Neglect is very picturesque in its effect, whether the thing neglected be a ruined castle or an unkept tangle. The unpicturesque things are those in which man’s artificial selection reigns supreme.
Had Elliott’s order-loving mother been with him, she would have observed that this park was ill-maintained, and that she would dearly love to have the thinning out and regulating of its trees. Whereas, to his less orderly fancy, it presented a most agreeable appearance. There was Nature’s charm wholly undisturbed by man, and what perhaps added the finishing touch to his satisfaction was the exceeding number of maples, in the perfect maturity of their growth. These straight and goodly trees so screened the house that he was very close before it could be seen. Even at the instant and before he had looked upon more than its gray stone frontage almost smothered in Virginia creepers, up to the very top of its rounded gables, Elliott was pleased.
It was a secluded place. Its position was, according to his taste, perfect. It had the blended charm of simple, harmonious form and venerable age. It faced almost southeast, the proper aspect for a country house, as it ensures morning cheerfulness all the year round, and the full advantage of whatever sunshine there is in winter from dawn practically to sundown and the exquisite effects of the rising of the moon.
Low-growing lilies breathed seductive fragrance, and the softness of the air permitted the gay party assembled to indulge in what would have been indiscretion in a more northerly climate. Young girls discarded their straw hats and danced upon the smooth, green lawn, while elderly chaperons could retire to the halls and porches if they feared the chill night air.
As Elliott approached the moonlit crowd of figures, Dorothy Carr came out to greet him. A young woman, tall and slight, with a figure lithe and graceful, made more perfect by ardent exercise. A skin which had never been permitted to lose its infant softness, with lips as pure as perfect health and lofty thoughts could make them. Her blown gold hair was lustrous and soft, and she carried herself with the modesty of the gentlewoman. Her blue eyes were dark, their brows pencilled with delicate precision combining a breadth that was both commanding and sweet.
“I am delighted to see you again, Mr. Harding,” Dorothy Carr said, graciously.
“And I am delighted to be here,” replied Elliott, as he turned with his fair hostess to a rude seat fixed about the bole of an oak.
“It was upon your grounds that we last met,” she added after a slight pause.
“Yes, and I have waited with some impatience for an invitation here, which came just to-day. You see how quickly I accepted.”
“What a dainty reproof,” she said, laughing. “But I have been away all the summer or you should have been invited here long ago.”