A Virginia Cousin, & Bar Harbor TalesHarrison, Burton, Mrs.
General
A Virginia Cousin, & Bar Harbor Tales
Harrison, Burton, Mrs.
Bar Harbor (Me.) -- Fiction
Vance was delighted. When he furthermore found left at his portal a
tub with a large bucket of ice-cold water from the spring, together
with his bag, he began to think that Virginia hospitality was not to
be relegated among things traditional.
* * * * *
The soft Virginia dusk was closing upon the scene, when our young man,
leaving his room, went down-stairs, through a hall hung with trophies
and implements of sport, and out of an open door upon the "front
porch," to look at the evening star hanging above the mountain crest.
In this occupation he found another person indulging likewise, and in
the clear gloom discovered the face and figure of a young and
singularly graceful girl, who without hesitation accosted him.
"Mr. Lloyd has told us of your mishap," she said, courteously. "He is
congratulating himself that it happened near enough to let him help
you out of it. I hope the horse will fare as well as the master."
"Merrylad will be all right, thank you, so Claggett has been up to
tell me. It appears that Mr. Lloyd, in addition to his other
attractions, is a famous amateur vet."
"You will find he has all the virtues," she said, laughing. At that
moment, a lamp, lighted by the servant in the hall, sent a stream of
illumination upon them. To Townsend's utter surprise, he saw the face
of his cousin, Evelyn Carlyle.
"You!" he heard her say, in a not too well pleased tone; and "You?" he
repeated, with what he felt to be not a distinguished success.
"How extraordinary that it should turn out to be you!" she began
again, first of the two to recover her composure. "Did you think--were
you, that is, on your way to visit _us_?"
"Nothing was further from my thoughts," he answered, bluntly. "I, on
the contrary, believed myself to be going in the opposite direction
from where you live."
"Of course," she said, somewhat piqued. "It is impossible you should
have known that papa and I came yesterday on a visit to dear old
Cousin Josephus. I beg your pardon if I was very rude."
"It is certainly not a welcome that seems inspired by what I have been
led to think is Virginia cordiality," he answered, coolly.
"But I have asked your pardon, and that's not the way to answer me.
You might grant it, never so stiffly; and after that, we, being thrown
together this way through no fault of either of us, might agree to be
decently civil before papa, who can have no idea how I feel toward--I
mean what my reasons are for feeling--well, never mind what I mean,"
she ended, vexed at his immobility.
"I quite join with you in thinking it would be very silly to take any
one else into this armed neutrality of ours. I shall at the earliest
moment, to-morrow, relieve you of my presence. Suppose, until then,
you try to treat me as you would another unoffending man under my
circumstances."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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