A Simpleton | Page 4

a chair cover, admirably unfit to be sat upon--except
by some severe artist, bent on obliterating discordant colors. To do her
justice, her mind was not in her work; for she rustled softly with
restlessness as she sat, and she rose three times in twenty minutes, and
went to the window. Thence she looked down, over a trim flowery
lawn, and long, sloping meadows, on to the silver Thames, alive with
steamboats ploughing, white sails bellying, and great ships carrying to
and fro the treasures of the globe. From this fair landscape and epitome
of commerce she retired each time with listless disdain; she was
waiting for somebody.
Yet she was one of those whom few men care to keep waiting. Rosa
Lusignan was a dark but dazzling beauty, with coal-black hair, and
glorious dark eyes, that seemed to beam with soul all day long; her
eyebrows, black, straightish, and rather thick, would have been majestic
and too severe, had the other features followed suit; but her black
brows were succeeded by long silky lashes, a sweet oval face, two
pouting lips studded with ivory, and an exquisite chin, as feeble as any
man could desire in the partner of his bosom. Person--straight, elastic,
and rather tall. Mind--nineteen. Accomplishments--numerous; a poor
French scholar, a worse German, a worse English, an admirable dancer,
an inaccurate musician, a good rider, a bad draughtswoman, a bad
hairdresser, at the mercy of her maid; a hot theologian, knowing
nothing, a sorry accountant, no housekeeper, no seamstress, a fair
embroideress, a capital geographer, and no cook.
Collectively, viz., mind and body, the girl we kneel to.
This ornamental member of society now glanced at the clock once
more, and then glided to the window for the fourth time. She peeped at
the side a good while, with superfluous slyness or shyness, and
presently she drew back, blushing crimson; then she peeped again, still

more furtively; then retired softly to her frame, and, for the first time,
set to work in earnest. As she plied her harpoon, smiling now, the large
and vivid blush, that had suffused her face and throat, turned from
carnation to rose, and melted away slowly, but perceptibly, and ever so
sweetly; and somebody knocked at the street door.
The blow seemed to drive her deeper into her work. She leaned over it,
graceful as a willow, and so absorbed, she could not even see the door
of the room open and Dr. Staines come in.
All the better: her not perceiving that slight addition to her furniture
gives me a moment to describe him.
A young man, five feet eleven inches high, very square shouldered and
deep chested, but so symmetrical, and light in his movements, that his
size hardly struck one at first. He was smooth shaved, all but a short,
thick, auburn whisker; his hair was brown. His features no more then
comely: the brow full, the eyes wide apart and deep-seated, the lips
rather thin, but expressive, the chin solid and square. It was a face of
power, and capable of harshness; but relieved by an eye of unusual
color, between hazel and gray, and wonderfully tender. In complexion
he could not compare with Rosa; his cheek was clear, but pale; for few
young men had studied night and day so constantly. Though but
twenty-eight years of age, he was literally a learned physician; deep in
hospital practice; deep in books; especially deep in German science, too
often neglected or skimmed by English physicians. He had delivered a
course of lectures at a learned university with general applause.
As my reader has divined, Rosa was preparing the comedy of a cool
reception; but looking up, she saw his pale cheek tinted with a lover's
beautiful joy at the bare sight of her, and his soft eye so divine with
love, that she had not the heart to chill him. She gave him her hand
kindly, and smiled brightly on him instead of remonstrating. She lost
nothing by it, for the very first thing he did was to excuse himself
eagerly. "I am behind time: the fact is, just as I was mounting my horse,
a poor man came to the gate to consult me. He had a terrible disorder I
have sometimes succeeded in arresting--I attack the cause instead of the
symptoms, which is the old practice--and so that detained me. You
forgive me?"
"Of course. Poor man!--only you said you wanted to see papa, and he
always goes out at two."

When she had been betrayed into saying this, she drew in suddenly, and
blushed with a pretty consciousness.
"Then don't let me lose another minute," said the lover. "Have you
prepared him for--for--what I am going to have the audacity to say?"
Rosa answered, with some hesitation, "I