Milton.
Lady Redmond sat in her “blue nestie;” but this bright winter’s morning she was not alone. A better companion than her white kitten, or her favorite Nero, or even her faithful friend Pierre the St. Bernard, occupied the other velvet rocking-chair.
Outside the snow lay deep and unbroken on the terrace, the little lake was a sheet of blue ice, and the sunshine broke on its crisp surface in sparkles of light.
The avenue itself looked like the glade of some enchanted forest, with snow and icicles pendent from every bough; while above stretched the pure blue winter’s sky, blue-gray, shadowless, tenderly indicative of softness without warmth and color without radiance.
Fay in her dark ruby dress looked almost as brilliant as the morning itself as she sat by the fire talking to her husband’s cousin Erle Huntingdon, who had come down to while away an idle week or two at the old Hall.
He had been there for ten days now, and he and Fay had become very intimate. Erle had been much struck by the singular beauty of Hugh’s child-wife, and he very soon felt almost a brotherly fondness for the gentle little creature, with her soft vivacity and innocent mirth.
It had been a very pleasant ten days to both of them, to Fay especially, who led rather a lonely life.
Erle was such a pleasant companion; he was never too tired or too busy to talk to her. He was so good-natured, so frank and affectionate, so eager to wait on her and do her any little service, that Fay wondered what she would do without him.
Hugh smiled at them indulgently. It always pleased him to see his Wee Wifie happy and amused; but he thought they were like two children together, and secretly marveled at the scraps of conversation that reached his ears. He thought it was a good thing that Fay should have a companion for her rides and drives when he was too busy to go with her himself, and somehow Hugh was always too busy now.
So Fay and Erle scoured the country together, and when Frost came they skated for hours on the little lake.