But Miss Gibbon, who had seen him the evening before making ready his fishing-tackle, had said to herself: “I’ll be up early, too, and go with him.” And she kept her word; nay, she was down before her admirer. And when the latter discovered Kitty seated on the piazza reading Middlemarch, he of course invited her to accompany him; which invitation Kitty accepted, but not until he had asked her a second time; and then she closed the book slowly, lingering a moment over the last line and exclaiming: “What an interesting tale this is!” So that Harry was half tempted to apologize for thus interrupting her reading.
“The truth is, Miss Gibbon,” he said, as they wended their way toward the stream—“the truth is, I know that you like fresh trout. For no other human being would I have risen at such an unearthly hour.”
“Indeed!” returned Kitty with an air of perfect indifference. Yet, accustomed as she was to receiving attention and to hear flattering words, she could not prevent a tiny rose from blooming on her pallid cheek when Harry went on to assure her upon his honor that this was the truth.
In our opinion Miss Gibbon is an attractive young lady. But most people might not agree with us; and not a few of her rivals declare it is only her money that makes her so pleasing to the gentlemen. There is, indeed, a slight cast in one of her eyes, and her forehead is somewhat too broad for a woman’s. But then she is gifted with a melodious voice (a rare gift among American women) and has exquisite teeth, which she knows how to display to the best advantage by a merry laugh practised before the mirror. Her hair, too, wonderful to relate, is all her own, and, despite the care which she bestows on her toilet, one glossy ringlet always manages to escape from its thraldom and fly hither and thither. But the best feature Kitty possesses—at least so think we—is her nose. It is a bold Roman nose, which proclaims her to be a girl of character; and we are convinced that, however spoilt she may be by fortune, there is a solid groundwork of worth in Kitty which would reveal itself if the occasion demanded it.
Her mother, who is a rich widow, has been living five or six years abroad, most of the time in Paris, and Mrs. Gibbon only came home this summer because she thought that a trip across the ocean would be good for her daughter’s health.
Harry Fletcher, Kitty’s companion this June morning, is the son of a prominent New York banker; and as it seems to be one of the laws of nature that wealth should attract wealth, we cannot wonder if he and Miss Gibbon have very soon become known to each other.
“He will be as good a catch for you, child, as you will be for him,” spoke the watchful mother. “And if you play your cards right we may be back in Paris before October, bringing Mr. Fletcher along with us; and, considering his prospects, he will do almost as well as a count.”
It would be untrue, however, to say that there was no real love between this youthful pair. Money may, indeed, have first drawn them together; but now, after only a fortnight’s acquaintance, we doubt, if one of them were suddenly to be stricken with poverty, whether poverty would separate them.
“How charming this walk is!” exclaimed Harry, as he took Kitty’s hand to help her over a fallen tree.
“In Paris such a delightful walk would not be possible,” answered Kitty.