The Loves of Alonzo Fitz Clarence and Rosannah Ethelton | Page 4

receiving a faint reflected enrichment from some scarlet neighbor of the
garden; great, soft blue eyes fringed with long, curving lashes; an
expression made up of the trustfulness of a child and the gentleness of a
fawn; a beautiful head crowned with its own prodigal gold; a lithe and
rounded figure, whose every attitude and movement was instinct with
native grace.
Her dress and adornment were marked by that exquisite harmony that
can come only of a fine natural taste perfected by culture. Her gown
was of a simple magenta tulle, cut bias, traversed by three rows of
light-blue flounces, with the selvage edges turned up with
ashes-of-roses chenille; overdress of dark bay tarlatan with scarlet satin
lambrequins; corn- colored polonaise, en zanier, looped with
mother-of-pearl buttons and silver cord, and hauled aft and made fast
by buff velvet lashings; basque of lavender reps, picked out with
valenciennes; low neck, short sleeves; maroon velvet necktie edged
with delicate pink silk; inside handkerchief of some simple three-ply
ingrain fabric of a soft saffron tint; coral bracelets and locket-chain;
coiffure of forget-me-nots and lilies-of-the -valley massed around a
noble calla.
This was all; yet even in this subdued attire she was divinely beautiful.
Then what must she have been when adorned for the festival or the
ball?
All this time she had been busily chatting with Alonzo, unconscious of
our inspection. The minutes still sped, and still she talked. But by and
by she happened to look up, and saw the clock. A crimson blush sent its
rich flood through her cheeks, and she exclaimed:
"There, good-by, Mr. Fitz Clarence; I must go now!"
She sprang from her chair with such haste that she hardly heard the
young man's answering good-by. She stood radiant, graceful, beautiful,
and gazed, wondering, upon the accusing clock. Presently her pouting
lips parted, and she said:
"Five minutes after eleven! Nearly two hours, and it did not seem
twenty minutes! Oh, dear, what will he think of me!"

At the self-same moment Alonzo was staring at his clock. And
presently he said:
"Twenty-five minutes to three! Nearly two hours, and I didn't believe it
was two minutes! Is it possible that this clock is humbugging again?
Miss Ethelton! Just one moment, please. Are you there yet?"
"Yes, but be quick; I'm going right away."
"Would you be so kind as to tell me what time it is?"
The girl blushed again, murmured to herself, "It's right down cruel of
him to ask me!" and then spoke up and answered with admirably
counterfeited unconcern, "Five minutes after eleven."
"Oh, thank you! You have to go, now, have you?"
"I'm sorry."
No reply.
"Miss Ethelton!"
"Well?"
"You you're there yet, ain't you?"
"Yes; but please hurry. What did you want to say?"
"Well, I--well, nothing in particular. It's very lonesome here. It's asking
a great deal, I know, but would you mind talking with me again by and
by--that is, if it will not trouble you too much?"
"I don't know but I'll think about it. I'll try."
"Oh, thanks! Miss Ethelton! . . . Ah, me, she's gone, and here are the
black clouds and the whirling snow and the raging winds come again!
But she said good-by. She didn't say good morning, she said
good-by! . . . The clock was right, after all. What a lightning-winged
two hours it was!"
He sat down, and gazed dreamily into his fire for a while, then heaved a
sigh and said:
"How wonderful it is! Two little hours ago I was a free man, and now
my heart's in San Francisco!"
About that time Rosannah Ethelton, propped in the window-seat of her
bedchamber, book in hand, was gazing vacantly out over the rainy seas
that washed the Golden Gate, and whispering to herself, "How different
he is from poor Burley, with his empty head and his single little antic
talent of mimicry!"
II
Four weeks later Mr. Sidney Algernon Burley was entertaining a gay

luncheon company, in a sumptuous drawing-room on Telegraph Hill,
with some capital imitations of the voices and gestures of certain
popular actors and San Franciscan literary people and Bonanza
grandees. He was elegantly upholstered, and was a handsome fellow,
barring a trifling cast in his eye. He seemed very jovial, but
nevertheless he kept his eye on the door with an expectant and uneasy
watchfulness. By and by a nobby lackey appeared, and delivered a
message to the mistress, who nodded her head understandingly. That
seemed to settle the thing for Mr. Burley; his vivacity decreased little
by little, and a dejected look began to creep into one of his eyes and a
sinister one into the other.
The rest of the company departed in due time, leaving him with the
mistress, to whom he said:
"There