American fiction -- 19th century; Artists -- Fiction
"Oh, I'm rosy too often as it is. Why is it that girls must blush
so ridiculously when they don't want to? That's the question of
the day for me. I could flirt desperately in old times, and yet
look as demure and cool as if I were an innocent. But now, oh!
I'm fairly enraged with myself at times."
"They say blushes are love's trail," said Mr. Mayhew with a laugh,
"and since he is around I suppose he must leave his tracks. If
you wish for a more scientific reason let me add that physiology
teaches us that the blood comes from the heart. I can assure you,
however, that there are but few gentlemen who admire ladies that
cannot blush, and Mr. Van Berg is not one of them."
Ida spent the evening at her piano instead of over the encyclopaedia,
but she sighed again and again.
"Simple and true! I fear Jennie Burton and Mr. Eltinge would say
I was neither if they knew what was in my heart. But I can't help
it--I can't give him up after what has happened since I came to
the city, unless I must."
But the music she selected was simple and true. Tossing her brilliant
and florid pieces impatiently aside, she played or sang only that
which was plaintive, low, and in harmony with her thoughts. It
also seemed to have a peculiar attractiveness to a tall gentleman
who lingered some moments beneath the windows, and even took one
or two steps up towards the door, and then turned and strode away
as if conscious that he must either enter or depart at once.
Chapter XLIX. The Blind God.
The Miss Mayhew that crossed the artist's threshold the following
morning might have been taken as a model of graceful self-possession,
but she disguised a maiden with as fluttering a heart and trembling
a soul as ever faced one of the supreme moments of destiny. Her
father, however, proved a faithful and intelligent ally, and his
manner towards Van Berg was a fine blending of courtesy and dignity,
suggesting a man as capable of conferring as of receiving favors.
His host would indeed have been blind and stupid if he had tried
to patronize Mr. Mayhew that morning.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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