Boarding schools -- Fiction; Family life -- New England -- Fiction; New England -- Fiction; Schools -- Fiction
It was well for her that Demi was absent when she stole down to join the
guests who soon began to flow through the house in a steady stream.
The new brightness which touched her usually thoughtful face was easily
explained by the congratulations she received as orator, and the slight
agitation observable, when a fresh batch of gentlemen approached soon
passed, as none of them noticed the flowers she wore over a very happy
heart. Demi meantime was escorting certain venerable personages about
the college, and helping his grandfather entertain them with discussion
of the Socratic method of instruction, Pythagoras, Pestalozzi, Froebel,
and the rest, whom he devoutly wished at the bottom of the Red Sea, and
no wonder, for his head and his heart were full of love and roses, hopes
and fears. He piloted the 'potent, grave, and reverend seigniors' safely
down to Plumfield at last, and landed them before his uncle and aunt
Bhaer, who were receiving in state, the one full of genuine delight in
all men and things, the other suffering martyrdom with a smile, as she
stood shaking hand after hand, and affecting utter unconsciousness of
the sad fact that ponderous Professor Plock had camped upon the train of
her state and festival velvet gown.
With a long sigh of relief Demi glanced about him for the beloved girl.
Most persons would have looked some time before any particular angel
could be discovered among the white-robed throng in parlours, hall,
and study; but his eye went--like the needle to the pole--to the corner
where a smooth dark head, with its braided crown, rose like a queen's,
he thought, above the crowd which surrounded her. Yes, she has a flower
at her throat; one, two, oh, blessed sight! he saw it all across the
room, and gave a rapturous sigh which caused Miss Perry's frizzled crop
to wave with a sudden gust. He did not see the rose, for it was
hidden by a fold of lace; and it was well, perhaps, that bliss came by
instalments, or he might have electrified the assembled multitude by
flying to his idol, there being no Daisy to clutch him by the coat-tail.
A stout lady, thirsting for information, seized him at that thrilling
moment, and he was forced to point out celebrities with a saintly
patience which deserved a better reward than it received; for a certain
absence of mind and incoherence of speech at times caused the ungrateful
dowager to whisper to the first friend she met after he had escaped:
'I saw no wine at any of the spreads; but it is plain that young Brooke
has had too much. Quite gentlemanly, but evidently a trifle intoxicated,
my dear.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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