A Face Illumined Part 58

She looked at him with some surprise as she replied, "Well, I think I might at least become a good listener."

"Do you mean a patient one?"

"I never had any patience," she answered, with something like a smile.

"And I was never so possessed by the demon of impatience as I have been this afternoon. There hasn't been a soul around that I cared to talk with, and if you knew how out of conceit I am with my own company, you would feel some commiseration. How I envied you your visit to the garden this afternoon, for I felt sure you took your father thither. May I not go with you again to-morrow, or soon? I wish to make my sketch more accurate before beginning your picture."

She hesitated a moment, and he little know how he was tempting her.

Then she replied, so quietly and decisively as to seem almost cold, "Mr. Eltinge, I'm sure, will be very glad to see you, but I shall go to the city with my father in the morning and remain in town all the week." She was puzzled at his unmistakable expression of regret and disappointment, and added, hastily, "Mr. Van Berg, you are taking far too much trouble. I would be more satisfied--I would be delighted with such a sketch as you made to-day, with the omission of myself."

"But if, instead of being trouble, it gave me great pleasure to make the picture with the utmost care?"

"I suppose," she replied, "that you have a high artistic sense that must be satisfied, and that you see imperfections that I cannot."

"You are too severe upon me, Miss Mayhew, but since you have such good reason, I cannot complain. Still, in justice to myself, I must say that satisfying my artistic sense was not my motive."

"I did not mean to be severe--I do not mean what you think," Ida began, very eagerly. Then she checked herself and added, after a moment, with a slight tinge of sadness in her tone, "I fear we are fated to misunderstand each other. Good-night, Mr. Van Berg," and she turned decisively away and joined her father who was talking with Stanton.

The artist was both hurt and perplexed, and he abruptly left the hall and started again on the walk which had been so unexpectedly interrupted. He strode away through the starlight with a swiftness that was scarcely in harmony with the warm, still summer night.

Before he was aware of it he was a mile away. Stopping suddenly he muttered:

"I won't be so baffled and puzzled. I will learn to understand this Ida Mayhew before this summer is over. It's ridiculous that I should be so dull and stupid. She says she fears we are 'fated to misunderstand each other.' I defy such a blind stupid fate. I used to have some brains and tact before I came to this place, and I scarcely think I've become an idiot. I am determined to win that girl's friends.h.i.+p, and I intend to follow her career and watch the rare and beautiful development of her character. That one hour in the garden yesterday taught me what an inspiration her exquisite beauty can be in my profession, and surely with the vantage-ground I already possess I ought to have skill enough to win a place among her friends," and he walked back almost as quickly as he had stalked away.

Ida had seen his departure and recognized the fact that she had hurt his feelings. It was strange that so little a thing could depress her so greatly, for she felt that the first real Sabbath she had ever spent and which had been in truth a SUN-day to her thus far, was now ending in shadows darker than the night. "How weak I am," she thought; "I must go away as soon as possible, or else I shall be sorry. The companions.h.i.+p that he can give so easily and frankly when Miss Burton is not at hand to occupy him is impossible for me, and would only end in the betrayal of a secret that I would hide even more anxiously than the crime I could not conceal from him. My duty and my father must be everything hereafter," and she turned resolutely to him, saying:

"Father, take a seat in the parlor while I go and find mother. I want these people to see that you have a family who at least show that they appreciate all the luxuries and comforts you are providing for them."

Mr. Mayhew was more deeply gratified by her words than she could understand, for any recognition of his manhood and rightful position which was quiet and un.o.btrusive, was balm and healing to his wounded self-respect. Hitherto he had believed correctly that his family wished to keep him out of sight, and at no time before had he realized the change that had taken place in Ida more keenly than when she made this simple and natural proposition. His grateful smile as he complied with her request did her good, but she soon discovered that in her mother she had a very difficult subject to manage. She found that lady in her room wearing a gloomy and injured expression.

"You have condescended at last to come and see whether I was alive, I see," she said, as Ida entered the room.

Her daughter went directly to her and kissing her replied, "We haven't intended to leave you so long or to neglect you in the least, and I'll explain."

"Oh, no need of explaining. Excuses always make matters worse.

Here is the fact--I've been left all the afternoon to myself."

"Have you noticed no other fact to-day, mother?" asked Ida, gravely.

"Yes, I've noticed that you and your father have been so wrapped up in each other that I'm n.o.body, and might as well be Mrs. John Smith as Mrs. Mayhew."

"Pardon me, mother, you are exaggerating," said Ida, firmly.

"Father was very polite to you at breakfast and dinner, and he went to church with you this morning, and I can scarcely remember when he has done this before. I am chiefly to blame for keeping him away so long this afternoon, for I wanted him to see and talk with my friend Mr. Eltinge, who has done me so much good. I thought he might help father too, and I truly believe he has. I repeat to you again, in all sincerity and love, that we have not intended to neglect you, and father now wishes you to come down and join him in the parlor, so that we can, as a family, at last appear as we ought before the world. In the name of all that is sacred, encourage dear father now that he is trying to be what we have so often wished."

But Mrs. Mayhew's pets were like spells of bad weather and would run their course. She only looked more gloomy and injured than ever as she replied:

"It's all very well to talk. Mr. Mayhew must be encouraged and coaxed to do what any man ought to do. I might have enjoyed a ride this evening as well as your father."

