Eleanor | Page 5

it in a most
skilful simplicity. But the rest of the face was too long; and its pallor,
the singularly dark circles round the eyes, the great thinness of the
temples and cheeks, together with the emaciation of the whole delicate
frame, made a rather painful impression on a stranger. It was a face of
experience, a face of grief; timid, yet with many strange capacities and
suggestions both of vehemence and pride. It could still tremble into
youth and delight. But in general it held the world aloof. Mrs.
Burgoyne was not very far from thirty, and either physical weakness, or
the presence of some enemy within more destructive still, had
emphasised the loss of youth. At the same time she had still a voice, a
hand, a carriage that lovelier women had often envied, discerning in
them those subtleties of race and personality which are not to be
rivalled for the asking.
To-night she brought all her charm to bear upon her companion's
despondency, and succeeded as she had often succeeded before. She
divined that he needed flattery, and she gave it; that he must be
supported and endorsed, and she had soon pushed General Fenton out
of sight behind a cloud of witness of another sort.

Manisty's mood yielded; and in a short time he was again no less ready
to admire the sunset than she was.
'Heavens!' she said at last, holding out her watch.--'Just look at the
time--and Miss Foster!'
Manisty struck his hand against the railing.
'How is one to be civil about this visit! Nothing could be more
unfortunate. These last critical weeks--and each of us so dependent on
the other--Really it is the most monstrous folly on all our parts that we
should have brought this girl upon us.'
'Poor Miss Foster!' said Mrs. Burgoyne, raising her eyebrows. 'But of
course you won't be civil!--Aunt Pattie and I know that. When I think
of what I went through that first fortnight--'
'Eleanor!'
'You are the only man I ever knew that could sit silent through a whole
meal. By to-morrow Miss Foster will have added that experience to her
collection. Well--I shall be prepared with my consolations--there's the
carriage--and the bell!'
They fled indoors, escaping through the side entrances of the salon,
before the visitor could be shown in.
* * * * *
'Must I change my dress?'
The voice that asked the question trembled with agitation and fatigue.
But the girl who owned the voice stood up stiffly, looking at Miss
Manisty with a frowning, almost a threatening shyness.
'Well, my dear,' said Miss Manisty, hesitating. 'Are you not rather dusty?
We can easily keep dinner a quarter of an hour.'
She looked at the grey alpaca dress before her, in some perplexity.

'Oh, very well'--said the girl hurriedly.--'Of course I'll change.
Only'--and the voice fluttered again evidently against her will--'I'm
afraid I haven't anything very nice. I must get something in Rome. Mrs.
Lewinson advised me. This is my afternoon dress,--I've been wearing it
in Florence. But of course--I'll put on my other.--Oh! please don't send
for a maid. I'd rather unpack for myself--so much rather!'
The speaker flushed crimson, as she saw Miss Manisty's maid enter the
room in answer to her mistress's ring. She stood up indeed with her
hand grasping her trunk, as though defending it from an assailant.
The maid looked at her mistress. 'Miss Foster will ring, Benson, if she
wants you'--said Miss Manisty; and the black-robed elderly maid,
breathing decorous fashion and the ways of 'the best people,' turned,
gave a swift look at Miss Foster, and left the room.
'Are you sure, my dear? You know she would make you tidy in no time.
She arranges hair beautifully.'
'Oh quite--quite sure!--thank you,' said the girl with the same eagerness.
'I will be ready,--right away.'
Then, left to herself, Miss Foster hastily opened her box and took out
some of its contents. She unfolded one dress after another,--and looked
at them unhappily.
'Perhaps I ought to have let cousin Izza give me those things in Boston,'
she thought. 'Perhaps I was too proud. And that money of Uncle
Ben's--it might have been kinder--after all he wanted me to look nice'--
She sat ruefully on the ground beside her trunk, turning the things over,
in a misery of annoyance and mortification; half inclined to laugh too
as she remembered the seamstress in the small New England country
town, who had helped her own hands to manufacture them. 'Well, Miss
Lucy, your uncle's done real handsome by you. I guess he's set you up,
and no mistake. There's no meanness about him!'
And she saw the dress on the stand--the little blonde withered head of

the dressmaker--the spectacled eyes dwelling proudly on the
masterpiece before them.--
Alack! There