A day in December, two years previous to the beginning of my story.
"Dolores, uncle Dick is going into the town; do you care to go?"
Dolores is reading a long home letter from Zoe, full to the very edges, beside being crossed and recrossed with all the latest sayings, doings, and prospective to be done, ending up with the ardent wish and longing to be with her darling Dolores, in beautiful, bright, sunny Italy.
"I am so sorry, Blondine, but I must write to father this morning; so, you see, to go would be impossible."
Beautiful Blondine Gray, a distant cousin of the Litchfields, opens her brown eyes in horrified astonishment.
"Why, my dear, bury yourself in the house to write a letter on such a day as this! Come, don't talk so nonsensical; get your largest umbrella, for the sun is scorching. You can write this afternoon."
But no persuasions, either on the part of Blondine or uncle Dick, can move her, and they leave her in disgust. She watches them go down the road. Blondine walks with the ease, grace and quietness of a born native of Tyrol. Dolores admires Blondine's style of walking very much; it is a pleasure just to watch her movements; so different from uncle Dick's roll. A regular sailor's swing and roll of a walk did uncle Dick Gray possess. He was major in the army, and of course very portly, as majors are somehow, generally. But he had retired some years since with high honors. Blondine, his brother's child, being left an orphan, he considered it his duty to provide her a home; so before settling down to house-keeping, a trip abroad was considered just the nicest idea. Blondine was sick of school, so uncle Dick sent for Dolores to go with them on their journey.
After reading Zoe's letter over twice, to make sure there was nothing skipped, Dolores takes her pen, ink and paper out on the piazza. The day is like June; the waves, dancing and sparkling in the sunlight, are as blue as the heavens above them. The little boats rock from side to side as they float, now in, now out, from their moorings, and far out a white sail glistens in the glimmering sunlight. On shore children, dark eyed, red lipped little rascals, are selling flowers—roses and orange blossoms, with quantities of violets. Little groups are sitting or loitering about, their chief object seemingly to see who can produce the largest and gayest parasol. Dolores takes in all the details of the surroundings. Probably uncle Dick and Blondine are having some fun in town; they will sit on the promenade, after they have made their purchases, and rest themselves. They would be back by afternoon sometime; then Dolores would go with them to the Casino, see the people and hear the band. Suddenly her attention is attracted by a child, somewhere near, crying. There was never an animal or child yet that Dolores failed to sympathise with; now she looked about for the object of her awakened feelings.
"Don't go, mamma; don't go an' leave Roy alone."
A carriage is standing at the door, and a tall, handsome woman is getting in, a woman with a proud, cold face. A tiny boy, in a white frilled dress, is vainly trying to get away from the nurse girl, who is in her turn vainly trying to keep him out of sight, until his mother gets away.