"No necessity for you to write, my dear," observed the professor at this
point. "I've been intending to do it myself for some time, and I'll
thank her for her hospitality, and so forth."
Cornelia nodded, yawned, and then allowed her eyes to wander around the
room.
"How nice and cozy and home-like every thing does look! And so small.
Why, I should almost believe I was looking through the small end of the
telescope, or something."
"New York houses are so big, I suppose?" said Sophie.
"Gracious, dear!" exclaimed Cornelia, laughing again. "Why, the very
cupboards are bigger than this whole house. It'll take me ever so long
to get over being afraid to knock my head against something when I stand
up."
"You can sit out-doors until the weather gets too cold," observed the
professor. "The sky is as high here as in New York, isn't it?"
Cornelia ignored this remark with admirable self-poise. "Aunt Margaret
was asking a good deal about Mr. Bressant, too," said she. "She said
she'd only heard about him from you, papa; but I thought, sometimes, she
must be fibbing. Once in a while, you know, she acted just as if she had
forgotten having said she didn't know him. However, that's absurd, of
course. By-the-way, where is he? Here still?"
"Oh, yes. O Neelie dear, I have such news to tell you. But--yes, he's
out there by the fountain, I believe. Go out and speak to him, and then
come up to my room and hear the secret."
"All right, I'll be there directly;" and, springing from her chair with
a sudden overflow of animal spirits, drowning out the small growth of
affectation, the beautiful woman danced out upon the balcony, and down
the steps. Sophie went to her chamber, and the professor remained in his
study to indulge his own thoughts, which, by the way, appeared to be
neither light nor agreeable.
As Cornelia neared the fountain, her steps grew more staid. The
clustering shrubbery hid Bressant from sight until she was close upon
him. She thought, perhaps, in the few moments that passed as she walked
down the path, of that other time when she had picked her way, in his
company, between the rain-besprinkled shrubs. Here was the same tea-rose
bush, and hardly a flower left upon it. Yes, here was one, full-blown,
to be sure, and ready to fall to pieces; but still, perhaps he would
smile and remember when he saw it in her bosom; or perhaps--and Cornelia
smiled secretly to herself at the thought--perhaps he needed no
reminder. He was sitting by the fountain now. What more likely than that
he was thinking over that first strange scene that had been enacted
between them there? Dear fellow! how he would start and redden with
pleasure when he saw her appear, in flesh and blood, in the midst of his
reverie! Cornelia blushed; but some of the loose petals of the overblown
rose in her bosom became detached, and floated earthward.