what makes you so cross?”
The ringing of the first dinner-bell obviated the necessity for an answer; and they both went off to make themselves more presentable.
After all, it was a very gay dinner. Old Mrs. Annesly was witty and odd; the young lady charmed the whole crowd in no time, and Graf- ton sat looking at her, and wondering if she could be the girl he had held in his arms; and if that proud mouth could be the same he had seen tremulous with emotion; if those calm eyes were the eyes he had watched hang upon his slighiest look, or dilate with speechless anguish in that terrible parting hour.
I never have time to give you details, so I cannot dwell upon the events of the days that followed. It was the most heavenly weather— those soft, gray November days, which have such an inexpressible charm, and which exer- cise over an impulsive, imaginative man so subtle an influence, that he would be very likely to make love to his grandmother, if nothing else in the way of a petticoat offered itself.
I am afraid the shooting suffered in consequence; but the whole crowd found the feminine addition to their number very pleasant; and Miss Annesly possessed the rare art of being able to play agreeable to half a dozen men, and making herself charming to each without even indulging, in look or word, that
