Bressant | Page 6

the decrepit water-spout which
depended weakly from the corner of the balcony-roof, and thence again
ascended to a great, solid, white cloud, with turreted outline clear
against the blue, which was slowly sliding across the sky from the
westward, and threatened soon to cut off the afternoon sunshine.
The professor restlessly altered the position of his legs, thereby
drawing his daughter's attention once more to himself. Thinking she
had waited as long as was requisite for the maintenance of her dignity
as a non-inquisitive person, she transferred herself lightly to the arm of
her father's chair, grasping his beard in her plump, slender hand, and
turned his face up toward hers.
"Well, papa! aren't you going to tell what the news is? Is it nice?"
"Very nice!" said papa, taking her irreverent hand into his own, and
keeping it there. "At least you will think so," he added, looking half
playful and half wistful.
Cornelia brought her lips into a pout, all ready to say, "what?" but did
not say it, and gazed at her father with round, interrogating eyes.
"You'd be very glad to go away and leave me, of course," continued the
professor, assuming an air of studied unconcern.
"Papa!" exclaimed the young lady, with an emphatic intonation of
affection, indignation, and bewilderment.

"What! not be glad to go to New York, and to all the fashionable
watering-places, and be introduced to all the best society?" queried the
old gentleman, in hypocritical astonishment.
"Papa!" again exclaimed the young lady; but this time in a tone which
the tumult of delight, anticipation, and a fear lest there should be a
mistake somewhere, softened almost into a whisper. She had risen from
the arm of the chair to her feet, and stood with her hands clasped
together beneath her chin.
The professor laughed a short and rather unnatural laugh. "I thought
you wouldn't be obstinate about it, when you came to think it over,"
said he, dryly. He folded up his spectacles and put them back in his
waistcoat pocket with, unusual elaboration of manner. "So you would
really like to have a change, would you? Well, I trust you will not be
disappointed in your expectations of society and watering-places. At all
events, you may learn to appreciate home more!" Here the professor
laughed again, as if he considered it a joke.
Cornelia was too much entranced by the new idea to have any notion of
what he was talking about; she was already hundreds of miles away,
living in stately houses, driving in magnificent carriages, sweeping in
gorgeous silks and laces through gilded and illuminated ballrooms, and
listening to courtly compliments from handsome and immaculate
gentlemen. But when, presently, her scattered faculties began to return
to a more normal state, an unquenchable curiosity to know how the
miracle was to be worked, seized upon her. She dropped on her knees
beside her father's chair, took his hand in both of hers, and looked up in
his face.
"But how is it to be, papa, dear? I mean, whom am I to go with? and
when am I to go?--dear me, I haven't a thing to wear! Shall I have time
to get any thing ready? Isn't Sophie invited too? How strange it all
seems! I can hardly realize it, somehow. From whom is the letter?"
"Can you remember when you were about nine years old?" inquired the
professor.

"I don't know, I am sure," replied Cornelia, in some surprise at the
irrelevancy of the question. "Nothing particular. Oh! I know! we were
in New York!" said she, beginning to see some connection, and
breaking into a smile.
"Do you remember seeing a lady there," continued the professor,
talking and looking straight at nothing, "who made a great deal of you
and Sophie, and asked you to call her Aunt Margaret?"
"Oh--I believe--I do--," said Cornelia, slowly; "I think I didn't like her
much, because she was deaf or something, and talked in such a high
voice. She wasn't really our aunt, was she? Did she write the letter?"
"Yes, she did, my dear, and invites you and Sophie to spend the
summer with her. You don't dislike her so much as to refuse, I suppose,
do you?"
"O papa!" exclaimed his daughter, deprecatingly; for the old gentleman
had spoken rather in a tone of reproof. "I'm sure she's as kind and good
as she can be; I was only telling what I especially remembered about
her, you know. How did she come to think of us after so long?"
"I used to know her quite well, long before you were born, my dear,"
replied the professor, tapping with his fingers on the arm of the chair;
"and at that time I should not have been surprised at her offering me