A Face Illumined | Page 7

the hilt of his sword. But some animals and men only become

absurd when they try to appear formidable. It was ludicrous to see him
weakly frowning at the sturdy Teuton who had already forgotten his
existence as completely as he might that of a buzzing mosquito he had
exterminated with a slap.
They young girl's face grew even less satisfactory as it became more
quiet. A muddy pool, rippled by a breeze, will sparkle quite brilliantly
while in motion; but when quiet it is seen the more plainly to be only a
shallow pool. At first the beautiful features expressed only petty
resentment at the public rebuke. As this faintly lurid light faded out and
left the countenance in its normal state it became more heavy and
earthy in its expression than Van Berg would have deemed possible,
and it ever remained a mystery to him how features so delicate,
beautiful, and essentially feminine could combine to show so clearly
that the indwelling nature was largely alloyed with clay. there was not
that dewy freshness in the fair young face which one might expect to
see in the early morning of existence. The Lord from heaven breathed
the breath of life into the first fair woman; but this girl might seem to
have been the natural product of evolution, and her soul to be as truly
of the earth as her body.
It was evident that she had been made familiar too early and thoroughly
with conventional and fashionable society, and, although this fraction
of the world is seldom without its gloves, its touch nevertheless had
soiled her nature. Her face did not express any active or malignant
principle of evil; but a close observer, like Van Berg, in whom the man
was in the ascendant over the animal, could detect the absence of the
serene, maidenly purity of expression, characteristic of those girls who
have obtained their ideas of life from good mothers, rather than from
French novels, French plays, and a phase of society that borrows its
inspiration from fashionable Paris.
With the ending of the symphony the chatting and flirting at the table
began again, to Van Berg's increased disgust. Indeed, he was so
irritated that he could no longer control himself, and rose abruptly,
saying to his companion:
"Come, let us walk outside."

His sudden movement drew the young lady's attention, but by this time
he had only his broad shoulders turned towards her. She saw Ik Stanton
looking at her, however, with a face full of mischief, and she
recognized him with a nod and a smile.
He, with the familiarity that indicated relationship, but with a motion
too slight to be noticed by others, threw her a kiss from the tips of his
fingers, as one might toss a sugar-plum to a child, and then followed
his friend.
Chapter II.
Ida Mayhew.

What is the matter, Van? You remind me of a certain horned beast that
has seen a red flag," said Ik Stanton, linking his arm in that of Van
Berg's.
"An apt illustration. I have been baited and irritated for the last twenty
minutes."
"I thought you enjoyed Beethoven's music, and surely Thomas
rendered it divinely to-night."
"That is one of the chief of my grievances. I haven't been able to hear a
note," was the wrathful response.
"That's strange," said Stanton with mock gravity. "Were I not afraid
you would take it amiss I would hint that your ears are of goodly size.
How comes it that they have so suddenly failed you?"
"Having seen your dinner you have no eyes for anything else. If you
had, you would have seen a face near us."
"I saw a score of faces near us. A German had one with the area of an
acre."

"Was he the one who said, 'hist,' like a blast from the North?"
"From a porpoise rather."
"Did you observe the girl towards whom his gusty rebuke was
directed?"
"Yes, an inoffensive young lady."
"Inoffensive, indeed!" interrupted Van Berg. "She has put me into
purgatory."
"You do seem quite ablaze. Well, you are not the first one that she has
put there. But really, Van, I did not know that you were so
inflammable."
"If you had any of the instincts of an artist you would know that I am
inflamed with no gentler feeling than anger."
"Why! what has the poor child done to you?"
"She is not a child. She knows too much about some things."
"I've no doubt she is better than either you or I," said Stanton, sharply.
"That fact would be far from proving her a saint."
"What the dickens makes you so vindictive against the girl?"
"Because she has the features of an angel and the face of a fool. What
business has