Leonore Stubbs

by Lucy Bethia Walford

And anon she knew. It was the look on Sue's face.

In lighter vein, Leonore took to beautifying her person. As Mrs. Stubbs she had contented herself and annoyed her maid, a conscientious creature, by fulfilling its bare requirements. She had hurried through dressing-time, and been impatient of details. Anne's slow method of handling her hair was a constant worry; and now that Anne no longer existed for her, it must be owned that there was, or, to be correct, there had been up to the present, a curly pow presented to the family on many occasions, which was hardly consistent with the dignity General Boldero sought to preserve.

But it chanced one day that a girl came to the house whose hair, of colour and texture similar to Leonore's own, was beautifully arranged and generally admired. It literally shone in the sun.

And as luck would have it, our heroine was caught at her worst that same afternoon; and conscious of frowsy locks tumbling about her ears, her vanity was mortified. She appeared at dinner with a fairly correct imitation of the visitor's coiffure, and every single member of the family had something to say about it: Sue's gentle, "You have such pretty hair, dear Leo," being the finishing touch.

Thenceforth the pretty hair was brushed and brushed; and finding it still continued somewhat dry, Leo made almost her first purchase in the neighbouring town. She procured a wash—only a simple, vegetable concoction, but it answered the purpose—and there were great results.

Next, a manicure box which was among her possessions, but had lain about unused after it ceased to be a novelty, was brought into play. To confess the truth, Leo's hands were not her strong point, but hands and fingers can look better or worse according to the care bestowed on them, and there was now at least nothing to be ashamed of when she put on her rings. She began to wear her rings regularly.

And searching about for something else to do, she unearthed some weird implements, the sight of which made her laugh. With what zest she had once thrown herself into the new game of physical culture which all her friends were playing, and what fun she had thought it—for a time! Her supple joints had enabled her to accomplish feats beyond the reach of most, and she had attended drilling-classes and fencing-classes, and gained glory at both. She now fixed up a hook or two in her room, and found she could still do this and that, though she had lost the knack of the more difficult. To regain these, ropes and pulleys were worked vigorously,—and being once started, invention was called to aid, and there were all sorts of varied performances. Finally she volunteered to become a teacher; but though Maud and Sybil condescended so far as to look on, and even make a few half-hearted efforts, they were soon discouraged. They were not clumsy, but they were stiff; their bones were set; beside them Leo seemed to be made of elastic.

These trifles were, as we have said, the solace of our little girl's happier moods—at least they did something towards whiling away the uneventful days,—but perhaps they might almost have been better left undone, since the more healthful and beautiful she became, the more the leaven of rebellious discontent worked within.

It seemed a shame that she should be so strong and well and winsome, and there be nothing and no one to win. It was an injustice, a waste. And was it to go on for ever? Was she to go on through a long, long life—life stretches very far ahead at twenty-one—crawling on her hands and knees, when she could have stepped out so boldly, head in air?

That was the question which chiefly presented itself to Leonore's mind, as the first long year of her widowhood drew towards its close. She had never once stirred from Boldero Abbey,—for it was by no means a part of the general's programme to send her where she might meet with either friends or strangers to whom the true state of the case might leak out—and he sharply negatived a suggestion on Sue's part.