“No, she isn’t,” cried the father, fearing that his favorite project was in danger. “I merely suggested it to her once—only once.”
Frederic was about to reply, when the rustling of female garments announced the approach of Marian. To Colonel Raymond she was handsome then, as with a heightened bloom upon her cheek and a bashful light in her deep blue eyes, she entered timidly and offered her hand to Frederic. But to the jealous young man she was merely a plain, ordinary country girl, bearing no comparison to the peerless Isabel. Still he greeted her kindly, addressed to her a few trivial remarks, and then resumed his conversation with little Alice, who, feeling that matters were going wrong, rolled her eyes often and anxiously toward the spot where she knew Marian was sitting—and when at last the latter left the room, she said to Frederic, “Isn’t Marian pretty in her blue dress, with all those curls? There are twenty of them, for I heard her count them. Say she is pretty, so I can tell her and make her feel good.”
Frederic would not then have admitted that Marian was pretty, even had he thought so, and biting his lip with vexation, he replied, “I do not particularly admire blue, and I detest cork-screw curls.”
Marian was still in the lower hall, and heard both the question and the answer. Darting up the stairs, she flew to her chamber, and throwing herself upon the bed, burst into a passionate flood of tears. All in vain had she dressed herself for Frederic Raymond’s eye—curling her hair in twenty curls, even as Alice had said. He hated blue—he hated curls—cork-screw curls particularly. What could he mean? She never heard the term thus applied before. It must have some reference to their color, and clutching at her luxuriant tresses she would have torn them from her head, had not a little childish hand been laid upon hers, and Alice’s soothing voice murmured in her ear, “Don’t cry, Marian; I wouldn’t care for him. He’s just as mean as he can be, and if I owned Redstone Hall, I wouldn’t let him live here, would you?”
“Yes—no—I don’t know,” sobbed Marian. “I don’t own Redstone Hall. I don’t own anything, and I most wish I was dead.”
Alice was unaccustomed to such a burst of passion, and was trying to frame some reply, when the dinner bell rang, and lifting up her head, Marian said, “Go down, Alice, and tell Dinah I can’t come, and if she insists, tell her I won’t!”
Alice knew she was in earnest, and going below she delivered the message to Dinah in the presence of Frederic, who silently took his seat at the table.
“For the dear Lord’s sake, what’s happened her now?” said Dinah, casting a rueful glance at Marian’s empty chair.
“She’s crying,” returned Alice, “and she dislikes somebody in this room awfully; ’taint you, Dinah, nor ’taint me,” and the blind eyes flashed indignantly at Frederic, who smiled quietly as he replied, “Thank you, Miss Alice.”
Alice made no reply, and the dinner proceeded in silence. After it was over, Frederic returned to his father, who had been nerving himself for the task he had to perform, and which he determined should be done at once.