"You said it was too warm to go out after dinner."

"Well, you might have waited till it wasn't too warm."

A sudden scarlet burned in Ida's cheeks, and there came an ominous sparkle in her eyes. "Mother," she said so abruptly and sternly that the lady looked up wonderingly, and encountered an expression in her daughter's face that awakened an undefined fear. In tones that were low, indignant, and authoritative Ida continued:

"I request--I demand that you cease this nonsense at once. As a Christian woman you ought to be on your knees thanking G.o.d that your husband is not lying intoxicated on that sofa, as he was last Sunday at this time. You ought to be thanking G.o.d that he is becoming his former self, and winning respect by acting like a true gentleman. It was our unutterable folly that was destroying him, and I say this folly must and shall cease. I will not permit my father's sensitive nature to be wounded as it has been. You shall not spoil this first bright day he has had after so many years.

If you care for him why don't you try to win his affection? and whoever heard of a heart being won by whining and fault-finding?

But of this be sure, you shall not spoil this day. I charge you as a wife and a lady to cease this childish petulance, and come down at once."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Mayhew, rising mechanically, "if you are going to make a scene---"

"I am going to prevent scenes," said Ida, with all her old time imperiousness. "I insist that we appear in the future like a quiet, well-bred family, and I warn you that I will permit my father to be trifled with no longer. He SHALL have a chance. Wait, let me help you make a more becoming toilet for Sunday evening."

Ida was very strongly aroused, and the superior nature mastered the weaker. Mrs. Mayhew became as wax in her hands, although she made many natural and irritable protests against her daughter speaking to her as she had done. Ida paid no heed to her mother's words, and after giving a few finis.h.i.+ng touches to her dress relieved her sternness by a judicious compliment, "I wish you to take the seat father is reserving for you," she said, "and appear the charming lady that you know how to be so well;" and without further parley they went down together.

Once in the social eye it would be Mrs. Mayhew's strongest impulse to make a good impression, and she behaved beautifully. Something in Ida's manner puzzled her father, but she smiled so rea.s.suringly that he gave himself up to the quiet enjoyment of the situation that was so natural and yet so novel. He listened with a pleased expression to the music, and noted, with deep satisfaction, the friendly and respectful bearing of those near, towards both his wife and himself; but he exulted in the evident admiration that his daughter excited. The people at the Lake House had already discovered that there was a decided change for the better in the Mayhew family, and they greeted the improvement with a kindly but well-bred and un.o.btrusive welcome that was creditable to human nature. Of course there was a great deal of whispered surmise, but nothing offensive to the eye.

Stanton came and asked Ida to join in the singing at the piano, but she shook her head decidedly.

"Who has been hurting your feelings?" he asked, in a low tone.

By a scarcely perceptible gesture, she put her finger on her lips and said quietly, "They are waiting for you, Cousin Ik." Then she added, with a smile, "Somewhere I've heard a proverb expressing surprise that Saul should be among the prophets. I hardly think it will be in good taste for me to appear among them just yet."

"And I once believed her to be a fool," thought Stanton as he returned to his place.

Again, on this Sunday evening, keen eyes were watching her from the dusky piazza, but so far from being wolfish and ravenous, they were full of sympathy and admiration.

As Van Berg approached the parlor windows after his return, he saw Stanton standing by the piano at Jennie Burton's side, and she was looking up to him and speaking in a very friendly manner. He was not conscious of any appropriate pangs of jealousy, and indeed did not miss their absence, but he looked eagerly around for the problem his philosophical mind was so bent on solving.

At first the favorable impression made by the reunited family caught his attention, and he muttered, "There is some more of her magic.

But what is the matter with Miss Mayhew herself. Her eyes are burning with a fire that is anything but tender and sacred, and there are moments when her face is almost stern, and again it is full of trouble."

Some one discovered him on the piazza, and there was a general wish expressed that he should sing with Miss Burton a duet that had become a favorite. After this and one or two other pieces, he again sought his place of observation. The color and fire had now wholly faded from Miss Mayhew's face, and she looked pale and sad. Her father turned to her, and said:

"Ida, I fear you don't feel well."

"I'm very tired, and think I had better go to my room."

He rose instantly, and gave her his arm, but on the way she rea.s.sured him: "A night's sleep, and the rest I shall have with you in the city are just what I need; so don't worry, for I shall be ready to take the train with you in the morning;" and Mr. Mayhew rejoined his wife, and completed a happier day than he ever expected to see again.

But poor Ida, when left alone, buried her face in her hands and sobbed, "I've wounded HIS feelings, I've given way to my old pa.s.sionate anger, I've spoken to mother as a daughter never should.

What will ever become of faulty Ida Mayhew? The worm-eaten emblem is true of me still."

Then, as if whispered to her by some good angel, the words Mr.

Eltinge had spoken recurred to her. "Your Saviour will be as tender and patient with you as a mother with her baby that is learning to walk."

"Oh," she cried, in a low, pa.s.sionate tone, "that is the kind of a G.o.d I need!"

She also remembered the rea.s.suring words that Mr. Eltinge had quoted--"As one whom his mother comforteth so will I comfort you,"

and the promise was made good to her.