The two young people talked together some minutes before they recollected that the rules of etiquette required that strangers should have introductions. Then the gentleman produced a card,—
"STUART LYNDE,
Attorney and Counsellor at Law."
And Marian said simply, "I am Marian Chester of Massachusetts."
It would seem as if their tongues rejoiced at privilege of speech again, for the talk flowed on most delightfully. Themes were endless—the accident, the surrounding country, and people, and the advantages and disadvantages of both East and West. They compared notes finally on favorite authors, and travelled over countries both had visited, until they almost forgot that they were wrecked on a dreary prairie, miles from anywhere.
Mr. Lynde was somewhat puzzled to find a young lady who had read biographies, history, Shakespeare, and the other standard poets, and yet seemed to be ignorant of the works of well-known writers of fiction, and was obliged to confess that she had not read "Jane Eyre," old as it was, nor "Romola," nor even the lighter novels that most schoolgirls have devoured by the time they are fifteen.
"No," she said, "I know almost nothing of them; my father has his own ideas in regard to these things," and she said it reverently and sweetly, as if "anything that my father wishes is good and right;" not; "My father is an old fogy, and I, a martyr, am obliged to suffer the consequences—"
"His theory is that a taste for solid reading should first be formed, and that whatever of fiction is indulged in, should be by the best writers and quite simple. With the exception of a few books, rather juvenile in character, I am to read my first novel this winter with father. I read aloud to him a great deal, and he is my dictionary and encyclopædia. We have most delightful times, and we read all sorts of books. Perhaps, if one were to come down to my level in the line of light reading, I might intelligently discuss the merits of some works," she said archly; "I know almost by heart 'Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales' and the 'Tanglewood Tales;' as well as 'Alice in Wonderland,' and 'Water Babies,' and several other lovely stories."
Happy daughter! To read her first novel—some pure, noble work of his choosing—with her father, instead of stealthily devouring a vile, yellow-covered thing at midnight, when she should have been sleeping, or secreting it under her desk at school, and snatching a guilty morsel when she should have been studying.
The father's theory had been well carried out, and he must have been delighted with results, for the girl could enjoy a scientific research, or a simple story, one of which would have been voted dull, and the other childish, by those reared on more highly seasoned mental food. Then there was in her a cheery freshness, and a hearty enjoyment of simple pleasures, in sharp contrast with many specimens of restless, languid young ladyhood, interested in nothing on earth or under it—nothing except themselves.
Mr. Lynde was charmed. Here was an anomaly, a rare study: a girl not made up of artificialities, nor morbid sentimentalism.