His Sombre Rivals | Page 7

delicious muffins altogether"--with a nod at
her hostess; "our game has been broken up, you know, Mrs. Mayburn,
by the departure of Mrs. Weeks and her daughter. You have often
played a good hand with us, and papa thought you would come over

this evening, and that you, from your better acquaintance with our
neighbors, might know of some one who enjoyed the game sufficiently
to join us quite often. Mr. Graham, you must be the one I am seeking.
A gentleman versed in the lore of two continents certainly understands
whist, or, at least, can penetrate its mysteries at a single sitting."
"Suppose I punish the irony of your concluding words," Graham
replied, "by saying that I know just enough about the game to be aware
how much skill is required to play with such a veteran as your father?"
"If you did you would punish papa also, who is innocent."
"That cannot be thought of, although, in truth, I play but an indifferent
game. If you will make amends by teaching me I will try to perpetrate
as few blunders as possible."
"Indeed, sir, you forget. You are to make amends for keeping me
talking here, forgetful of filial duty, by giving me a chance to teach you.
You are to be led meekly in as a trophy by which I am to propitiate my
stern parent, who has military ideas of promptness and obedience."
"What if he should place me under arrest?"
"Then Mrs. Mayburn and I will become your jailers, and we shall keep
you here until you are one of the most accomplished whist-players in
the land."
"If you will promise to stand guard over me some of the time I will
submit to any conditions."
"You are already making one condition, and may think of a dozen more.
It will be better to parole you with the understanding that you are to put
in an appearance at the hour for whist;" and with similar light talk they
went down the walk under the apple-boughs, whence in Graham's
fancy the fair girl had had her origin. As they passed under the shadow
he saw the dusky outline of a rustic seat leaning against the bole of the
tree, and he wondered if he should ever induce his present guide
through the darkened paths to come there some moonlight evening, and

listen to the fancies which her unexpected appearance had occasioned.
The possibility of such an event in contrast with its far greater
improbability caused him to sigh, and then he smiled broadly at himself
in the darkness.
When they had passed a clump of evergreens, a lighted cottage
presented itself, and Miss St. John sprang lightly up the steps, pushed
open the hall door, and cried through the open entrance to a cosey
apartment, "No occasion for hostilities, papa. I have made a capture
that gives the promise of whist not only this evening but also for
several more to come."
As Graham and Mrs. Mayburn entered, a tall, white-haired man lifted
his foot from off a cushion, and rose with some little difficulty, but
having gained his feet, his bearing was erect and soldier-like, and his
courtesy perfect, although toward Mrs. Mayburn it was tinged with the
gallantry of a former generation. Some brief explanations followed, and
then Major St. John turned upon Graham the dark eyes which his
daughter had inherited, and which seemed all the more brilliant in
contrast with his frosty eyebrows, and said genially, "It is very kind of
you to be willing to aid in beguiling an old man's tedium." Turning to
his daughter he added a little querulously, "There must be a storm
brewing, Grace," and he drew in his breath as if in pain.
"Does your wound trouble you to-night, papa?" she asked gently.
"Yes, just as it always does before a storm."
"It is perfectly clear without," she resumed. "Perhaps the room has
become a little cold. The evenings are still damp and chilly;" and she
threw two or three billets of wood on the open fire, kindling a blaze
that sprang cheerily up the chimney.
The room seemed to be a combination of parlor and library, and it
satisfied Graham's ideal of a living apartment. Easy-chairs of various
patterns stood here and there and looked as if constructed by the very
genius of comfort. A secretary in the corner near a window was open,
suggesting absent friends and the pleasure of writing to them amid such

agreeable surroundings. Again Graham queried, prompted by the
peculiar influences that had gained the mastery on this tranquil but
eventful evening, "Will Miss St. John ever sit there penning words
straight from her heart to me?"
He was brought back to prose and reality by the major. Mrs. Mayburn
had been condoling