"Have you answered Mr. Sydney's letter?" asked Bella, when they were all
scattered about the drawing room after dinner.
"No," answered her brother, who was pacing up and down with restless
steps, instead of lounging near his beautiful cousin.
"I ask because I remembered that Ned sent a message for him in my last
note, as he thought you would know Sydney's address. Here it is,
something about a horse. Please put it in when you write," and Bella
laid the note on the writing table nearby.
"I'll send it at once and have done with it," muttered Coventry and,
seating himself, he dashed off a few lines, sealed and sent the letter,
and then resumed his march, eyeing the three young ladies with three
different expressions, as he passed and repassed. Lucia sat apart,
feigning to be intent upon a book, and her handsome face looked almost
stern in its haughty composure, for though her heart ached, she was too
proud to own it. Bella now lay on the sofa, half asleep, a rosy little
creature, as unconsciously pretty as a child. Miss Muir sat in the
recess of a deep window, in a low lounging chair, working at an
embroidery frame with a graceful industry pleasant to see. Of late she
had worn colors, for Bella had been generous in gifts, and the pale blue
muslin which flowed in soft waves about her was very becoming to her
fair skin and golden hair. The close braids were gone, and loose curls
dropped here and there from the heavy coil wound around her well-shaped
head. The tip of one dainty foot was visible, and a petulant little
gesture which now and then shook back the falling sleeve gave glimpses
of a round white arm. Ned's great hound lay nearby, the sunshine
flickered on her through the leaves, and as she sat smiling to herself,
while the dexterous hands shaped leaf and flower, she made a charming
picture of all that is most womanly and winning; a picture which few
men's eyes would not have liked to rest upon.
Another chair stood near her, and as Coventry went up and down, a strong
desire to take it possessed him. He was tired of his thoughts and wished
to be amused by watching the changes of the girl's expressive face,
listening to the varying tones of her voice, and trying to discover the
spell which so strongly attracted him in spite of himself. More than
once he swerved from his course to gratify his whim, but Lucia's
presence always restrained him, and with a word to the dog, or a glance
from the window, as pretext for a pause, he resumed his walk again.
Something in his cousin's face reproached him, but her manner of late
was so repellent that he felt no desire to resume their former
familiarity, and, wishing to show that he did not consider himself
bound, he kept aloof. It was a quiet test of the power of each woman
over this man; they instinctively felt it, and both tried to conquer.
Lucia spoke several times, and tried to speak frankly and affably; but
her manner was constrained, and Coventry, having answered politely,
relapsed into silence. Jean said nothing, but silently appealed to eye
and ear by the pretty picture she made of herself, the snatches of song
she softly sang, as if forgetting that she was not alone, and a shy
glance now and then, half wistful, half merry, which was more alluring
than graceful figure or sweet voice. When she had tormented Lucia and
tempted Coventry long enough, she quietly asserted her supremacy in a
way which astonished her rival, who knew nothing of the secret of her
birth, which knowledge did much to attract and charm the young man.
Letting a ball of silk escape from her lap, she watched it roll toward
the promenader, who caught and returned it with an alacrity which added
grace to the trifling service. As she took it, she said, in the frank
way that never failed to win him, "I think you must be tired; but if
exercise is necessary, employ your energies to some purpose and put your
mother's basket of silks in order. They are in a tangle, and it will
please her to know that you did it, as your brother used to do."