When Albert heard of the gracious offer of his wife, he was exuberant in his thanks—called her his sensible, generous love, and was so demonstrative in his tenderness, that Clara forgot to reflect that it was all due to her making a sacrifice to Ella.
As the days passed, Ella grew tired of being desperately ill; so she secretly threw away Dr. Hanaford’s medicines and ate everything that was offered her. She wished to be ill enough to alarm Albert, and yet she must contrive to look charming in his eyes, and the work required a good deal of study. Pretty soon she left her bed, and spent her time in planning ravishing convalescent toilettes, complaining to Albert all the time of the dire condition of her health. On one occasion he found her reclining on a lounge in a pretty white-and-blue gown, her hair exquisitely dressed, and looking a picture of health. She complained of “utter weariness”—would not talk further than to say she cared for nothing in the world but to die and be out of everybody’s way. Of course he called her endearing names, and begged her to live for his sake; he could not endure life without her. Finally he persuaded her to eat some delicious hot-house grapes he had brought her, and to consent to endure existence a little longer!
During Ella’s illness Mr. Delano called upon her, and the day following Miss Charlotte also. She was a very kind person at heart, though her manner was a little of the forbidding style. She urged Ella to go home, and talked to her of the danger and the impropriety also of courting the affections of married men. Ella could not be angry, for Miss Delano’s manner and accent on this occasion were really sympathetic and friendly. Ella could now declare with a good grace that she was engaged to accompany Albert and Clara to the White Mountains—that Clara had urged it and desired it. Miss Delano was nonplussed, and soon after took her leave.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A SPASMODIC MOVEMENT OF LOVE.
A few days later, and when nearly all the preparations for the White Mountain trip were finished, Clara expressed a desire to run home to Oakdale for three or four days. It was a lovely morning in the last days of June, and the scene was at the breakfast-table. Ella floated languidly in at the last moment, in a lovely morning-dress of white lawn, puffed and flounced, and with wide flowing sleeves that exposed well her pretty arms. At her breast she wore a knot of narrow blue ribbons and a little bouquet of fresh rosebuds. Her hair, which curled naturally, she had brushed out and passed her fingers through and through it, until it lay in innumerable fluffy ringlets and curls kept back from her face by a wide blue ribbon, fringed at the ends and tied in an elegant bow at the top of her head. “How pretty she is!” said the eyes of Albert. Ella seated herself in her place languidly, as if life were the very burden she pretended it was. “How pretty you look, Ella!” said Clara, generously. “It does not seem as if you could ever grow old.”
“Like you, for example,” said Albert, smiling.
“I know I am young enough,” replied Clara, “but I do not think I ever looked as fresh as Ella does.”
“I am sure I would exchange all the freshness that you seem to admire so much,” said Ella, “for a nose as elegant as yours.”
“Yes, I believe my nose is irreproachable,” replied Clara, smiling; “but as a child, it was certainly a pug.”
“Like mine.”