CHAPTER II.
From the pave we will now step into a spacious drawing-room.
A lively Italian air, exquisitely sung by a fair young girl, falls with delightful cadence upon the ear, while touched by the fingers of one scarcely less fair, the piano adds its pleasing accompaniment, filling the lofty apartment with thrilling melody. Seated in a comfortable lolling chair, is a gentleman of middle age—the only listener, by the by, to the charming music of his niece and daughter, yet more than compensating by his true love of the “art divine,” and the heartiness of his approval, for the superficial plaudits of a fashionable assembly. This is evidently the dwelling of a man of fortune and of taste. Elegance without ostentation mark its adornments. A choice collection of paintings from the old masters decorate the walls, and scattered around are various specimens of rare artistic skill and beauty.
The song ended, a lively conversation ensued.
“So I find, Margaret, you have been gadding as usual this morning,” said Mr. Belden, “and filling your cousin’s little head with more folly and nonsense than her good mother can eradicate in a twelve-month.”
“O, no, papa, I have done nothing of the kind, I assure you; and yet I should not like to be answerable for all the mischief done that little head and heart, too, to-day,” answered Margaret, looking archly at her cousin. “See how she blushes. Now confess, Emma, the image of a certain person, who so awkwardly beset us this morning, still haunts your fancy.”
“Well, Margaret, I do confess,” replied Emma, while a crimson glow mantled her cheeks, “that I think he possessed one of the finest faces I ever saw. He was not more awkward, certainly, than we were; and I much doubt whether, in fact, we were not the most so of the three.”
“Speak for yourself, if you please,” was the reply; “for my part, I never enjoyed any thing more. Such sideling and bowing; such blushing, and such bobbing about; why a dancing-master might make a fortune out of this new pas de trois. And as for you, Emma, you really looked like a little simpleton.”
“What is all this, girls—what new adventure have you met with?” inquired Mr. Belden.
“Only one of those awkward rencounters, papa, which happen every day, except, perhaps, that one seldom sees a handsomer young man than the poor fellow who came so near running us down. Tall and erect, eyes like stars, brows black as night, and, but for his awkwardness, a very—but, mercy, Emma, look, look—there he is—yes, it certainly is,” she suddenly exclaimed; “do come here, quick. See, he is evidently looking for some number. Now he is at 87; there, he stops at 91—no that is not it; see how he gazes this way. As I live, the fellow is crossing over! Why the audacious—he bows. Emma, Emma, he is coming up the steps!” and even as she spoke there was a ring at the door. The girls quickly disappeared, and the next moment Auburn was ushered into the presence of the astonished Mr. Belden; doubtless no less astonished himself at his position and daring errand.