CHAPTER IX
WITH THE EYES OF YOUTH
The place was like a picture by some fine artist, and the midsummer coloring, the shade of the tall trees, the great beds of flowers made it lovely, indeed. There was a space of greensward that ran down to the river, then a series of steps up the terrace, where a large level lawn with another row of steps led and a wide porch, with fluted columns. The house was large, and hospitable of aspect. Now it was filled with graceful figures, flitting to and fro, of all ages, it seemed. For it was quite a notable occasion.
There were two Pemberton sons, one married; then Miss Bessy, who was eighteen; Mary of sixteen, and Belinda, a growing girl, whose birthday was the same as Bessy's, though there was five years between them. This is why young people are asked to the birthday party. And the mothers of the girls, the brothers, and other young men. The tables will be set out on the lawn, three of them.
Bessy was to be married early in the autumn, and lovers in those days were in no wise abashed by their engagement. Mr. Morris hovered about his betrothed, young Mr. and Mrs. Pemberton had not outlived their honeymoon. There were other engaged couples, and quite a merry crowd of children.
Betty Wharton glanced over the group, as they ascended the steps. Not a girl was as handsome as her protégée. They had come in a coach, and the child had just a light scarf thrown over her shoulders. Her frock was of some white crapy stuff, the bodice cut square in the neck after the fashion of the day, and edged with a bit of lace; the short waist defined with a soft blue silk sash. Her curls were caught up high on her head, with a blue bow, and every movement seemed to shake off a shower of gold. Where the chin melted in her neck, and the neck sloped to her shoulder, there were exquisite lines.
"That's the little girl from Pittsburg," exclaimed Anton Wetherell. "I didn't suppose they could raise anything like that. She's not so little, either; why, she must be well on to fifteen. Some connection of that old French lawyer, de Ronville. I wonder if he means to make her his heir? I fancy there's a good deal of money."
"Miss Wharton has been making much of her, it seems, and she isn't the one to fall into a mistake."
The elder ladies greeted her cordially. There was such a charming simplicity about her and her enjoyment of everything was infectious. She gravitated to the younger girls, and Belinda was really fascinated with her. They played some games, and she was so ready to assent to what they proposed, so frank to admit her ignorance of some things, that they were all ready to help her and explain. Presently they sat on the grass in a little ring, and asked her about Pittsburg. Was it a great city?
"Oh, you would think it very queer," she said laughingly. "Only the rivers are beautiful, and the hills, and the woods over opposite. But the people"—then she flushed a little, but she was too honest to embellish—"well, they are Scotch, and Irish, and English, and a few from the East, but now those folks are going out to Ohio. And——"
"But you're French," said one of the girls. "Though I thought all French people were dark."