She jumped up hastily, unlocked her desk, and taking out a canvas bag, poured the contents into her lap.
“My savings,” she cried; “what I have secured in place of flowers, in place of cocoa-parties, in place of luxurious furniture, in place of the fal-lals and prettinesses which take the tone out of life. Do you know what this money is the nest-egg for?”
“Some good purpose, I am sure,” replied Leslie.
“An excellent purpose. I mean by and by to found a nunnery on a new line. A college after Tennyson’s idea will be realized by me, where those girls who wish to devote themselves wholly and completely to study shall live their lives. I shall begin my house of learning in a humble cottage. I shall take in my girl residents on the cheapest terms. The house will be small, the furniture of the plainest, the food just what is sufficient to sustain life. I could keep a niche for you if you signified your wish at an early date.”
“Thank you,” answered Leslie, rising as she spoke, “but I could not accept it. My work will be in the midst of the busy world—not in any hermitage. Belle, you have a great deal in you; but you are mistaken on many points. You need some lessons in life——”
“Oh, don’t, don’t,” said Belle, putting her fingers to her ears. “This visit has been so refreshing, and I like you so much: but don’t spoil it by an inopportune and ineffectual lecture. Go away, take your beautiful face out of my sight; don’t haunt me with it a moment longer. It is possible that I may see it to-night instead of the pure, pale lineament of Spenser’s Faerie Queene—instead of Dante’s Beatrice—instead of the divine Althea in Richard Lovelace’s matchless verses. Good-by, good-by.”
Leslie went to the door, and Belle saw her off.
In some wonder, and feeling almost dazed by her recent
conversation, she returned to her own room in North Hall.
Just half an hour before dinner Annie walked in. She entered the room briskly, greeted Leslie with a hard and yet excited laugh, and, tossing off her hat, seated herself on the side of her sofa-bed.